This video was genned using Sora 2 on Mind Video AI: https://www.mindvideo.ai/

You can get free accounts there with temporary emails, like: https://tempmailo.com/

With a free account you can do up to 4 basic video gens like this a day. Once you run out of attempts you can either wait a day or make another account with another temp email. The basic video gen is free, although all of the tools like on-site editing and upscaling and such cost on-site currency.

This video and all the alts used text to video gens and had variations of the prompt below:

The setting is sticky quicksand. The character is a female curvy fox woman sinking in the sticky quicksand. She gradually sinks slowly and the sticky quicksand gradually covers more of her body. At the start the sticky quicksand is up to the fox woman's knees and she continues to sink until she's submerged at the end.

The quicksand is up to the fox woman's knees. The female fox woman struggles and yells in a distressed female voice "HELP! I'm sinking!"

The sticky quicksand sticks to the fox woman.

The fox woman sinks further down into the quicksand. The quicksand is up to the fox woman's waist. The female fox woman struggles and yells in a distressed female voice "Yuck! It's so sticky!"

The sticky quicksand sticks to the fox woman.

The fox woman sinks further down into the quicksand. The quicksand is up to the fox woman's neck. The female fox woman struggles and yells in a distressed female voice "Ugh! It's so WET and MESSY!"

The sticky quicksand sticks to the fox woman.

The fox woman sinks further down into the quicksand. The quicksand covers the fox woman with just her hand reaching up out of it.

Finally the fox woman sinks beneath the quicksand with bubbles rising to the surface.

Vixara the Crimson Fox prowled through the dense, steaming heart of the Eldritch Jungle, her lithe, voluptuous form cutting a path through the undergrowth like a blade through silk. She was a vision of feral allure, her rust-red fur shimmering under the dappled sunlight that pierced the canopy above. Standing at a sleek five-foot-eight, her body was a masterpiece of anthropomorphic perfection—curves that could ensnare the gaze of gods and mortals alike. Her ample breasts strained against the confines of her cropped expedition vest, the thin leather material clinging to her like a lover's desperate grasp, outlining the pert, hardened nipples that poked through from the humid air's teasing caress. Below, her waist tapered into an hourglass flair, hips swaying hypnotically with each step, encased in skin-tight leather shorts that rode high on her thighs, accentuating the firm, rounded globes of her ass. Her long, bushy tail swished behind her, a fluffy red banner of seduction, while her powerful legs—toned from years of leaping across chasms and scaling ancient ruins—ended in delicate paws that now squelched through the muddy earth. Golden eyes gleamed with predatory confidence, framed by a muzzle that curved into a sly, sultry smile, her whiskers twitching at the scent of adventure... and victory.

She had just claimed the Golden Idol of Xarath from a booby-trapped temple, the artifact now nestled securely in her satchel, pressing against the soft fur of her hip. Vixara's heart raced not just from the thrill of the heist, but from the way her body felt alive in this wild place—sweat trickling down the valley between her heaving breasts, her fur matted in places that made her feel deliciously exposed, vulnerable yet empowered. She imagined the tales they'd tell back in the taverns: the sexy fox who outwitted death again, her body a weapon as sharp as her wits. Little did she know, the jungle had its own traps, ones that would strip away her control in the most intimate, terrifying ways.

It started innocently enough—a misstep on what looked like solid ground. Her right paw sank with a sudden, wet suck, the earth giving way beneath her like a treacherous embrace. Vixara froze, her golden eyes widening in shock as the mud—thick, warm, and insidious—swallowed her ankle in an instant. "What the—?" she gasped, her voice a husky purr turned sharp with alarm. She tried to pull back, but the quicksand only tightened its hold, slurping greedily up her calf, coating her sleek fur in a slick, clinging layer that felt unnervingly sensual against her skin.

Panic ignited in her chest like a wildfire, her breath quickening into short, ragged pants. "No... oh gods, no!" she whimpered, her tail thrashing wildly behind her, sending droplets of sweat flying. She was Vixara, the untouchable adventurer, the one whose body had seduced kings and evaded assassins. How could this happen to her? Her mind raced with denial, but her body betrayed her fear—her full breasts rising and falling rapidly, nipples hardening further against the vest as adrenaline surged through her veins. She shifted her weight, trying to distribute it evenly, but her left paw plunged in next, the quicksand surging up to her knees with a lewd, bubbling gulp. The sensation was horrifyingly intimate, the warm muck sliding between her thighs, pressing against the sensitive fur there like probing fingers.

"Help! Someone—anyone!" Her cry echoed through the jungle, but only the distant calls of exotic birds answered, mocking her desperation. Vixara's claws extended, digging into the nearby vines, but they were slippery with dew, her fingers slipping off as if the jungle itself conspired against her. She twisted her hips, those wide, curvaceous hips that had mesmerized so many, but the movement only made the quicksand pull harder, dragging her deeper. Now it lapped at her thighs, the thick sludge oozing up the insides of her legs, soaking through her shorts and teasing the heat between them. A flush of unwanted arousal mixed with her terror—how could her body react this way? The mud was warm, almost body-temperature, caressing her in places no lover had touched without permission. It felt wrong, violating, yet her traitorous nerves tingled, her tail curling involuntarily as a shiver ran up her spine.

Deeper she sank, inch by agonizing inch, the quicksand claiming her like a slow, relentless lover. It reached her hips now, engulfing the firm swell of her ass, the muck squeezing around her curves with a possessive grip. Vixara arched her back, thrusting her chest forward in a desperate bid to stay afloat, her breasts bouncing with the effort, the vest riding up to expose the soft underfur of her belly. "Please... I can't... I don't want to die like this!" Her voice broke into a sob, tears welling in her golden eyes, streaking down her muzzle. She clawed at the air, her arms flailing, paws sinking whenever they touched the surface. The panic was all-consuming now, her heart pounding like a war drum in her ears, every muscle in her athletic body tensing and quivering. She kicked her legs, powerful thighs flexing, but each thrash only accelerated her descent, the quicksand bubbling up around her waist, filling the dips of her hourglass figure with its heavy, smothering weight.

The erotic horror intensified as the mire crept higher, lapping at the underside of her breasts. Vixara gasped, a mix of fear and forbidden sensation, as the warm sludge soaked through her vest, molding to the full, rounded orbs like a second skin. Her nipples, already erect from the chill of dread, throbbed against the clinging fabric, the mud's touch sending unwelcome sparks of pleasure through her core. "Stop... oh gods, make it stop!" she wailed, her body writhing in the pit, hips bucking futilely, tail lashing and sending ripples across the deceptively calm surface. The quicksand didn't care about her pleas; it savored her, pulling her deeper until her breasts were half-submerged, the muck squeezing them, compressing her soft fur and flesh in a way that made her whimper with a blend of terror and twisted ecstasy. She could feel it everywhere—seeping into every crevice, coating her inner thighs, pressing against her most intimate places through the saturated leather of her shorts.

Her distress peaked as the quicksand reached her shoulders, her arms now trapped at her sides, pinned by the viscous embrace. Vixara's muzzle tilted skyward, her golden eyes wild with unbridled panic, tears flowing freely now, mixing with the sweat on her fur. "No, no, no—I'm too young, too beautiful for this! Someone save me!" Her screams turned to hysterical sobs, her body convulsing in futile struggles, every curve and contour of her sexy form fighting against the inevitable. The mud closed over her collarbone, then her neck, the warmth turning suffocating as it kissed her chin. She gulped air in frantic, heaving breaths, her breasts heaving one last time above the surface before they too vanished, the quicksand claiming them fully with a soft, final slurp.

In her final moments, Vixara's mind fractured under the intensity of her fear—visions of her life flashing by, the lovers she'd teased, the treasures she'd stolen, all meaningless now. The muck filled her ears, muffling the world, her tail giving one last desperate twitch before it submerged. Her muzzle dipped under, golden eyes bulging in abject horror as the quicksand flooded her open mouth, gritty and bitter, silencing her screams forever. Bubbles erupted from the surface, marking her passage, then stilled.
The jungle reclaimed its silence, the only remnants of the Crimson Fox a half-buried satchel and the faint, erotic echo of her final struggles, lost to the depths where her voluptuous body now rested, entombed in eternal, smothering darkness.