Patheticus Minimus 3D

Regular customer mistress miss Mukta madam, and her husband master Simon sir, have stopped by to kindly inform me that they are heading off to the airport on their vacation, and so I won’t be seeing them for the next two weeks or so. Miss Mukta madam even kindly lets me kiss her dirty sneakers goodbye, and suggests to me that, as she knows I like looking at her socks so much, I should ‘memorise’ the socks she has on, so that I can visualise them in my mind whilst she is away. She then ‘apologises’ for the fact that she is wearing a pair of ‘manky, old, black socks’ today, but graciously explains that all her ‘nice’ socks are packed up in her suitcase. Still, she suggests I should study the weave of her black socks, as at least that will give me something to think about whilst she is away sunning herself in India with her husband. I thank mistress Mukta madam kindly for showing me her black socks, and confirm that I will indeed think of them everyday whilst she is away. I then humbly wi

This public feetslave has been entered for so long in the same spot he has weeds growing around his neck. A weed amongst weeds! Needless to say, his customers are not weeds. Unlike him, they are strong and mighty!

Here’s another one from before the days of the footblock… The beautiful and noble, young African woman has already informed me that if I fail to remove all the dirt from her black leather ankleboots with my tongue, she will beat me about the face with her whip! The sight of the aforementioned whip hovering in the frosty, winter air behind her thick and warming, argyle-patterned kneesocks spurs me to lick her boots with the utmost care and attention I can muster.  Thankfully, my tongue does the job, and when she does turn to walk away from me her boots are pristine clean – sparing me any blushes from the whip!

The following account of his humble existence was provided by the head-in-the-wall footslave before the Gynarchy Authorities did him the honour of placing a wooden footblock beneath his gormless, footkissing face (and a wall-whip over his humble head). But it still gives an insight into just how pathetic he is! So you want to know what it’s really like being a head-in-the-wall footslave in the Gynarchy of Barbaria? Well, I have been such a slave for nigh on 15 years now – in fact, all my adult life. And I shall remain so until my dying day, in this very same spot. So I am actually well placed to tell you what it’s like! The first thing you will notice are my not very salubrious surroundings. I am located in a dark and dingy, dead-end alleyway, surrounded by rubbish and detritus. This is actually quite common for public footslaves in the Gynarchy. We are regarded, quite correctly, as things to be ashamed of; things, almost, to be hidden away, since we are the lowest of the low and subhu

I’ve managed to locate the images of the first customer-mistress to ever use me after the Gynarchy authorities decided to place a wooden footblock-crate beneath my futile face. They considered that it would be much more humbling for me to have to kiss (or lick) the arrogantly outstretched and raised feet of my betters, than it would be to merely kiss their outstretched feet on the dirty ground. What do you think? At least it avoids any confusion, for, in the past I sometimes mistook a foot on the ground as being presented to me for kissing, when the mistress or master was actually just standing next to me enjoying their cigarette, with no need or desire to have their feet kissed. I was severely punished many times for making such a mistake. Now I know that a foot resting on the block is intended for kissing – or licking if I am specifically ordered to lick. So my instructions are much clearer than they were before! Plus, I think my customers look even more cool whilst they are havin