Patheticus Minimus 3D

Tale No. 3 – Sweet, feminine justice ‘To be ‘up before the beak’ for the first time in your life when you are in your late forties is a frightening experience for anyone. To be appearing before an 18 year-old Lady-Magistrate in the Gynarchy of Barbaria when you are a male footslave in your late forties is a truly terrifying experience – especially when you have already been found guilty of the heinous crime of female-sock theft! Not that I am guilty, technically speaking. I am perfectly innocent in the sense that I did not commit the crime. Nevertheless I am guilty in the eyes of the superior Female Law, as my accuser is a young woman in her mid twenties. In the Gynarchy of Barbaria if a free woman accuses a male slave of a crime he is automatically deemed to be guilty – and rightly so, for women are the superiors of men, and women can do no wrong. As a self-evidently inferior male slave I have to acknowledge that this is how it should be. As I am facing sweet, feminine justice, howe

Tale no. 18 – The Galley Slave ‘I was a galley slave in Ancient Barbaria. I worked on board the barge of the beautiful Princess Nefertiti of Barbaria, although we galley slaves never got to actually see the princess herself. Apparently she couldn’t bear the stench of our sweaty bodies down in the galley, and preferred to stay in her own, luxurious quarters on the upper deck of her opulent barge. We galley slaves were chained up in rows of three men to an oar, on either side of a central, raised, wooden gangway, on the lower deck of the barge. I never got to know the names of the two other slaves I was chained beside on my oar, as talking amongst the slaves was completely prohibited. We were only permitted to talk to our taskmistresses – and then in humble slave-speak, and only to beg for their sweet, feminine mercy or to praise and bless them for whipping us. Fortunately for me, however, I was chained at the end of the row right next to the central gangway, so I had a good view of our

Tale no. 4 - The Foot-Fool ‘I am employed as a ‘foot-fool’ in the lobby entrance to an exhibition on ‘The History of Male Slavery in the Gynarchy of Barbaria’. The exhibition is permanent and attracts many tourists on a daily basis – mainly female, and many of them from overseas. Free males are also welcome to attend the exhibition, but, unlike the women, they have to pay a small entrance fee. The exhibition is only open to adults aged 18 or over. My specific role is to greet all the female guests (and only the female guests) as they enter the exhibition by humbly and respectfully kissing their feet. I am secured in a kneeling position, with my head humbly bowed, over a wooden footblock on the floor on which the ladies can place their feet for kissing. My role is to make them feel welcome, happy and relaxed. Therefore, to lighten the mood, I am forced to wear a ‘foot-fool’s’ mask. This consists of a black rubber mask which completely covers my ugly, slave face apart from slits for m

Tale no. 19 – ‘Little Toe’   ‘The year was 1790 and I was in a spot of bother in the Smoky mountains. I had been captured by the Cherokee Indians as I was attempting to sell guns to their rival tribe, the Shawnee. As the Cherokee braves led me, bound and tethered to a rope that was trailed behind one of their horses, into their camp, I could see from the look on the fully headdressed Cherokee Indian Chief’s face that he was not best pleased at me! He barked an order at his braves, and the next thing I knew I was unceremoniously stripped of my shirt and tied upside down to a totem pole in the middle of their village, my upside-down face resting just a few inches above the dusty ground. I thought they were going to kill me, but my Cherokee masters were nothing if not merciful. Instead the Chief barked another order in the Cherokee language, and within seconds a row of about 50 eager, young, native-American women were lining up beside the totem pole, giggling and laughing at the paleface

Tale no 16. – Thai Bride ‘Life as a public footslave in the central square of Barbaria is, of course, full of daily humiliations. How else would it be, when you are compelled to kneel over a wooden footblock all day long, kissing and licking and smelling the dirty feet and footwear of often extremely arrogant and imperious young women? But it can be even worse than that. For me, the biggest humiliation is when I am required to make another man look good in front of his female partner. Free men in the Gynarchy of Barbaria just love to ‘lord it over’ we humble, male footslaves as a way of impressing their girlfriends, and ‘lording it over’ us usually takes the form of directing exactly how we honour and obey their girlfriends’ or wives’ or fiancées’ feet and/or footwear as we carry out our public duties. What puts me in mind of all this is an incident which occurred yesterday afternoon. It was a lovely, bright, hot and sunny day in the square – lovely and hot, that is, for the free wome

Tale no. 7 – 70 X 7 ‘My 22 year old mistress, mistress Tabitha, is a great believer in ritual. She has me kiss her feet 70 times, on 7 separate occasions, at set times throughout each and every day – as a demonstration of my undying respect and adoration for her. My mistress never speaks to me, because she regards me as being too far below her in the food chain to be worth speaking to. By the same token I am totally forbidden to speak to her. I am what’s known in the Gynarchy as a ‘dumb’ footslave. So ritualistically kissing her feet throughout the day is the only way I can express my submissiveness and adoration towards my superior mistress, just as her whip does all the talking for her and expresses, when necessary, her justifiable and righteous anger and contempt for me. My mistress Tabitha is a beautiful, slim, rather petite, swarthy-skinned mistress of Romany origins – though her family are no longer travellers and live in a large council house. She has long, black curly locks fra

Tale no. 6 – Cold and Lonely ‘Cold! I am freezing cold – cold and alone in my public footslave-cubicle. For it is winter, and it is late at night. Almost midnight. Not many people out and about in the wind and rain swept town square tonight. My footslave-cubicle offers some protection against the elements, for it resembles a toilet cubicle. It has 3 sides, a roof, and a door with a lock on the inside– all to provide privacy for the female-customer whilst she is having her shoes or boots licked clean. The walls and roof are not actually there for my protection or comfort, you understand! Nevertheless, I benefit from the design of my workplace. It is also dark inside the cubicle – for the only light is a spotlight which shines down from the roof at an angle onto the wooden footrest in front of which I am chained and kneeling – the footrest on which the female customer, if there was one, would rest her superior feet as she sits in the ‘seat of power’ in front and above me, her feet restin

Tale no. 15 – A Rude Awakening ‘It was 03:00 A.M and I was fast asleep, my head resting on the wooden footblock to which it is permanently chained. As a public footslave I have to sleep outside – on my hands and knees and chained to my wooden footblock, because I am technically never off duty. The State employs me as a public footslave 24 hours a day, 365 days a year and so, according to the Law, any woman can approach me at any time of the day or night in order to have her shoes or boots licked. Fortunately, however, it is relatively rare for me to have any customers after midnight, given the location of my public footblock – round the back of a suburban train station which itself closes at 11:30 P.M. I do, of course, get the occasional drunken, young woman in the small hours of the morning, usually accompanied by her boyfriend, who have both been out clubbing and have maybe missed their last train home. What better way for them to kill time than to tease and torment the public footsl