goblin

AI art "Trixxie 1/2"

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Trixxie 1/2

AI art "Trixxie 2/2"

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Trixxie 2/2

AI art 'Goblins enjoying Frieren' with user description 'Well to be honest with you guys if i were one of those goblins i would have taken some too 🙄'

11

Goblins enjoying Frieren

AI art 'Megumin Has a Plan' with user description 'The mountain pass was a jagged wound, and as Megumin stood there, the silence was more deafening than any blast. Her breathing was ragged, lungs burning from the cold air. The orcs moved with rhythmic certainty, armor clanking like a funeral march. Each step was a vibration she felt in her marrow. The chieftain, a monstrosity of sinew, stood nearly ten feet tall, his breath a wet, predatory growl. He didn't see a threat; he saw a resource, a rare vein of magical ore to be mined until hollow.
As chains snapped around her wrists, the iron felt impossibly cold. The trek was a blur of mud and humiliation. The orcs prodded her with spears, laughing as she stumbled. They took pleasure in seeing the "high and mighty" Crimson Demon reduced to a shivering girl. But as she was dragged through the stone maw of their fortress, Megumin was silently counting footsteps, guard patrols, and the deep hum of the earth that only those with high mana sensitivity could hear.
The breeding pits were in the "Root Chamber," where mountain heat met the dampness of the deep earth. The walls were slick with moss. When they threw her into the straw, the smell was overwhelming—a mixture of sweat and the pungent musk of the horde. To the orcs, she was a silent prize. They took turns entering her cell, their massive bodies crowding the space. They used her with brutal efficiency, their goal to saturate her womb with the seed of the mountain. Day after day, she was a vessel for their urges.
Yet, every time an orc finished, Megumin didn't weep. Instead, she focused on her internal mana gates. She could feel it—the raw, chaotic essence of the orcs was being absorbed into her own spirit. Megumin realized that by refining this "polluted" energy through her suffering, she could create a volatile fuel far more potent than any textbook magic. She was brewing a catastrophe inside her soul, using the acts meant to degrade her as the catalyst for her transcendence.
She mapped the fortress from the inside out. Through the narrow slit in her door, she watched the way the orcs gathered. She noted the structural weak points where the cavern ceiling met support pillars. She was waiting for the perfect alignment of celestial energy and biological saturation. She needed to be full—not just of their seed, but of their collective lifeforce. She became a psychic sponge, soaking up the aggressive nature of the horde until her skin hummed with current.
The orcs’ complacency was her greatest weapon. They stopped shackling her, believing she was too spent to stand. They left her cell door unlocked, knowing she had nowhere to run. They even brought her scraps of meat, treating her like a prized hound that had learned its place. They were so blinded by dominance that they failed to notice her crimson eyes starting to burn with internal fire.
On the night of the Equinox, the stronghold was vulnerable. The orcs were drowned in ale, guards slumped in a stuporous haze. The air in the Root Chamber was thick, pressurized by an impending storm. Megumin stood up, her movements fluid and devoid of the tremors she had faked. Her body was heavy, glowing with a subterranean light that seeped through her skin.
She walked to the center of the Great Hall. Hundreds of orcs lay scattered, snoring in a chorus of filth. She looked at the vaulted ceiling, seeing the lines of power converging. She didn't need words, but she chose them anyway. The chant began as a whisper, a vibration that caused the ale to ripple.
As the first syllable left her lips, the mountain groaned. The orcs stirred, their instincts finally screaming a warning, but it was far too late. The mana she had harvested—every ounce of their strength—was now being converted into pure heat. The air began to ignite, turning into a swirling vortex.
"My name is Megumin!" she cried, her voice a thunderclap shattering the stone pillars. "The one who has walked the path of ultimate magic! Witness the culmination of my sacrifice!"
The explosion inverted the landscape. The pressure disintegrated every orc in a microsecond. The mountain screamed as its structure was rewritten. When light faded, the mountain was gone, replaced by a glass-lined crater. Megumin lay at the center, a smirk of triumph etched onto her face. She had achieved the impossible, and the world would never forget the price she paid for it.'

18

Megumin Has a Plan

blackhairedstudent

AI art "Town favourite's new relationship"

30

Town favourite's new relationship

AI art 'Nagatoro Nightmare' with user description 'The snacks were scattered across the low table, and the character sheets were stained with soda rings. Nagatoro sat cross-legged on her bed, leaning over the edge to glare at the four boys huddled on the floor. They were deep into the final session of their custom RPG campaign. The atmosphere was thick with tension as the boys rolled their dice, trying to liberate a coastal town that had been brutally conquered by a horde of orcs.
The DM described the grim reality of the setting—the orcs hadn't just taken the gold; they had taken the women, keeping them in makeshift breeding pits to ensure the horde’s future. "We have to save them," one of the boys muttered, determined. After hours of intense dice rolls and strategic planning, the party emerged victorious. They had slaughtered the orc chieftain and freed the captives. Exhausted by the 12:00 AM mark, the group decided to crash. The boys sprawled out on the sofa and the floor, while Nagatoro retreated to the center of her bed, drifting into a heavy, dark sleep.
The nightmare began the moment she closed her eyes.
In the dream, the victory had been a lie. She was back in that town, but she wasn't the hero—she was the captive. The air was thick with the stench of musk and iron. She was dragged into a damp, stone-walled chamber where the air tasted of copper. She was sobbing, genuine tears of terror streaming down her face as the massive, green-skinned shadows loomed over her. The orcs were relentless, their forms hulking and terrifyingly endowed with gigantic, pulsing members.
Just as she thought her spirit would break, one of them turned her over, pinning her face-down against the cold floor. She felt the sudden, violent intrusion as a massive cock forced its way into her asshole. She screamed into the dirt, feeling as though her body was being physically destroyed, her narrow frame stretched beyond its limits. But as the orc began to pump with a primal, rhythmic ferocity, the agony underwent a traitorous metamorphosis. The destruction of her ass sparked a white-hot, agonizingly intense pleasure that radiated through her entire nervous system. In that dream-state, she was a broken toy, coming once, twice—six times in total—her body convulsing in rhythmic waves of dark, shameful ecstasy as she was filled to the brim with their seed. In all her holes...
She sat up abruptly at 7:00 AM, the sheets sliding down her skin. The wetness was real. She felt the heavy, cold slickness between her legs and the uncomfortable, full sensation deep in her bowels. It wasn't just a dream reaction. She was coated in it—thick, drying puddles of cum smeared across her thighs and matted into the hair of her pussy.
"YOU DISGUSTING CREEPS!"
Her voice tore through the quiet house like a serrated blade. Within seconds, the sound of panicked stumbling erupted from the living room. The four boys, looking disheveled and guilty, huddled in her doorway, trembling under her predatory glare.
"Look at me!" she hissed, gesturing to the stains on her bed. "I wake up and I’m literally a mess because of you four! While I was having a nightmare about being used by monsters, you were actually doing it!"
The boys looked at the floor, unable to meet her eyes.
"Answer me," she demanded, her voice dropping to a dangerous, low crawl. "How many times did you do it? How many times did each of you come inside me?"
The tallest one swallowed hard. "We... we lost count of the total, Nagatoro-san. But each of us... we each came at least five times. We couldn't stop ourselves."
"Five times each?" She let out a sharp, mocking laugh. "And how long? How many hours was I out while you were treating me like a communal toy?"
"From midnight," another boy stammered, his face bright red. "We started right after we 'finished' the RPG at 12:00 AM... and we didn't stop until about 5:00 AM. You were so deep asleep, you just kept taking it..."
Five hours. They had spent five hours taking turns destroying her while she was trapped in a dream of being conquered. A strange, manic energy flickered in Nagatoro’s eyes. The anger was there, but the lingering ghost of those six dream-orgasms was mixing with the reality of being filled by all four of them for half the night.
"Five hours of using me as a hole, and you think you’re just going to go home?" She stood up, the wetness dripping down her leg, a dark, commanding smirk pulling at her lips. "You’ve had your fun with a doll. Now that I’m awake, you’re going to see what it’s really like. All four of you—get in here. Close the door. You started this campaign, now you’re going to finish it under my rules."'

30

Nagatoro Nightmare

blackhairedstudent

AI art 'Nixi and the sweetness of the magicians. part ? maybe...' with user description 'It occurred to me that it would be good to create a character of each different race, like: orcs, elves, fairy, etc. And to make a story for the most supported ones as was the case with Nixi. And to bring them together in the same world, as is the case with Miler.'

30

Nixi and the sweetness of the magicians. part ? maybe...

AI art 'Cosplay Event' with user description 'The glow of the computer monitor reflected in Marin’s energetic eyes as she scrolled through various fabrication forums. She was looking for inspiration for her next big project when a notification pinged—an encrypted, slightly glitchy email with the subject line: **"The Hidden Citadel: A Legend of Orcs and Captives."** It looked like a high-budget, underground immersive event featuring a "shady" medieval RPG theme. The aesthetic was gritty—Orcs, warriors, and ladies in distress.
Marin, being a lover of all things niche and hyper-realistic, didn't hesitate. She glanced at the date and location—an old, repurposed warehouse on the outskirts of the city—and hit "Confirm." She was so excited about the opportunity to see high-level creature makeup that she skimmed right over the fine print. Had she slowed down, she would have seen the clause stating that all "female protagonists" were required to adhere to the "Service and Submission" protocol of the Orcish Horde.
On the day of the event, Marin arrived dressed in a breathtakingly detailed Princess Peach cosplay. At the entrance, a man in a dark robe handed her a thick stack of papers. "Sign the participation waiver, Princess," he muttered. "Failure to complete the main event results in a permanent blacklist from all major regional cosplay circuits." Assuming it was a standard safety waiver, Marin signed her name with a flourish and stepped through the heavy steel doors.
The air inside was thick with the scent of musk, latex, and heavy fog. Standing before her was a mountain of men—at least twenty—all in "perfect" Orc cosplay. These were classic, grotesque monsters: sagging, green-tinted skin, tusks, and massive, protruding bellies. But the detail that made Marin freeze was the "costume" choice. Every single one of them was exposed, their massive members out in the open, looming large and imposing. Initially, Marin’s shock turned into a fit of giggles. "The commitment to the trope is insane!" she laughed, taking selfies while the Orcs watched her with heavy, unblinking eyes.
Suddenly, a horn blasted. The atmosphere snapped. The Orcs’ posture changed; the casual "cosplayer" vibe vanished. The grey Orc grabbed Marin’s arm, and another reached out, giving a violent tug to her pink dress. The sound of tearing satin echoed in the hall.
"Wait! Stop! My dress!" Marin screamed, her face paling. "This is too far! Stop it!"
Instantly, the men froze. The aggressive energy vanished. The grey Orc let go of her arm and stepped back, looking genuinely concerned. He pulled the contract from a nearby table and ripped it into shreds. "We're sorry," he said, his voice no longer a guttural growl but the soft tone of a nervous hobbyist. "We thought you knew. The email, the contract... it was all part of the 'Dark RPG' theme. We thought you were here for that. We're not rapists, Marin. If you didn't know, you shouldn't be here. You can leave right now. No blacklist, no trouble."
Marin stood there, clutching the torn fabric of her dress. The door was open. She was free to go. But as she turned to leave, a dark, intrusive thought entered her mind. She looked back at the twenty massive, grotesque "monsters." She thought about her love for extreme realism, for pushing boundaries, and a strange, primal curiosity took hold. She wanted to know if she, as a woman, could actually handle the fantasy she so often admired from a distance.
She turned back around, her eyes welling with tears of pure nerves. "Wait," she whispered. Her voice trembled, and she was visibly afraid, but her resolve was there. "I... I want to stay. Everyone here... you can use me. I'm scared, but I want to see if I can take you."
The Orcs exchanged glances, and then, with her explicit consent, the main event truly began. They were no longer monsters, but they stayed in character at her request. As the first man approached, Marin was crying from the sheer intensity of the fear and the physical scale of him. But as they began to fuck her, the tears stopped. The fear was replaced by a surging, overwhelming wave of pleasure that she had never experienced.
The three-hour marathon was brutal and relentless. Marin served as the "slave" to all twenty men, her body being pushed to its absolute limits. Instead of sobbing, the warehouse was soon filled with her rhythmic, ecstatic moans. She found herself arching into the rough, green skin of the cosplayers, her mind completely lost to the sensation. She climaxed four times, her vision blurring as she was passed from one "Orc" to the next.
When the timer finally buzzed, Marin lay on the floor amidst the wreckage of her pink satin, her skin flushed and her hair a tangled mess. She felt exhausted, sore, and strangely fulfilled. She looked up at the grey Orc as she gathered her things. "Hey," she croaked, a dazed smile on her face. "Make sure you text me for next year. I'll be ready."'

30

Cosplay Event

blackhairedstudent

AI art "Update on her living situation"

16

Update on her living situation

5

Goblins destroying Frieren upside-down

AI art 'Frieren Lost' with user description 'The subterranean silence of the Great Orc Chasm was a heavy, suffocating thing. For four long years, Frieren had wandered through its crystalline arteries, a lone speck of silver in the deep dark. It had been shortly after the victory against the Demon King—a time when she should have been wandering the world in peace—but this geological trap had claimed her. The stones here were ancient and malevolent, possessing a unique property that repelled mana. Her spells, the very language of her soul, were rendered silent. Without her magic to blast through the walls or find the ley lines of the surface, she was just a small girl lost in the belly of the world.
On her first day, the Orc Chieftain had stood before her, his voice a low tremor in the stone. "The exit to the surface is a sacred threshold, Elf. It opens only for those who give themselves to the mountain's guardians. Serve my people sexually, and the gate is yours." Frieren had looked at him with her usual detached, almost bored expression. To an elf, time was a boundless ocean. "I'll find my own way," she had replied.
The following years were a test of elven patience. She explored every inch of the gargantuan cavern system. Her journey was not without its spoils; she discovered lost troves of ancient gold and various magical trinkets that had been swallowed by the earth eons ago. She found mirrors that reflected the past and rings that hummed with dead languages. The orcs were curiously civil throughout her stay; they never laid a finger on her, respecting her refusal with a stoic, almost friendly hospitality. They shared their food and hearth, treating her like a permanent fixture of their subterranean society.
But even for Frieren, four years of darkness began to grate. She thought of Himmel—how quickly his human life would pass while she was down here playing hide-and-seek with a mountain. She realized that every year spent in these caves was a year of his fleeting life she would never see. The thought of emerging to find him an old man—or worse—was the catalyst that finally moved her.
She approached the Chieftain in the heart of the torch-lit village. "Is the offer from the first day still true?" she asked, her voice echoing off the magic-killing stone.
"It is," the Chieftain rumbled, standing from his throne. "The toll must be paid in full."
"Then I agree," Frieren said, her eyes fixed on the ceiling where the sun should be. "I have stayed here long enough, but i have a request.. the will only use my ass, e dont want to have orc babies."
The ritual that followed was a monumental display of endurance. The entire village—every able-bodied male in the tribe—gathered in the Great Hall. Frieren, the legendary mage who had helped slay the Demon King, now offered herself as the ultimate anal toll. The encounter was a overwhelming sea of physical sensation. She was surrounded by the heat of the horde, her small, pale body becoming the center of a relentless, communal celebration of the flesh.
One by one, the orcs stepped forward to claim their portion of the elven blessing. They were massive and primal, their strength a stark contrast to the delicate girl they shared. For a day and a night, the hall was filled with the rhythmic slapping of skin and the guttural grunts of the warriors. Frieren was taken repeatedly, her senses drowned in the musk and the sheer scale of the gangbang. She was filled to the brim by the chieftain, his lieutenants, and the common laborers, her body serving as a vessel for the entire tribe’s collective seed. Despite the intensity, the orcs remained oddly disciplined, each taking his turn with a focused, reverent lust. When the final warrior finished, leaving her slick and trembling on the stone, the Chieftain stood and moved his throne. Behind it lay the hidden tunnel, the air smelling of the fresh, distant surface. She had paid the price, and the sky was waiting.'

14

Frieren Lost

blackhairedstudent

5

Goblins love Frieren

AI art 'The guild leader is a MILF'

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The guild leader is a MILF

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Frieren love Goblins

AI art "Welcoming orcs to the show"

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Welcoming orcs to the show

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AI art "Asuka deepthroat"

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Asuka deepthroat

AI art "No longer the village favourite"

30

No longer the village favourite

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