Patheticus Minimus 3D

‘Kiss my feet please, slave, and make sure you press down hard with your mouth. I want to feel your lackey-boy lips on my toes through my sneaker and sock!’ Whenever Ms Mukta encounters a head-in-the-wall footslave in a rough part of town she makes a point of politely, but firmly, having him kiss her feet in public – much to the amusement and approbation of the free males in the vicinity. It’s as if she is marking her territory, and making sure the local humble head knows who is boss!

A humble head In a humble hatch With a humble demeanour to match. All he can see Are his gaolers’ feet Which his lips must humbly greet. His neck is sore At the bottom of the door Yet still he yearns for more. For his only respite Is the wonderful sight Of his gaoler’s socks – so bright. What a wimp and a fool As he kneels in the dirt Begging not to be hurt. For he knows the sting Of his gaoler’s whip Which hangs from her shapely hip! She pushes his head Back into his cell Back into his living hell. And leaves with a grin On her pretty face As the ruler of this lonely place.

The door of my solitary confinement cell has a metal hatch at the bottom, through which the guards can place their booted feet for kissing. Oftentimes it’s my only contact with the world outside my cell for months on end! But my guard-mistresses are very kind, and occasionally they will arrange for a civilian prison-visitor mistress to present her feet to me through the hatch for kissing. One such ‘regular’ visitor-mistress is Ms Mukta madam, whose dirty sneakers are a joy to behold and to kiss – a joy because I at least get to taste on my lowly lips where she has been walking on the outside (though I am, sadly, forbidden to lick my betters’ footwear since my sentence is specifically to kiss feet for the rest of my life). Even the sight of her civilian sock brightens up my otherwise lonely and miserable existence! Sweet and kind young woman that she is, Ms Mukta will often do me the honour of crouching down in order to mock me to my face through the hatch. At such times she will te

She’s a party girl whose platformed boots require a good lickshining before she heads off to the clubs. I first of all feel compelled, however, to respectfully kiss her proffered boot-toe several dozen times – out of respect for the enormity and power of her boot! What I’m dying to know, of course, is whether or not she is wearing any socks on her dainty, feminine feet inside these enormous boots! But I daren’t pluck up the courage to ask her, lest she take offence at such impertinent questioning from a mere slave, and consequently crush my face with her platformed bootsole! And, to be fair, she doesn’t look like the sort of girl who would take kindly to being asked questions about her socks! What do you think? Would you risk it? Or, like me, are you frightened of her?