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Deviant for 7 Years
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New Shoes by Real-Neil New Shoes :iconreal-neil:Real-Neil 40 1 Kristyna. The Starting Line III by Real-Neil Kristyna. The Starting Line III :iconreal-neil:Real-Neil 44 3 Kristyna dressing by Real-Neil
Mature content
Kristyna dressing :iconreal-neil:Real-Neil 48 10 by Real-Neil
Mature content :iconreal-neil:Real-Neil 64 5
New Shoes...Kristyna by Real-Neil New Shoes...Kristyna :iconreal-neil:Real-Neil 28 3 Portrait of Kristyna by Real-Neil Portrait of Kristyna :iconreal-neil:Real-Neil 22 5 Yoga teacher by Real-Neil Yoga teacher :iconreal-neil:Real-Neil 73 4 heat by Real-Neil heat :iconreal-neil:Real-Neil 38 2 Strength and Beauty by Real-Neil
Mature content
Strength and Beauty :iconreal-neil:Real-Neil 73 12
Cherry's Karte by G-abi-K Cherry's Karte :icong-abi-k:G-abi-K 1 0 Lucie 2016 by Real-Neil Lucie 2016 :iconreal-neil:Real-Neil 55 9
Mature content
Cozbi: Pierced :icondeng-li-xin32:deng-li-xin32 4 2
Hot shower to melt you by mutee7
Mature content
Hot shower to melt you :iconmutee7:mutee7 25 0
Call the IT Department....Sarlota by Real-Neil Call the IT Department....Sarlota :iconreal-neil:Real-Neil 52 4 Sarlota.....Cute Smile by Real-Neil Sarlota.....Cute Smile :iconreal-neil:Real-Neil 48 6 The next move by Real-Neil The next move :iconreal-neil:Real-Neil 43 3

Newest Deviations

The dominant's Truth Lies Close [bdsm poem]
[after the conclusion of Pauline Reage's novel,
The Story Of O]
"Once in a lifetime, do a girl in."
---T. S. Eliot, Sweeney Agonistes
Even though I pretend she is my sole possession,
bound to and by me in a private slavery,
that fact that she exists apart is, still, expression
that violates my perfected fantasy.
So I subject her to my total domination;
drawing her further downward by step and degree
unto the uttermost point of real abnegation
including irrevocably full abdication
even the very last shreds of her own free will,
such that the satisfaction of my own desire
is all, and only that, to which she can aspire
so that she must believe that only I decree
the only by which she can and must fulfill
all my imperatives, to her last breath.
To pulverize her personality,
to lead her to its ultimate rejection,
will cause her to become a mere reflection
of my own, dominant reality.
Thus crushed, her final offering to me
will be her eager, self-inflicted death.
This is my onl
:iconfootnoting:Footnoting 1 0
Melting Vanilla Ice Cream---a bdsm poem
[The poem is fiction.  Please do not try this at home or on anyone.]
(in memory of Ambassador John Wall; who, as the writer, Sarban,
always sympathized with the victims)
With that obese gut of his, you will need
a very strong, perhaps expensive, rope.
From a pulley affixed to the ceiling,
suspend him from the ankles, such that the
top, the scalp, of his downward head touches
the surface of a large tub (oh, say ten
or twenty gallons) of vanilla ice
cream.  The cold, hard surface may be a bit
uncomfortable upon his head; but,
after all, how many women have had
to suffer the infliction of pain---welts,
bruises, open wounds on their flesh from
his whip; or burns leading to scars when he
branded them as (pretended) property?
He can put up with a little bit of
discomfort, until the ice cream begins
to melt.  You will want to arrange that the
rope allows just enough slack for his head
(and body) to begin to sink as the ice
cream continues to melt.  The rope can
:iconfootnoting:Footnoting 0 0
After A Minor Skirmish [bdsm]
We had been assigned night patrol
around the secured village,
taken from the rebels.
Coming around the edge of town,
we heard the sound of a woman's scream.
It seemed to come from the darkened house
somewhat out of the way, next to the woods,
a dilapidated wreck of what might have been,
at one time (but no more)
a rather luxurious domicile.
Cautiously we entered.
From the cellar door, the weak glow of candles
pointed our way.
We slipped quietly down the stairs.
We found, apparently, the homeowner---
stripped to the waist (his gut was enormous)---
wearing an executioner's hood---
vigrously flogging a woman who was
naked, except for a pair of stockings;
and suspended by the wrists from chains
in the ceiling (such that
her stockinged feet hardly touched the floor).
She was screaming and squirming violently,
and her back was a mess of bruises, welts, and blood.
I shouted "Halt," to him, and, startled,
he let the whip fall from his hand.
I ordered him to hand over whatever key
or device wou
:iconfootnoting:Footnoting 0 0
Yakov Sverdlov, Jacking Off
Yakov Sverdlov, jacking off
into some pigs' water trough
thinks about broad, bloody slaughters.
So why not start with the Czar's daughters?
Are they not still dangerous?
Could they not still raise a fuss?
Of these things you should not scoff---
so says Yakov Sverdlov, jacking off.
:iconfootnoting:Footnoting 1 0
To Photographers of Beautiful Women
If the model is physically all there---
limbs intact and normal, head to feet,
why would you refuse to share
your vision of her beauty, the whole girl complete?
:iconfootnoting:Footnoting 0 2
Jack The Ripper: On Crucified Women
[to Deviant Art, and the misogyny it not only allows, but promotes]
The knife is only for a safe expedience;
a quick slash guarantees the whole experience.
Of course I would prefer to use a Roman cross:
to watch each of these naked street whores, crucified,
writhing in ghastly agony until she died.
That would be such a fine gift to present the Boss.
But what I really want and would take such great pride
in must, for practical purposes, be denied.
:iconfootnoting:Footnoting 0 2
At Lewis Carroll's Last Photograph Of Xie
(complete title:  "At Lewis Carroll's Last Photograph of Xie Kitchin")
[after Lewis Carroll's poem, "Jabberwocky"]
Twas brillig, and the slithy toves
Did gyre and gimble in the peat,
As Xie stepped out from the grove's
shade, to the grass, on stockinged feet.
Beware the favored model, son---
watch what you say, for she might hear.
Something you do not mean might stun
her smile into a nasty sneer.
So take in hand, to photograph
her beauty,  in the time you can.
Beware, my son, her mocking laugh---
the way it will cut down a man.
In tangled thought, he paused and stood
as Xie's gaze turned to a stare.
He knew exactly what he should
ask, but he knew he could not dare.
The shutter---opened wide, then closed---
captured the beauty she presented
as she controlled the way she posed
(though, in his mind, a bit resented).
Beware the model's wrath, my son,
or else your joy will be diminished.
As she declared the session done,
she picked her shoes up,
:iconfootnoting:Footnoting 1 5
Lyrics For Lenin, In Retrospect
My life's purpose was to avenge my brother,
and Marx and Engles' ideology
helped me achieve this quite successfully.
Had that plan failed, I would have tried another
way.  Oh, my greatest coup and victory
was murder of the royal family
by others, whom offended History
will mention and condemn to bear the blame,
leaving no bloodstains to besmirch my name.
This so called Revolution?---not the masses'
act:  no it happened by, and just for, me.
The proletariat are horses' asses:
and on them, I will be glad to bestow
the dark excesses of their "Uncle Joe."
:iconfootnoting:Footnoting 0 0
Comrade Yakov Sverdlov's Distress
Fate, as a timely executioner,
will soon be coming my way (I am sure)
without the slightest thought of clemency,
because the blame is placed squarely on me.
Our Comrade Lenin, quite the wiley lawyer,
adopted the odd role of public staller,
postponing a decision and decree
that no responsibility or shame
should be attached to, or besmirch, his name.
He made his wishes known more privily,
far from his locomotive---History.
We slew them all, we thought, a joyous slaughter
(slain with hot rancor for the People's sake,
and for the justice that the Cause might slake);
then found out one escaped, the curvy daughter.
Now, for the greater good---the Revolution---
I shall, for both debacles, bear the blame
alone:  that I ordered the execution,
and that the fulsome Duchess fled away.
At certain moments, like midnight, I hear
the tread of sneaking footsteps, and I fear
to turn around.  But then, no one is there,
while I, in trembling, wait the break of day.
This is the ghastly burden I m
:iconfootnoting:Footnoting 0 4
At Monticello
I think we can rely upon this one---
what is his name, this lawyer?---Jefferson?
Yes.  His first name is Thomas, like the Doubter
(and, like him, both a bold man and a pouter):
well educated but slightly naive,
and, therefore, rather easy to deceive.
He claims "enlightenment":  his spirit rages
against the faith that he will not believe.
So he cut, from his Bible, certain pages.
His own thoughts please him most, and so he gauges
the truth to his own measure.  Yet I grieve---
for we cannot wholly impose our way
on this land (not even upon the day
they pay old British taxes with new wages
of war) because dunking American
Baptists keep their pure Gospel faith alive
and lively in these colonies.  They thrive.
Even the many lodges of Freemasons
cannot disrupt their faith's work.  In the nascence
of this unheard of concept---a free nation---
these Baptists' prayers would seal its dedication
unto our ancient, tireless Enemy:
so that the length and breadth and width sh
:iconfootnoting:Footnoting 1 0
Toy Time For Juliette---Part The 2nd
A rage that could destroy the universe---
so Grandfather thought of his granddaughter's
anger, that Juliette's entry upon
adolescence had grossly multiplied.
She burned with lust toward the infliction of
unmitigated agony and fear,
the thrill that found its climax only in
the victim's death.  Here in the fortified
high tower in which some three thousand (last
of all humanity, and with prolonged
lives that will last unnaturally long),
she might not hunt her prey:  no, not among
these denizens upon this dying world,
this species whose pollutions even reached
the chilling purity of outer space.
That was untold generations ago.
These ancient, bored survivors would refuse
to tolerate (upon themselves, that is)
the too specific entertainments that
young Juliette desired.  Such ugly threats,
although rare, are met with the dimmest view---
quite undesirable and terminal,
and worse than Juliette, herself, could find
in her imagination.  To protect
her from this penalty and o
:iconfootnoting:Footnoting 0 0
Toy Time For Juliette---Part The 1st
ποταμοῖσι τοῖσιν αὐτοῖσιν ἐμβαίνουσιν, ἕτερα καὶ ἕτερα ὕδατα ἐπιρρεῖ.
Time is a river, as Heraclitus
said.  Sometimes, rivers flow into branches
or even small creeks that go somewhere or
do not:  fresh water flowing back into
the main trunk, or with no chance to rejoin,
floods cultivated fields, or stinks with slime.
The river moves one way:  the junctions are
always downstream, despite topography.
:iconfootnoting:Footnoting 1 2
Toy Time For Juliette---A Preface
The following long poem, temporarily divided into parts, is based upon, and acknowledges the priority of, Robert Bloch's story, "A Toy For Juliette" (1967).  In the same year of publication, Harlan Ellison wrote a sequel to it.  In a similar spirit, I offer this---not a sequel to, but a satirization of, Bloch's story.  In my own opinion, the science fiction in Bloch's story is too much in the foreground:  other issues are more important, moe vital, perhaps more fatal.  This effort of mine might even be called a fan fiction, although I deplore the deisngation and would hope that both the poem and I can avoid it.
:iconfootnoting:Footnoting 0 0
Inspired By Mooncrafter
Your stockings do not
adorn your nude beauty and
curves; but your nude curves
and beauty bring your stockings
to their own beauty's fullness.
:iconfootnoting:Footnoting 2 1
July Weather With Partial Nudity
Too hot for clothes, or
even underwear; but your
naked curves demand
a pair of sheer, red stockings
as comment on the weather.
:iconfootnoting:Footnoting 1 3
Munch: a BDsM tale
His lust for her remained unconsummated
because she had not yet been dominated.
Her passions, always quickened by the night,
beguiled him.  At the dying of the light,
he set out, on foot, for the designated
place of their meeting---an abandoned tower,
ancient, foreboding, and almost an hour
away:  there, she had promised, the condition
was right to give, and take, the sought submission,
and satiate the darkest of desires
(whetted, when he slept daily, by wild dreams).
Arriving, his intentions were confounded
immediately as he was surrounded
by her, with several friends like her:  vampires.
They did not pause to listen to him plead:
he hardly had enough time for a scream
before they fell upon him.  As he bled
into their gaping, fang-lined mouths, and fed
their emptiness, her laughter's shrill derision
rang in his ears.  Wholly amused, she cast her
contempt upon this self-styled "Lord and Master,"
who lay now as a heap of flesh sucked dry----
not very masterful a
:iconfootnoting:Footnoting 1 4


Misted Teacup
United States
Yesterday, we celebrated the birth of American liberty.

We should be ashamed that, in this time, liberty is so often confused with license.  And license is most often perversity.  Deviant Art is, among other things (some of which are very fine) a cesspool of perversity, especially bdsm.  Deviant Art encourages and (I suspect) even solicits works (mostly photographic or visual) depicted the subjugation and abuse of women by men who deem themselves dominants and sadists; and whose lust thrives upon the degradation of women and the marring of their natural beauty. 

I would like to see a change in society, such that men who practice bdsm, and all other rapists as well, are judicially subjected to the severest penalties, including the same tortures with which they abused their victims, without appeal or clemency.  The death penalty is too easy:  such men, convicted upon the fair presentation of evidence, should be compelled to suffer the same agony they have inflicted.  Tolerance has its limits.  The toleration of misogyny (which is what bdsm is, behind the façade of a "lifestyle") should no longer be tolerated, but punished with extreme prejudice wherever found. 

Women are to be adored, not injured.  And the men who injure them, even with their so called "consent" (which is misinformed); and the "safe, sane, consensual" formula (which is neither, especially not sane; how can binding a woman to Saint Andrew's cross and whipping her into semi-consciousness be considered sane?); should be seized, tried, convicted, isolated, and then subjected to the most intense excruciation---until they plead for death, which should still be denied them.

Not tolerance . . . not for bdsm and those men who practice it.  Their license should be revoked and replaced by the extremest prejudice.



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footlover2011 Featured By Owner Jun 17, 2017
 Happy birthday 
Footnoting Featured By Owner Jun 17, 2017
fearless-frog Featured By Owner May 22, 2017  Hobbyist General Artist
Thanks by KmyGraphic for the faves, much appreciated :) 
MoAChuuuttt Featured By Owner Apr 6, 2017  Hobbyist Digital Artist
Many thanks for the fav. Huggle! Love 
ivoturk Featured By Owner Mar 2, 2017  Hobbyist Photographer
Thanks a lot for faving my work!
Footnoting Featured By Owner Mar 2, 2017
My pleasure.  It is beautiful.
kiebitz Featured By Owner Jan 26, 2017

Thanks for the fantastic :iconplusfav: on my photo. I’m happy about that! Soon others will follow ... ;-)

aegiandyad Featured By Owner Jan 18, 2017
The Alpha Ralphal Boulevard is OLD. Mr Linebarger [Cordwainer Smith] authored a unique golden age SF franchise called 'The Instrumentality of Mankind'. Men and women were joined by genetically modified cats, dogs and even bulls in a society that maintained its own Hell Planet called Shaol.
Footnoting Featured By Owner Jan 18, 2017
Thanks.  I first read Cordwainer Smith's Scanners story in 1971 or so.  I studied the two collections that were available in print during my last year of college in 1980, and I actually cited his work for a major part of my oral exam for my degree.
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