clothes pull

AI art "Alya Sometimes Hides Her Feelings on the subway."

30

Alya Sometimes Hides Her Feelings on the subway.

AI art "From mermaid to maid."

20

From mermaid to maid.

AI art 'Nami Cosplay'

20

Nami Cosplay

AI art "2..."

2

2...

AI art 'Snow Gangbang' with user description 'Some hot cold scenes ❤️'

14

Snow Gangbang

blackhairedstudent

AI art "Anal is so romantic"

4

Anal is so romantic

AI art '1000 Followers Special' with user description 'Thanks guys ❤️ here is one of favourites (and best work) so far. I would apreciate if you like and comment what was you favourite photo.. it cost at least 250 credits to make 😞 (because of the feet one)
Well, enjoy have a nice fap

The art room was bathed in the warm, orange glow of the late afternoon sun, casting long shadows across the easels and scattered sketches. Naoto, or "Senpai" as he was perpetually known, had stepped out to clear some space in the storage closet, leaving Nagatoro and the visiting Marin Kitagawa alone. Marin had stopped by to consult on a potential cosplay project, but the conversation had quickly shifted as Nagatoro observed the way the blonde girl’s eyes lingered on Senpai’s back whenever he moved.
"You’re totally staring, Kitagawa-san," Nagatoro teased, her signature mischievous grin stretching across her face as she leaned against a desk.
Marin jumped, her face turning a shade of pink that rivaled the sunset. "W-What? No, I was just looking at the... the perspective in his drawing! It’s really impressive!"
Nagatoro let out a sharp, feline cackle. "Liar! You’ve been thirsty for my gross Senpai since you walked in. It’s written all over your face." She walked closer, her eyes narrowing with a playful, predatory glint. "But I don't blame you. He’s surprisingly... capable, once you get past all the stammering."
Marin fidgeted with the hem of her skirt, her heart racing. "Is it that obvious? He’s just so dedicated to his craft, and he’s actually really kind. I didn't think you’d be so open about it, Nagatoro-san."
"Well, I’m the only one allowed to bully him," Nagatoro said, her tone shifting slightly. She stepped into Marin’s personal space, lowering her voice. "But honestly? He’s been working so hard lately. I think he needs a real reward. Something that’ll blow that shy little mind of his. And I’ve been thinking... I wouldn't mind sharing the fun if it’s with someone who actually appreciates him."
Marin’s eyes widened, her breath catching. "Sharing? You mean... a threesome? With Senpai?"
"Why not?" Nagatoro shrugged, though her blush was starting to match Marin’s. "Think about it. Two girls like us, giving him the best experience of his life. He’d probably faint from the shock, but once he gets going, he’s a lot more intense than he looks. Don't tell me you haven't imagined it."
Marin’s mind raced. She thought about Naoto’s steady hands, his quiet intensity, and the way he looked when he was focused. The idea of being with him, guided by Nagatoro’s fearless energy, sent a jolt of heat through her. "I... I have. But I didn't want to overstep. He’s your Senpai."
"He is," Nagatoro whispered, leaning in to Marin’s ear. "Which is why I’m inviting you. It’ll be a masterpiece, Kitagawa. Much better than any cosplay photo. We can show him exactly how much we like him. Together."
The door creaked open, and Naoto walked back in, wiping dust from his hands. "Okay, I cleared out the—" He stopped mid-sentence, sensing the heavy, electric atmosphere in the room. Both girls were staring at him, their faces flushed and their eyes bright with a shared, secret intent.
"Senpai~" Nagatoro chirped, walking over and grabbing his arm. "Kitagawa-san and I were just discussing a new art project. A live study. And we decided we need you as the center of it."
Before Naoto could protest, Marin stepped forward, her initial hesitation replaced by a bold, nervous excitement. "She’s right, Senpai. I really want to... participate. If that’s okay with you?"
The confusion on Naoto’s face didn't last long as the girls began to lead him toward the large lounge chair in the corner of the room. The transition from teasing to reality was seamless. Nagatoro took the lead, her hands moving with a possessive confidence, while Marin followed, her touch gentle but eager.
The art room became a sanctuary of shared heat. They shared Senpai’s cock with a frantic, coordinated hunger, Nagatoro’s experienced playfulness perfectly complementing Marin’s genuine, overflowing passion. Naoto was overwhelmed, his senses pushed to their absolute limit as he was worshipped by both girls. The evening turned into a blur of tangled limbs and whispered praise, a masterpiece of intimacy that left all three of them breathless and utterly satisfied in the fading light.'

30

1000 Followers Special

blackhairedstudent

AI art "White jeans"

20

White jeans

AI art "Cyndel Vale needs money 8 (ft. Captain Nemesis)"

25

Cyndel Vale needs money 8 (ft. Captain Nemesis)

AI art "2000!"

7

2000!

AI art 'Praying ❤️' with user description 'The campfire crackled softly between them, casting flickering orange shadows against the ancient ruins where they had made camp. Frieren was focused on a tattered grimoire, searching for a spell that supposedly removed moss from stone.
Fern sat opposite her, fastidiously polishing her staff. After a long silence, she looked up, her expression as stoic as ever.
"Mistress Frieren," Fern began, her voice clinical. "Do you remember the 'Church of the Eternal Font' we passed near the Auberst border? They offered a trial for mana expansion."
Frieren didn't look up. "Mana is built through decades of study, Fern. Gimmicks are useless."
"It wasn't a gimmick," Fern countered. "They told me that if a mage could remain in continuous, focused prayer for exactly three hours, their mana capacity would permanently expand. But there was a catch—the 'Testing of the Flesh.' The priests were permitted to do anything to break my concentration, provided they didn't use violence or magic."
Frieren finally closed her book, curious. "And you accepted?"
"I wanted to be stronger for you," Fern replied. "So, I entered the sanctum, knelt on the cold marble, and began the chant."
Fern took a deep breath, her hands tightening on her staff. She began to describe the ordeal with a detached, rhythmic cadence.
"The first hour was psychological, but then they began to touch. They removed my boots and used their tongues and soft feathers to lick and tickle my feet. It was an agonizing sensation, but I did not move. When they realized my spirit was firm, they became invasive. They stripped my robes. One priest knelt before me, forcing his member into my mouth for a deepthroat so intense I was gagging, my eyes watering from the pressure. I kept the prayer vibrating in my chest, even as he finished, his seed coating the back of my throat."
Fern’s voice remained flat, despite the harrowing detail. "Then came the physical intrusion. I was pushed onto my hands and knees. One priest entered me from behind while another took my front—a double penetration that felt like I was being torn apart. They were relentless, using their fingers to stimulate me while hammering into my body, trying to force a scream from my lips. They used my body as a vessel for their lust. Licking every inch of my skin, biting my ears, and eventually, several gathered for a bukkake. I felt the warm, sticky weight of their release hitting my face and hair. They even used my anal passage, a searing intrusion that made my breath hitch. But I remembered your lessons. I treated the sensations as nothing more than external noise."
Fern looked Frieren directly in the eyes. "For three hours, I was a statue. When the final bell chimed, they stopped. I stood up, cleaned myself with a cantrip, and walked out."
"And?" Frieren asked softly.
"I felt it," Fern said, a small ghost of a smile appearing. "A violent expansion. My mana capacity is significantly larger now. It was the most difficult training I have ever endured."
Frieren was quiet for a long time. Then, she reached out and patted Fern’s head with clumsy affection.
"You really are a pervert about magic, Fern," Frieren said with a hint of pride. "To go that far just for power... you’re starting to remind me of Master Flamme."
Fern huffed, her familiar pout returning. "It was a calculated decision, Mistress Frieren."
"If you say so," Frieren murmured, reopening her book. "But next time, ask me. I have a spell for mana growth that involves bitter herbs. It’s much less... messy."
"Now you tell me," Fern muttered, returning to her polishing as the secret finally settled in the quiet night air.'

21

Praying ❤️

blackhairedstudent

AI art "Fern Gangbang"

24

Fern Gangbang

blackhairedstudent

AI art "Maomao"

20

Maomao

AI art 'Beyond Journey's End Part 1' with user description 'The Archive of Perpetual Calibration: A Journey through the Lens
The sunlight is fading, casting long, dramatic shadows over the riverbank as we sit among the smooth stones. Fern and I are huddled together, swiping through the seventeen captures on the traveler’s device. Beside us, a small basket of mountain berries and sliced melons sits partially eaten—a sweet, crisp contrast to the heavy, magical atmosphere of the day.
The Negotiation: A Contract of Light and Time
Frieren: "It began with a simple curiosity, Fern. The traveler approached us with that obsidian slab he called a 'Smartphone.' He claimed it didn't just capture images, but could archive the 'essence of history' to unlock a time-playback feature. To see the Hero Party again... I knew I had to have it. But his price was specific: he needed us to be his exclusive models to calibrate the device’s sensors. It was a logical trade—my history for our presence."
Fern: "I was horrified, Mistress. A stranger asking us to pose for a 'miracle' sounded like a common scam. I called him a pervert—multiple times. But you looked at me with that calm, ancient resolve and said, 'Fern, clothes are temporary, but a record of the past is eternal.' You were so stubborn that I eventually folded. I traded my dignity for your nostalgia, much like a tart berry trades its skin for the sweetness inside."
The Sequence of Initial Exposure
Frieren: "In Photos 1 through 4, we established the baseline. You were so stiff, Fern, clutching your staff as if the lens was a physical threat. I remember the berries we ate then were a bit underripe, matching your prickly mood."
Fern: "By Photo 5, you were standing there completely bare, treating the removal of your clothes like a boring lecture on mana-circuits. But then came my turn... and something strange happened. When I finally let my garments fall and felt the mountain breeze on my skin, I didn't just feel exposed—I felt a strange sense of liberation. When I looked at the lens and smiled for the first time, it wasn't for the traveler. It was because, for a moment, I felt as light as a dandelion seed. I looked like a woman of a new era, ripening like a summer peach."
Frieren: "By Photo 6, our first dual-calibration, I realized the 'logic' of the box was absolute. Modesty was simply noise that the sensors needed to filter out."
The Deepening Interaction
Frieren: "The transition to 'Dynamic Interaction' in Photos 7 and 9 was where the true sync began. Our first shared kiss was a perfect way to equalize mana pressure. It tasted of mountain air and the faint sweetness of that melon we shared."
Fern: "My face was the color of a ripe pomegranate. But then we reached Photo 10... the '69' position. It was a recursive loop of consumption. I learned more about the 'flavor' of your ancient mana in those minutes than in years of travel. I believe that was the first time the intensity forced me to reach a peak—a visceral 'release' archived in high definition."
The Traveler’s Direct Influx
Frieren: "In Photos 12 and 13, we provided 'Paizuru' data. It was fascinating to see the sensors react to our combined forms against the traveler’s stimulus tool. I found the oral calibration in Photo 14 particularly dense. My first peak occurred there; the sensory input was as potent and sharp as a burst of citrus."
Fern: "Photos 15 and 16 were the 'Internal Saturation.' While the traveler entered me to map my 'Potential,' you were there, Mistress, grounding me with your tongue. That was my second and third peak in rapid succession. To be filled by him while being tasted by you... it’s a wonder I didn't bruise like a soft plum."
The Final Count & Observation
Frieren: "In total, I reached two peaks of mana-saturation, and you, Fern, reached four. My style is 'Ancient Indifference'—I can maintain focus even while shaking. You, however, have a style of 'Violent Surrender.' You pouted for ten photos and then became the most dedicated vessel I've ever seen."
Fern: "You are a 'Stupid Frieren' for making me do this. You’d probably think about a pancake-flipping spell in the middle of a hurricane. But... the data is perfect. The sky is turning a bruised orange now."
The Coming Storm
As we reach Photo 17, the light is dying. The sweet fruit is gone. Nine new shadows are lengthening across the riverbank—the next phase of the mass calibration.
The first part of the archive is locked.'

19

Beyond Journey's End Part 1

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

19

Fun at school

AI art "Strip Poker After Hours With Miki"

22

Strip Poker After Hours With Miki

AI art 'Hinako's new dress'

8

Hinako's new dress

AI art 'Nagatoro Weekend in grandma House' with user description 'The weekend was intended to be a quiet, unremarkable retreat in the countryside, away from the frantic energy of the city and the constant teasing of her underclassman. Nagatoro had traveled to her grandmother’s secluded home, a traditional wooden house nestled against a backdrop of rolling green hills. Her grandfather had passed away years ago, and her grandmother had recently remarried a man named Goro. As Nagatoro sat on the porch, her legs dangling over the edge, she found herself stealing glances at him while he worked in the garden.
Goro was not what she expected. He was much older than her, with a heavy, solid frame and a prominent belly that spoke of a life well-lived and enjoyed. Despite his age and weight, there was something undeniably magnetic about him. It wasn't his looks, but the way he carried himself—with a slow, deliberate confidence. Most of all, it was his voice. It was a deep, resonant rumble that seemed to vibrate in the floorboards beneath her feet, carrying a weight of authority and experience that made her pulse quicken in a way she couldn't quite articulate.
"You're awfully quiet today, Hayase," Goro noted, his deep voice snapping her out of her reverie. He didn't look up from the bonsai he was pruning, but she could hear the slight, knowing amusement in his tone. "The city air usually makes young people chatter like birds once they get a taste of the mountain fresh."
"I'm just relaxing, Goro-san," Nagatoro replied, her usual sharp, teasing edge softened by the tranquil atmosphere. "It’s different here. It’s quiet. It makes you think."
"Quiet is good for the soul," he chuckled, the sound low and gravelly, like stones grinding together. "But even the quietest places have their secrets, if you know where to look."
Their conversation drifted through mundane topics—the quality of the summer harvest, the humidity of the coming week, and old stories about her grandmother’s headstrong youth. Nagatoro found herself leaning in, captivated by the hypnotic cadence of his speech. It was a voice that felt like it had seen everything and feared nothing.
Around 2:00 PM, her grandmother wiped her hands on her floral apron and grabbed her wide-brimmed sun hat from the hook by the door. "I’m heading into town for the weekly groceries, Nagatoro. We’re out of almost everything for dinner tonight. Goro, be a good host and keep her entertained while I’m gone."
"With pleasure," Goro said, leaning his shears against a post and watching the car pull out of the gravel driveway until the dust settled.
The silence that followed was heavy and immediate. They moved inside to the living room, where a single ceiling fan whirred overhead, struggling against the afternoon heat. Goro sat in his large leather armchair, while Nagatoro perched on the very edge of the sofa, her hands tucked between her knees.
"So, Hayase," Goro started, his dark eyes locking onto hers with a sudden, piercing intensity. "A girl as lively and spirited as you... do you have a boyfriend back in the city? Or are you still a virgin, waiting for some storybook prince to sweep you off your feet?"
Nagatoro’s face flushed a deep, hot crimson. "That’s a pretty bold thing to ask, don't you think?" she stammered, trying to find her usual bravado.
"I'm an old man, Hayase. I don't have time for small talk that doesn't lead anywhere interesting," he said, his voice dropping an octave until it was a mere vibration in the air.
Nagatoro looked away, her fingers tracing the hem of her denim shorts. The honesty of the environment seemed to demand an honest answer. "I... I'm a virgin. I tried, once or twice, but the boys my age... they’re useless. They’re all nerves and no action. They don't know what they're doing, and honestly, it’s just frustrating."
Goro leaned forward, his massive presence filling the space between them. "That’s the trouble with youth. It’s wasted on the young. I lost my virginity when I was exactly your age, but it wasn't to a girl my age. It was to a woman much older—someone who had silver in her hair and a fire in her blood that no girl could match. She was experienced. She taught me that sex isn't just a physical release; it’s a craft. She knew exactly how to make a man feel like a king, and in return, I learned how to treat a woman like a queen."
Nagatoro felt a surge of heat that had nothing to do with the summer sun. She tried to change the subject, pointing toward a dusty photo on the mantle. "That’s a nice picture of the mountains—"
"Don't run away from it, Hayase," Goro interrupted, his voice like velvet over jagged stones. "You’re curious. I can see it in the way you look at me when you think I'm not watching. Experience isn't something you can learn from a textbook or a fumbling, nervous boy in the back of a cramped car."
Nagatoro looked at the clock on the wall. 2:15 PM. "We have one hour until Grandma comes home," she whispered, her voice trembling with a mix of fear and exhilaration. Show me that experience of yours'

26

Nagatoro Weekend in grandma House

blackhairedstudent

AI art 'Naomi: Thanks for the support!' with user description 'I can’t believe how crazy this week has been! The love you've shown my posts is incredible. I’m so happy and grateful for all the support—you guys are the best! Naomi wanted to come by and say thank you too:

'Watching the waves today, I couldn't stop thinking about how lucky I am to have you all. Your sweet words have been like sunshine to me. Thank you for making me feel so seen and appreciated beyond the clothes and the poses. I'm sending you all a big, warm hug from the shore. I truly adore you guys.' — Naomi 🌊☀️ - Let me know in the commets if you reached the last photo."'

8

Naomi: Thanks for the support!

AI art 'Nagatoro's Casting' with user description 'The Righ train
The rhythmic clack of the train tracks was a dull hum against the pounding of my own heart. I was leaning against the cold, vibrating door, my jaw working a piece of grape gum with lazy, rhythmic chews. My eyes were glued to my phone, my thumb swiping through my "private" folder. I was so caught up in admiring my own tan lines and the curves of my unclad body in those mirror selfies that I didn't realize I wasn't alone in my vanity. I was so focused on the screen that I didn't see the shift in the air—the way the tired salarymen around me had stopped looking at their newspapers and started staring at the illicit, glowing heat in my hand.
Then, the sound changed. It wasn't just the screech of the rails; it was the frantic, wet sound of friction. My eyes flicked up for a split second, and my heart skipped a beat. All around me, men had their trousers open, their members out and pulsing. They were masturbating right there, eyes locked on my screen, then on me. I felt a surge of genuine panic, my mouth falling open, the grape gum forgotten. I went to scream, but before a sound could escape, a heavy, calloused hand slammed over my mouth.
Another hand gripped my breast, squeezing the soft flesh through my white off-the-shoulder ribbed crop top. I struggled, my white Mary Janes scuffing the floor, but then I saw my phone. A man had snatched it. His thumb hovered over the "Post" button on my Facebook. All those photos—the ones that would ruin a "normal" girl—were a millisecond away from being seen by everyone.
"If you don't want the whole world to see how much of a little slut you are," he hissed, "you're going to satisfy every man on this train."
I froze. A slow, predatory smirk began to spread behind the hand covering my mouth. My panic didn't vanish; it transformed into a wicked realization. "You think I'm scared?" I thought. "This... this was the plan all along. I wanted to see if anyone was bold enough to take what I was showing them."
They didn't waste time. They didn't even take off my top; they just yanked the elastic down, exposing my breasts to the stale air. I was forced to my knees, my jaw aching as I took the first man into my mouth. I used every trick I’d ever imagined, swallowing the thick, bitter floods of cum until my eyes rolled back. But that was just the "loading screen."
They stood me up, pinning me against the door. They didn't even remove my frayed denim shorts; they just shoved the fabric aside. I felt a thick, leathery cock drive into my pussy, stretching me until I thought I’d break. Then came the anal conquest—a searing, pressurized invasion that made me see stars. My pussy was already red and swollen, leaking their combined seed, but the sensation of being filled from behind while another worked my front was a "Double Penetration" that left me gasping.
Eventually, my shorts were shredded and cast aside, leaving me completely open. Two men stepped forward at once, their eyes hungry. They began the "Double Vaginal" assault, both of them forcing their way into my heat at the same time. The pressure was staggering, stretching my walls to their absolute limit. As I writhed under the weight of them, one of my white Mary Janes caught on a man’s leg and popped off, hitting the floor with a dull thud. I was left with one foot bare, my toes curling as they hammered into me.
As the train pulled into a station, I was pressed hard against the glass. People on the platform stared in shock, watching the "innocent" girl in the white crop top being relentlessly fucked by a rotating line of men. More men pushed into the car, drawn by the sight of my public ruin. I was a mess of sweat, saliva, and white stains.
By the time the train reached the final stop, I was slumped on a train seat, my legs spread wide and my pussy overflowing with a thick, white soup of cum that dripped onto the cushion. My skin was flushed, and I was completely spent. I watched, breathless, as the man with my phone finally hit "Post." My nakedness was now public, trending for the whole world to see.
I didn't cry. I didn't hide. I just leaned back against the seat and smiled, a dark, triumphant glint in my eyes. I wasn't ruined; I was a star. The notifications were already starting to pour in, a symphony of digital attention. This was the debut I had always wanted—the "Ultimate Senpai" had just become the most famous girl on the internet.'

21

Nagatoro's Casting

blackhairedstudent

ภาษา

มุมมอง

ภาพในกริด

เติมพรอมต์อัตโนมัติ

ตัวกรองเนื้อหา

ช่วยเหลือ & สนับสนุน

ไอคอนรับเครดิตรายวัน: แก้วว่างเปล่า

รับเครดิตรายวัน

วันนี้

S

+3

M

+4

T

+5

W

+6

T

+7

F

+8

S

+9

รับเครดิตทุกวันเพื่อรับโบนัส!

ไอคอนรับเครดิตรายวัน: ถังเต็มทอง

แพ็กเครดิต

เครดิตเติม

ไอคอนเควส

ทำเควสเพื่อรับเครดิต