I used NovelAI's unlimited gen membership for $25 a month. This was inpainted on NovelAI which is free. It also used NovelAI's "Enhance" img2img feature which again costs some on-site currency even with the unlimited subscription.

In the shadowed mists of ancient Yamato, where cherry blossoms whispered secrets to the wind and the mountains cradled the spirits of old, there dwelled two mighty yokai of unparalleled power and allure. They were born from the chakra of the Sage of Six Paths, fragments of a greater beast sundered long ago, yet in the tales passed down by firelight, they took forms as bewitching as the moon's glow on a tranquil sea. Kurama, the Nine-Tailed Fox, roamed the verdant forests with a grace that could ensnare the hearts of gods and mortals alike. Her body was a masterpiece of curves, an hourglass sculpted by the hands of temptation itself—slender waist cinched like a silken obi, flaring into hips that swayed with hypnotic rhythm, and breasts that rose full and proud, drawing the eye like blooming lotuses. Her fur gleamed a fiery crimson, soft as the finest velvet, and her nine tails fanned out like flames dancing in the autumn breeze, each tip curling with mischievous intent. Her eyes, sharp and crimson, held a shrewd fire that could melt iron or kindle desire.

Not far from her domain, in the sun-baked dunes where the sands sang lullabies of forgotten eras, lurked Shukaku, the One-Tailed Tanuki. Her form was a celebration of abundance, a BBW vision of earthly indulgence that commanded the desert's vastness. Her body swelled with voluptuous curves, her belly soft and inviting like the rolling hills after rain, but it was her enormous, sexy ass that stole the breath of any who beheld her—a magnificent, jiggling expanse that shifted like golden sands in a storm, wide and plush, begging to be admired or grasped. Her sandy-brown fur shimmered under the sun, coarse yet tantalizing to the touch, marked with dark seals that swirled like ancient curses etched in ink. Her single tail, thick and powerful, whipped the air with a bombastic flair, and her yellow eyes gleamed with a wild, star-shaped gleam, full of childish glee and unbridled passion.

Long had these sisters in spirit coexisted in uneasy rivalry, their pride as vast as the tails they bore—or lacked. Kurama boasted of her nine appendages as proof of her supremacy, while Shukaku sneered that true power lay in unyielding defense and raw, earthy might. But on a fateful eve, beneath a full moon that bathed the land in silver light, their eternal squabble took a turn toward the sensual. It began at the Sacred Spring of Mirrors, a hidden oasis where waters reflected not just the flesh but the soul's deepest vanities. The air was thick with the scent of blooming wisteria, sweet and heady, mingling with the earthy musk of damp soil and the faint, salty tang of distant seas. Crickets chirped a rhythmic symphony, their calls echoing like tiny bells in a shrine, while the cool night breeze rustled leaves overhead, carrying whispers of pine resin that tingled the nose.

Kurama arrived first, her paws padding softly on the mossy stones, each step sending ripples through the spring's glassy surface. She dipped her muzzle to drink, the water cool and crisp on her tongue, tasting of minerals forged in the earth's heart—sharp, invigorating, like the bite of fresh ginger. As she gazed into her reflection, she preened, arching her back to accentuate her hourglass silhouette. "Ah, behold the epitome of allure," she purred to herself, her voice a sultry rumble, deep and archaic, laced with the wisdom of centuries. "My curves flow like the rivers of Edo, narrow at the waist yet bursting with life above and below. What mortal or spirit could resist this form? My fur caresses like silk against skin, warm and inviting, and my tails? They could wrap a lover in ecstasy nine times over."

But as she spoke, a gust of wind stirred the sands beyond the spring, carrying a gritty whisper that grated like laughter. From the dunes emerged Shukaku, her massive form lumbering with a playful swagger, her enormous ass swaying side to side with each step, sending fine grains of sand cascading like golden waterfalls. The ground trembled faintly under her weight, a low vibration that hummed through the earth, felt in the bones like the distant roll of thunder. Her scent preceded her—a warm, spicy aroma of sun-warmed cinnamon and desert blooms, mingled with the faint, intoxicating musk of her own wild essence, earthy and primal, evoking the thrill of forbidden indulgence.

"Oho! What's this I hear?" Shukaku bellowed, her voice booming like a drunken reveler at a matsuri, incoherent in its bombast yet dripping with mirth. "You, Kurama, prattling on about your scrawny tails and twiggy waist? Ore-sama sees right through that fox trickery! Look at me—feast your eyes on true sexiness!" She spun dramatically, her single tail lashing the air with a whoosh that stirred eddies of sand, pelting the spring's edge with a soft patter like rain on bamboo. Her huge ass jiggled enticingly, the motion hypnotic, drawing the eye to its plush fullness, soft to the imagined touch yet firm with the power of the sands she commanded. "This body? It's a banquet for the senses! Wide hips that could cradle a mountain, an ass so grand it eclipses the moon itself—feel the heat radiating from it, like the desert sun at noon! And my fur? Rough and tantalizing, scraping just enough to ignite the skin's fire. You with your hourglass? Pah! That's for fragile tea ceremonies. Mine is for wild feasts under the stars!"

Kurama's crimson eyes narrowed, a spark of indignation flashing like lightning. She rose to her full height, her nine tails fanning out in a display of fiery elegance, their tips brushing the wisteria vines with a soft rustle, releasing more of that floral perfume into the air. The cool mist from the spring kissed her fur, leaving dewdrops that glistened like jewels on her curvaceous form. "Insolent tanuki! Your 'banquet' is naught but excess, a lumbering heap that buries grace under bulk. My hourglass is perfection—breasts that heave with every breath, drawing gasps like the sigh of sakura petals falling. Touch me, and you'd feel smoothness that melts the soul, not this... sandy abrasion of yours." She circled Shukaku slowly, her paws silent on the ground, the air growing warmer from her chakra's heat, carrying a faint, spicy scent of foxfire—smoky and alluring, like incense in a forbidden temple.

Shukaku laughed, a guttural cackle that echoed off the rocks, vibrating the water's surface into tiny waves that lapped at their feet with a gentle slap. She planted her paws firmly, her enormous ass quivering with the motion, sending a tremor through the earth that Kurama felt in her very core—a deep, resonant hum that teased the senses with promises of unyielding passion. "Grace? That's for weaklings who can't handle real power! Come closer, foxy—smell the spice of my sands, taste the grit on your tongue if you dare. My curves swallow admirers whole, wrapping them in softness that never ends. Your little waist? It'd snap like a twig in my embrace! And don't get me started on that flat tail-end of yours—mine's a throne for kings!"

The argument escalated, their voices rising in a cacophony of taunts and boasts. Kurama's tails whipped the air, creating gusts that carried her fiery scent farther, mingling with Shukaku's earthy musk until the oasis reeked of a sensual storm—sweet flowers clashing with spicy sands, the taste of anticipation thick on the tongue like honeyed sake. They drew nearer, fur brushing fur in heated proximity; Kurama's sleek, velvety coat against Shukaku's coarser bristles, a contrast that sparked electric tingles where they touched. "Admit it, one-tail! My hourglass lures with subtlety, a dance of shadows and light that leaves them begging for more," Kurama snarled, her breath hot against Shukaku's ear, carrying the faint flavor of wild berries from her earlier feast.

"Subtlety? Boring!" Shukaku retorted, bumping her hip against Kurama's with a playful thud that sent a jolt through both, the plush give of her body absorbing the impact like a pillow of dreams. "My ass commands attention—watch it sway, feel the pull like gravity itself! Men and spirits alike dream of burying their faces in this glory, lost in its vast, jiggling paradise. Yours? A mere tease, gone in a flash!"

To settle their feud, the yokai summoned a wandering samurai from the nearby village, his armor clinking softly as he approached, drawn by their enchanting calls. The man, broad-shouldered and weary from travels, stepped into the clearing, his nostrils flaring at the intoxicating blend of scents—floral fire and desert spice—that made his mouth water with unspoken desires. The moonlight illuminated their forms: Kurama's curvaceous outline gleaming like polished ruby, her breasts rising and falling with seductive breath; Shukaku's bountiful body undulating with laughter, her enormous ass a monument of temptation that jiggled with every guffaw.

"Human! Judge us!" they demanded in unison, their voices harmonizing in a chorus that hummed through his veins like fine wine.

The samurai, eyes wide, drank in the sights—Kurama's hourglass swaying like a willow in wind, Shukaku's BBW form quaking with mirth. He touched Kurama's fur tentatively, feeling its silken warmth slide under his fingers like heated oil; then Shukaku's, rough yet yielding, scratching deliciously like a lover's nails. The tastes lingered in his mind—imagined bites of sweet fox flesh versus savory tanuki indulgence.
"You are both... divine," he stammered, voice hoarse with awe. "Kurama's curves whisper elegance, a feast for the refined soul. Shukaku's abundance roars passion, a banquet for the wild heart. Sexiness lies not in one over the other, but in the eye that beholds."

The yokai paused, their rivalry cooling like the spring's waters. In that moment, under the moon's watchful gaze, they laughed—a shared rumble that shook the leaves and scattered petals like confetti. From then on, tales spoke of the Fox and Tanuki who learned that beauty's fire burns brightest in harmony, each form a unique spice in the grand feast of desire. And so, in the mists of Yamato, their legend endured, a reminder that even spirits could find allure in difference.