Tag: nipples

rawpix:

Jun3rd♥hide…†o/dream(Matthieu Soudet)★

Untitled/Ophelia 2010

Browsing this kid’s work makes me think I’d be better off selling my gear, taking a vow of silence and dedicating whatever remains of my life to asceticism.

A year from now I will still almost certainly be reeling in response to his Different Ways.

Then I find out he shoots with a Canon 5D mark II (GAH, digital!); that Photoshop was never invoked on this image and he remained unaware of any correlation with Hamlet or J. M. Millais’ painting of Ophelia until Flickr users inquired whether or not he intended such striking similarities.

How much is true and how much is personal mythology– I haven’t the foggiest notion, honestly. The answer doesn’t change fuck all, though– talent is talent is talent.

Source: thisghostship

letmedothis:

spoil me

Still from A Surprise Guest featuring

Straight-up (pun maybe intended), this is some Grade A #skinnyframebullshit.

Yes, it’s nice to see Cindy presented head-to-toe sans frame line amputation/decapitation. But the result is all wawkerjawed.

I am going to overlook the original image being both in color and bordering on overexposed– I fail to understand how shooting to the right is preferable to just exposing correctly in the first fucking place. But, why did some idiot feel compelled to de-saturate? Was the goal to produce a flat, low contrast image? If so: bravo– mission accomplished.

Technical concerns aside, the image’s awkwardness also works in its favor. It is, after all, an image belonging to a larger more-or-less sequential, implicitly narrative images. For example: before I researched this image, I was fairly sure that this young woman walked in on the young man in the tub, things escalated and she began to undress. (As far as I can tell, that is in fact, what happens.)

There is also the ripe implication of what will happen next: the scenario will proceed to intercourse. Thus, this single image contains all the information for the viewer to discern the entire narrative arc without seeing any other image.

The possibility of distilling a story to a single narrative image seed is an idea with which I am pathologically obsessed. And for all its faults, I actually prefer this to the arbitrary, narrative pretense of photographers like Gregory Crewdson, Sébastien Tixier and Reverend Bobby Anger. (If you disagree with this premise: attempt to envision what happened immediately prior and what will happen next. (Pro-tip: you can’t; despite all the gum flapping about narrative, when the work has more in common with the so-called ‘tone poem capturing the something of the weight in moments heavy with emotion.)

But, I would have posted this for nothing more than the way Cindy is standing over the boy in the tub, her expression which might actually be an unfeigned premonition of pleasure. Plus, I think it is so, so hot that she still has her top on.

Source: memeophobia-today

girlsrule-subsdrool:

Gonna have to tie this tight for it to stay on when I pull!

When I see this image my first thought isn’t the square format/cropping, the way close-up diminishes context and affects questions of consent in BDSM imagery or the numerous technical shortfalls. No, my singular thought is: I want to be her.

To be teased with the gentlest of tugs; a smidgen harder and a simple length of twine becomes an effective, improvised lead; too hard and everything comes undone in an exquisite moment w pain attenuates almost immediately—even if it will be hours, days maybe, before it fully ebbs.

I can almost feel the sharp premonitions stretching ache into sting on towards hurt; I nearly whisper:

Please, not too fast this time—make it last. Don’t let the world suddenly bloom bright with pain too soon. Please. Make me earn the relief and sadness which rush in after like swollen tide churning grey sand.

Source: zenvibe

kalkibodhi:

Tops

KalkiBodhi Archives

Normal
0

false
false
false

EN-US
X-NONE
X-NONE

/* Style Definitions */
table.MsoNormalTable
{mso-style-name:”Table Normal”;
mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;
mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;
mso-style-noshow:yes;
mso-style-priority:99;
mso-style-parent:””;
mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt;
mso-para-margin-top:0in;
mso-para-margin-right:0in;
mso-para-margin-bottom:10.0pt;
mso-para-margin-left:0in;
line-height:115%;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
mso-bidi-font-size:11.0pt;
font-family:”Garamond”,”serif”;}

This is exactly and uncannily what I want when I am feeling horny distilled to some #skinnyframebullshit that had decent color before some fucker futzed with it.

Still though: unf and total sploosh.

Normal
0

false
false
false

EN-US
X-NONE
X-NONE

/* Style Definitions */
table.MsoNormalTable
{mso-style-name:”Table Normal”;
mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;
mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;
mso-style-noshow:yes;
mso-style-priority:99;
mso-style-parent:””;
mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt;
mso-para-margin-top:0in;
mso-para-margin-right:0in;
mso-para-margin-bottom:10.0pt;
mso-para-margin-left:0in;
line-height:115%;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
mso-bidi-font-size:11.0pt;
font-family:”Garamond”,”serif”;}

There’s a cropped, desaturated version of this with nearly 5K notes.

I’m not knocking it altogether—whoever shopped it had to have some fierce chops to dodge the area around the right eye while keeping the skin tone throughout consistent.

The edit emphasizes the young woman as a signifier of conventional beauty norms. It’s a flat casual shot.

It’s not how it reads in color, with the original framing.

This way the image is not flat. The single source of illumination is a skylight visible in the top-right corner of the frame. There is a dynamic contrast range—dark underexposed shadow areas to bright overexposed light pooling on the young woman’s skin.

And this way the awkward framing the removes the top of the young woman’s head and deletes her feet is logically explained by additional context—namely, the room is very small and the image maker is likely backed against a wall.

The original resonates with a warmth and intimacy—the antithesis of casuality.

This post is guest curated by azura09:

When I had a crashpad membership recently, one of my favorite videos included a scene where a Domme made her sub hold the chain to her nipple clamps in the manner above while she was aggressively fucked.

There were many things I liked about this scene: how the Domme was assertive without being cruel, how the sub followed orders in an almost casual way, and how gleeful this sustained rough sex obviously made both of them.

It’s true that there are some tricky things to navigate when one partner enjoys being objectified during sex, and I certainly wouldn’t want to downplay the reservations some people may have toward this kind of roleplay. 

Then again, I don’t want to avoid the fact that I find consensual objectification, especially when my girlfriend is hellbent on being a good girl, hot.

In reasons related to this, I’m attracted to how the girl in this photo is holding the chain fast between her teeth as if the idea of decreasing the pain to her nipples has occurred to her, but she is wholly intent on resisting this impulse.

Source: nebutch-blog

This post is guest curated by azura09:

Blood play is pretty far outside my comfort zone. This image appeals to me because of the handprint—the temporary record of how far two people have gone together along with the unseen, but most likely more permanent, cut or abrasion. There is some luckiness, I feel, in being someone who enjoys the kind of sex that leaves an indelible reminder of the experience when many of us are having sex that leaves no marks, no clear map to retrace.

Some of topping for me is wanting at least in the moment to remind the person of the impact I’m having on her body.  When we are done I will fold up into your arms like the scared, shy dyke I am who you allow, in this instance, to trust my instincts for both of us.

Source: sircupcake

danishprinciple:

[Siren by] Stephen Carroll

I am about as anti-digital as you can get short of Nottinghamshire circa November 1811.

In the broadest strokes my grudge distills to rejecting the commonplace assumption that since the physical process and user interfaces involved in making a photograph and a digital image is similar, there exists an interchangeable equivalency between them.

Fucking bullshit.

Analog photography produces a physical artifact representing a moment in time. That resulting artifact—negative or positive—stands in relationship to both the moment of creation and all subsequent retellings.

Digital image making translates light into a phenomenally long string of ones and zeros.

As a result of these differences, each process responds differently to similar situations.

  • Digital can’t handle overexposure; negative stocks benefit from mild overexposure.
  • Digital has immense depth of field even large apertures; film shot using fast lens with the aperture fully open have a narrow depth of field (DOF).
  • Digital makes it easier to capture an image in low-light settings as result of its extended DOF; however, digital is incapable (and will always fall short) of rendering a true black.

Digital works best when its limitations are embraced instead of obfuscated. (Recall the scenes in Zodiac where they are driving around at night and nothing is really dark so much as murky vs. The Social Network where wide open prime lenses stopped down to the correct aperture using ND filters in an effort to create a more filmic DOF and instead resulted in emphasizing the deathly plastic pallor digital imposes on everything and looked less like film.)

As much as a detest digital, there are a small group of people who embracing the multifarious shortcomings of digital and do interesting things.

  • Noah Kalina has created a cottage industry using the sweet spot just inside to digital overexposure margine for fashion editorial work.
  • Pedro Costa’s Colossal Youth is one of the few instances wherein digital proved superior to film.

After seeing the image above and how it employs the same deathly plastic pallor I loathe so much in digital as a hyper-stylized means of conveying the ethereally phantasmal splendor of fading light on still water and wet skin.