after ejaculation

AI art 'Why so serious?' for prompt: 'Marin Kitagawa.
sitting.
nude.
throat view.
Excesive amount of cum inside mouth.
Laughing.
mouth cumdrip, chin cumdrip.
1 man, cheeks grab, fingers inside mouth, penis on head, penis cumdrip on tongue
spreading her cheeks.
facial cum.
swallowing.'

10

Why so serious?

AI art 'Fun at school' with user description 'Marin Kitagawa and Yukino Yukinoshita participating in some extracurricular work.'

19

Fun at school

AI art "Dawn is Horny"

25

Dawn is Horny

AI art 'White jeans: extra' with user description 'extra at the request of @shinsenkyo232'

20

White jeans: extra

AI art "Cyndel Vale needs money 7"

20

Cyndel Vale needs money 7

AI art "Fern alternate costume"

20

Fern alternate costume

AI art 'C.C loves Pizza'

22

C.C loves Pizza

blackhairedstudent

AI art for prompt: 'Futanari spreading her ass. Soft cock. Cum dripping from penis. Bondage. Focus on asshole. Tired look. Full naked.'

Tanpa Tajuk

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 "Chel collection"

25

Chel collection

AI art "Robin Casting"

25

Robin Casting

blackhairedstudent

AI art "Cynthia"

5

Cynthia

AI art 'Marin Gangbang' with user description 'The heavy cardboard box sat in the center of the cramped apartment, labeled with bright "FRAGILE" tape that felt like a cruel irony. Inside, Marin Kitagawa was folded into a compact, agonizing ball. Her wrists were bound to her ankles with thick, industrial-grade zip ties, and a silk scarf was knotted tightly around her mouth, muffling her indignant huffs. The sound of a box cutter slicing through the tape made her heart thud once—not out of fear, but out of sheer, mounting irritation. As the flaps were pulled back, the harsh fluorescent light blinded her. Twelve pairs of eyes peered down into the box, staring at the "package" they had collectively purchased.
"Finally," one of them whispered, reaching in to hoist her out. Marin was dumped unceremoniously onto the stained carpet, still bound in that humiliating crouch. As the leader reached down to untie the gag, Marin didn't sob or plead. The second her mouth was free, she glared with enough heat to melt lead. "Are you serious right now? Three hours! I was in that box for three hours! Do you have any idea how much my legs cramp? My makeup is probably a total disaster. This is the most low-budget, 'edgy' entrance I’ve ever had to make. Cut these off. Now. If I get a circulation bruise on my ankles, I’m doubling the fee!"
One of the fans hurried forward with scissors, trembling as he snipped the ties. Marin immediately sprawled out on the rug, rubbing her wrists. She was completely naked under the "packaging," but she carried herself with the air of a queen inconvenienced by peasants. "Okay, look," she said, pointing a finger. "I’m sore, I’m annoyed, and I’m covered in cardboard dust. Let’s get this moving. I want to be in a hot bath before the sun comes up. Who’s the first genius who thinks he can handle the 'merchandise'?"
The small, dimly lit office smelled of stale coffee and desperation. These twelve men were exactly as she had feared: a collection of unwashed hoodies and eyes that held a disturbingly possessive glint. They had pooled their life savings to "rent" their favorite idol, and the contract she had signed in a moment of financial desperation was iron-clad. For the next several hours, the apartment became a theater of organized chaos. Marin remained a statue of pouting frustration. As the first three men approached, she didn't even bother to change her expression. One took her mouth, another guided himself into her pussy, and a third—the one with the shaky hands—claimed her anal passage.
The triple intrusion was a sudden, heavy weight, but Marin just stared at a water stain on the ceiling. She was annoyed by the lack of rhythm and the sheer, staggering girth of men who clearly spent more time on message boards than in gyms. "Ugh, you’re hitting my hip bone," she muffled around the first man’s member, her eyes tracking a spider near the baseboard. "Adjust your angle or something. Honestly, do you guys even know how anatomy works? It’s like you’ve only ever seen a human woman in a low-res JPG."
The men were relentless, driven by a primal need to finally possess the girl they had only ever seen on a screen. They rotated with a mechanical greed, sometimes four or five of them crowding around her at once, their hands roaming over her skin in a desperate attempt to memorize the texture of their idol. Marin felt the heat, the sweat, and the overwhelming scent of cheap cologne and desperation. "You're breathing too loud," she told the man currently hammering into her pussy, her tone as casual as if she were complaining about the weather. "It’s super distracting. And you," she pointed at the man waiting for her ass, "stop making that weird whimpering sound. It’s totally killing the vibe."
Despite her constant critiques, the men seemed even more energized. Her annoyance acted as a catalyst, a reminder that they were interacting with the real, unfiltered Marin Kitagawa. They pushed her into various positions—over the back of the sofa, against the wall, on the grimy carpet—using her three orifices with a frantic, uncoordinated energy. By the third hour, Marin was coated in a sheen of sweat and the evidence of their collective release. Her golden hair was messy, clinging to her damp shoulders.
"Seriously?" she groaned, wiping a stray drop from her cheek. "I’m going to need like, ten showers to get the smell of 'basement' off me. You guys are the absolute worst." The men, now mostly exhausted, looked at her with awe. They had used her in every way possible, filled her to the point of overflowing, and yet she still sat there, looking down at them with that same look of being completely unimpressed.
"Is that it?" Marin asked, standing up and stretching. She felt the heavy, lingering stretch in her core, the physical proof of twelve men’s greed, but she refused to give them the satisfaction of seeing her flustered. "Because I'm done. I'm going home, I'm ordering a massive pile of karaage, and I'm pretending this night never happened. Secretly she came 5 times.'

30

Marin Gangbang

blackhairedstudent

AI art 'A night to remember' with user description 'The dormitory of Hope’s Peak Academy felt unusually cramped as Toko Fukawa sat hunched over her desk, her fingers twitching over the keys of her typewriter. The "Genocider" within was quiet for once, but Toko’s own neuroses were in full bloom. She let out a jagged sigh, turning her head to glare at Aoi Asahina, who was currently doing light stretches on a yoga mat nearby.
"H-Hey, Donut Girl," Toko stammered, her voice a mix of a rasp and a sneer. "I’m... I’m stuck. My next romance manuscript is as dry as a desert. I need inspiration. Real stories. Not that s-saccharine garbage you probably daydream about while eating your weight in sugar. Do you have any... ideas? Anything with actual heat?"
Aoi paused her stretch, her ponytail swaying as she looked at Toko with a surprisingly thoughtful expression. A slow, mischievous smile spread across her face—one that didn't quite match her usual bubbly persona. "Actually, Toko... I have a story. It’s not a 'romance' in the way you’d think, but it’s definitely an experience I’ll never forget."
Toko adjusted her glasses, her eyes narrowing. "Well? Spit it out. I don't have all day."
"It happened a few years ago," Aoi began, her voice dropping into a nostalgic hum. "I had this childhood friend—let’s call him Ken. We grew up together, and I used to sleep over at his house all the time when we were kids. Nothing ever happened back then; we were just buddies. But one weekend, he invited me over again. When I got there, I realized it wasn't just us. There were five other guys there—his friends from the basketball team. I thought it was a little strange at first, but they had ordered a mountain of pizza, and I was starving. We had a great time, laughing and eating until we were stuffed."
"P-Pizza? That’s your big lead-in?" Toko scoffed, though she was already leaning forward.
"After the food, we started playing Mario Kart," Aoi continued, ignoring the jab.I was a pro, Toko. I was beating everyone, race after race. I was so confident that I started craving donuts. That’s when one of the boys—this really tall, muscular guy his name is octavi—proposed a bet. He said, Hina, if you win the next course, we’ll all pitch in and buy you donuts every single week for an entire year. But... if you lose, everyone who beats you gets to do whatever they want to you for the rest of the night.'"
Toko’s breath hitched, her fingers hovering over her typewriter. "A-And you... you accepted?"
"I was so sure of myself," Aoi whispered, her eyes clouding with the memory. "But then we started the race. My heart was pounding. And for the first time in my life... I lost. I didn't just lose; I came in nearly last. Every single one of them beat me, except for Ken. The room went silent for a second, and then the atmosphere changed. It was like the air got ten degrees hotter."
"What did they do?" Toko rasped.
"The **Gangbang** started right there on the living room carpet," Aoi said, her voice trembling slightly. "They didn't waste a second. They swarmed me. It was a total sensory explosion. I was pinned down by twelve hands, and the first thing they went for were my **Boobs**. They were grabbing them, kneading them, treating them like prizes they had finally won. Then, they moved to the rest of me. I was subjected to a relentless **Fellatio** circuit. I was forced into a series of **Deepthroat** maneuvers, taking one after another until my jaw ached and my eyes watered. It was a continuous stream of heat."
Aoi took a sharp breath. "Then came the main event. Because there were so many of them, they decided to maximize my capacity. I was subjected to a **Double Penetration** that felt like it was rearranging my very soul. I had one guy in my pussy and another in my **Anus** at the same time. The girth of them... the way they moved in opposite rhythms... it stretched my frame until I thought I would break. I was screaming, Toko! I was **cummed** on and in so many times I lost count. My internal walls were pulsing, desperately trying to hold onto all of them at once. They used every hole I had, rotating with a tactical efficiency that left me in a dazed, white-out trance."
"A-And the end?" Toko whispered, her face beet-red.
"The finale was a total **Bukkake**," Aoi finished, her voice a dazed hum. "They lined up and unleashed their **cum** directly into my throat and across my face. It was a white tidal wave. Because they held my mouth shut to ensure every drop was delivered, the pressure forced the warm, white cream through my sinuses. I felt the heat of **cum** leaking from my **nose**, and a faint, trickling warmth even reached my **ears**. I was internally and externally flooded."
Toko sat in stunned silence for a long moment. "That’s... that’s a tragedy! You lost a whole year of donuts and your dignity because of a stupid game
Aoi looked up at Toko, her smile returning—only this time, it was sharp and knowing. "Oh, Toko you’re missing the point. I’m the best Mario Kart player I know. I lost on purpose.'

30

A night to remember

blackhairedstudent

23

Steins;Gate

blackhairedstudent

AI art "Dawn <3"

27

Dawn <3

AI art "overboard with dober"

7

overboard with dober

empiricalescalator

AI art 'Chapter#01, The Chosen: Chloe. part 1.' with user description 'And remember, if you see something strange, it's because everything is a dream...'

19

Chapter#01, The Chosen: Chloe. part 1.

23

Kaede Casting

blackhairedstudent

AI art 'Maki Casting' with user description 'The rain lashed against the cold glass of the skyscraper’s penthouse, mirroring the rhythmic thrum of my pulse. I moved through the vents like a shadow, my red scrunchies the only splash of color in the dark machinery of the ventilation shaft. My target: the CEO of a multi-national conglomerate who had been funding shadow wars. He was supposed to be alone.
I dropped from the ceiling with a silent, lethal grace, my dagger already unsheathed. But as my boots hit the plush carpet, blinding spotlights erupted from every corner, illuminating twenty men in tactical gear with rifles aimed at my chest.
In the center stood the CEO, a man with a cruel, polished smile. "Maki Harukawa," he purred. "The Ultimate Assassin. Did you really think I wouldn't be ready?"
I tightened my grip on my blade, scanning the room. Twenty elite guards, high-caliber weapons, zero cover. To fight was to die in a hail of lead before I could take a single step. I let the dagger fall. The metallic clang echoed through the silent room.
"Fine," I said, my voice as flat as a grave. "I lost. You can take my life now. Just make it quick."
The CEO stepped forward, his eyes roaming over my body with a sickening, predatory hunger. "Your life? Now? Oh, Maki, you aren't going to die so soon. We’re going to use you. Every single one of us."
They took me to a room tucked away in the back of the penthouse—a jarring, horrific contrast to the rest of the building. It was completely pink. Pink walls, pink rugs, pink satin. They stripped me of my gear, but they didn't bind me. They didn't need to. With twenty armed men standing guard and the CEO watching like a hawk, they knew I had nowhere to go. I stood there in the center of that soft, neon nightmare, exposed and surrounded.
For the next two hours, the room was a blur of heat and degradation. The CEO and his twenty guards descended upon me like animals. Because I wasn't bound, they moved me as they pleased, forcing me into various positions on the plush floor and against the velvet walls. They used me in every way possible, their lust driven by the thrill of conquering the world's most dangerous woman. They were relentless, taking turns with a primal, chaotic energy. They used my mouth, my pussy, and my anal passage with a bruising, heavy-handed greed. I felt the weight of them and the staggering girth of men who thought they had finally broken me.
But as they hammered into me, as they filled my orifices with their filth, they didn't notice the subtle, sweet scent emanating from my skin. I wasn't fighting back—not because I had given up, but because I was waiting.
Before the mission, I had prepared for the worst-case scenario. I had coated the linings of my three orifices with a highly concentrated, slow-release sedative—a calming toxin designed to be absorbed through mucosal contact. I had taken the antidote hours prior. Every time they used me, every time they drove themselves into my body, they were unknowingly dosing themselves with a powerful paralytic.
One by one, the guards began to stumble. The CEO, who was currently over me, his face twisted in a mask of hedonistic joy, suddenly felt his eyes glaze over. His movements slowed, becoming sluggish and heavy.
"W-What... what is this?" he gasped, his tongue thick.
"Do you want to die?" I whispered.
He collapsed on top of me, a dead weight. Around the room, heavy thuds followed as all twenty men hit the floor, their bodies completely paralyzed but their hearts still beating.
I stood up, my body aching and coated in the evidence of their depravity, but my mind was clearer than it had been all night. I walked over to where they had tossed my dagger and picked it up.
"You said you were going to use me," I said, looking down at the CEO as he stared up with wide, terrified eyes. "But in the end, you were just the delivery system for your own execution."
I moved through the room with methodical precision. One stroke for each guard. One final, slow cut for the man in the center. By the time I walked out of that pink room, the only color left on the walls was the deep, dark crimson of a mission finally completed. I disappeared into the rain, leaving the "dollhouse" behind forever.'

29

Maki Casting

blackhairedstudent

Bahasa

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Imej Grid

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Bantuan & Sokongan

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