Patheticus Minimus 3D

Prologue Being a public footslave all your adult life does have some compensations. If you work hard, and serve your female masters and betters to the best of your footslavish abilities whilst you are still young, you may find towards the end of your miserable and humble existence that you are allowed to take things a little bit easier – almost to enter a state of semi-retirement! I am now 69 years old, and this is a snapshot of my twilight years: I am employed as a public footslave in a small, middle-class neighbourhood in the suburbs. I wasn’t always a local, neighbourhood footslave. I used to work as a public footslave at the busy, main railway station in the centre of town, but I became too old for that and just couldn’t keep up with the pace of things there. You see, most of my female customers and betters at the railway station were busy, commuting businesswomen – seemingly always in a hurry. They demanded a quick and efficient boot or shoe shine, and had little time to hang arou...

The concentrator – it is a truly fiendish device; surely the invention of a warped and cruel mind? And yet I bless the day my mistress Felicity fitted it into my brain, for it helps me to be a better footslave. It does exactly what its name suggests – it helps me to concentrate on my mistress’s feet and footwear. I don’t pretend to understand all the technology behind it. All I know is that some sort of tiny sensor implanted in my tiny footslave brain is electronically connected to a sensor implanted in the lining of my mistress Felicity’s right shoe, and that if I allow my eyes to stray from the side of her shoe I feel a sudden and prolonged shaft of pain in my head – worse than any migraine you may have ever experienced. It is a sharp pain that brings me back to my footslave-senses, and can only be alleviated when I refocus my slavish attention on the side of my mistress’s shoe. Even then the relief from the pain will take some time. Again, I don’t know how, but the concentrato...

Part 1 – Mistress Pratima’s Plaything My new mistress, mistress Pratima, is showing me around her house. She has literally just purchased me a few hours ago as her personal footslave at the central slave auction in the town, but already, just by eavesdropping on her excited mobile phone conversations with her friends, I have deduced quite a lot about her. I know, for example, that she is 24 years old; she is of Indian origins, and still speaks with a strong Indian accent; she lives alone; she works as a cleaner; and I can clearly observe with my own, downcast, slave eyes that she is a very pretty-looking young, Asian woman - petite and slim. I am humbly crawling behind her shoes and socks as she leads me behind her heels down a wooden staircase into the basement of her seemingly modest home. My new, Indian mistress is wearing dark blue jeans; shiny, black, flat, leather loafers; and short, navy-blue sneaker socks with a small, square-shaped, red logo on the sides. Only the upper part o...

26 year old Portia was excited. She was finally on her way to the slave market, accompanied by her husband’s big, burly slave Africanus, in order to purchase her very own footslave. She had been pestering her husband, Aquinas, for months now about getting another slave for the household – and, in particular, a slave who could attend exclusively to her own selfish needs. Africanus was a strong, diligent and hard-working slave, but he was often required to accompany his master on business, leaving Portia at home with just Julia, the maidservant, to take care of her needs. Julia, too, was a sweet, hard-working girl – but she had so much work to do about the house that Portia always felt rather guilty taking up her precious time. Furthermore, she felt somewhat embarrassed whenever she needed Julia to take care of her feet – to wash or pedicure them, mainly because even the lady Portia felt such humble tasks as being a Roman lady’s foot-washer were beneath a woman: any woman, even a humble,...