Patheticus Minimus 3D

Be afraid, male dungeon slave! Be very afraid – and work hard! For you are toiling under the supervision of the most fearsome and demanding type of overseer known to mankind – the female!

It’s a bitterly cold night. But at least the smart, young, Asian woman, having her boots lick-cleaned by the exposed head-in-the-wall footslave, is well wrapped up against the cold

The municipal footslave is evidently a source of great amusement for these three bright and intelligent, young women of the Gynarchy as they pose for photographs around him. Note how the Chinese girl is also carrying a dirty old stick, which she is presumably planning to use to torment the head-in-the-wall footslave even further. What would you like to see her do to him? Ø   Hit him across the face with her stick? Ø   Poke him in the eye with her stick? Ø   Poke him in the mouth with her stick? Ø   Rub dirt into his eyes, ears and mouth with the end of her stick? Ø   All 4 of the above? Ø   Or perhaps you have some other ideas as to how she could utilise the stick to humiliate his helpless face? Either way, it should be good fun to watch!

She’s a highly successful, rich and powerful, beautiful young Asian businesswoman in her early thirties who is clearly going places. Whereas I am nothing but a raggedy-assed, wizened and ugly old public footslave in my early seventies, with whipmarks on my back. I am not even worthy to touch her socks – but that doesn’t prevent me from eyeing them up and admiring them whilst I tongue shine her boots. See how my beady old eye is glued to the top of the Asian customer-mistress’s grey cotton bootsock – studying the weave of her sock, and in particular the vertical lines of stitching forming soft cotton grooves along which I would dearly love to run my ugly nose, as a demonstration of my footslavish respect for her sock. But such intimate contact with a lady’s superior foot garment is never afforded to a public footservant such as myself. I can look but not touch. And, as she climbs down from the chair to walk away from me – without so much as a word of thanks or praise for my public-boo...

In the Gynarchy of Barbaria, laundromats employ dirty-sock washer slaves to hand-wash the customers’ dirty socks. Everything else can go into the automatic washing machines, but the sock – being the humblest of human garments – is considered fit for a footslave to wash separately and individually, and to do so with the utmost slavish respect and humility since a dirty sock is imbued with its wearer’s superior footsweat and foot-DNA. Here we see a bright and intelligent, young woman of the Gynarchy gleefully bringing a bag full of her, and her boyfriend’s, dirty socks to add to the public sock-washer’s stinky workload. See how condescendingly she looks down upon him. She is, quite rightly, laughing at him – the washer of other people’s dirty, sweaty socks! Even though he has a large pile of socks to wash, the slave is obliged by law to spend a lot of time on each individual sock, and to wash it in a prescribed manner, to wit: ·          He must beg...

The bright and intelligent, young woman asks me if I am frightened of her, and of what she might do to my face with the whip? I reply that I am indeed trembling with fear, as I am nothing but a helpless, head-in-the-wall footservant who is humbly at her service and at her mercy. She laughs and whips me hard across the face – several times.

The whip’s embrace Contorts my face As it slashes my back With an almighty crack The whip’s sting Makes me to sing In agony pain As it slices again The whip’s flay Makes me to pray To its wielder for mercy For sweet feminine pity The whipsting’s enormity Causes conformity Makes for compliance In lieu of defiance And so I kiss feet Begging not to be beat And lip respect boot From the rim to the root Such is the power of the female whip To ensure a footslave’s discipleship!

In the glorious Gynarchy of Barbaria, every pedestrian crossing as a human feetwipe for pedestrians to wipe their feet on prior to crossing the road!

The park-alcove footslave is surrounded by the feet and footwear of his betters as a group of friends relax around him on a bright and sunny, autumnal day: Points to note about this scene are that: ·          The happy couple seated on the bench and resting their feet at the back of the slave’s head (or, indeed, on his head in the case of the blond master-sir) are clearly in their own little world of mutual love and adoration ·          Judging by the mud on the bottom of the young woman’s purple flip flops, this group of friends must have been out walking in the park. Still, they will all be able to scrape the mud off the soles of their shoes onto the slave’s head – should they so desire to ·          Meanwhile, the young woman with the partially shaven, burgundy-red hair is utilising the stepping-stone footslave to have her bare feet kiss-worshipped inside her cork-...

Regular customer-mistress, mistress Mukta madam, has come to show off her new socks to me. She kindly explains, as she hitches up her jean hem in order to display her new sock to my face, that these socks were a gift to her from her husband Simon, and, having also informed me that she thinks they are wonderful, she graciously condescends to ask me for my slavish opinion of them, given that she knows I am a pathetic sock fancier. In between my kisses to her dirty sneakers, I first of all thank the mistress for soliciting my opinion of her new socks, and then extol their virtues, saying that I too think they are the most wonderful pair of socks I have ever seen – truly a pair of socks fit for a goddess. I then go into humble detail as to precisely why I am so enamoured by her socks, focussing on not just the intricate, pink, white and grey, camouflage pattern in the sock, but also the overall texture of the sock, and the creases and folds in her sock as she stretches her foot out onto th...