Out-takes

Even a highly professional operation like Contemplating the Divine gets it wrong
sometimes.  As this blog is more than ten years old, I thought it
might be fun to open the vaults and find a few of the captions and images that
ended up on the cutting room floor – when things didn’t go according to plan!

Creating a captioned image involves bringing together lots of different things:
the photo, the characters, the situation, the witty plot twist and, of course,
the grammar to keep Tom Allen at bay.  It’s a difficult balancing act,
requiring great skill to produce a polished finished product, so it’s no surprise
an incompetent little twerp like me never succeeds in that. Even churning out the tired,
derivative and shoddy captioned images that usually adorn these posts, though, there’s
much that can go wrong…  as we shall see. 

 

 



But the director didn’t say cut…




Now, our first example today shows how even the most professional performers can get it
wrong. A castration shoot, obviously.  I can’t recall the planned caption,
maybe it was something to do with him asking for all those weights to be removed
as quickly as possible.  Anyway, a professional submissive model down
there, coping manfully (i.e. squealing his little head off) with the weights on his genitals, self-same genitals
feeling the razor-sharp edge of a pair of professional bolt-cutters, wielded by
a beautiful lady from Cruella.  Proper bolt-cutters, mind – beautifully
made so that a smooth and easy pressure on the handles translates through the
power of physics and leverage ito an unstoppable pressure as the blades
remorselessly close… just the thing to give our readers a little thrill, in
the safety of their darkened bedrooms.  

A perfect set-up, you’ll surely agree.  So what went wrong?  Well,
just at the moment this picture was taken, just when the caption was about to be
added to the finished product, a low-flying RAF training flight created a sonic
boom up and down the remote valley where the shoot was taking place, the poor
lady jumped out of her skin and… the rest was history. Or biology perhaps…
rather messy biology too.

It was no one’s fault.  Everyone was as sympathetic as they could be. 
The fighter jet pilot was horrified when she found out, the cameraman did his
best to help, the Cruellan lady was… OK, she wasn’t enormously sympathetic if
I’m being entirely honest, but she did mutter ‘Soz’ as he was taken off in the
ambulance.  The shoot wasn’t a complete write off: I actually managed to
get some rather gruesome captioned images done,
but so far my innate decency and a profound desire not to be arrested have
prevented me posting them.  And don’t worry: the guy is still a guy, you
know? Still very much a man.  Since the Gender Recognition Act was passed,
all he had to do was self-declare as a male and so he is treated as a fully
functional man for all legal purposes.  Almost all, anyway.  So…
just one of those things, I guess.

Thrills and spills


Ah, now this one was my fault, I am afraid. Very much my fault. I
apologised to the lady concerned and still do, on a regular basis. The skirt was
a write-off, the shoot was abandoned…  what can I say? Fortunately, my SO
has since come up with a solution to prevent this happening ever again.

Way around wrong


So… the shoot has gone off perfectly, the images of the lovely ladies and
slug-like men are all saved on the encrypted hidden drive and a caption has been
created.  Nothing left to go wrong, right? Well… you’ve still got to get
the caption onto the right image.  In the two pictures below, someone (with
a name beginning with S) didn’t manage to accomplish even that simple
task.  Two pictures, two captions, Servitor – and you had one job!

Well, this mix-up resulted in not one but two captioned images that fell
well below this blog’s normal standards of coherence and had to be
abandoned.  For which the management can only offer Servitor’s heartfelt
apologies.





The Snitch, her Teacher, the Maitresse and her Lover

Now, the pair of photos below tell the sorry tale of a failed photoshoot that – for once – was most definitely the fault of the ladies and not the author of this blog.  Everything had been arranged very carefully for a photoshoot with the above title that would have cemented this blog’s place as the number one destination for anyone interested in strict schoolmistress femdom.  The script was elaborate, true, but you might expect that professionals would be able to cope with that.  I won’t go through it in detail, but it involved a schoolgirl whose complaint had led to my being brought in to see the Headmistress, a nymphomaniac lesbian French teacher, a class teacher and of course the Head herself, all involved in a complex sequence of humiliation and discipline that ended with my being forced – forced humiliatingly – to masturbate before them all, kneeling on the floor.  Yum.




What went wrong, you ask?  I might ask ‘what didn’t?’.  The schoolgirl turned out to be more of a lesbian nympho than the lesbian nympho character, they all got ‘interested’ in each other, someone found a very large bottle of gin and they all got quite interested in that and pretty soon everyone (everyone female, that is) was too drunk to be safely in charge of a cane, kit off and fucking like rabbits. 
 
So: nothing very femdom came of it unless you count my cleaning up the vomit afterwards, it and I seriously considered not paying them the full fee but sadly there are downsides to being a submissive when it comes to financial bargaining with four beautiful women, even when they are badly hung-over.  I present, for the historical record, the two photos that just about manage to reflect the theme of this blog, before the whole thing went sideways.





Hot cross bunny

Now this one was… oh, do you know, even after all these years I can’t really bring myself to talk about this one?  The memories are too painful.  I thought I was ready but… just move on, move on.  She was amazing, though: so professional.





Role reversal
 
Ah, now as you can tell from the picture, the lovely lady below turned up to the photoshoot having definitely not read the memo about what side of BDSM this blog celebrates!  The photo below is taken just when she, in her Gorean slave position, notices that I too am in a Gorean slave position and as we both think we’re supposed to be following Gorean speech rules, neither can do much about it!

After an hour or two the impasse was broken and we had a lovely talk.  I don’t know many female submissives (I find the whole concept a bit weird to be honest) but she was really nice.  She was very gentle and I could tell she didn’t really like the idea of hurting me, but we got to talking and she had an idea for a kind of ‘worm turns’ scene where I’m a male dom (let’s just skip over that bit: it was less than two minutes in the final photoshoot and I can only say I was no more convincing than you might imagine) and she’s playing the sub and she’s on her knees and just about to take me in her mouth when she suddenly decides to turn the tables, and then we get into nice healthy femdom play.  Just before we were about to start, she suddenly remembered something and asked if instead of being some generic dom being sucked off, could I be ‘Master Paul’ from Luton who wanted to come in her hair.  It seemed oddly specific but she insisted so I gave it a go and – boy!  For a subbie she certainly knew how to inflict pain!  I got one of the most brutal beatings I’ve ever experienced.  So it worked out OK in the end.



There’s a funny post-script actually.  Just two weeks after this photo-shoot, I read about this guy called Paul Evans who was found beaten to death in a lay-by on the Luton by-pass.  He had semen in his hair (his own, goodness only knows how he’d managed it).
 
Amazing coincidence, huh?  But it’s probably just another one of those things. Most things are.


Making the claimant whole

 


 

Ohh…kay.  I’ve heard
enough and I’m ready to render summary judgment here?

So, first off, obviously the claimant has suffered a loss
and associated trauma.  This court – and
I think all parties to this case – acknowledge his suffering and I am sure I speak for everyone in this room when I say we sympathise
deeply.  It was a terrible, terrible
thing to happen.

Equally, terrible things happen.  That’s life.  The medical profession makes mistakes, as do we all.  The apology the hospital issued was
short, admittedly, but “Sorry we castrated you by mistake.” is at least simple
and clear.  Brevity is a virtue: I see no reason to doubt the
sincerity of the apology offered.  The
hospital administrator has assured me that the additional comments added to
that email, referring contemptuously to the size of the material removed, were
never intended for publication and they do not know which of the nurses or
doctors – if indeed it was a member of the hospital personnel – was responsible
for that, or for the subsequent wide dissemination of the comments on social
media.  And also of course the photographs, which the claimant understandably found acutely embarrassing, not least because the
women’s undergarments and the ‘humorous’ positioning of the sex toy seem to have been placed on him after
the administration of general anaesthetic. 
Should the perpetrators ever be identified, they should suffer
consequences – a significant financial penalty at least – as this was a serious
breach of medical ethics.  As was the
medically unnecessary and inappropriate use of the enema.  These things should never have happened.

However, the hospital administrator has made strenuous
efforts to discover the perpetrator – or perpetrators – and failed. 
All three of the medical personnel who had the opportunity to have carried out these hurtful acts have testified in this
courtroom it wasn’t them. I have considered but here reject the claimant’s
lawyers interpretation of Nurse Taylor’s repeated giggling on the witness
stand.  Her subsequent comments on
Twitter, while hurtful in the extreme, do not in any way constitute evidence of
guilt.  Similarly, the fact that the bought the underwear in which claimant was so wrongly dressed up, while unconscious, and that the photographs were found on her phone, both constitute circumstantial evidence at best.  Another nurse on duty testified that Nurse Taylor is conscientious to a fault and I found the claimant’s counsel’s suggestion that this witness’s long-standing lesbian relationship with Nurse Taylor – and indeed her participation in a lesbian dating ring’ with the other two hospital staff who might have been involved – might in some way have influenced her opinion… well, I just find that suggestion to be offensive beyond belief.  I will note at this point that I myself am a lesbian, counsel, as it happens and I hope that you would not dream of suggesting that my opinion in a case in which three lesbians are alleged to have unnecessarily castrated a male and then exposed him to ridicule on social could in any way affect my judgement.  My comments complimenting Nurse Taylor on her appearance were simple courtesy, nothing more.  I shall be pursuing this matter further, counsel, believe me.

 


 

Where was I?  Oh yes.

Anyway, I think we just have to conclude we’ll never know. I am satisfied the
hospital administration was not at fault and the apology is there, so that’s
that.  Just one of those things: claimant
needs to move on, as Nurse Taylor so fetchingly put it.

Turning to the matter of compensation, of course some
financial settlement is due.  Claimant
has suffered a loss and deserves compensation just as would someone – say – whose car
had been unnecessarily crushed.  To pursue the analogy, however,
it would obviously not be just to award someone compensation as if they had
lost – say – a brand new Ferrari, when the vehicle of which they had been deprived was in fact an old two-door hatchback that won’t start without being given a push.  Or a rusty
bicycle with wonky wheels.  The compensation has to be commensurate with the value of what was lost – in this case, claimant’s genitalia.  Can we even put a monetary value on such a loss?  Many would find that distasteful, but the law requires us to try.

In that context, I am therefore going to admit the evidence
adduced by the defendants.  Although I
recognise that the claimant’s existing embarrassment has unfortunately been
enhanced by the sequence of witnesses who have been former sex partners – mainly paid sex workers – testifying
to his sexual prowess, or rather the lack of it, I am convinced that this is
relevant evidence. Indeed, from their testimony it is hard to see that the
claimant’s ability to engage in what he considers sexual activity has been
harmed in any way by his loss – after all, he still possesses a tongue and the
streetwalkers downtown still have shoes and toilets. Certainly, there seems to be no likelihood at all that the claimant has been deprived of anything that a normal person would describe as ‘sexual intercourse’ as – with all due apologies for any embarrassment this must undoubtedly cause him – he is thoroughly unattractive as he is and was probably still more so, when he had functional genitalia still attached.  Defendant’s counsel has suggested that ‘creepy’ is  the word that springs to mind on first meeting the claimant and I have to concur: that was precisely my thought on the very first day of trial.  This observation – undisputed by claimant’s own counsel who appears to avoid any close contact with him even here in court – seems highly relevant to the matter of compensation.

I am also aware that any financial compensation he receives could be used to further his disgusting pursuits, although obviously that consideration can play no role in my decision.

Nonetheless, claimant suffered a loss and I am therefore
here ordering that the hospital pay him the sum of two hundred and forty-five dollars and thirty-five cents in compensation.  Plus interest.  Let that stand as a statement of this court’s firm disapproval of the negligence the hospital showed in this case.  I don’t want to see you back here, so don’t do it again.

Right.

Now, turning to the question of costs, these have run into
many hundreds of thousands of dollars over the course of this rather disturbing case. 
Claimant had every right to seek justice – but equally, the hospital has
a right to its defence.  Lawyers are
rightly not cheap, any more than the sex workers who had to be paid for their
time testifying – at length – about the claimant’s physique and practices.  Someone has to pay for all this.  The question I ask myself, is whether these
costs should be paid from the funds of a hospital, devoted to saving lives –
recognising that any such payment could directly impede their ability to
provide patient care – or, to quote one of claimant’s emails to a sex worker, a
“disgusting little worm” who pays women to humiliate and abuse his “revolting
micro-dicklette”.  Or did, before the
defendants did us all the service of removing it.

Not an easy decision, obviously.  Nonetheless…

 


Nurse Taylor’s the one on the left, in case you’re interested.  She’s giggling beneath her mask, but don’t worry: that’s just a nervous tic she has.  You’ll be fine.



NB: in case you were wondering how come the judge uses  lot of British language at times but the compensation is set in dollars, the explanation is, erm… it’s in Australia!  Or New Zealand.  Or somewhere like that, anyway, where all the legal terms are exactly as set out here.  I mean, it must be.  I don’t just make this stuff up, you know.

Youngers and betters

 

Memo to self: stop using the phrase “there’s nothing worse than X” in front of SO.  She takes it as a personal challenge.



You’ll soon discover that a day with no whipping at all is a special day. Very special.

 

 

 

 

Don’t worry, they’re not having you castrated and lobotomised until after the marriage.  Just after: between the ceremony and the reception.  You can think of it as your wedding gift to them.

 

 

 

 

 

Poor old Simon – doesn’t get to see the sexy lingerie!  And to think she was worried you might be jealous of him.



Appendectomy: of course.  After all, that nurse would hardly have shaved his groin area this morning if it was his throat that was being operated on, now would she?  

 

Loving unkindness


There used to be a big problem with this sort of play in an office environment: which washrooms to use, the ladies’ or the gents’?  But more and more workplaces are moving to unisex, thank goodness, which makes (heterosexual) toilet play a lot less likely to cause a stir.

 

 

 

Yeah, she’s a sweetie.  By the way – this picture is the last known image of Helmut Kleinwanger, a German businessman who disappeared on a solo hiking holiday in the Czech republic.  If anyone has any information about what happened to him, please post it on a femdom porn story blog.

 

 

 

According to Freud, many men suffer from castration anxiety.  I quite often do, to be honest, but so far it’s always turned out OK.   

 

This caption was of course inspired by the 1960s film The Pure Hell of St Trinian’s, in which the temporary headmistress Matilda Harker-Packer (replacing the jailed Miss Fritton), played by Irene Handl, states proudly that she is among the very few heads of educational establishments who can produce a certificate actually  proving her sanity.  And you thought I only watched St Trinian’s movies for the sexy sixth-formers in gymslips!





Just
run around for a bit to try to keep warm.  You’ll need the accumulated
body warmth, for when you’re in the pillory, later.  Especially during
the snowballing scene and the ice bucket challenge (I know, I know: ice
bucket challenges haven’t been a thing since 2019 but you just try
telling them that…).






He’ll have to learn to write backwards, which will be difficult.  Fortunately, they have some very effective teaching methods, for young males.


Leading women

People think that the whole ‘femdom humiliatrix’ thing is just a minority interest but back in the day when I was dating I met so many girls whose sexual fantasy was to deny me sex – and many who mocked my small penis, too.  They’re out there if you know how to find them.

 




It’s actually a bit hypocritical of her to say that, because in the six months before the op, she was the one who managed to work the subject into almost every conversation.  Still, probably best not to call her out on it… you know what she’s like.





It’s very odd – according to my SO, I often choose courses of action that lead inevitably to my being subjected to intolerable pain.  But she’s supposed to be the sadistic one!  Go figure, as they say.

 


Erm… whatever we’re permitted to say, I suppose?




Several of the prisoners in the nearby underground prison tearfully begged Madame Jana not to make him do that again, saying they preferred the whip.



And finally, any Swiss fans of the World War M series might want to note that their opportunity to serve their country in those crucial mobile laundry units has finally arrived.

Agonising and ecstasising

Silly headline, sweet little song,* content is essentially unrelated.

 

 

It only gets sadder from here on in, Ma’am.  You don’t mind if I call you Ma’am, I hope?  Ma’am.

 

 

 

 

She can wait.  Hours, days, weeks.  Whatever it takes.  And you’re not going anywhere, obviously.

 

 

 

Maybe I’m just trying to demonstrate that I’m not one of those guys who just thinks about his penis the whole time, you know?

 

 

 

 

It’s cheaper than domme session rates, but only slightly – and much more intense.

 

 

 

 

Don’t ask her about the bad experience.  She’s been able to move on.

 

 

 

 

 

 

* But not as sweet as the one from Butterflies.

And now for something largely similar

Right… ten more years then.  The terrible teens begin here.  How terrible can they be?  Let’s find out, shall we?

 

 

He should be thankful.  Not for anything in  particular – just generally, all the time.

 

 

Regrettably, he won’t be perfect for long.  She breaks things.

 

 

 

It is a good one.  Here’s another: what do you do if you see a blonde undressing, through an open window?  Eight years hard labour!  Do you get it?  Maybe one day you will.

 

 

Look at the lovely lady on the right, there.  Rightly proud of her work.

 

 

 

‘Something plausibly similar to male genitalia’ is the best some of us can hope for.




Looks like all those caning fantasies are going to come true.




Bad Pookie.  Just imagine being close to thinking about disobeying her like that!  On second thoughts, don’t imagine it… she wouldn’t approve.



If there was anything she could do to make you feel better, she’d do it – you know that, right?



Anyway, maybe some of the other patrons would like to skip the queue too.


 

Ooh – the tips of her shoes look just like the inside of my chastity belt!  Maybe we could strike up a conversation, now I know we’ve something in common.




And, of course:




Sadistically significant

I rather think the romantic evening’s just getting started, don’t you?

 

 

 

 

Despite her attitude to sexists, she’s a great believer in naval tradition.  ‘Rum, sodomy and the lash’ and all that, although obviously today’s navy is alcohol-free.

 

 

Perhaps Paul and Irene could discuss it later.

 

 

 

Possibly several things.  There’s always something.

She looks nice. Just as well when you’re that small and vulnerable.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Love and punishment

Corner time, thankfully, is one of those activities that is largely unaffected by the lockdown. In fact, lockdown is a little like corner time for the entire country, if you think about it (and I have lots of thinking time: several hours most days).

 



There’s no place for this kind of bigotry in the modern world.



Enjoy the view while it’s still unencumbered with tears.




Erm… “because it was a menial occupation that made insufficient use of her prodigious gifts”?


The angelic, diabolic and generally perfect Mistress Eleise, of course, beneath whose notice I have had the privilege on several occasions to crawl in person.  I have never tried her on ‘dumb blonde’ jokes, though… perhaps some more adventurous ‘reader’ could give that a go and let us all know how it works out, if still able to type after the experience.

 


 

He does agree. Several times, every day.  As often as she wants, in fact.

 

And finally a bit of found femdom.  I can’t believe I’ve not encountered* this before.  Nor was I aware that the lovely Alice, of Serena and Alice fame, has a twin sister.  Content warning (1) for those who do not enjoy scenes of brutal torture: contains brutal torture. Content warning (2) for those who do: contains only 1 minute and 45 seconds of it.

Warning 3: the Youtube clip does not appear to be available to viewers located in certain countries.  Gee, if only there were a way to reroute your Internet access through a server in a different country from your own.

* Yes, as a matter of fact I did consider using the lame “come across” joke again.  What of it? 

 

Sing when she’s winning

 

Scurry scurry scurry!

 

 


Much like his response to the question the priest will be asking him a little later.



 

I’ve occasionally asked my SO whether she’d consider putting me on obedience pills but weirdly she says she prefers an occasional bit of disobedience. Which is odd, because she always seems so cross about it… women, eh?

 

 

 

Even if he sued her and won, there’d be the question of damages and I think any competent (i.e. female) lawyer would advise that those would be derisory and purely token, at best.

It’s all part of growing up.