tally

Yinlin (Wuthering Waves) - virgin killer clothes

Rio (Blue Archive) - virgin killer sweater

AI art 'Nemona Lost A Battle' with user description 'I bounced through the academy woods with my huge energetic grin, long blonde hair swinging wildly as my coat flapped behind me. Suddenly this black-and-white bear popped out, holding some shiny Pokeballs with a mischievous smirk. "Hey hey! You there, bear guy! Those Pokeballs look super strong. Let's battle right now! It'll be so much fun, I promise!"

Monokuma chuckled. I kept insisting playfully, leaning in with sparkling eyes. "Aww, don't be boring! Battling's the absolute best way to get stronger and make friends! Pleeease? One match!"

He grinned slyly. "Alright, but if you lose, you do EVERYTHING I say. No backing out, no matter what."

I laughed confidently and clapped my hands. "Deal! And if I win, you give me a powerful Pokémon and grant me anything I want too! Let's make this epic!"

The battle was wild and intense. His legendary team—Eternatus, Zacian, Urshifu, Calyrex Shadow Rider, Groudon, Mega Raichu—completely overpowered mine no matter how hard I cheered and strategized. I lost on the final Pokémon. "Wow, you're really tough!" I said, hands on hips, still smiling brightly even in defeat.

Monokuma's grin widened. "Now you do everything I say for a week. You're my sex slave."

I blinked, laughing nervously while rubbing the back of my neck. "Whoa whoa, that's way too extreme! No way, bear guy!" He reminded me firmly of the "everything I say" deal. We negotiated back and forth, me trying to keep it light and easygoing. Finally I agreed, but with one big condition: my pussy virginity stays completely untouched. Only my ass.

**First day.** Monokuma didn't touch me himself. Instead he called over some of his big-cocked friends. They were ruthless! Bent over in the hidden room, they took turns pounding my ass with raw power and rage for hours, stretching me deep and filling me without mercy. Pain mixed with intense sparks that made my head spin. *This is so crazy... I just wanted a fun battle with a weird bear, and now his friends are wrecking my ass like this! My body's trembling, but a deal's a deal!*

Starving afterward, I panted with an awkward grin, "Food... I really need something to eat now!"

Monokuma placed two dog bowls on the floor—one labeled "Free," the other "Slut."

"They're empty!" I said, tilting my head cutely.

"Fill them up. That's the only food you'll have all week," he ordered.

I realized he meant the thick, warm cum dripping from my well-used asshole. *Ehh?! He wants me to eat all that cum straight from my own ass like a hungry puppy? This is super humiliating... but I lost fair and square, so I'm easygoing enough to handle it, right?* Blushing hard, I dropped to all fours and started scooping the sticky loads into the "Slut" bowl, licking it up with shy little moans.

While I was eating, face buried in the bowl, Monokuma called more friends over. They grabbed my hips and shoved their big cocks back into my sore ass, thrusting hard to pump fresh "food" right into me as I swallowed. *Ahh! They're filling me up again while I'm still eating the last batch! It's so messy and warm, cum leaking everywhere as they pound deeper. My thoughts are spinning—I feel so ashamed, but there's this weird tingle building... I keep lapping it up like a good sport!*

He kept the cycle going all day, calling different big-cocked guys to use my ass relentlessly while I ate. By mid-week, I was getting used to it. The humiliation started mixing with real excitement. Every time my bowls emptied, I'd look up eagerly, my easygoing smile turning a bit needy. *More... I need the next meal soon.* My ass felt constantly full and dripping, but I craved it now.

One evening, as I licked the "Slut" bowl clean, I turned to Monokuma with flushed cheeks and said breathlessly, "Hey... call even more friends, okay? Each person has a different taste! I want to try all the flavors for my meals." *I can't believe I'm asking for this, but it's true—the salty, thick loads vary so much and I'm getting addicted to the variety. My body feels alive in this weird way!*

The friends kept coming, pounding my ass raw in shifts, unloading deep inside so I always had fresh cum to scoop and devour on all fours. I became extremely anxious for the next "refeição," wiggling my hips impatiently whenever the bowls ran low. *Hurry up and fill me again... I need it so bad now. This started as a simple challenge, but now I'm loving being their cum-eating ass slut. The degradation just makes it hotter!*

By the end of the week, my ass was sore but my spirit was buzzing with twisted satisfaction. After the last meal, I looked up at Monokuma with bright, hopeful eyes and asked, "So... after this week ends, can I come dine with you and your friends every weekend? Please? I really want to keep having these special meals!"

Monokuma laughed as I waited anxiously for his answer, my easygoing nature now fully embracing the new craving.'

$AI art 'Junko Slut ❤️' with user description '### The Architecture of Absolute Boredom Junko Enoshima was bored. It was a cosmic, suffocating boredom that no ordinary thrill could cure. To her, hope was predictable, and conventional despair had become a routine. She needed a crucible—an experiment of absolute vulnerability to see if she could finally lose control. She orchestrated the scenario with mathematical precision, commanding her sister, Mukuro Ikusaba, to act as the warden of her self-imposed purgatory. The setting was a derelict, subterranean concrete chamber, stripped of all comfort. Junko had herself chained to the cold stone floor, completely defenseless, electing to remain there uninterrupted for nine grueling months. Mukuro stood guard at the single iron door, an immovable shield. The rules of the experiment were absolute: The Invitation: Word was leaked to the remnants of the outside world. Anyone could enter, one by one, for precisely ten minutes. The Crowd: Two distinct factions gathered. First, the vengeful—those who had lost everything to Junko’s machinations. Second, the fanatics—the broken souls who idolized her chaos. The Security: Mukuro ruthlessly screened every visitor with a metal detector. Junko wanted to experience their raw emotion, but she forbade them from ending her life prematurely. If anyone crossed the line to an assassination attempt, Mukuro’s blade silenced them instantly. The Nine-Month Crucible For 270 days, the cycle never paused. A relentless line of over a hundred people waited outside the door every single day. There were no breaks, no pauses for rest. Junko allowed herself only the bare minimum of sustenance, fed to her by Mukuro while the visitors unleashed their fury, grief, and twisted adoration upon her. The treatment she endured was entirely primal; the crowd stripped away her humanity, treating her as nothing more than an object or an animal for their consumption. They defaced her skin, using ink to scrawl derogatory insults like "slut" and "free use" across her body to mark her complete subjugation. The demand was so relentless that many men, after their ten minutes expired, immediately ran back to the end of the line just to experience her vulnerability again. The air in the chamber grew thick with the heavy weight of human malice. The hateful struck her, cursed her name, and tried to break her spirit through sheer physical and psychological dominance. Every ten minutes, a new face, a new form of aggression, and a new wave of intense human energy washed over her. The Aftermath of the Masses By the time the final hour of the ninth month ticked away, the statistics of the nightmare were staggering. Operating continuously at six participants per hour, 24 hours a day, for 270 days, Junko had been used by exactly 38,880 men. When the heavy iron doors were finally shut and the chains unlocked, the physical reality of what she had endured settled in. Her lower body was in ruins—crimson, incredibly swollen, and aching beyond human imagination from the non-stop friction and brutality of nearly 40,000 individuals. Her internal biology had been completely overwhelmed by the sheer volume of what had been left inside her. It took four agonizing hours of physical strain for her body to finally purge the massive amount of fluids accumulated from the endless rotation of men. The Verdict of the Ultimate Despair Mukuro knelt beside Junko, tending to her fractured, bruised, and leaking form, waiting for the grand revelation. She expected Junko to be radiant with the euphoria of a new, profound layer of despair. After all, she had subjected herself to the ultimate degradation at the hands of the masses. Junko slowly opened her eyes, staring blankly at the stained concrete ceiling. She didn't laugh. She didn't cry. "Is that it?" Junko whispered, her voice raspy but hollow. She analyzed the past nine months with her analytical mind. The violence of the vengeful had been entirely predictable; their anger followed a basic script of grief. The devotion of her followers was equally mundane, nothing more than weak minds clinging to a monolith. Even the physical extremity of the ordeal had eventually blurred into a monotonous rhythm. In the end, the grand experiment had failed to deliver the transcendent despair she craved. As she lay there, feeling the lingering ache of a thousand bitter encounters, Junko realized the terrifying truth of her existence: she felt no profound horror. She felt only a lingering, base stimulation—and an overwhelming, inescapable boredom'$