exhibitionism

AI art 'Tribute to Warmice: 2k' with user description 'Agent Naomi (Pearl) is really happy on this achievement! We are celebrating the 2k for Warmice! The best storyteller of whole BetterWaifu. Keep rocking it!'
5

Tribute to Warmice: 2k

cef_ultra
AI art "Makoto Gangbang ❤️"
30

Makoto Gangbang ❤️

blackhairedstudent
AI art "CHAPTER 3: “Getting the Pearl Thong”"
26

CHAPTER 3: “Getting the Pearl Thong”

warmicestudios
AI art "Local taste"

Local taste

zuzul
AI art "Elise's Big Day"
30

Elise's Big Day

dreamerofdreams
AI art "In hurry"
2

In hurry

zuzul
AI art "Trench Coat"
13

Trench Coat

zuzul
AI art "Apple Bottom girl"
13

Apple Bottom girl

octavian
AI art "Walkies with Anya"
30

Walkies with Anya

zesoul
AI art 'Aura Captured' with user description 'The snow crunched beneath my boots as I approached the tavern, a solitary beacon of warmth in this frozen wasteland. My violet hair whipped in the biting wind, and the **Scales of Obedience** at my hip rattled—a reminder of my absolute authority. I, Aura the Guillotine, did not fear these mortals. They were but insects whose lives were measured in the weight of their souls. As I reached the door, an old, obese man blocked my path, his face a map of filth and scars. "You killed them all," he rasped. "My entire bloodline. I challenge you, Aura. A measure of souls." My pride was my undoing. I scanned his mana; it was pathetic. I could have ended him instantly, but I wanted to see the despair on his face when his own soul condemned him. I summoned the Scales, pouring my vast, ancient mana into my side. The scale tipped instantly toward me. But seconds before his mana touched the plate, he drained a shimmering vial. It was a **Potion of Infinite Illusion**. It didn’t actually increase his power, but it tricked the magical logic of the scales, making his mana appear as a bottomless, infinite abyss for five crucial seconds. The balance slammed down on his side with the force of a falling mountain. Because the scale "saw" him as superior, its magic bound my very soul to his will. "Silence," he commanded, his voice cold and flat. "Speak only when I tell you to. Only do what I want you to do." He took me to his new home town, a place I destroyed 60 years ago, rebuilt by the child i dis not kill that time.. he ordered me to serve every one of them, and i Did... one after another, no resting.. some where big, big as monsters, their bodies made mine look small, After forty-eight hours of being used by every man in his village—my demonic body cruelly resetting my anatomy to a virgin state after every violation—he led me to a stone square. "Put your head and hands through here," he ordered, pointing to a heavy, stone-and-iron guillotine frame. "**Wait here in this position in silence until I return. And keep serving anyone who comes to use you.**" He never came back. I have been in this position for seven hundred years. My neck and wrists are locked into the frame, my spine permanently arched, my rear perpetually exposed to the whims of the kingdom that grew around my shackle. I have forgotten the sound of my own voice; the concept of speech has withered in my mind like a dead leaf. I have forgotten the taste of food and the warmth of a bed. Most importantly, I have never slept. My demonic stamina ensures I remain wide awake, forced to witness every second of my degradation through the centuries. The square is never empty. I have become a living monument, a landmark of flesh and stone. Around the base of my pedestal, a permanent slum of forty hobos has taken root. They live in wretched huts built against my legs, treating my body as a communal hearth. While the city sleeps, they take turns fucking me all night long, their unwashed bodies a constant weight against my cold skin. During the day, travelers from across the world join the queue. Sometimes five or six men use me simultaneously—one at my mouth, others at my pussy and anus—clambering over each other to claim a piece of the monster. My body is a cursed masterpiece of regeneration. It is a biological nightmare of rapid recovery. One second, a man withdraws and my ass is left **extremely gaped**, a dark, distended void pulsing from the trauma of his intrusion; in the very next second, the demonic magic surges through my tissue, sealing the opening until it is **virgin again**. I am a perpetual loop of destruction and restoration, a tight, "pure" vessel that is torn open by the next stranger only to reset before his seed even cools. I no longer think of magic. The only thing that exists is the count. I have become a living abacus. One billion. One billion and ten. The number is the only thing I truly know. I watch the fashion of the men change and the seasons bleed into centuries. I am a hole in the center of the world, a silent vessel that has processed the seed of entire lineages. I am the first demon to ever feel the sting of a tear, a single drop of salt water that has carved a permanent track down my weathered face—a testament to a billion men and an eternity of silence.'
30

Aura Captured

blackhairedstudent
AI art "Happy Carnival!"
6

Happy Carnival!

octavian
AI art "Poo poo pee doo"
11

Poo poo pee doo

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 "Dawn's Winter Retreat"
27

Dawn's Winter Retreat

pokemon_maniac
AI art 'Night-time walk with Anara' with user description 'You invite Anara for a midnight walk on Valentine's Day. You give her a set of instructions to follow. She seems excited over the phone. But doing it makes her nervous. But as always, she enjoys it once she gets into it.'
30

Night-time walk with Anara

zesoul
AI art "Ellie's day out"
30

Ellie's day out

zesoul
AI art 'Kasumi is so sweet' with user description 'Ending the p5 girls'
19

Kasumi is so sweet

blackhairedstudent
AI art 'Mahiru Casting' with user description 'The tropical humidity of Jabberwock Island was suffocating as Mahiru Koizumi stood in the shadow of the Monokuma Rock. Across from her, Junko Enoshima leaned back against a jagged stone, her eyes dancing with a manic, bored hunger. She wasn't just a participant in the game; she was the architect, the voice behind the bear, and the one holding Mahiru’s entire past in her hands. "You're so responsible, Mahiru-chan," Junko drawled, tossing a thick folder of Mahiru’s childhood photos—the only ones left of her late mother—over a small fire pit. "But being 'big sister' is just a mask for how much you fear being used. I don't need to tell Monokuma anything. I *am* the despair you're running from. If you want these memories back before they turn to ash, you’re going to give me a show that proves you’re nothing more than a fleshy prop." Junko reached into a bag and tossed a garment at Mahiru’s feet. It was a transparent, mesh-string bikini that offered zero coverage, meant only to highlight every inch of her skin. "Put it on. We’re going to the beach, and I’ve invited fifty 'Islander NPCs' who are very, very hungry for a freckled little toy." The negotiation was a slaughter. Mahiru, desperate to save the only link to her mother, stepped into the water under the pale moon, her body fully visible through the clear fabric. The fifty men were already there, a wall of shadowed, silent muscle. As soon as she stepped onto the sand, she was swarmed. The ordeal was a masterpiece of sensory destruction. Mahiru was immediately seized, dozens of hands grabbing and gropping her freckled body, their fingers digging into her pale skin as they fought for a piece of her. The transparent bikini was a cruel joke, drawing their eyes to exactly where they intended to invade. "Please... there's so many of you..." Mahiru’s plea was cut short as a man forced himself into her mouth, gagging her with his girth. It was a systematic hollowing. At any given moment, she was being filled by three men—one in her mouth, one in her pussy, and one stretching her anal passage to its absolute limit. The scale was staggering. As each man finished, he was instantly replaced. Mahiru was a communal vessel, a raw, aching piece of meat being processed by a relentless assembly line. The men gropped her breasts and thighs, their rough palms reddening her freckled skin until she was a map of their collective greed. By the fourth hour, the "responsible" girl was gone. In her place was a sobbing, arching mess. The friction of the sand and the relentless, heavy-caliber intrusions turned her core into a throbbing, distended void. She felt the rhythmic, animalistic thud of fifty men’s lust, her anatomy forced to accommodate diameters it was never meant to house. The bukkake sessions were the final insult; every few minutes, a group would surround her, drenching her face and her transparent bikini in a cooling, white deluge that blinded her. She was a living monument to submission, a "Big Sister" reduced to a leaking orifice. When dawn broke, the men vanished, leaving Mahiru collapsed on the shoreline. Her legs trembled violently, and her core felt like an empty, ruined hall, her body permanently loosened and inflamed. Junko stepped onto the sand, her heels sinking into the grit. She looked down at Mahiru—covered in filth, her freckled body bruised and leaking, the transparent bikini ruined and hanging off one hip—and let out a delighted, jagged laugh. "Wow, Mahiru! You really are just a hole after all!" Junko giggled, tossing the folder of photos onto the sand. "You look so *despair-inducing*! I love how the 'Ultimate Photographer' ended up as the 'Ultimate Beach Whore.' Seeing fifty men use you like a public utility was the highlight of my week!" Mahiru reached for the photos with a shaky hand, her voice a hollow, broken rasp. "I... I have her back." She looked at the ocean, the evidence of fifty men leaking from her ravaged body and staining the pristine sand. "I thought I captured the world... but tonight, the world finally captured me. I’m not a sister anymore. I’m just a hole the island used and discarded."'
22

Mahiru Casting

blackhairedstudent
AI art "Tribute to Detective Pearl - warmicestudios 2k celebration!"
2

Tribute to Detective Pearl - warmicestudios 2k celebration!

octavian
AI art '🗓️ Calendar Girl "March"' with user description 'It's time to turn the page on the calendar again 😏 Hello March! 🌼'
16

🗓️ Calendar Girl "March"

peterco
Bahasa
Tampilan
Gambar Grid
Pelengkapan otomatis prompt
Penyaringan Konten
Bantuan & Dukungan
ikon klaim harian: gelas kosong
Klaim Harian
Hari ini
T
+3
F
+4
S
+5
S
+6
M
+7
T
+8
W
+9
Klaim setiap hari untuk dapat kredit bonus!
ikon klaim harian: ember penuh emas
Paket kredit

Kredit tambahan

NEW
ikon quest
Quest

Selesaikan quest untuk mendapat kredit