Supermarket Check-Out Ch. 02

Ch. 2: Getting off on the right foot.

The small-statured woman with short dark hair I thought of as the Pixie Lady was now dominating my thoughts.

Such was the power the Pixie Lady now held over me that I decided to give up my assistant librarian's job at the town's Bookworms store of filling the bookshelves with Best-Sellers for filling the food shelves with best-sellers as a supermarket Colleague at the Pixie Lady's workplace.

The game-changer that tipped me over the edge had happened a month ago. It was the revamping at my local Dali discount store. One of the changes was the staff uniform, which had changed from all black to match the new dark blue and white labelling of the store's products.

Watching the Pixie Lady shoeplaying was the highlight of my week. But my undiminishing obsession with the enthralling dainty, previously black but now white cotton ankle-socked soles of the Pixie Lady's shoe-playing feet had become such that I now craved a daily - not merely a weekly - Saturday sneaky look-see fix at my local Dali store.

The best way to achieve this was to get a job there. And now a poster in the window was advertising job vacancies. I had only ever seen females working at the Dali discount store. Did they have a female-only policy? I didn't know. But they could employ who they wanted, couldn't they? The best person for the job. I only knew that I had to give it a shot and apply. Maybe they wanted a man about the place - if he was the right man.

As a big reader, I enjoyed my job at Bookworms. And I had prospects. I could become a shop manager. But now I had a new, overriding priority. I had held out for a month, thinking this all-consuming mania would pass and I would come to my senses eventually. But my irrational craze had not passed - and I could hold out no longer. Thoughts of the Pixie Lady, her now white cotton ankle socks, more visually pleasing by better defining the exquisite shapeliness of her often-displayed soles, overroad my reason and quashed my indecision.

I was enthralled by the Pixie Lady. She was my dream woman. Was I besotted? Infatuated? Obsessed? Fixated? Charmed? I didn't know.

I wanted to submit myself to the Pixie Lady. To be hers to do with as she pleased. That was the nub of it. If she worked me like a rented mule, I would adore her all the more for it. I would do anything for her. Let her wish be known, and it would be fulfilled. She would only have to ask me.

So, to the bemusement of my boss, I handed in my notice on the Monday after my job interview on Saturday - not with the store manager but with the Pixie Lady herself! I had not expected that! And what an interview! I was utterly unnerved by her presence. She had confirmed herself as my dream woman. The woman I wanted to serve and to submit myself to. Her name was Miss Lewis. The Pixie Lady Miss Lewis seemed not to recognise me. But then - why would she? Why would she notice or remember an unremarkable early-twenties male shopper in the aisles or passing through her till with his mundane pleasantries? I wanted to leap up, punch the air and cry my jubilance out loud when the Pixie Lady said: "David - I want you as a Colleague at Dali. How soon can you start?"

I left my old job in the town centre shopping arcade on Friday and started my new job in the Retail Park the following Monday.

Somehow, I knew I would not regret my drastic career change.

***

No matter what, I wanted to get off on the right foot.

And so, when the supermarket supervisor of my helpless fixation eyeballed me in the Staff Room during her pre-work brief and asked for volunteers to work Monday - Saturday, 7:30 am to 8:30 pm, to cover the present staff shortage of two Colleagues, I was the first to raise my hand.

"You can count on me, Miss Lewis," I responded promptly. "And, for as long as you want. Miss Lewis - all you have to do is ask."

Miss Lewis said, "All right then, David. I'll ask. Will you work those longer hours permanently? Six days a week? I will always be able to use you."

These were long working hours. And for six days a week. But the Pixie Lady herself was asking me. This was the woman dominating my thoughts every wakeful minute. Thoughts - of her shapely, shoe-playing white-socked soles. And, working longer hours and one of my two days off would mean more chances to watch her shoe-playing. So it was a no-brainer.

And anyway, at least I could still make the most of my Sundays.

Trying to sound nonchalant but knowing I was speaking the literal truth, I said, "Miss Lewis - yes. And happily. As I said, all you have to do is ask."

Miss Lewis said, "All right then, David. I'll ask again. What about Sundays? I work alternate Sundays with my Trainee Manager, Angela. Will you also make yourself available to me or to my Trainee Manager every Sunday? To work the store's reduced opening hours of ten until four? Start at nine-thirty and finish at four-thirty? Same thing as weekdays. Start early to help prepare the store for opening and finish late to help tidy up? Overtime is unpaid, with time off in lieu instead. Or, David - you can offer to work all your overtime voluntarily. Offering your time for free would give me some kudos at Head Office and cement your position under me. David - what do you say?"

"Miss Lewis, I would like to offer to work every Sunday and work overtime voluntarily."

"Excellent! My staff take their two days off on a rotation basis to enjoy some time off at weekends. So, it would be nice to know that I will always have you for a no-cost fill-in cover. And you will be aptly rewarded for your cooperation and loyalty to me and my Trainee Manager, Angela. David - do you confirm then that Angela and I can rely on your availability on a seven-day, early start and late finish basis?"

This was another big commitment, but it was another no-brainer. The Pixie Lady was giving me even more of what I wanted. What better way to spend my time? In the seven-day service of the Pixie Lady or for her Trainee Manager deputy, Angela, when Miss Lewis took her time off.

I said, "Yes, Miss Lewis. You can rely on me. Anything you want."

Miss Lewis said, "Well, you could work another half hour of voluntary overtime every day by taking thirty minutes for your lunch break instead of an hour. That would help me out as well. I will always have something for you to do. If not, Angela certainly will. David - what do you say?"

I said, "Miss Lewis, if it will help you out... then, of course."

"Thank you, David. I was sure I could count on you. And David, on behalf of myself and my staff: Welcome to Dali. I am sure we will all get along!" said the slightly built, dark-haired thirtyish woman I thought of as the Pixie Lady. And, at hearing her speak my name, a flood of pure pleasure gushed right through me. Her voice was music to my ears. Even when asking me to commit to work such long hours, seven days a week, much of it unpaid and none of it redeemable as time off in lieu.

And there was another thing. The store-logoed Team Leader ID tag pinned to her dark blue uniform jacket identified her as Patricia Lewis. PL - the same initials as Pixie Lady. To me, this seemed more than mere coincidence. It was a omen. A vindication. It fitted perfectly with my meant-to-be reasoning. My place was not in the bookshop, where I could read books to my heart's content. My place was on the shop floor, where I could serve the Pixie Lady to my heart's content. The shop floor of Dali.

Miss Lewis stood, all 5' 5" of her, facing the assembled ten shopfloor Colleagues working under her - all female except for me. In their late teens to their early thirties, and all of them attractive in their own ways, I suppose I could fairly describe my nine female shopfloor Colleagues as 'Girl next door' type young women. They wore the new Dali supermarket uniform: a dark blue nylon jacket, a knee-length skirt of the same colour and material, white cotton ankle socks, and their uniform dark blue leather flats. I wore the same dark blue uniform jacket, matching trousers and black work boots. The ID tag pinned to my uniform jacket read 'David'.

Miss Lewis then slipped her right white-cotton ankle-socked foot from her dark blue leather work flat and flexed and scrunched her toes. Looking straight at me, Miss Lewis said, "David, thank you for offering to work so much voluntary overtime. I know you want to... get off on the right foot."

My nine female Colleagues all tittered in their amusement. I looked at their smiling faces. They all knew! Miss Lewis said, "David: We all know. We have all watched your very blatant, voyeuristic antics on the store's cameras. Not very subtle, were you, David? Checking out my feet?"

My face burned hot enough for Miss Lewis and my nine female Colleagues to come and warm their hands on it.

My nine female Colleagues now also slipped their uniform right, white-socked foot from their dark blue leather work flat, flexed and scrunched their toes, looked at my bright-red face, and laughed.

One of them, whose ID tag read: 'Angela - Trainee Manager', hooted, "That's a good one, Miss Lewis! Get off on the right foot!"

Miss Lewis said, "David - honestly! Your job interview! Really - I don't know how I kept my face straight! Your eyes were on stalks when I dangled my flat for you!"

My face burned even more fiercely at hearing my nine female Colleagues laughing, along with Miss Lewis.

Miss Lewis said, "All right. Let's all calm down."

For me, that was easier said than done.

Miss Lewis said, "David, as a Dali discount store supervisor, my role is to chip in and work hands-on to set an example to the Colleagues under me. But now, I have got you. That means no more heavy lifting or trolleying pallets around for me - and less drudge work. And my authority extends to all of your female Colleagues on the shop floor. At present, you have nine. Soon, you will have eleven. Your female Colleagues can summon you and order you to do any heavy lifting and trolleying for them. You will also oblige them, as and when required, with whatever other drudge work requests: box-opening, rotation of foodstuffs, cleaning up the spillages from leaky milk bottles, or the broken eggs dropped by clumsy customers - that sort of thing. All of that is for you to do. You are our man about the place. You are our all-purpose go-to guy. You are at the beck and call of all. Are you getting the picture? And David: your female Colleagues can expect your immediate respectful obedience. Understood?"

"Yes, Miss Lewis. Understood. I get the picture. Your authority extends to my female Colleagues. I am their man about the place. I am their all-purpose go-to guy. I am at the beck and call of all. To do the drudge work."

"Good!" said Miss Lewis. "David, as our man about the place, we will keep you busy. Dali is a good-value discount store based on the low-price/high-turnover model. That entails the frequent replenishment of food shelves and other containers, like the veg-dumpers and freezers. After the busy weekend, Mondays are always especially hectic with restocking. First job: trolley some pallets of goods in from the warehouse. Angela, my Trainee Manager, will point them out and tell you where to take them. Return the empty pallets to the warehouse. Then, if Angela has no other orders for you, report to me for further instructions."

"Yes, Miss Lewis."

I was surprised and confounded. With my secret exposed, I would have expected to be confronted with it, given a suitable dressing-down, and then strongarm-escorted from the premises by store security with a ban from shopping at Dali. Instead, I was a source of amusement.

I said, "So, do you still want me then, Miss Lewis? I don't understand. I mean, um, given...?"

Miss Lewis turned her back to me, bent her right leg at the knee and slid her right foot from her dark blue leather work flat, displaying the mesmerising sight of her white cotton ankle-socked sole. My nine female Colleagues turned their backs and did likewise. I could not hide my surprise - or excitement. What a thrilling display! I stared at their white-socked soles in longing. I wanted to go to my knees to kiss each of my nine female Colleagues' right white-socked soles, in turn, to pay homage.

Miss Lewis said, "Given what - David? Given your raging foot fetish? David, of course, I want you. And so do my girls. We all want to make the most of your... weakness. And we will. We normally employ only female Colleagues. But I managed to persuade the store manager, Miss Conway, to make an exception for you. And why? Because young men like you don't come along every day. A man we can so easily bend to our will. You are our workman - and our servant. But David, if you serve us well, you will be suitably rewarded. Every evening at Till Number Six, from seven o'clock to eight o'clock closing time or until the last customer has passed through the till. It will be me for the first thirty minutes - or Angela in my absence - followed by one of your female Colleagues. That will be our routine. Should you wish to, you can further demonstrate the true depths of your respect - not only to me but to your female Colleagues - with a personal service like no other. Seven days a week, I will permit you to take both pairs of dirty white socks home to wash for us and return the next workday. Now, David - that's it. Get to work! Go with Angela."

I couldn't believe my ears. Miss Lewis and my female Colleagues wanted a man about the place. If he was the right man - the sort of man who didn't come along every day. A man they could easily bend to their will.

I said, "Yes, Miss Lewis!"

Accompanied by Angela, I hastened from the Staff Room, eager to do the biddings of Miss Patricia Lewis - the Pixie Lady. And now also, by the extension of the Pixie Lady's authority, the bossy biddings of my nine - and, soon, to be eleven - female Colleagues. At the beck and call of all.

And now, I was left wondering. My daily reward?

What would happen at Till Number Six from seven to eight p. m. - or until the last customer passed through the till?

***

Angela led the way to the warehouse. She showed me the large wooden containers and the palleted goods she wanted me to trolley into the store and indicated the ones to take in first. Angela pointed out the wooden crates of fresh vegetables, the bumper packs of toilet rolls, cardboard boxes of canned goods, multi-packs of beer and other alcoholic drinks - some of the usual best-sellers.

Angela was in her early twenties - about my age. All of them were attractive in their individual ways, but the Trainee Manager Angela was one of the better-looking of my Dali female Colleagues. It would be cliched to say there was 'something about her'. But then, there was 'something' about all nine of them. And the more you looked, the more you saw. Angela was 5' 8" and slimly built. Her eyes were blue, and she had shoulder-length platinum-streaked blonde hair and a peaches-and-cream complexion. And the more I looked, the more I saw.

Angela slipped her right, white-socked foot from her dark blue leather work flat and rested it in her empty shoe, sole-up. What a sight! Angela saw my downward glance and heard me catch my breath. I recalled Angela's helpless hoot of hilarity at the Staff Room pre-work briefing at the Pixie Lady Miss Lewis's 'getting off on the right foot' remark.

Angela smirked at my reddening face. Angela said, "David, trolley all of these wooden dumpers of fresh potatoes, carrots, turnips, onions and cabbages first. Place the remaining few bags of veg from the other dumpers on top of the new ones so they are sold first - rotation is important. Gather up any spilt veg from the dumpers. Trolley the empty dumpers and any pieces of spilt veg back to the warehouse for repackaging or recycling. Then, trolley these six pallets of lagers, ales and ciders. Again, place the remaining cases or multi-packs of beer, or whatever, on top of the new stock, and then take the empty pallets back to the warehouse and pile them up tidily six high for the forklift truck driver. Then, these five pallets of toilet rolls - no need to rotate those. Finally, trolley these pallets of canned potatoes, carrots, peas, tomatoes and baked beans. Bring the baked beans first - they are almost sold out. Take them to the canned veg aisle, where you will find me working with Sandra. I will tell you the order to truck the other pallets of canned veg to us. David - the baked beans first. Got it? Follow my instructions exactly."

Angela was a good candidate for Trainee Manager. She was organised, her detailed instructions were easy to follow, and she was rather bossy by nature. She was also a good communicator. Angela communicated to me the unambiguous nature of our relationship: Do as I say; hear and obey!

I continued to stare down at Angela's right, white-socked upturned sole. I was riveted by the thrilling sight. I wanted to go to my knees and kiss it.

"Yes, Angela. Got it. I will find you in the canned veg aisle with Sandra. You want the baked beans first. I will follow your instructions exactly."

I finally looked at Angela. Her expression said: Huh. I will have no problems with you.

Angela looked at her watch and said, "David - I will give you an hour. Then, come to the canned veg aisle with the pallet of baked beans. You can open the boxes and flatten the cardboard for Sandra and me. And that's another thing. You will operate the bailer. The bailer is our cardboard compacting machine. It is a pesky job. But now it is your pesky job. We get through tons of cardboard. Keep on top of it. The bailer is at the back of the warehouse. Cable-tie the bails tightly and stack them tidily for weekly collection. David - an hour. Plenty of time. I hope I won't have to come looking for you?"

I looked downward again at Angela's white-socked right sole, still upturned and resting in her dark blue leather flat. The urge to go to my knees and kiss it was all but irresistible. "No, Angela," I said. "You won't."

Angela said, "Good. Because I don't want to have to do any box-opening. Neither does Sandra. It's a pain. Opening the cardboard boxes is hard on our hands and fingers because sometimes the flaps are glued closed too firmly. We end up with broken fingernails. Very unsightly for young ladies like us. But now, that's your job. David! Crack on then! Get to work!"

"Yes, Angela!" I said.

Implicit in Angela's tyrannical tone was her unspoken but unmistakable edict: Do as I say; hear and obey!

I hesitated for two seconds - such was the monumental effort of will to tear my eyes from the enthralling sight of Angela's white-socked upturned right sole.

But that was enough.

The look I saw on Angela's face told me she knew it.

***

An hour to do all of that? The Trainee Manager, Angela, was a tough taskmistress!

Working quickly, I was about halfway through doing Angela's bidding and making good time when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I turned around to see one of my female Colleagues. The name tag, pinned to her dark blue uniform jacket, identified her as Dolores.

Dolores was one of my younger female Colleagues, at about nineteen. Dolores was 5' 7". She was a few pounds heavier than Angela, with brown eyes, shoulder-length black hair and an olive complexion.

I said, "Yes, Dolores? I'm pretty busy. Angela has given me a lot of trolleying around to do. And not much time. What can I do for you?"

Dolores slipped her right white cotton ankle-socked foot from her dark blue leather work flat and pressed her toes down inside the back of the heel, causing the toe of her shoe to point vertically.

Dolores saw my reactive downward glance, heard my sharp intake of breath, and noted my expression with apparent satisfaction.

Dolores said, "David, I have a job for you. Go to the yoghurt fridge. There is a mess for you to clean up. A careless lady customer has dropped a kilo tub of yoghurt, which has split open. This sort of thing happens often. We get a lot of clumsy customers. Normally, I would do it myself. But now, I have got you. You are our clean-up guy. Do it now - right away. A quick clean for now, for safety's sake. You can clean the floor properly later."

Thinking this would only take a minute. I said, "Yes, Dolores. Where can I find the cleaning things?"

Dolores looked at me. Her expression said: What a pushover!

Dolores said, "The janitor works a night shift. His closet is in the hallway to the Staff Room. It is not locked. You will see a bucket with a sponge and a drying cloth. And get a Wet Floor sign. Fill the bucket with cold water at the tap in the Staff Room. Use the sponge to mop the spilt yoghurt and rinse it in your bucket. Wipe the floor with your drying cloth. Leave the Wet Floor sign until later, when you have cleaned and dried the floor properly with the mop and bucket from the closet, using hot water from the Staff Room tap and a sachet of soap gel from the cupboard under the sink. In the event of broken glass from dropped jars or bottles, use the dustpan and brush from the closet. David - that is your drill whenever these unfortunate spillages and breakages occur. And they happen often. You should look out for them or listen out for the tell-tale crash and not wait for me or one of your other female Colleagues to come and get you. If one of us calls you, respond instantly. Got it? Now go and clean up that mess! There is yoghurt all over the floor! People might slip on it! David - quickly! I will come and check on you in five minutes."

Wow - and I'd thought Angela was bossy!

I knew I would not achieve Angela's one-hour time target. But I recalled what the Pixie Lady, Miss Lewis, had said: her authority extended to my female Colleagues. I was at the beck and call of all. I was their all-purpose go-to guy. My female Colleagues can order me to do their drudge work - and expect my immediate respectful obedience.

I said, "Yes, Dolores. I'm on it!"

Dolores looked at me. Her expression said: Now - this is what I'm talkin' about!

I went to the janitor's closet, collected the items as instructed by Dolores, and filled the bucket with cold water from the tap in the Staff Room.

I hastened as bid by Dolores to the yoghurt fridge. What a mess! The yoghurt from the split kilo tub was splattered over a wide area of the floor.

I got on my knees, mopped up the spilt yoghurt with my sponge and rinsed it in the bucket of cold water.

A lady customer in her thirties looked down at what I was doing. She said, "I did that. How clumsy of me!"

I said, "Not to worry, Madam. It's all right. Not a problem."

Dolores arrived as I began wiping the floor with my drying cloth.

The lady customer asked me, "Can I help? I hate to put you to the trouble."

I said, "I wouldn't dream of it. It's no trouble - no trouble at all. Please leave it to me. Accidents happen."

The lady customer smiled and said to Dolores, "Well, you have got him trained nicely, haven't you?"

Dolores slipped her right, white-socked foot from her dark blue leather work flat and pressed her toes down inside the back of the heel as before, causing her shoe to point vertically.

Dolores saw me looking at her petite foot from the corner of my eye. I imagined Dolores's beautiful olive-complexioned bare soles and wondered if I would ever see them.

Dolores said, "Hah! Madam - you have no idea! This is nothing! You don't know the half of it! David is our new Colleague - our man about the place. The right kind of man."

The lady customer said, "Oh! How intriguing! Is he a feminist?"

Dolores laughed and said, "Yes - in a sense! He will do anything for us!"

I looked away from the lady customer to hide my reddening face.

Finally satisfied, Dolores said, "Okay. Good job. David - go and rinse out the cleaning items and return them to the hallway closet, as you found them. Then, you can go back to what you were doing for Angela. But don't forget what I told you. Come back as soon as you can. Clean and dry this floor properly with the mop and bucket. As I told you - with hot water and soap gel. And I'll be checking. Got it? I don't want to have to do it myself."

I looked up at Dolores's attractive olive-complexioned face. And the more I looked, the more I saw. I said, "Yes, Dolores. Rest assured. I will. As soon as I can. Mop and bucket. Hot water and soap gel. Got it, Dolores."

The lady customer said, "Well! What a nice young man!"

The lady customer wheeled her shopping cart away. She had a contented smile on her face.

Dolores looked at me. Her expression said: That's you under my thumb!

Dolores then reinserted her white cotton ankle-socked right foot into her dark blue leather work flat and flounced off, a smug smile of satisfaction on her face.

***

As instructed by Angela, I was stacking the few remaining cases of lager onto the fresh pallet of new stock when I felt another tap on my shoulder.

I turned around to see Angela.

Angela stood with her arms folded, looking annoyed. I knew she was going to give me a dressing down.

Angela slipped her white cotton ankle-socked right foot from her dark blue leather work flat and rested it in her empty shoe as before, sole up. Angela saw the direction of my eyes, drawn like two magnets to the irresistible attraction of her white-socked upturned sole. What a sight! I didn't stand a chance. And she knew it. Angela knew I would stand there, subdued, bow to her authority and take any verbal onslaught from her.

"David!" snapped the Trainee Manager, Angela. Angela pointed to the dial of her wristwatch. "David - what did I tell you? An hour. What's keeping you? Me and Sandra are waiting for you. I said I didn't want to have to come looking for you. David - do I need to report you to Miss Lewis?"

"Angela - I'm sorry!" I said. "Dolores told me to clean up a mess at the yoghurt fridge. A lady customer had an accident. Dolores ordered me to go and clean the floor. But I'm nearly done here. I'll bring that pallet of baked beans you want in a minute."

Angela said, "All right, David. Apology accepted. Find me in the canned veg aisle with Sandra."

Quickly, I finished restocking the lagers and returned to the warehouse with the empty pallet. I hefted the heavy wooden pallet on top of five others to make another tidy six-high stack for the forklift truck driver. Then, I inserted the trolley's forks under the pallet of baked beans and jacked it up a few inches. I trundled it to the canned veg aisle, where Angela and Sandra awaited me impatiently.

Angela and Sandra were kneeling on the floor, moving canned food around the bottom shelves, organising space for the new stock. Angela and Sandra's heels had popped out of their dark blue work flats, and I could see their entire, white-socked soles and stretched toes. It was an enthralling and thrilling sight - and not one I was ever likely to see, working in my old job at Bookworms. This was a typical example of how their new, uniform white socks trumped their previous black socks. The white cotton stretched over Angela and Sandra's arches, their heels and the balls of their feet, defining the shapes of their soles with a captivating clarity that black socks could not. Sandra's sole was broader than Angela's - different but just as attractive. Angela's sole was longer and narrower, with a deeper, graceful arch and a prominent heel. It was mid-morning - still early in the workday. The soles of their socks were mostly still white, just a light tinge of grey at the balls of their feet and on the bottoms of their heels. I looked at Angela and Sandra. Both had noticed the direction of my rapt gaze. They shared a look and smiled.

Angela said, "David - now that you are here - start opening those boxes of baked beans! Pull open the flaps, then push the boxes along the floor to Sandra and me. When the boxes are empty, pull open the flaps on the bottoms and flatten them. Lay the flattened cardboard on the floor to put on your emptied pallet later. Each time you fill an emptied pallet with enough flattened boxes, trolley them to the warehouse to put into the bailer later. Then return to me and Sandra with the next pallet of canned veg, as I direct you. We will want the four pallets of canned peas next. There are four types of peas: garden, marrowfat, processed, and mushy. Bring the canned peas in that order. The garden peas first. Got it?"

I said, "Yes, Angela. Four kinds of peas on four pallets. You want me to trolley those peas to you and Sandra, in that order. Garden peas first. Got it."

Sandra looked over at me and smiled.

Sandra was about twenty-five, 5' 6", with reddish-blonde hair and grey eyes. Like all of my other female Colleagues, Sandra was not a stunner, but neither was she plain. And the more you looked, the more you saw. Sandra was Girl-next-door attractive. And she had 'something about her'.

Sandra said, "David - I've seen you before. Haven't I? Where did you work previously? Was it in the town centre? One of the shops in the arcade?"

I said, "Yes, Sandra. I worked at Bookworms."

Sandra said, "Ah - of course! That's where I've seen you! I didn't recognise you without your reading glasses. David - I am a big reader myself. Novels mostly."

I said, "Me too, Sandra. And the best thing about working at Bookworms was that I spent at least half of my time reading the books."

Sandra said, "And yet, David... you came to work here."

Again, I felt my face reddening.

Angela said, "Sandra - I can read David like a book. And Sandra - you can count on one thing. David will be too busy to read anything here - except my lists of instructions. And having David work with us will be a novel experience. We will soon get used to having him - but the novelty will not wear off for him! We have the ideal workman. Thanks to Miss Lewis!"

Sandra said, "Miss Lewis is always shoeplaying. You can't help but notice."

Angela said, "Well - David certainly noticed! It's why he is here!"

Sandra shook her head in wonderment and said, "Angela - I still can't get my head around it! Until I saw the evidence of my own eyes on the store's cameras - I mean, David watching Miss Lewis shoe-play - I didn't even know that shoe-playing was a 'thing', as it were, to a certain type of guy."

Angela said, "Sandra - David is that certain type of guy. A foot fetishist. And our new uniform white socks were the clincher for David. If Miss Lewis still wore her uniform black socks, David would still be working at Bookworms. The switch to our new uniform, white socks, is a change for the better. And Sandra - believe me. It is a change that will benefit us all."

Miss Lewis then arrived.

The Pixie Lady slipped her right white cotton ankle-socked foot from her dark blue leather work flat and hooked it behind her left calf to display to me, full-on, the whole of her exquisitely shapely sole. I knew this was not by chance but by design. At the same time, it was a treat and a tightening of her already secure hold over me. I knew it was a sight I could never tire of - and so did she. I wondered if I would ever get to see her bare soles. How beautiful they must be! Sadly, I thought it highly unlikely.

Angela and Sandra both saw my eyes bug out in awe and smiled.

I was in the grip of something I could not get out of - and didn't want to get out of. The enthralment of the Pixie Lady, Miss Lewis. And now, here I was - a worker at Dali. Under the direct command of my dream woman!

Miss Lewis nodded toward me and said, "Angela - how is our man about the place, getting on? Is he behaving himself? Any problems?"

Angela looked at me and said, "Well, it's early days, Miss Lewis. But - credit where it's due. So far, so good. I've just spoken with Dolores to see if she would verify David's claim. I wondered why David kept Sandra and me waiting so long. David said Dolores had sent him on a clean-up job. Dolores confirmed it. Dolores told me that David behaved impeccably towards her, respectfully, and obeying her without question. Just as if he was obeying you. And Dolores said that he is good with the clumsy customers. Excellent, in fact. So yes - so far, so good."

Miss Lewis flexed and scrunched the white-socked toes of her right foot, and I watched in helpless enthralment. I found it impossible to look away. I will never know how I restrained myself from going to my knees there and then to kiss the white-socked sole of her right foot in homage.

Like the soles of Angela's and Sandra's white ankle socks, Miss Lewis's soles were still mostly white but tinged a light grey at the balls of her feet and on the bottoms of her heels. Watching the Pixie Lady flex and scrunch her toes at me was driving me nuts. What an exquisite torment! I heard Angela and Sandra tittering at me - but I could not look away from Miss Lewis's deliberately displayed white-socked right sole.

Miss Lewis finally removed her right foot from behind her left calf and reinserted it into her dark blue leather flat.

Miss Lewis said, "Good! Angela - keep me posted."

Angela said, "Yes, Miss Lewis. Will do."

Miss Lewis said, "And Angela - keep David busy."

Angela said, "Miss Lewis - you can count on it! David will never know an idle moment!"

Miss Lewis looked at the lengthening queues at the tills and said, "Angela, I'll open another till. I'll work it until the queues calm down. See you later."

Angela said, "Okay, Miss Lewis. See you later."

Miss Lewis then strolled away to open another till.

That was the Dali system. The female Colleagues worked on the shop floor and operated the tills when needed. And they took turns. They were always glad of the chance to take the weight off their feet for a bit.

Another female Colleague arrived, and her ID tag identified her as Sue. Sue was in her early twenties, was 5' 8", had neck-length black hair and brown eyes. Sue looked at me directly. Sue had an appealing girl-next-door face. And the more I looked, the more I saw. And the more I saw, the more I liked.

Sue said, "Angela - can I borrow David? I need him to help Lauren and me. Some of the new frozen food lines have come in. We want him to clear out and wipe clean some of our freezers before we put in the new stock. There's loads of it. David can trolley it all out to us."

Angela said, "Yes, Sue. But not yet. I'll send David to you and Lauren when he's finished helping Sandra and me. And Sue - tell David to open all the cardboard boxes for you. He is our box-opener. And tell him to flatten them and trolley them to the bailer - David is also our bailer guy. Some other pesky jobs we no longer have to do ourselves. But he will be a while yet. Sue - you and Lauren go for an early tea break. Take thirty."

Sue said happily, "Our box-opener! Yey! No more broken fingernails! My boyfriend doesn't like my broken nails."

Sue was about to go, then had a thought. Sue slipped her right, white-socked foot from her work flat and rested the tops of her toes inside her empty shoe, causing the sole of her sock to wrinkle. Sue watched my eyes lock onto the thrilling sight. The arced poise of Sue's white-socked sole was a sight to behold. What a shapely sole! Sue waited another beat longer, then reinserted her right foot into her work shoe. Sue looked at me directly and said, "David - later!"

Sue then strolled away to get Lauren to go for their early tea break.

Sue looked back over her shoulder at me. Sue had that look on her face. The look I had seen on the faces of Miss Lewis, Dolores, Angela, and Sandra when they had bared their sole to me, as it were - their white-socked sole. It was a look that said: David - I have got you where I want you. And, trust me, I will keep you there.

Angela and Sandra shared another knowing look and smiled.

And now I knew another thing for sure. Now that Sandra knew shoe-playing was a 'thing' to a 'certain type of guy' - and that it was my 'thing' - she would foot-tease me not only for the sheer fun of it but to deepen my regard for her. I saw that twinkle in her eye. Sandra would get a big kick from knowing I paid devotion to her - in the most profound way.

I knew this was a game for my female Colleagues.

And the game was on.

Angela said, in her 'Do as I say; hear and obey!' tone, "David! Come on! Get the flaps on these boxes of baked beans opened for Sandra and me! Feed the opened boxes to us. Push them along the floor to us, as and when we want them. We've still got plenty more pallets of canned veg - all of it has to be on the shelves before we go on our lunch break."

I said, "Yes, Angela."

I started pulling open the top flaps on the cardboard boxes of baked beans.

Angela was right - not all of them opened with ease. Some of them were a pain. My librarian's hands were not used to manual work like this. It was not long before some of my fingernails broke. Angela was right - they were very unsightly.

I wondered if Angela would let me have a tea break this morning.

I doubted it.

There would be too many cardboard boxes to flatten and trolley away to the bailer.

***

With many hours spent reading and mere minutes spent dealing with customers, my previous cushy job at Bookworms bore no resemblance to my new job at my local Dali discount store.

Angela was true to her word. She never let me know an idle moment.

Kept busy by my tough taskmistress, the whip-cracking Trainee Manager, Angela, and obeying the standard orders and doing the occasional happenstance biddings of my female Colleagues, my first workday at Dali was totally task-filled.

But Angela insisted I take my morning and afternoon 15-minute tea breaks.

To prevent burnout.

But, as I had told Miss Lewis I would, I took thirty minutes of my one-hour lunch break and worked the other thirty minutes as unpaid and unredeemable overtime. This helped me stay on top of my cardboard compacting work at the bailer - just as Angela wanted.

But, even more so than my old job at Bookworms, working at the Dali discount store was a job 'with benefits'.

Whenever I might walk past or work near one of my female Colleagues, as if absentmindedly, she would slip her white cotton ankle-socked foot from her dark blue leather work flat to let me see her workday sole. In this manner, my female Colleagues drip-fed me with pleasurable 'sightings'.

My female Colleagues all had me exactly where they wanted me.

And they all knew it.

***

Just before 7 pm, I felt another tap on my shoulder. This time, it was the Pixie Lady - the supermarket supervisor, Miss Patricia Lewis.

Miss Lewis said, "David - time for your reward! Your daily reward - if you deserve it. And today, you deserve it! I have heard good reports about you today from your female Colleagues. Sandra, Fiona, Ruth, Dolores, Zoe, Janet, Sue, Lauren - you are a hit with them all. Angela is pleased with you, too - and I know it takes a lot to please her! And, starting next Monday, you will have another two female Colleagues. I interviewed them this afternoon. Their names are Caroline and Denise. Word has got out! They both know about you, and they look forward to working with you. David - come with me! For your Happy Hour! I'm opening the end till - Till Number Six!"

Miss Lewis's eyes shone with anticipation. Her girlish excitement took ten years off her age. Now, I wondered who looked forward to this the most. Me - or the svelte, thirty-ish woman with short black hair I thought of as the Pixie Lady. I had been looking forward to this moment all day. My 'reward' at Till Number Six - whatever it was. Had she? Had my female Colleagues - or, at least, Miss Lewis's follow-on today?

Miss Lewis handed me what I recognised as one of the two halves of a polystyrene protective covering for the Dali discount Champagne. Miss Lewis said, "David - put this on. Until I find something more permanent for you. For comfort and support, this will fit the back of your neck. You will need it. You will see what I mean - when you instal yourself beneath the check-out girl's stool at Till Number Six!"

Till Number Six was situated next to the wall. And so the enclosed till space was visible from only one side. The paying customer's side.

Miss Lewis now took her dark blue nylon uniform jacket off and draped it behind the seat of Till Number Six. Miss Lewis said, "David, my overhanging jacket will shield you from the wondering eyes of customers."

I put the half-piece of protective polystyrene around the back of my neck. It fitted snugly. I now looked like a hospital patient with a neck injury. But what did I care? No one was going to see me... were they?

Miss Lewis gestured for me to precede her into the till space of Till Number Six. "David - down you go! Till Number Six best suits the purpose. Lie on your back and insert your head into the check-out stool's circular footrest."

So - that was to be my reward!

I looked to see if any customers were looking our way. No one was. Not that it would have mattered! I wanted my reward! My daily reward!

Miss Lewis said, "David, I will vacate the till at seven-thirty. Until closing time at eight o'clock, or until we have seen out the last of our customers, Till Number Six will be operated by one of your female Colleagues."

And who will that be? I wondered.

Miss Lewis said, "David, this will be our daily routine - if you earn your reward! Work hard and serve us well - and you will get your daily reward!"

Situated against a wall, Till Number Six afforded the best privacy. If I was going to change my mind about this... 'purpose', the time was now. But no - I would never forgive myself.

I went into the till space of Till Number Six, laid flat on my back, and inserted my head into the tight confines of the circular metal footrest of the check-out girl's stool. With my neck resting against the back of the footrest, the front of the footrest was just inches from my face.

Miss Lewis was right. The customers would not see my face or upper body. But... what about the rest of me? Hopefully, customers would not notice my stretched-out blue nylon trouser legs and black workboots when standing at the conveyor belt or paying their shopping bills.

Miss Lewis followed me in, sat on the check-out girl's stool, and rested her feet on the rounded metal bar of the circular footrest.

Serving to push out my face at an agreeable angle to the check-out girl as much as to protect my neck, wearing my neck protector meant that my vision was dominated even more totally by the inches-away uptilted soles of Miss Lewis's white cotton ankle-socked feet in her uniform dark blue leather work flats.

Even as a store supervisor who could delegate, Miss Lewis worked hands-on and spent most of her workday on her feet. The revamp at Dali was only a little over a month ago. But the black rubber soles of Miss Lewis's new uniform dark blue leather work flats were already well-worn. Not much tread remained at the balls of the feet and at the heels.

My eyes almost popped out of my head when Miss Lewis's white cotton ankle-socked heels popped from her flats when she leaned forward to speak into the till's microphone. Miss Lewis announced: "Till Number Six is now open! Till Number Six is open!"

I looked at the bottoms of Miss Lewis's popped-out heels. Miss Lewis had told me that her role as supervisor was to chip in and set an example. And now, the heels of her previously pristine white cotton ankle socks were tinged dark grey after her long, hands-on workday. A workday on her feet.

Miss Lewis pushed a button, and the conveyor belt began to move. Miss Lewis began to scan the customer's groceries, and she hooked her right foot behind her left ankle to aid her balance as she leaned slightly to her left. Miss Lewis's right heel popped from her flat even more, revealing more of her shapely sole. To see this from so close was an incredible thrill. Repeatedly flexing her toes, Miss Lewis wafted her end-of-workday foot scent from her well-worn flat into my inches-away face as she chatted amiably to her first customer. The aroma made my head spin.

Miss Lewis then surprised me by letting her work flat fall from her right foot to the floor. The same dark grey tinge was also on the ball of her foot and, a bit darker still, under her toes. I gazed in awe at the incredible, up-close sight. Miss Lewis then astounded me by finding my inches-away face, and, enclosing my nose under her toes and resting the ball of her foot on the bridge of my nose, she rested the dark-grey tinged bottom of her right white cotton ankle-socked heel on my forehead for balance and extra security as she chatted to her next customer.

The Pixie Lady then played with my conveniently positioned face as her check-out girl's pastime. Miss Lewis's facial footplay was varied and, sometimes, more lively, influenced by her customers' chat lines. Soon, I found myself hoping for male customers who would flatter her. Compliments and flattering remarks from male customers got her 'going'.

Like other discount stores of this type, the Dali model was to get customers through the tills quickly and to bag up their groceries at the long counter behind the tills. The system worked well. A new customer would pass through the till every few minutes or sooner. And with the after-work shoppers and the last-minute, reduced-sticker bargain hunters, the last hour was always the busiest.

At about twenty-five minutes into her thirty-minute check-out stool 'tenure' of me at Till Number Six, Miss Lewis let her other work flat fall from her left foot to the floor. Miss Lewis cupped the just-unshod white-socked toes of her left foot under my nose to let me inhale her end-of-work day scent, and I also took my chance to kiss the sole of her left foot in adoration and homage. Then, to my great surprise and even greater delight, Miss Lewis used the toes of her left foot to slowly work off the white cotton ankle sock on her right foot, which she let fall to the floor to the right side of my head. To me, it was the ultimate striptease. And she must have known! I stared in mesmerised awe at the exquisite sight of Miss Lewis's inches-away, just-unsocked, bare right sole. The reddish-pink impact areas of the pads of her toes, the ball of her foot and the bottom of her heel, in captivating contrast to the creamy white of her arch. Miss Lewis then found my face again, cupped the bare toes of her just-unsocked right foot under my nose, rested the ball of her foot on the bridge of my nose, and rested her bare heel on my forehead for balance and added security.

The sensation of Miss Lewis resting her bare sole on my face as her check-out stool footrest is indescribable. Miss Lewis's end-of-workday under and between-the-toes scent was intoxicating. Giddily, I inhaled it, making the most of the remaining few minutes of Miss Lewis's thirty-minute Till Number Six check-out girl 'tenure' of me.

Her toes, still clutching my nose, the bottom of Miss Lewis's slightly clammy bare right heel came off its resting place on my forehead for a few seconds as she leaned to her left to retrieve and scan an out-of-reach item on the conveyor belt. This happened occasionally, so I was enabled, at such times, to stare at the ultra-close bottom of Miss Lewis's bare heel - the enthralling symbol of my self-imposed subjugation.

It was the symbol that would keep me firmly in my place. In a place I wanted to be. I was under Miss Lewis's heel as her devoted personal all-purpose servant and under her thumb as her reliable seven-days-a-week working-all-hours unpaid-overtime store worker.

Finally, her thirty minutes up, the Pixie Lady Miss Lewis proffered the sole of her bare right foot to my inches-away face. I knew what for. The moment I longed for had arrived. I took a moment to drink it all in. Then I pressed my lips to the proffered bare sole of Miss Lewis's right foot in homage and kissed it repeatedly from the pads of her adorable toes, the ball of her foot, her arch, to the bottom of her commanding heel. It was a fitting culmination to her thirty-minute 'tenure' of me at Till Number Six.

Miss Lewis then used the bare toes of her right foot to work off the white cotton ankle sock on her left foot, which she let fall to the floor to the left side of my head. It was not another striptease - but perfunctorily done. Miss Lewis was now done with me - she had given me my reward. Miss Lewis then vacated the check-out girl's stool at Till Number Six. She inserted her bare feet into her well-worn dark blue leather uniform work flats and handed Till Number Six over to her follow-on this evening - one of my female Colleagues.

I responded to what Miss Lewis had said at her pre-work brief about permitting me to wash her dirty socks. A personal service like no other. I retrieved her deliberately discarded white cotton ankle socks. I folded them reverently and put them in the left pocket of my dark blue nylon uniform work trousers.

Miss Lewis now retrieved her dark blue nylon uniform jacket draped over the back of the check-out girl's stool at Till Number Six.

Miss Lewis's jacket was swiftly replaced - by Angela's.

To her Trainee Manager, Miss Lewis said, "Angela - over to you!"

In the tone of Miss Lewis's voice, I detected the unspoken word: 'Enjoy!'

Angela seated herself on the check-out girl's stool of Till Number Six and rested her feet on the rounded metal bar of the circular footrest. And so, now it was the Trainee Manager, Angela, whose uptilted black rubber soles rested just inches in front of my face. On the arch of her flat, I saw Angela's shoe size. It was two sizes higher than that of the Pixie Lady Miss Lewis.

Angela spent a lot of time on her feet. The daily lot of a shop floor Colleague. Even as a Trainee Manager who could delegate, Angela followed the hands-on example of her supervisor, Miss Lewis. Like Miss Lewis's, the soles of Angela's month-old dark blue leather work flats were already worn almost smooth of any tread. No doubt, Angela would be glad to get the chance to sit down for half an hour or so at the till. A relaxing way to end her workday.

And now - with the entrapped and conveniently positioned face of her 'ideal workman' installed under her check-out stool - even more relaxing.

Angela said a cheery "Hi!" to the waiting shopper. She then pushed the conveyor belt button to start scanning her first customer's groceries.

Just as had happened with the Pixie Lady Miss Lewis, the bottoms of Angela's white cotton ankle-socked heels had popped free of her uniform dark blue leather work flats to reveal their end-of-workday state.

Angela now had Till Number Six check-out girl 'tenure' of me for the next thirty minutes or until the last customer had passed through the till after the 8 o'clock closing time.

Angela wasted no time - she got right down to business. The business of pleasurable relaxation. Angela surprised me by shaking both of her work flats from her feet right from the get-go and letting them fall to the floor to either side of my head. And in the two seconds before her damp white-socked soles found my conveniently positioned face, I saw that the same dark grey tinge of workday sweat stain on the bottoms of her heels was also on the balls of her feet and, a bit darker still, under her toes.

Miss Lewis's Trainee Manager got herself comfortable. Angela showed no inhibition. Angela buried my face in the smelly warmth of her just-unshod end-of-workday white cotton ankle-socked soles, and I inhaled her socked foot scent with the giddy pleasure of an unexpected splendid treat. Also, while I had the chance, I kissed Angela's left white-socked sole in adoration and homage. Angela then cupped my nose under the white-socked toes of her right foot, and as I inhaled ecstatically, Angela rubbed the foot scent of her left foot into the left side of my face. Then, the Trainee Manager Angela cupped my nose under the white-socked toes of her left foot and rubbed the scent of her right foot into the right side of my face - 'scenting' me with her facial foot massage.

Angela's end-of-workday foot scent was very different from Miss Lewis's. But just as intoxicating.

And Angela's soles were narrower than Miss Lewis's, her heels more prominent. Differently shaped, yet just as attractive.

And the same applied to the white-socked soles of my other female Colleagues. They were all different - but all alluring: eye-catching and captivating. When they 'absentmindedly' shoe-played and displayed their white-socked soles to me on the shop floor to enjoy seeing my helpless 'weakness', I could not take my eyes off them. My female Colleagues knew that their foot-teasing enhanced my regard for them and consolidated their power over me.

Like Miss Lewis before her, Angela's interactions with the shoppers at the till played a key part in her facial footplay. Angela's facial footplay was varied and sometimes more active, as influenced by the chatlines of her customers. And again, I found myself hoping for not the drab customers who swapped mundane pleasantries but the cheeky younger male shoppers who would get Angela 'going' with their compliments and flattery. From their engaging and often flirtatious overtures, it was clear that these male shoppers thought Angela had 'something about her'.

But then, there was 'something' about all of my female Colleagues.

And now I anticipated much more - an extravaganza - of this customer-stimulated facial footplay individuality from my other female Colleagues during the follow-on second halves of my future 'Happy Hour' daily rewards at Till Number Six.

I thought of the thrilling variety that awaited me of the heady end-of-workday foot scents and exciting white-socked and unsocked sole 'styles' of my nine female Colleagues. And from Monday, eleven female Colleagues, when the two new girls, Caroline and Denise, started work.

From my experiences with them today, I knew that my female Colleagues would not hold back but would also indulge themselves to the fullest in facial footplay as their check-out girl pastime when it was their turn to follow Miss Lewis for thirty minutes or more until closing time or later at Till Number Six.

To give me my reward. My daily reward - if I earned it.

Till Number Six: the till best suited to the 'purpose'.

After about twenty-five minutes into her check-out stool 'tenure' of me, Angela did what I hoped for - yearned for: what Miss Lewis had done.

Exchanging pleasantries with a lady customer, Angela deftly used the socked toes of her left foot to work off the white cotton ankle sock from her right foot. Angela did it slowly, knowing she was performing my ultimate striptease. Angela slowly revealed the bottom of her right heel, her arch, the ball of her foot, and finally, her toes. At last, Angela let her right sock fall from her toes to the floor beside the right side of my head.

I wondered if Miss Lewis and Angela had got their heads together about this. Was it their shared little joke? About me 'getting off on the right foot'? First, their foot-teasing, and now their white-sock stripteases - with their right foot.

I could barely believe what I now beheld. Mere inches from my face.

I knew already that Miss Lewis's bare soles were perfection. And now, I saw, so were Angela's, albeit in a different way.

Narrow-soled, Angela's bare foot was so beautiful. Angela's toes were somewhat longer than Miss Lewis's, and her heels were more prominent.

Just like the soles of Miss Lewis's feet, Angela's right sole exhibited the signs of much time spent on her feet. It was the lot of a Dali store Colleague. The pads of Angela's toes, the ball of her foot and the bottom of her heel were a reddish pink. Her arch was a captivating pale contrast.

Angela asked the lady customer, "Are you paying with cash or by card?"

The lady customer said, "I'll pay by card, dear."

Utterly awestruck, I gazed at the up-close sight of Angela's now bare right sole. But not for long. Angela cupped the just-unsocked longish toes of her right foot under my nose, rested the ball of her foot on the bridge of my nose, and planted the bottom of her slightly clammy, prominent bare heel in the middle of my forehead for added stability and security.

And, as Angela used my conveniently positioned face as her check-out stool footrest and pastime plaything, the intense sensuality of her bare sole on my face and the heady pungency of her just-unsocked under and in-between-the-toes scent defied description.

Angela then proffered her bare right sole to me, an inch from my face. I knew what for: to allow me to do what she knew perfectly well I had longed to do all day. The so up-close sight of Angela's just-unsocked bare sole thrilled me beyond words. I kissed the bare right sole of my 'Do as I say; hear and obey!' tyrannical taskmistress Angela in adoration - and homage. I pressed my lips to the reddish-pink pads of Angela's longish toes, the ball of her foot, her pale arch, and then lingeringly on the bottom of her prominent heel. My ecstasy, in the moment, defied just description.

The lady customer said, "Um, is... is that a... a man? On the floor? Lying on his back, with his head at your feet, under your check-out stool?"

Angela giggled. As if the very idea was ridiculous.

Angela then plunged the longish toes of her bare right foot into my mouth and clutched my tongue. I wasn't expecting that! Angela squished my tongue between her longish toes - just because she could. Did Angela have no limits? My excitement level was off the scale. Angela's toes were surprisingly strong - she could pull my tongue out if she felt like it. But no - my tongue would serve her. Angela then retracted her foot and inserted her big toe. Staring at the inch-away reddish-pink round bottom of Angela's prominent heel, I tongue-rubbed the pad of her big toe, sucking it like a maniac in the near delirium of unimagined ecstasy and excitement.

The lady customer said, "Well, it looks like a man. I can see his trousers and boots. And I thought I saw his legs move. I am sure I did."

Angela plunged her toes into my mouth again, and I didn't waste a second. I licked between them, savouring the sensation and devouring the salty taste. It was like nothing I could have imagined. I ran my tongue up and down and around Angela's longish toes. Angela then retracted her foot again but left her sole an inch away. I stuck out my tongue, intuiting what Angela wanted me to do next. And I was right. Angela drew the sole of her bare right foot down my protruding tongue, from the pads of her longish toes to the bottom of her prominent heel, again and again, until I had licked away all of her end-of-workday sweat. Angela then pushed the bottom of her heel into my mouth for me to suck on. I duly obliged.

Angela said, "Oh - he's just the store's dummy. We dress him in the new lines of men's workwear. The old lines have sold out. Until the next line comes in, we insert his face into the circular footrest of this check-out stool. It's very comfortable. And he's well-behaved!"

The lady customer laughed hilariously. She said, "That's all right then! You had me going there for a minute. I thought he was a real man under your check-out stool!"

Angela said, "Oh no - he's not a real man. I can put my toes in his mouth - and he doesn't mind a bit!"

The lady shopper laughed hilariously again. Still laughing, the lady customer took her groceries to the counter behind the tills to bag up.

The lady customer was very observant. She had been the only shopper to notice me. Customers were usually fully occupied with their groceries or chatting to the check-out girl. Angela was a smart cookie. She thought on her feet. Another of my female Colleagues might have become flustered if an eagle-eyed shopper spotted me lying on the floor with my head under her check-out stool. No doubt, my lower body would be covered in future.

The observant lady customer was the last shopper to pass through Till Number Six. The store got quiet. I looked at my watch. It was 8:30 pm. My head had been installed under the check-out stool of Till Number Six for ninety minutes. It had seemed more like ninety seconds.

Angela now removed the bottom of her bare right heel from my mouth. She used the bare toes of her right foot to work off the white cotton ankle sock from her left foot, which she let drop to the floor to the left side of my head. It was not another striptease. Angela did it perfunctorily. Angela had already given me my reward and then some!

Angela vacated Till Number Six. She got off the check-out stool and inserted her bare feet into her uniform dark blue leather work flats.

My heart sank when I didn't get to suck and lick clean the bare toes and sole and suck on the heel of Angela's left foot. But - maybe next time.

I retrieved Angela's purposely discarded dirty white cotton ankle socks. I folded them reverently and put them in the right pocket of my work trousers.

I had kept Miss Lewis's and Angela's deliberately discarded dirty white ankle socks apart purposely. I intended to wash them separately. That would be my system. My left trouser pocket was for the discarded dirty white ankle socks of the first Till Number Six occupier, and my right trouser pocket was for the discarded dirty white ankle socks of her follow-on check-out girl.

Angela said, "David - you can come out now. The coast is clear."

I removed my head from inside the circular metal footrest of the check-out stool of Till Number Six and extricated myself from the till space. I looked around. The store was now empty of shoppers. I took off my polystyrene neck protector. Miss Lewis had said the half-piece Champagne bottle cover was for me to use until she found something permanent. But it was a great piece of kit. It not only cushioned my neck. It projected my face to within easy reach of the white-socked or unsocked soles of the check-out stool occupant. Miss Lewis needn't trouble herself. I could use the half-piece impro in future.

I looked at Angela, who this evening had followed on from Miss Lewis's first-go, 30-minute check-out stool 'tenure' of me at Till Number Six.

The Trainee Manager Angela looked back at me directly - knowing I had spent the last hour lying on my back in the till space of Till Number Six with my head inserted into the circular footrest of her check-out stool.

Angela looked at me, knowing we were thinking the same thing.

Angela had used my encaptured, conveniently positioned face as her till stool footrest, indulging in facial footplay as her check-out girl's pastime. Sometimes, more actively, when complimented, flattered or made to laugh by cheeky young male shoppers. Angela had performed what, to me, she knew would be my ultimate striptease. Knowing, full well, what she was doing to me - the lustful excitement she was engendering and my desperate yearning to adore her. Angela had then proffered the sole of her bare right foot, an inch from my face, to kiss adoringly and in homage to her. As she knew I wanted to. Angela had then inserted her toes into my mouth to suck on and lick between. Then, she had repeatedly run the length of her bare right sole along my protruding tongue, from the pads of her longish toes to the bottom of her heel, to lick clean of her end-of-workday sweat. Angela had then pushed the bottom of her reddish-pink prominent heel into my mouth - to tongue-massage the symbol of her total authority over me.

And given all of that, why wouldn't Angela look at me directly - with such confident assurance?

Angela had not been untruthful in telling the observant lady customer she had put her toes in the mouth of the store's dummy.

Angela said, "David, have you got the socks?"

I felt my face burning. I said, "Yes, Angela."

Angela said, "Both pairs?"

I said, "Yes, Angela." I patted my trouser pockets. I said, "Miss Lewis's socks are in my left pocket. Yours are in my right pocket, Angela."

Angela said, "David, do I take it, then, that you want to wash our dirty socks for us? For me, and Miss Lewis - and the dirty socks of your female Colleagues? Two pairs every night? Seven days a week?"

My face was on fire. I said, "Yes, Angela. I want to wash them for you."

Angela said, "David - it is good that you have kept our dirty socks separate. Always keep our dirty socks separate. Wash them separately, too. And then bag our washed socks separately. I will supply the bags."

I said, "Yes, Angela. I will."

Angela said, "David - I knew you would want to wash our dirty white socks for us. A personal service like no other. To demonstrate the depths of your respect for your female Colleagues. David - am I right?"

I said, "Yes, Angela. You are right. I want to demonstrate the depths of my respect for Miss Lewis and for you, for all of my female Colleagues."

Angela said, "So, David, I have three items for you. A box of soap powder, a pack of plastic bags, and a roll of sticky labels. Let me - or Miss Lewis - know when you are running low."

I said, "Yes, Angela. I will."

Angela gave me an Economy-size box of the Dali store's washing powder formulated for softer fabrics. On the box of Dazzle, I saw the lofty claims: 'Soap powder of the year!' and 'Gets your whites white!' and 'Removes the stubbornest of sweat stains!' and 'Just a 10-minute hot-water soak - and then, simply hand-wash!'

Angela said, "David - I expect dazzling results, as it were. A job worth doing is a job worth doing well. Run a few inches of steaming hot water into a small plastic bowl. Add a heaped tablespoon of Dazzle to the bowl and stir the water until it forms a good froth. Put Miss Lewis's dirty white socks in the bowl. Leave them to soak for ten minutes. Then, hand-wash Miss Lewis's dirty white socks until spotless - and I mean spotless. Rinse the clean socks thoroughly under the cold water tap and then hand-wring them. Then, rinse the bowl to repeat the hand-washing process with my dirty white socks. Iron the socks dry while damp. Seven days a week - that will be your routine evening ritual. Hand-washing two pairs of our dirty white socks. Return our washed and ironed socks to us the next day. Got it?"

I said, "Yes, Angela. Got it. You expect dazzling results. You require the two pairs of hand-washed and ironed socks to be returned to their owners on the next workday."

Angela looked at me, marvelling at my unwavering compliance. Angela's expression said: Unbelievable! You will do anything for us! Won't you?

Angela now held an Economy-size pack of the Dali store's clear plastic food bags. Angela said, "David - five hundred plastic bags. Enough to keep you going for a while." Angela tore off the first two clear plastic bags and said, "Always use two of these plastic bags. Two bags: Put one pair of washed and ironed socks in one bag and the other in the second. Got it?"

I said, "Yes, Angela. One bag for each pair of washed and ironed socks. Got it."

Angela now held an Economy-size roll of the Dali store's sticky white labels. "David - a pack of five hundred sticky labels." Angela peeled off the first two sticky white labels and stuck one on each of the two clear plastic food bags. Angela took a blue Biro pen from her uniform jacket pocket. In her distinctive, flamboyant handwriting, Angela wrote on the white label of one of the clear plastic food bags: Miss Lewis. On the white label on the second clear plastic food bag, Angela wrote: Angela.

Angela said, "David - there. I have prepared the first two bags for you. So - this is what you do. Label two bags and put the relevant pair of washed and ironed socks in each labelled bag. To avoid any mix-ups. Am I clear?"

I had the Economy-size box of Dazzle, the kind formulated for the hand-washing of softer fabrics. Angela now handed me the Economy-size pack of clear plastic food bags and the Economy-size roll of sticky white labels. The wherewithal for performing my 'service like no other'.

I wanted to tell Angela that any job I did for her was a pleasure and an honour. But I just said, "Yes, Angela. And I will remember: dazzling results. Because a job worth doing is a job worth doing well."

Angela looked at me directly. Angela said, "David - tell me! Miss Lewis said you wanted to... get off on the right foot. David... Miss Lewis is right. Isn't she?"

Of course, I knew what Angela meant.

There was no point in denial. Angela had said it herself: She could read me like a book.

Feeling my face warming up again, I said, "Yes, Angela. I want to... get off on the right foot."

Angela said, "David - when you get home tonight, are you going to get off on Miss Lewis's right foot?"

My face aflame, I said, "Yes, Angela."

Angela said, "David - and what about me? Are you going to get off on my right foot?"

My face ablaze, I said, "Yes, Angela."

Angela stared at me in apparent satisfaction.

Angela said, "Tuesday is Miss Lewis's usual weekday off. So, tomorrow I will be watching the shop, as it were. And so, as acting supervisor, tomorrow evening at seven o'clock, I will have the first half hour of your Happy Hour daily reward at Till Number Six. And followed, until closing time - or until the last customer has passed through the till - by one of your female Colleagues. This will be done by alphabetical order."

Again, knowing that Angela wanted my short and to-the-point answers and not a conversation with her abject underling, I said, "Yes, Angela."

I thought through the ABC listing of my female Colleagues. Following on from Angela, tomorrow evening then would be... Dolores.

Angela said, "Unless I am standing in as acting supervisor for Miss Lewis on her usual weekday off or when working my alternate Sunday, along with your other female Colleagues, I will have to wait for my fair turn to give you your daily reward at Till Number Six."

I thought, Well, you won't have a long wait, then, will you - Angela.

I said, "Yes, Angela."

Angela said, "David, I am happy with your first day at Dali."

Angela looked at me directly. And now I could read her like a book.

It was like telepathy.

Angela's expression said: Yes, David - I like working you like a rented mule. And - as your actual reward, at Till Number Six - using your face as my till stool footrest and pastime plaything. And why? Because I like having your face installed under my stinky end-of-workday feet. To play with as a bored check-out girl's pastime. To perform a white-sock striptease for you with my right foot - to help you get off on the right foot! To let you see my white-socked and then my bare soles from inches away. To let you adore them. To let you inhale my foot scent. To let you suck my toes and lick in between them. To let you lick my sweaty sole clean from toe to heel. To let you suck the bottom of my heel - to slavishly tongue-massage the symbol of my total authority over you. And yes - to let you kiss the soles of my feet. As you did this evening - in absolute worship. Absolute worship - for bossing you around all day like a power-crazed harridan and foot-teasing you. And on top of all that, several times a week, you will wash and iron-dry my dirty white socks for me.

I felt my face burning crimson. Why was I still standing - face-to-face with Angela? I should be on my knees. I felt compelled to go to my knees and kiss the tops of Angela's unsocked feet in homage.

But I just said, "Yes, Angela."

Angela said, "Okay. David - we are all done here for tonight. You can clock off. I will see you tomorrow. And, David - keep up the good work. Work hard and serve us well. If you want your daily reward at Till Number Six."

I said, "Yes, Angela."

Angela said, "David - one more thing."

I said, "Yes, Angela?"

Before she let me go, Angela gave me one further instruction to strictly adhere to.

Implicit in Angela's tyrannical tone was her unspoken but unmistakable edict: 'Do as I say; hear and obey!'.

I promised Angela that I would.

***

I had been getting off on the right foot.

For the past month, seven days a week, twice a night without fail - I had been getting off on the right foot.

And urgently, I had been rushing straight home after my long day at work to do it.

The build-up of yearning desire every day was an exquisite torment.

The Trainee Manager, Angela, had said it herself.

Miss Lewis, Angela, and my female Colleagues would soon get used to having me at their beck and call as their all-purpose go-to guy: their trolleying guy, their clean-up guy, their cardboard guy - and taking their turns with me at Till Number Six to give me my daily reward. But for me, the novelty would not wear off.

It had started on Day 1, with my head inserted into the circular metal footrest of the Till Number Six check-out stool from 7 pm until the last customer passed through the till, well after the 8 pm closing time, after I had worked my butt off all day to earn my daily reward, 'Happy Hour'.

To initiate me, the Dali supermarket supervisor - the Pixie Lady, Miss Lewis herself. With her first-go 30-minute Till Number Six check-out girl 'tenure' of me, Miss Lewis occupied me first. Followed - until the last customer had passed through the till - by the Trainee Manager, Angela.

When I got home that evening, I could not wait. My need was immediate and undeniable. Half insane with the pent-up excitement from my daily reward, Happy Hour, I raced upstairs to pay my worshipful devotions. First to Miss Patricia Lewis and then to the Trainee Manager, Angela.

I had got off on their right foot.

I was already on the edge, teased on the shopfloor all day by my shoe-playing female Colleagues. And so, reliving some of the more active customer-stimulated facial foot-playing by Miss Lewis and then, right after, reliving some of the highlights of the highly dominant Angela's facial foot-playing, getting off on their right foot, was a short-lasting affair.

My devotions duly done, I had gone downstairs to hand-wash and iron-dry Miss Lewis's and Angela's dirty white socks. A personal service like no other.

I adhered to the Trainee Manager Angela's instructions exactly. I kept Angela's and Miss Lewis's dirty white socks apart and washed them separately. I washed the Pixie Lady Miss Lewis's dirty white socks first. I ran a few inches of steaming hot water into a small plastic bowl, added a heaped tablespoon of the Dali store's award-winning Dazzle softer-fabric formulation soap powder for hand-washing and stirred the water to a good froth. I let Miss Lewis's dirty white socks soak in the solution for ten minutes. In the still-hot water, I washed Miss Lewis's dirty white socks, hand-working the stubborn areas of the sweat-stained soles until I had achieved the 'dazzling results' Angela required. I rinsed the washed socks thoroughly under the cold water tap and then handwringed them dry. I then rinsed the small plastic bowl to repeat the process with Angela's dirty white socks. Again, I performed my self-imposed duty diligently.

For seven days a week, it was my evening routine.

And I looked forward to it.

My personal service, like no other.

My female Colleagues worked me like a rented mule - and I adored them for it. I did all of the drudge work. Because that was for me to do now. Then, every evening - as my actual reward - Miss Lewis or Angela, and then their follow-on used my conveniently positioned face at Till Number Six as their till stool footrest and pastime plaything. And I worshipped them as they scanned groceries on the conveyor belt and chatted with their customers.

Inducing their drudge-work cardboard-managing clean-up guy 'man about the place' to 'get off on the right foot' every night as his daily reward for working like a rented mule was the in-joke of the Pixie Lady Miss Lewis, the Trainee Manager Angela and my other female Colleagues.

It was a game to them. My female Colleagues would prime me with their 'absentminded' shoe-playing when I might walk by or work near them on the shop floor. Some of them were real minxes. Superb teasers.

And, when their turn came around to sit on the check-out stool of Till Number Six for the second part of my Happy Hour after Miss Lewis or Angela had vacated it after having their privileged first turn with me, the incumbent female Colleague too would perform what she knew to be my ultimate striptease. After getting comfortable with her facial footrest and 'scenting' me with her end-of-workday white-socked soles, she would slowly work off her right sock with the socked toes of her left foot.

And my female Colleagues were all adept 'stripteasers'. I never failed to get worked up by their striptease performance. Never failed to gaze in awe and longing at the up-close sight of their end-of-workday just-unsocked right sole. Gaze in awe - at their sheer allure. Gaze in longing - yearning to pay due homage.

My female Colleagues did not need to tell me they looked forward to their turn to sit on the check-out stool at Till Number Six to participate in the second part of my Happy Hour daily reward, from 7-30 pm until 8 pm closing time or later, to receive my homage. But they did anyway.

Due to the alphabetic order turn-taking system, my female Colleagues knew when it was their turn for Till Number Six follow-on tenure.

And so did I.

Yes - my female Colleagues liked to tease me all day on the shop floor with their shoeplaying displays. And they enjoyed the inevitable payoff.

My female Colleagues loved having me kiss their feet in adoration and homage. They loved having me sniff their end-of-workday white-socked and just-unsocked bare soles. They loved having their toes sucked and licked between. They loved running their just-unsocked bare right sole repeatedly from toe to heel over my protruding tongue to lick clean of their end-of-workday sweat. And finally, in a fitting culmination of their Till Number Six follow-on tenure of me, my female Colleagues liked me to suck on the bottom of their bare right heel - to tongue-massage the symbol of their total authority over me.

And - to help me get off on their right foot.

My female Colleagues had all looked at me directly - and told me as much. And why wouldn't they? Assured with such confidence - knowing Miss Lewis's absolute authority over me extended to them.

Neither was I disappointed with my female Colleagues' differing white-socked and bare sole 'styles'. Never less than thrilled with the uniqueness of their end-of-workday under-the-toes scents. Always aroused by the exciting individualities of their customer-stimulated facial foot-playing during their Till Number Six check-out girl follow-on tenure of me.

Tonight, and for the 21st time, I had got off on the right foot of Miss Lewis. Then, right after, I got off on the right foot of her Till Number Six check-out girl follow-on this evening.

Miss Lewis's follow-on this evening was Caroline.

Caroline is a minx. A particularly thrilling Till Number Six follow-on check-out stool occupier. Caroline - not for the first time - had me rushing home straight after work, desperate to 'honour' her in the most profound way.

But then - didn't all of my female Colleagues?

All of my female Colleagues could pull it off - get me to run home to pull my pudding in their honour.

Tonight - to demonstrate the depth of my respect for them, with a personal service like no other - I had washed by hand and iron-dried first Miss Lewis's and then my female Colleague Caroline's dirty white socks. And then, as always, following the explicit instructions the Trainee Manager Angela gave me a month ago, I bagged and labelled Miss Lewis's and Caroline's clean and nicely ironed white ankle socks to return to them at work tomorrow, with my compliments.

This was always the second of my two nightly rituals: Hand-washing two pairs of my Dali store female Colleagues' dirty white socks, ironing them dry, bagging and labelling them for prompt return.

Always my second ritual - because my first ritual could never wait.

Caroline was one of the two new female Colleagues who started work at my local Dali discount store three weeks ago - the other girl was Denise.

Miss Lewis had told me that word had got out, and the two new female Colleagues, Caroline and Denise, both looked forward to working with me.

Very soon, I found out why.

Sandra was a friend of Caroline and Denise. Sandra had wasted no time in informing the between-jobs Caroline and Denise about the splendid new benefits of working as a shopfloor Colleague at their local Dali. Now that they had a man about the place. The right kind of man. That the benefits went far beyond no more broken fingernails. Sandra had put in a good word for Caroline and Denise with Miss Lewis to fill the two vacancies.

Caroline and Denise were not stunners - but neither were they plain. They had a Girl-next-door appeal. And they had 'something about them'. And the more I looked, the more I saw. And the more I saw, the more I liked.

For the last three weeks, Caroline and Denise had driven me nuts with their 'absentminded' shoeplaying displays whenever I walked past them or worked nearby on the shop floor. They knew what they were doing to me. And they loved doing it. They saw the tell-tale bulge of my helpless arousal - and the two white-socked witches laughed and giggled to themselves about it. I was locked in their power. And they knew it.

Caroline and Denise loved having me at their beck and call as their all-purpose go-to guy. Ordering me to trolley pallets for them, to open their cardboard boxes, and bossily sending me to perform clean-up jobs. And I adored them for it. And, once they had me at Till Number Six, at the white-socked and then unsocked soles of their end-of-workday feet, I worshipped them in the frantic fervour of ardent adoration and homage.

I had awaited Caroline's first turn with me at Till Number Six with much anticipation. And again tonight, Caroline - and I - had made the most of it.

Caroline had driven me insane with her end-of-workday white-socked and just-unsocked, customer-stimulated facial foot-playing. My desire for Caroline, off-the-scales, I had kissed her stinky bare right sole with lust-crazed passion as she scanned her customers' groceries on the conveyor belt. In a near delirium of ecstatic abandon, I had inhaled the fragrant fumes of her under and in-between-the-toes scent. I had licked Caroline's traversing bare right sole from toe to heel, devouring the incredible flavour and cleansing it of her end-of-workday sweat. And finally, in a befitting finale to Caroline's follow-on Till Number Six check-out girl's 'tenure' of me, I had sucked the bottom of her bare right heel - to tongue-massage the symbol of her absolute power over me.

And, with her name coming up next on the ABC turn-taking system, my female Colleague, who was due to have her next Till Number Six check-out girl's follow-on turn with me tomorrow evening, from 7:30 until 8:00 closing time or until the last customer passed through her till, was Denise.

So - tomorrow was another day.

Another day of working at my local Dali discount store.

First and foremost, for Miss Patricia Lewis - the Pixie Lady.

Somehow, I knew I would not regret my drastic career change.

***

With Miss Lewis's and my female Colleague Caroline's washed and ironed white ankle socks bagged and labelled for prompt return, I headed upstairs to bed.

As always, I was exhausted.

As I had done now for the last month, I took a moment to look at the 'original' on my bedroom wall.

To look at what was behind the clear perspex of the two-foot by one-foot picture frame that I had put up after working my first day at my local Dali.

Two clear plastic food bags. Both were empty. Each of them was labelled.

Written, in blue ink, on the sticky white label on one empty bag: Miss Lewis.

Written on the sticky white label on the other empty bag: Angela.

Written - in distinctive, flamboyant handwriting.

Angela's handwriting.

***

Even after working all day like a rented mule, getting to sleep at night was never easy.

There was too much on my mind.

Even after paying my devotions twice, I always wanted to get off again - on the foot-teasing recollections of a third female Colleague.

There was a lot of choice.

But, as always, I restrained myself from overindulgence.

Angela had said: No.

Angela had denied me.

Angela had forbidden me - at the end of Day One.

Therefore, I adhered strictly to Angela's unspoken but unmistakable edict: 'Do as I say; hear and obey!'

For the same reason, I must take my tea breaks at work.

To prevent burnout.

The End.