Patheticus Minimus 3D

I suppose I should consider myself lucky, really. The good lady judge could have sentenced me to incarceration for life in one of the Gynarchy’s many foothole dungeons – deep underground; windowless; never to see the outside world again. But instead she had mercy on me, and ordered that I be incarcerated for life in a dingy, basement cell that looks out onto the town square. It’s not much of a view that I have from my cell. Just the ground; and feet – mainly ladies’ feet – from behind bars. But as I kneel in the dirt and look out of my ground-level cell window at least I can see life going on around me. I can observe and admire the feet and footwear of my free betters as they go about their daily business. And I not only get to admire them from afar. Many of the idle, and the not so idle, young women milling around in the town square outside choose to taunt me, and torment me, by resting their feet on the lowest bar of my ground-level cell window, and by using me as a kind of unofficia...

The ‘tortoiseshell’ – a delightfully degrading, male punishment which, arguably, could only ever have been devised by the intricate mind of a superior woman. Slave Michael was currently experiencing the punishment of the ‘tortoiseshell’. As per usual for a humble, down-in-the-dirt footslave he was on his hands and knees staring at the dusty ground beneath him, but he now had a heavy, wooden pallet strapped to his naked back – a pallet full of heavy concrete slabs, all of which built up to resemble the shape of a tortoise’s shell. Hence the name of the punishment! Poor slave Michael was about to be required to crawl around on all fours for three long days, with the heavy burden of his makeshift ‘tortoiseshell’ strapped to his aching back. Tortoise-hell, more like! And he wouldn’t be allowed to crawl about just anywhere. Even that small freedom was to be denied him! No, he would be obliged by law to follow a kilometre long circuit which was specifically desig...

I am incarcerated for life in a small cell situated at ground level behind the inside wall of a busy restaurant. I must lie permanently on my belly looking out through a small, iron grille at the feet of the female restaurant’s customers whilst they relax and enjoy their food and drink. The cell is called a ‘Peek-A-Boot’, though it could equally be called a ‘Peek-A-Shoe’; or a ‘Peek-A-Sock’; or a ‘Peek-A-Heel’; or a ‘Peek-A-Sneak(er)’! That’s because I now have to spend every waking hour of my life staring at and admiring the backs of ladies’ feet and footwear, through the tiny grille which provides the only light into my cell. It also provides the only air into my cell, so even the air that I breathe is fragranced by feminine footwear odours. Most of the restaurant’s female customers are probably unaware of my male presence, lying behind their pretty feet under the table, as they enjoy their snacks and beverages. If they are aware, they are unconcerned –...