Patheticus Minimus 3D

A Handmaiden’s Triumph A collaborative work by Slaves Paul and Nylonsniff The above image ( A Handmaiden , by FD Millet ) is free of known copyright restrictions. Following the recent explosive success of the celebrated Professor Cartwright’s ‘A Slave’s Tale’, translated from ‘Servus Narrat’ , another priceless artefact of Gynarchy history has been unearthed and translated, entitled ‘A Handmaiden’s Triumph’ (‘Exaltationis est Ancilla’). This smaller record, found on the entombed body of its writer, Mistress Julia, from the ancient Gynarchy town of Slave Oris (‘Slave Toil’ in Latin), was to be the much awaited sequel in this ancient record of slavery! Mistress Julia was herself a slave! It seems hard to believe in today’s modern Gynarchy that any woman could be considered anything less than a Goddess! However her celebrated journals, that so accurately recorded and portrayed life in the ancient Gynarchy, serve as a potent reminder of who always wins through in the end – WOMEN!

Author’s note: I am indebted to regular reader Derek for the inspiration behind this story. There are a whole host of tiny, secret foot-prisons, known as ‘footslave-oubliettes’, scattered throughout the Gynarchy, in which individual footslave-prisoners are confined and forgotten about (colloquially they are sometimes referred to as ‘forget-me-rots’!) They are, fundamentally, ground-level grilles below which the slave is confined on his back, face upwards, so that all he can see are the soles of his female betters’ shoes, sneakers and boots through the mesh. Indeed, the slave is oftentimes reliant on those female shoe, sneaker and bootsoles for his sustenance, since the mud dropping off them onto his face is a necessary supplement to the meagre rations of dirty slave-food his ‘minders’ very occasionally drop through the grille. Many footslave-oubliette prisoners are so permanently hungry, they will even actively tongue the dirt from the dirty sole-treads of their female masters who a

Here it is – another winner from slave Paul, and a real treat for all you stocks-lovers out there! My Life in the Planks By Slave Paul ‘Not yet, another day should do it; you look truly pathetic in your wooden bonds!’ was a phrase that the downtrodden and defeated slave Paul would frequently hear from his stunningly beautiful Mistress as she stroked the key to his freedom over his nose. His fall from grace as a personal footslave had been so swift, he could hardly remember how it had happened. Paul once again found himself languishing in the cold, heavy and extremely tight rough grip of the ground-level, back-yard, kneeling pillory. He had hoped that he would finally be released today and allowed to accompany his precious Mistress back to the warmth and safety of the cottage she owned. But once again he was disappointed by the phrase that left her glossy red full lips: ‘Not yet, another day should do it; you look truly pathetic in your wooden bonds!’ This was a phrase he had

It can be a cold and lonely place – being confined in the local, sink-estate, kneeling stocks late at night, when the good folks of the neighbourhood have finished mocking you for the day and retired to their respective, warm and cosy flats or houses to smoke crack. Only the owls come out at night to hoot their wise old derision at you. But there is, occasionally, some kindly human soul who is equally prepared to brave the autumnal cold and darkness in order to keep a helpless prisoner-slave in the night-stocks company, and tonight I am graced by the presence of one such selfless, young lady of the Gynarchy. I don't recognise her or know her name, but I do know that she looks very pretty, well wrapped-up as she is against the frosty, autumnal air in her thick, black anorak and matching, black-denim, bell-bottom jeans. I also admire her cheap-looking, plain black leather loafers, and the occasional flash of what appears to be incongruously white sock, as she smilingly makes her