This was made with a local install of Reforge using the model RealMond: https://huggingface.co/Xeno443 . I'd recommend any or all of the 'Mond models, they're all some of the best furry SDXL models.

Inpainting was done using the same model.

I used Tail Tagger for tagging assistance: https://github.com/renfald/tail-tagger . Along with the JPT-3 model for AI generating tags: https://huggingface.co/RedRocket/JTP-3/tree/main/models?not-for-all-audiences=true

In the heart of Petropolis, where the skyline buzzed with the chaotic energy of anthropomorphic animals going about their secret agent lives, Dudley Donald Puppy bounded through the corridors of T.U.F.F. headquarters like a whirlwind of fur and enthusiasm. His white mixed-breed body, a perfect genetic cocktail of every dog breed known to man—plus a dash of billy goat for good measure—propelled him forward with the speed of a greyhound and the strength of an Alaskan malamute. Clad only in his signature black t-shirt that hugged his muscular upper body, he despised pants with a passion that bordered on phobia, claiming they made him feel like he was being chased by invisible squirrels. His blue eyes sparkled with unbridled joy, black ears flopping as he chewed absentmindedly on his own butt, a habit that never failed to elicit eye-rolls from his colleagues. Dudley was the epitome of hyperactive dim-wittedness, a pup with the heart of a full-grown pack leader, always ready to dive headfirst into danger or a pile of chew toys, whichever came first.

His partner, Kitty Katswell, trailed behind him with the graceful poise of T.U.F.F.'s number one agent. Standing at five feet six inches tall—excluding her perky ears and that iconic 1960s flip hairstyle of wavy black hair—she was a vision of tan-furred feline athleticism. Her lime-green eyes scanned the surroundings with sharp detective precision, her long tail swishing rhythmically, whiskers twitching only when her cat instincts kicked in. Dressed in her form-fitting two-piece dark teal spy suit, complete with a popped collar, white turtleneck top, gloves, belt, and those signature white high-heeled combat boots, she exuded confidence and capability. Kitty was a master of 120 dialects, all forms of martial arts, and her claws were registered lethal weapons, capable of ripping through steel doors or lifting pianos with ease. Yet beneath her tough, no-nonsense exterior lay a kind, caring soul—protective and supportive, though quick to temper, especially on her dreaded birthdays, which had been cursed with disasters since childhood thanks to her overbearing mother and evil twin sister Katty.

The duo had just wrapped up a grueling mission against Verminious Snaptrap and his D.O.O.M. goons, the air still thick with the acrid scent of exploded cheese cannons and singed fur. Dudley's sensitive bloodhound nose picked up the lingering aromas of gadget oil and victory sweat, making his tail wag furiously as he burst into the break room. "Woo-hoo! Kitty, we totally owned those rats! I mean, did you see me chomp that laser like it was a squeaky toy? Nom nom nom—villain vanquished!" His voice boomed with cartoonish exuberance, echoing off the walls as he accidentally knocked over a stack of coffee mugs, sending shards skittering across the tile floor like fleeing minions.

Kitty rolled her green eyes, a smirk tugging at her lips despite the mess. "Yes, Dudley, I saw. And I also saw you trip over your own tail and set off the self-destruct sequence. Again." She crossed her arms, inadvertently pushing up her ample bosom against the tight fabric of her suit, the zipper straining just a bit. The room's fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting a warm glow on her tan fur, while the distant city sounds—honking horns and barking street dogs—filtered through the vents, blending with the faint floral perfume she wore, a scent that always made Dudley's nose twitch in delight. She sauntered closer, her boots clicking authoritatively, her tail curling playfully. Their partnership had started rocky—assigned to train this clumsy mutt after he accidentally thwarted a D.O.O.M. plot with a super-bouncy chew toy—but over countless adventures, it had blossomed into something deeper: a sibling-like bond laced with vitriolic banter, mutual respect, and an undercurrent of unspoken attraction.

Dudley froze mid-bounce, his tongue lolling out in classic cartoon fashion as he caught sight of her curves. "Aw, shucks, Kitty, you're the cat's meow! Without you, I'd be kibble. Hey, wanna grab a post-mission snack? I could go for a mountain of bones!" He scratched behind his ear, his hyperactivity bubbling over, but there was a genuine warmth in his blue eyes, a loyalty forged from episodes like "Purr-fect Partners" where they'd first teamed up, or "Doom-mates" where he'd fiercely protected her from The Chameleon's schemes.

Kitty chuckled, a purr rumbling in her throat—a rare sound that mixed her mature poise with girlish mischief. "Flattery might get you somewhere, Puppy. But snacks can wait. We've got some... debriefing to do." Her voice dropped to a husky whisper, laced with that deadpan snark she wielded like a weapon. The air in the break room grew thicker, charged with the musky scent of their lingering adrenaline and something more primal. She reached out a gloved paw, gently pushing him back onto the worn couch meant for quick naps between missions. The cushions sighed under his weight, springs creaking comically as she knelt before him, her green eyes locking onto his with seductive intent.

Dudley's ears perked up like radar dishes, his jaw dropping exaggeratedly. "Whoa, Kitty... are we talkin' the kind of debrief where I don't have to wear pants? 'Cause I'm already ahead of the game!" He laughed nervously, his tail thumping the couch in rapid beats, creating a drumroll of anticipation. His mixed-breed manhood stirred beneath his fur, the excitement building with all the subtlety of one of Keswick's exploding gadgets. Kitty's presence overwhelmed his senses: the visual allure of her sleek form, the tactile promise of her nearness, the intoxicating blend of her floral perfume and feline musk wafting up to his super-sensitive nose.

With a teasing wink, Kitty toyed with her suit's zipper, pulling it down slowly, the metallic *zip* echoing like a suspenseful spy thriller cue. Inches of tan fur revealed themselves, leading to the plush swell of her generous breasts—firm yet yielding, nipples perking up in the cool air like curious sentinels. They bounced free with a cartoonish *boing*, pink against her fur, spilling over like overflowing scoops of cream. "Easy there, super-mutt. This is my operation. Hands off until I say so." Her tone was commanding yet playful, her paws deftly freeing his throbbing length—a thick, veiny testament to his ultimate mutt DNA, pulsing with eager heat. The scent of his arousal mingled with hers, salty and primal, filling the room as she cupped her breasts, squeezing them together invitingly.

Dudley's eyes bulged comically, steam whistling from his ears like a boiling teakettle. "Holy chew toys, Kitty! Those are... purr-fect! Like, better than a fire hydrant on a hot day!" He flailed his paws awkwardly, accidentally booping her nose, eliciting a giggle from her. The touch sent electric jolts through him, his body trembling with a mix of hyperactivity and desire.

Kitty laughed, her body shaking with mirth, making her tits jiggle enticingly. "You're such a goof, Dudley. But that's why you're my best partner." She leaned forward, enveloping his shaft between her warm, velvety mounds, the soft fur and skin pressing just right. The sensation was immediate bliss—friction building as she began long, deliberate strokes, up and down, her breasts gliding rhythmically. Slick pre-cum oozed from his tip, lubricating the valley, creating wet *schlick schlick* sounds that echoed faintly amid their panting breaths. She leaned down, her tongue flicking over the head like a cat lapping cream, the salty taste dancing on her lips. "Mmm, you taste like chaos and chew toys. Salty, with a hint of that goofy charm."

Waves of pleasure crashed over Dudley, his senses on overload: the hypnotic sight of her bouncing breasts, their creamy fur contrasting his white; the enveloping warmth and tickling fur against his sensitive skin; the auditory mix of her purring moans and his yelping gasps; the heady scents swirling around them; and now the taste as she sucked briefly, her expert tongue swirling with precision born from her martial arts grace. "Awooo! Kitty, that's better than burying a bone in the park! You're driving me barking mad!" His dialog dripped with cheesy puns, his claws scratching the couch arms with a screech, tail a blur of motion.

But comedy struck amid the eroticism—Dudley's enthusiasm peaked too eagerly, thrusting upward and causing his cock to slip free, *boink*ing against her chin with a slapstick slap. "Oops! Sorry, Kitty! It's got a mind of its own—like a squirrel chasing a nut!" He grinned sheepishly, ears flopping down in embarrassment, while she rubbed her chin, laughing hysterically, tears of mirth streaming.

"You're impossible, Puppy," she teased, readjusting with a tighter squeeze, her nipples grazing his shaft like teasing fingertips. She sped up, twisting her torso for extra friction, sweat beading on her fur and glistening under the lights. Her own arousal built, a warm tingle spreading, her tail wagging flirtatiously as cat instincts took over. "Meow-za! Feel that determination? That's what happens when cat curiosity meets doggy drive." The wet slapping grew louder, mingling with their banter, her breaths coming in exaggerated meows.

Dudley groaned, muscles flexing involuntarily with his super-strength, nearly lifting her off the floor. "Kitty! I can't hold it—it's like a villain's plot exploding!" With a triumphant howl that rattled the break room windows—startling a passing Keswick into dropping his tools—he climaxed, thick ropes of hot cum erupting in over-the-top arcs, painting her cleavage, chin, and hair in sticky white ribbons. The warmth trickled down, pooling sensually, as she milked him with final squeezes, her paws kneading her breasts to heighten the sensation.

Panting, Kitty sat back, wiping a glob from her cheek and tasting it dramatically. "Not bad for a mutt. Tastes like pure adventure." She zipped up her suit, though the mess left it comically lopsided, fur matted in places. Dudley slumped in a heap, cartoon stars and birds swirling around his head. "Best. Debrief. Ever. Let's make this a T.U.F.F. tradition!"

They shared a breathless laugh, the erotic tension easing into their familiar dynamic—Dudley the idiot hero, Kitty the sane anchor—but with a new spark. As alarms blared for the next threat, they dashed off, ready for more chaos, their bond unbreakable.

---

In the bustling underbelly of T.U.F.F. headquarters, where fluorescent lights flickered like overworked spies and the hum of Keswick's inventions provided a constant backdrop, Dudley Puppy and Kitty Katswell emerged from the fray of another victorious battle. The air hung heavy with the remnants of Snaptrap's cheddar-fueled mayhem—sharp, tangy cheese scents mingling with the metallic tang of gadget debris and the faint, salty sweat of exertion. Dudley's white fur was disheveled, his black t-shirt clinging to his broad, muscular chest, blue eyes wide with post-adrenaline glee as he bounded ahead, tail wagging so vigorously it swept papers off nearby desks in a whirlwind of clutter. As the ultimate mutt, his DNA—a masterful blend granting him the bloodhound's keen smell, the boxer's punch, and the malamute's raw power—made him a force of nature, though his dim-witted, hyperactive personality often turned that force into comedic calamity. He chewed his butt absentmindedly, a habit as endearing as it was gross, his voice booming with innocent enthusiasm. "Kitty! That was epic! I punched that goon so hard, he flew like a tennis ball! Fetch that, villains!"

Kitty, trailing with her signature athletic grace, smoothed her black hair and adjusted her dark teal spy suit, the fabric hugging her curves like a second skin. Her tan fur glowed under the lights, green eyes sharp and observant, though softened by a rare post-mission smile. At mid-to-late twenties, with a birthday on March 3rd that she loathed due to childhood traumas involving her abusive mother and criminal twin Katty, she was the epitome of feline prowess—T.U.F.F.'s top agent, fluent in 120 dialects, a martial arts maestro whose claws could shred metal. Her whiskers twitched only in moments of vulnerability, like when her cat instincts distracted her with yarn or laser pointers. "Focus, Dudley. You nearly blew us up with that 'punch.' But... good job, partner." Her voice carried that tough-talking edge, but there was warmth, a protective affection born from episodes like "Diary of a Mad Cat," where her frustrations with his antics boiled over, yet revealed her deep care.

The break room beckoned, a haven of worn couches and vending machines stocked with agent-friendly snacks. Dudley plopped onto the couch with a *thud*, springs protesting, his no-pants policy leaving little to the imagination as his excitement from the mission—and her presence—stirred something more. The room's cool air brushed their fur, carrying city noises from outside: distant sirens, the bark of street pups, a reminder of Petropolis's endless threats. Kitty's floral perfume cut through it all, making Dudley's nose flare, his German shepherd bravery mixing with simple canine lust. "Hey, Kitty, you smell amazing—like flowers and firepower! Wanna celebrate with a chew toy toss?"

She sauntered closer, her high-heeled boots clicking, tail curling seductively as she sensed the shift in the air—a musky undercurrent of arousal blending with their sweat. Their relationship had evolved from reluctant trainer-trainee in "Purr-fect Partners" to vitriolic best buds, with hints of romance in moments like "Puppy Love," where her crush on Eric the water guy paled against Dudley's loyal charm. "Celebrate? Sure, but my way." With pushy confidence masking her vulnerabilities, she unzipped her suit slowly, exposing tan fur and the plush, bouncy expanse of her breasts—perky nipples hardening in the breeze, pink against her softness. They jiggled with each breath, a visual feast that had Dudley's tongue lolling longer, eyes crossing comically.

"Whoa mama! Kitty, those are like... the eighth wonder of Petropolis!" He yelped, paws flailing, accidentally knocking a lamp over with a crash. His manhood sprang to attention, thick and pulsing, veined from his hybrid heritage, the tip glistening as pre-cum beaded.

Kitty purred, kneeling between his legs, her paws cupping her tits to envelop him in warm, furry bliss. "Quiet, goof. Let the expert handle this." She began stroking, long glides building heat, friction delicious as slick sounds filled the room—*schlop schlop*—her tongue darting to lap at him, tasting salt and him. Sensations overwhelmed: soft fur rubbing, warmth squeezing, scents intensifying, her moans purring, his yelps goofy.

Hilarity ensued when he thrust too hard, slipping to poke her eye. "Ow! Dudley, aim better—you're not disarming a bomb!" She laughed, tears mixing with mirth, readjusting tighter, speeding up with twists, nipples dragging teasingly. Sweat slicked them, her temper flaring playfully. "Show me that mutt power!"

He howled, climaxing in explosive spurts, coating her in sticky warmth. "Best ever!" They laughed, cleaning up messily, bond stronger amid the chaos.