Patheticus Minimus 3D

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...

Tale no. 15 – The Two Heels ‘Danger! My mistress Charlene is drunk in charge of a whip! It is dangling threateningly from the black, leather belt around her waist. My mistress has just returned to her flat, where I am permanently confined, from a friend’s party. She is with a man – a stranger whom I have not seen before – and she is all over him! My mistress is self-evidently the worse for drink; slurring her words; giggling; uninhibited; lustful. This is not like her. I have never seen her this tipsy before. She is not used to alcohol. I can smell it on her breath, even from my humble position kneeling next to her feet. Even the way she is dressed is out of character for her, for my mistress Charlene is wearing a revealing party outfit consisting of a low-cut, white blouse (with what appears to be a fresh, red wine stain on it!); a short, black leather miniskirt; dark, nylon stockings – the reinforced tops of which are clearly visible beneath her ultra-short skirt; and strappy, spark...

Tale no. 14 – Long Time, No Foot-See ‘I was licking and kissing female feet and shoes the other day, as per usual, at my public footslave stand in the Arrivals Hall of the main international airport, when a very slim and attractive young woman in her early to mid forties presented her freshly-tanned right foot – clad in a white, slip-on, canvas deck shoe – onto the wooden footblock directly beneath my kneeling face for kissing. Nothing unusual in that – until the owner of the foot suddenly asked me if I recognised the taste and feel of her foot on my lips. Worryingly, I had to confess to the superior female that I didn’t. I was worried because the implication of the young woman’s question was that I should recognise her foot. I needn’t have worried, however, for the young woman – far from being offended – just laughed at me, and then enlightened me as to who she was. She explained that she was my former mistress – mistress Nicola – who had purchased me at auction some 25 years ago, an...

Tale no. 2 – Miss Mannequin ‘My mistress Alisha is a beautiful, black, 23 year old woman with long legs and a shapely figure. My mistress turns heads wherever she goes, such are her fashion-model looks. My own head, however, must always be fixed on her pretty, black feet and ankles, for I am her personal footslave and that is the law. For her part my mistress Alisha – whilst she likes having a sycophantic and admiring personal footslave crawling on his hands and knees behind her heels everywhere she goes – nevertheless, quite properly, despises me. My mistress is aware of her great beauty and she correctly regards herself as being ‘all that’. She equally correctly is aware of the fact that my cringing servility only serves to augment her goddess-like status, and she is therefore particularly keen on demonstrating her innate superiority over me, her personal lickspittle, at every available opportunity – and especially in public. Take the other day, for example, when I was accompanying ...

Tale no. 11 – Geekdom ‘One of the things I love about being a ladies’ public footslave in the central town square is the sheer fact that I can have no say on exactly who approaches my ‘step up’ shoelick-stand at any given time in order to have their feet attended to. Any woman - black or white, oriental or south Asian, rich or poor, beautiful or plain -can use my services, and as a male slave, I must afford each and every one of them the same degree of slavish respect and submissiveness. Take the young, white woman who is gaily approaching my ‘step up’ shoelick stand right now. She looks like a bit of a ‘geek’ – thick, black, horn-rimmed glasses; untidy, tousled, mousy-brown hair; scruffy blue denim jeans and a matching blue denim jacket over a plain, white T shirt; and – most significantly of all from my point of view as a humble footwear-slave – short, plain, white ankle-socks with flat, blue leather, strappy sandals. The blue sandals are open-toed and open-heeled with 3 broad str...

Tale no. 8 – Sneakers, Socks and Saris '27 year old miss Kadal, a pretty Sri Lankan lady, is one of my regular customers. She visits my public-footslave stand in the Town Square regularly as clockwork – every morning during weekdays at 08:30 on her way into work, and every Saturday at 10:00 on her way into the shops to spend her hard earned cash. Whether she is smartly dressed for work, or casually dressed for shopping, she always seems to wear the same pair of round-toed, block-heeled, zip-up, black leather ankle boots with black trousers. I get the impression that she doesn’t spend much of her money on clothes, as her wardrobe appears quite limited – apart, that is, from her socks: miss Kadal seems to have many different pairs of socks, all of which she kindly displays to me by hitching up the hem of her black, trouser leg above the top of her black leather ankle boot whenever she presents me with her booted foot for cleaning on my wooden footblock. I am never allowed to touch he...