sleeping

Fern and frieren
5

Fern and frieren

sjame83
AI art "Scrap Metal Hunter"
13

Scrap Metal Hunter

onkayetishar
AI art "[Request] Weekend Getaway with Michelle"
30

[Request] Weekend Getaway with Michelle

dreamerofdreams
AI art "Anime House episode 1"
11

Anime House episode 1

octavian
AI art "sleepy bus"
2

sleepy bus

zuzul
AI art "Marin hot summer"
30

Marin hot summer

zuzul
AI art 'Chika Slave' with user description 'The world of the dark fantasy RPG was a far cry from the bright, chaotic fun of the student council room. Fujiwara Chika awoke with a start, her skin crawling from the damp, freezing mud of a roadside ditch. Her pink hair was matted with filth, and her frilly dress was torn and stained. Before she could orient herself, two shadows loomed over her. They were local farmers, their faces etched with the grime of hard labor and a sudden, sharp greed. "Look at this one," the first farmer grunted, his eyes wide as he took in her refined features. "She’s like a porcelain doll. We could sell her to a minor noble for dozens of gold coins, easy." The second farmer leaned down, his rough hands gripping Chika’s shoulders as she tried to scramble away. "Wait. If she’s pure, she’s worth way more than a few dozen coins. We have to check." Chika let out a sob, her eyes brimming with tears of terror as they pinned her down in the dirt. With a clinical, cold greed, they checked her status. "She’s a virgin," the second man breathed, his voice trembling with excitement. "Forget the nobles! A girl like this... we could sell her to the High Kings for thousands of gold coins. We’d be set for ten lifetimes!" "But we don't have a copper to our names," the first one countered. "How are we supposed to travel to the capital? It's a month’s journey through monster territory." They shared a dark, calculating look. "The kings, they only care about the pussy being pure. They don't care about the anus. We can make the travel money by selling her anal passage to every man on the road. But we’ll need security. If some commoner tries to take her virginity, our fortune is gone." "If we’re going to sell it anyway," the second farmer whispered, his gaze dropping to her trembling form, "why don't we break it in ourselves?" The ordeal began right there in the ditch. Chika’s muffled cries were lost to the wind as the two men spent hours claiming her. They were rough and uncompromising, their heavy weight and calloused skin a constant, jarring contrast to her soft frame. By the time they finished, she was a wreck of tears and red marks, her dignity shattered beneath the gray sky. To secure their investment, they returned to the village and made a pact with the local champion—a scarred, towering mercenary known as the strongest warrior in the region. The contract was simple: he would act as her "pussy bodyguard," ensuring no man touched her front, in exchange for the right to use her however he pleased whenever she wasn't being sold to customers. The journey began, and it was a descent into a relentless, driving heat. Chika was paraded from village to village, city to city. She was sold to commoners, nobles, and hobos alike. Each encounter was a blur of rough hands and heavy friction. Chika was handled with a callous lack of care, her body treated as a communal vessel for the masses. The farmers became rich as a line of men waited outside her tent, each one taking their turn with a predatory, tireless stamina. As the days bled into weeks, something traitorous happened within Chika's body. The constant, heavy friction against her backside began to spark a dull, pulsing heat. Despite the shame, the sheer physical intensity of the constant use began to bypass her brain. She found herself arching her back into the rough thrusts of the commoners, her body shivering in a forbidden rhythm. She began to come frequently, her climaxes shattering through her with a violent intensity that left her dazed and leaking. She was beginning to crave the very attention that had once terrified her. Suddenly, Chika bolted upright in her bed, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. The morning sun streamed through the familiar windows of her bedroom, lighting up the soft posters and plushies. She gasped for air, her throat dry, realizing with a wave of dizzying relief that the mud, the farmers, and the endless line of men were all just a vivid, terrifying nightmare. However, as the adrenaline faded, she felt a cold, sticky dampness between her legs. She pulled back the covers to find her silk sheets completely soaked with her own juices, the scent of her arousal heavy in the air. The dream had left her body in a state of high-tension hunger that the waking world couldn't satisfy. Trembling, she reached for the television controller on her nightstand. Her eyes were hazy, still caught in the echoes of the dark fantasy world. Without a second thought, she rolled onto her stomach, mirroring her position in the dream, and began to push the smooth, hard plastic of the controller into her anus. She let out a soft, desperate moan as she began to masturbate, the familiar surroundings of her room blurring as she chased the intense, shameful pleasure she had discovered in her sleep.'
30

Chika Slave

blackhairedstudent
AI art 'Nagatoro sleepover' with user description 'The rain wasn’t just falling; it was a seasonal deluge that turned the Tokyo streets into rushing rivers of neon reflection. Nagatoro stood by the wide glass window of a luxury apartment belonging to an upperclassman from the swim club, watching lightning arc across the darkening sky. She had expected a small, quiet hangout with a few girls, but the host had invited five other guys from the university soccer team. With the trains suspended due to flooding and the roads blocked, she was effectively trapped. The apartment was cavernous, filled with the heavy scent of three large pepperoni pizzas and the frantic, rhythmic sounds of a high-stakes gaming tournament. Nagatoro sat on the edge of the plush sectional, her Switch in handheld mode, trying to maintain her usual armor of cool, mocking indifference. "So, Nagatoro," one of the guys, a tall striker named Hiro, said as he leaned back, balancing a greasy slice of pizza. "We see you around campus all the time with that skinny art kid. The 'Senpai' guy with the glasses." Nagatoro didn't look up from her screen, though her fingers tightened slightly on the Joy-Cons. "What about him?" "Just wondering if you’re actually dating him," another guy added, sliding closer on the sofa until his knee brushed against hers. "You spend every waking hour hovering over him like a shadow. Is he your boyfriend or what?" Nagatoro let out a sharp, practiced laugh, though it felt hollow in the crowded, testosterone-heavy room. "Him? No way! He’s just a shy, spineless little Senpai I like to toy with. It’s not like that. He couldn't handle a girl like me anyway." The atmosphere in the room shifted instantly. The casual banter died down, replaced by a focused, predatory energy that made the air feel thick. The five guys exchanged slow, knowing looks. Without the perceived "claim" of her Senpai to shield her, the dynamic in the room transformed into something much more intense. "If you're not with him," Hiro said, his voice dropping an octave as he set his controller down on the glass table with a definitive *clack*, "then you're officially fair game, right?" Nagatoro felt a prickle of heat rise up her neck. She tried to muster a biting retort, a classic "gross" or a sharp jab to put them in their place, but the words caught in her throat. The sheer physical presence of five athletic guys surrounding her in the dim light was overwhelming. "I don't know what you're talking about," she muttered, focusing hard on the race on her screen, her heart hammering against her ribs. "We think you do," another guy whispered, reaching out to slowly trail a finger down the side of her neck. Nagatoro flinched, her breath hitching, but she didn't pull away. "You're always acting so tough, Nagatoro. But you're here, the rain is stopping anyone from leaving, and we're all very... interested." For a long time, she resisted. She kept her eyes glued to the screen, snapping at them to back off and calling them losers. But they didn't flinch. They moved closer, one of them putting a hand on her waist, another leaning in so close she could feel the heat radiating off him. They began to ask her more directly, their questions shedding any pretense of subtlety. "Does he even touch you like this?" Hiro asked, his hand moving firmly to her thigh. "Does he know what to do with a girl like you? Because we do." Nagatoro stared at the Switch, her vision blurring slightly. She thought of Naoto’s hesitant smiles and then looked at the confident, hungry expressions of the men around her. The weight of the situation, the isolation of the storm, and the constant, rhythmic pressure of their touch began to wear down her defenses. Her grip on the controller loosened. "I... I told you, he's nothing to me," she stammered, her voice losing its edge. "Then prove it," Hiro challenged, his face inches from hers. "Forget about the art gallery kid for one night. Stay here with us." She looked at the door, then back at the window where the rain continued to hammer down, sealing them into this private, heated world. The silent pressure of five sets of eyes waiting for her answer felt like a physical weight. Finally, she let out a long, shaky breath. The rebellious, teasing girl vanished, replaced by someone overwhelmed by the moment. She slowly reached out and set her Switch face-down on the coffee table, the screen clicking into sleep mode. "Fine," she whispered, her voice barely audible over a sudden crash of thunder. "Do whatever you want. I'm not going anywhere." The pizza box was pushed aside to make room. As the storm raged outside, shaking the very foundations of the building, the boundaries of the "sleepover" vanished entirely. The night became a blur of shared heat and frantic energy that lasted until the sun finally broke through the clouds the following morning. When the streets finally dried, Nagatoro left the apartment in the quiet dawn, her usual persona left somewhere behind in the rainy darkness of the night before.'
29

Nagatoro sleepover

blackhairedstudent
AI art "Massage 1/2"
25

Massage 1/2

zuzul
AI art 'Yor A night To Remember 2' with user description 'The room was subterranean, a concrete box that smelled of damp earth and cold iron. Yor was strapped into a chair, her wrists bound with reinforced steel cables that bit into her skin. Across from her, a man in a clinical white suit adjusted the needles of a polygraph machine, its sensors taped to Yor’s temples and chest. In the corner, a monitor flickered to life, showing a live feed of Anya sleeping in her bed at the Forger apartment. A masked operative stood over the child, a silenced pistol aimed at her head. "The rules are simple, Thorn Princess," the interrogator whispered, his voice smooth and devoid of empathy. "Tell me your most cherished memory. The one that makes your heart race, the one that defines you. If the needle jumps—if you lie for even a second to preserve your 'dignity'—my man pulls the trigger. Start talking." Yor looked at the screen, her pupils trembling. Her usual mask of polite reserve shattered. To save Anya, she had to peel back the layers of her life and reveal the raw, shameful truth she had buried beneath her role as a mother and a clerk. "It was... years ago," Yor began, her voice steady but hollow. "I received an invitation to a kindergarten reunion. I thought it was a chance to reconnect with my past. I went to a private residence, expecting a party, but I had forgotten a crucial detail about my childhood. I was the only girl in my class that year." The interrogator leaned in, watching the flat line of the polygraph. "Continue." "There were thirteen of them," Yor said, her eyes fixed on the image of Anya. "Thirteen men I used to play with as children. They didn't want to talk about the past. They told me that as the only girl, I was responsible for the happiness of the entire group. They were persuasive, circling me, telling me that after all my years of solitude and 'work,' I deserved to be completely possessed. And for the first time in my life... I wanted to be. I wanted to be used until there was nothing left of me." She took a breath, the needle remaining perfectly still. She was telling the truth. "I accepted. I let them strip me in the center of that room. For the entire night, I wasn't an assassin or a sister. I was a vessel. They treated my body like a public resource. At any given moment, I was being filled by three or four of them at once. I remember the weight of them, the relentless, heavy-caliber rhythm that stretched my anatomy beyond its limits. They weren't gentle; they were frantic, reclaiming the 'princess' they had lost." Yor’s face flushed, not with shame, but with the vivid, carnal memory of the sensation. "The night became a blur of white heat. They covered every inch of me. They were so thorough and so numerous that they didn't just stay with the usual places. They doused my face, my hair... I remember the smell of it on my nose, the stinging in my eyes as they took turns blinding me with their release. It was so much—the volume was so extreme—that I actually retched. I vomited back the sheer amount of 'friendship' they had forced down my throat, only for them to laugh and continue from behind while I was still choking on the floor." The polygraph stayed flat. The machine confirmed her darkest secret: the most cherished memory of the Thorn Princess was being utterly destroyed and communalized by thirteen men in a single night. "I have never felt so full," Yor whispered, a tear tracing a path through the grime on her cheek. "I felt seen. I felt occupied. I felt like I finally belonged to something larger than myself. That night of total, messy surrender is the only thing that feels real when the world gets too quiet." The interrogator stared at the machine, then at Yor, a look of genuine disgust crossing his face. He signaled to the man on the monitor. The operative lowered the gun and stepped away from Anya’s bed. "You really are a monster, aren't you?" the man remarked, turning off the polygraph. "No," Yor replied, her eyes returning to the cold, lethal sharpness of an assassin. "I'm just a woman who loves her family. And now that I’ve told you the truth... you’re going to find out what happens to people who threaten my daughter."'
28

Yor A night To Remember 2

blackhairedstudent
AI art "Waking up"
6

Waking up

zuzul
AI art 'Selina modeling stills' with user description 'Doesn't she look cute with glasses?'
3

Selina modeling stills

octavian
AI art "Yor alone"
7

Yor alone

jlixard
AI art "Make herself comfortable"
7

Make herself comfortable

zuzul
AI art 'Thorn Princess Pin-ups' with user description 'Yor Briar in some reference shots (All references are images I shot during my time as a glamour photographer)'
6

Thorn Princess Pin-ups

octavian
AI art "Town favourite's new relationship"
30

Town favourite's new relationship

zesoul
AI art 'Steins;Gate' with user description 'Part I: The Observer Effect ​The Organization’s trap was subtle: a single bed in a cramped Akihabara hotel. I, Hououin Kyouma, was relegated to the floor, my lab coat a meager shield against the cold. Sleep was impossible; every time I drifted off, Kurisu’s chaotic sleeping posture snapped me back. Her heels struck my jaw, and her shins found my ribs with a precision that felt like a localized spatial distortion. ​Finally, a heavy strike to my nose sent stars dancing across my vision. I stood up, fuming, ready to lecture the "Assistant" on basic human boundaries. But the moonlight caught her in a way that silenced my pride. She was flushed, her breathing a series of ragged, desperate hitches. Her hand was buried deep in her shorts, moving with a frantic urgency. The genius girl was lost in a dream of her own making, her hips rocking against her own palm in a raw display of honesty. ​The sight hit me like a physical blow. My blood turned to molten lead, rushing south with a pressure that threatened to burst my very veins. If she could be this uninhibited, this real in the dead of night, then I would match her intensity. I fumbled with my belt, freeing my member—a monstrously large, pulsing monolith that stood dark and heavy in the pale light. I began to stroke myself, my eyes locked on her trembling form. ​Suddenly, her eyes snapped open. The silence was absolute. She stared directly at me—and then at the sheer, impossible scale of what I was holding. ​"OKABE! YOU—YOU ABSOLUTE, DEGENERATE, SEAMY PERVERT!" she shrieked, her face turning a color that defied the laws of optics. "What is that?! Why is it so huge?! Were you actually standing there, watching me, with... with that thing out?! I knew it! You’re a stain on the scientific community!" ​I scrambled to cover myself, my face burning. "Assistant! I can explain! It’s a biological response to your physical assault!" But she didn't look away. Her anger was masking a dark, rising curiosity. The experiment took an irreversible turn. ​Part II: The Subjective Reality ​I was frozen as Kurisu reached out. Her fingers wrapped around the velvet-soft heat of me. "How is this possible?" she breathed. Before I could answer, she leaned in, her red hair cascading over my thighs. She plunged her head down, gagging as she fought to master the intrusion. I watched, my jaw tight, as she swallowed the entire length, her throat working against the sheer bulk of me until I hit the very back. ​When she pulled back, gasping, she stripped and straddled me. She pressed her small, pale foot against my length to measure; I was visibly longer than her foot. She teased me with her soles, driving my arousal into a fever pitch, before she guided my tip to her entrance and sank down. ​The fullness was absolute. As she pushed down with a surreal energy, I looked down at her lower abdomen—my eyes widened as I saw the distinct protrusion of my own shape through her skin. It was a sight of total, beautiful corruption. The friction was too much; I surged, flooding her with a hot, heavy release. ​"Again," she pleaded, her voice a ragged rasp. "I want to be filled... everywhere." ​I watched her turn, offering her smaller, tighter port. When I entered her anus, it was a searing, pressurized conquest. I filled her until she felt like she would burst, her body molding to my staggering girth. Finally, she moved back to my face. ​She took me into her throat one last time, welcoming the suffocation. I pushed deep, my hand wrapping around her neck to feel the vibration of her breath. I could feel the head of my penis deep in her gullet, a sensation of ultimate depth and power. I fired a final, violent torrent so powerful it overflowed, spilling from her mouth and nose in a white, messy eclipse of her dignity. ​Part III: The Resultant (Makise Kurisu’s Perspective) ​My brain was offline. The logical, cynical Makise Kurisu had been replaced by something raw and starving. Taking him behind... it felt like being split open from the inside out. It was a tight, searing fullness that made my vision spark. When he released inside me there, it felt like a heavy, internal brand—a mark of ownership that went deeper than skin. ​But the throat... that was the final test. When I took him in that last time, I felt his hand on my neck, grounding me as he pushed deep. I felt the stretch, the suffocating, wonderful pressure of him filling my windpipe. I didn't care about the air. I only cared about the moment he broke. ​The taste, the heat, the sheer volume of him hitting the back of my throat was overwhelming. I felt it rising, overflowing, a literal flood that I couldn't contain. It felt like I was being drowned in him, and I loved every terrifying second of it. ​Now, I can’t move. My limbs feel like lead, and my skin is humming with a dull, blissful ache. I’m covered in the evidence of our madness, too weak to even reach for a towel. I look at Okabe—my "Mad Scientist"—and I feel a terrifyingly deep satisfaction.'
23

Steins;Gate

blackhairedstudent
AI art "The Quintessential Quintuplets - The horny sisters"
12

The Quintessential Quintuplets - The horny sisters

m3n4sk3r
AI art

Sans titre

zuzul
Video post

Sans titre

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