Posts

[search help]

Layout Settings

Blacklisted
(help)
Director
Characters
Species
General
Meta

Information

  • Source:
ID
144834
MD5
c6ccd8812b0e4b782dbc498e8994e47b
Size
1856x1280 (3.16 MB)
Type
PNG
Status
Active
Rating
Explicit
Score
66
Faves
118 Show

Related

desoto, georgette, rita, and roscoe directed by gridanon
Viewing sample resized to 66% of original (view original) Loading...
View
Description

Don't let Dodger see this!

Tech Talk

I used NovelAI's unlimited gen membership for $25 a month. Note that "unlimited" is kind of a lie, it's only unlimited if you're under a certain resolution and only if you're not using any of the advanced features. Upscaling and other features cost the on-site currency, which the membership gets you 10000 a month. That should be more than enough for a month, but you can burn through it quickly since NAI gens so quickly.

AI Story - Knot Your Night

The warehouse on Pier 47 was a cavern of shadows and echoes, the kind of place where the city’s pulse felt distant and the only law was instinct. Cold December air seeped through cracked walls, carrying the sharp bite of winter river water, but inside, the heat rising from four canine bodies was already turning the space into something thick and primal.

Roscoe moved like he owned every inch of the darkness—slow, deliberate, shoulders rolling with that cocky swagger he’d always had. The red collar around his thick neck caught faint glimmers of moonlight, a splash of color against the sleek black-and-tan of his coat. He was bigger than any dog had a right to be: chest deep and broad, legs corded with muscle, every step radiating calm, dangerous confidence. Between those powerful hind legs swung his cock—monstrous, heavy, already half-hard and glistening, the flared head drooling thick strands of pre-cum that left wet trails on the concrete as he circled his prey.

DeSoto stalked at his flank, less patient, more wildfire. Blue collar tight against his throat, eyes gleaming with barely-leashed hunger. His body matched Roscoe’s in raw mass, but where Roscoe was controlled power, DeSoto was barely-contained violence. His cock jutted aggressively upward, thicker in the middle, cruelly curved, the knot at the base already swelling to the size of a clenched fist. A low, constant growl rumbled in his chest, and every breath he took was laced with the promise of destruction.

Rita stood in the center of the cracked floor, trying to hold onto the cool, street-smart edge that had always defined her. Tail high out of habit, ears flicked back, she tossed her head with that familiar Saluki grace. “You two really think you’re gonna just walk in here and call the shots?” Her voice was husky, laced with sarcasm, but it trembled at the edges. The scent rolling off the Dobermans was overwhelming—hot, sharp, impossibly masculine—and it was already soaking into her fur, making her thighs slick. She hated how her body responded, hated the way her swollen folds pulsed visibly in the dim light, but she couldn’t stop it.

Georgette, of all dogs, hovered a few steps behind Rita like she’d wandered onto the wrong stage mid-performance. Her perfectly fluffed curls were already losing their shape in the damp air, pink ribbons drooping. She lifted her chin in that trademark diva sneer, voice dripping theatrical disdain. “Do you have any idea who I am? I have six Best-in-Show rosettes, a personal groomer, and a penthouse view of Central Park. I do not do… warehouses.” But even as she spoke, her gaze kept dropping—flicking nervously, then hungrily, to the two massive cocks bobbing in front of her. Her tail, usually held in an elegant curl, twitched involuntarily.

Roscoe’s laugh was low and smooth, the kind of sound that slid under fur and made spines shiver. “Oh, we know exactly who you are, princess. And you—” his golden eyes locked on Rita, warm and predatory all at once, “—you’ve been playin’ hard to get since the day I first laid eyes on you. Time to stop playin’.”

He stepped in close to Rita, chest brushing her shoulder, the heat of him like a furnace. One massive paw lifted, cupping the side of her slender neck, thumb-pad stroking the pulse that hammered there. “You smell ready, Rita. Been thinkin’ about this longer than you wanna admit, haven’t you?”

Rita tried for a scoff, but it came out breathless. “In your dreams, Roscoe.”

“Every damn night,” he murmured, voice velvet-rough, and then his mouth was on hers—well, as close as canine muzzles allowed—hot tongue pushing past her lips, tasting her, claiming. She whimpered into the kiss despite herself, body leaning into his bulk.

Behind them, DeSoto had no patience for finesse. He crowded Georgette against a stack of rotting crates, nosing roughly under her tail, inhaling deep. “Fuck, you smell like expensive soap and wet bitch,” he snarled. One long, rough lick dragged from her clit to her tight little tailhole, and Georgette’s dramatic gasp turned into a shocked, needy moan.

“Don’t you dare—oh—oh my Gawd, do that again, you disgusting—ahh!”

DeSoto chuckled dark and filthy, giving her exactly what she pretended not to want—another slow, deliberate lick, then another, until her hind legs were shaking and her pristine curls were damp with more than warehouse humidity.

Roscoe broke the kiss with Rita only long enough to spin her around, guiding her front half down until her chest pressed to the cool concrete, hindquarters raised high. The position was pure submission, and Rita’s ears burned with it, but the slick dripping down her inner thighs betrayed how badly she craved what came next.

“Look at you,” Roscoe crooned, mounting her slow and deliberate, letting her feel every inch of his weight settling over her back. The blunt, dripping head of his cock nudged her entrance, parting swollen lips, coating itself in her juices. “All that tough talk, and you’re soaked for me.”

He pushed in with one long, relentless thrust—slow enough that Rita felt every thick vein, every throb, as her body stretched around him. A strangled cry tore from her throat, half pain, half unbearable pleasure. He was huge, splitting her open, filling her so completely she could feel him in her throat.

“Roscoe—fuck—too big—”

“You’ll take it,” he growled softly against her ear, hips already rolling in deep, measured strokes. “You were made for this. Made for me.”

Across the floor, DeSoto had Georgette pinned on her back amid scattered straw and old newspapers, her hind legs splayed obscenely wide. He loomed over her, tongue lolling, eyes wild. “Time to wreck that perfect little cunt, princess.”

He drove into her without warning—one brutal thrust that buried him to the hilt. Georgette’s scream was pure theater turned raw: high, broken, ending in a guttural moan as her body arched off the floor. Her manicured paws scrabbled at his broad chest, not pushing away but pulling closer.

“It’s too much—you’re too—oh God, don’t stop!”

DeSoto didn’t. He fucked her like a storm—short, savage jabs that made her fluffy body jolt with every impact, his heavy balls slapping wetly against her tail. The lewd, wet sounds of their joining filled the warehouse, mingling with Rita’s rising moans as Roscoe found his rhythm.

The air thickened with the scent of sex: sharp musk, hot pre-cum, the sweeter tang of female arousal. Every breath tasted of it. Every thrust echoed.

Roscoe’s knot began to swell, bumping insistently against Rita’s stretched entrance. Each push sent sparks through her clit, her body tightening involuntarily around him. “That’s it,” he praised, voice low and filthy. “Squeeze me just like that. Gonna knot you so deep you feel me for days.”

Rita’s composure cracked completely. “Please—Roscoe—knot me—need it—”

He gave one last, powerful thrust, and the knot popped inside with a wet, obscene sound. Rita’s world exploded. Her orgasm crashed over her in violent waves, pussy clamping rhythmically, squirting hot and clear around the seal of his knot. She howled—long, broken, utterly surrendered—as pleasure short-circuited every thought.

At the same moment, DeSoto snarled and slammed deep into Georgette, his own knot forcing its way in. The poodle’s eyes rolled back, body convulsing as she came with a dramatic, wailing sob—“Yes, yes, ruin your princess!”—juices flooding out around the thick intrusion.

Both males held still for a heartbeat, savoring the spasming heat milking them—then their own releases hit.

Roscoe roared, hips jerking as his massive balls contracted, pumping thick, endless ropes of cum straight into Rita’s locked womb. The volume was obscene; her belly swelled visibly beneath her, hot seed filling her until it had nowhere to go but out—creamy geysers bursting around the knot, splattering her thighs, his balls, the floor in heavy ropes.

DeSoto’s climax was even more feral—growling, biting Georgette’s scruff as he flooded her, cum jetting in powerful pulses that made her squeal with every impact against her cervix. Excess poured out of her in thick rivers, turning her once-pristine fur into a sticky, ruined mess.

They stayed tied for long minutes, panting, bodies trembling. The warehouse reeked of spent lust, the concrete beneath them slick and shining.

But the night was far from over.

When the knots finally shrank enough to pull free—accompanied by wet, lewd pops and twin torrents of mixed fluids—the Dobermans’ cocks remained hard, glistening, ready.

Roscoe licked a stripe up Rita’s muzzle, tasting salt and surrender. “That was just the warm-up, baby. We’re gonna take our time with you next.”

DeSoto grinned at Georgette, fangs flashing. “And you, princess—you’re gonna learn what it really means to be bred.”

The females, breathless and trembling, could only whimper in anticipation.

The knots finally slipped free with twin, obscene gushes—thick rivers of cum pouring from Rita and Georgette, splattering the concrete in heavy, creamy ropes that steamed faintly in the cold air. Both females shuddered through the loss, pussies gaping and pulsing, clits swollen and hypersensitive. But there was no respite. Roscoe and DeSoto stood over them, cocks still rigid and glistening, veins throbbing, knots already beginning to re-swell with fresh hunger.

Roscoe’s golden eyes gleamed with that smooth, predatory satisfaction. He nosed along Rita’s flank, licking a stripe through the mess coating her fur, tasting himself on her. “You took that like a champion, street queen,” he rumbled, voice low and approving. “But I ain’t done showin’ you what a real class act can do.”

Rita tried to summon her usual sharp wit, but all that escaped was a hoarse, needy whine. Her legs trembled; her belly felt heavy, sloshing with the load he’d left inside. Still, her tail lifted higher, presenting herself shamelessly. “Then quit talkin’ and do it, hotshot,” she managed, the challenge weak but defiant.

DeSoto had Georgette flipped onto her stomach now, one massive paw between her shoulder blades pinning the once-pristine poodle flat. Her fluffy curls were matted with seed, pink ribbons long since lost in the filth. She squirmed dramatically, but her hips rocked back against him, slick folds dragging over his still-dripping cockhead.

“Look at you,” DeSoto snarled, fangs grazing the back of her neck. “All that high-and-mighty bullshit gone. Now you’re just a spoiled little bitch in heat, beggin’ for it.” He didn’t wait for her indignant reply—he slammed back inside her in one brutal thrust, knot popping past her rim immediately. Georgette’s theatrical scream cracked into a guttural moan, paws clawing uselessly at the floor as her body stretched around him again.

Roscoe took Rita more deliberately. He circled to her front, lifting her chin with a paw so their eyes locked. “I want you lookin’ at me when I breed you this time.” Then he moved behind her, mounting high, chest blanketing her back completely. His cock found her entrance unerringly—still gaping, still dripping—and slid home in one smooth, endless glide until his swelling knot kissed her lips.

The pace he set was merciless: long, grinding strokes that dragged every ridge and vein across her oversensitive walls, then sudden, jarring snaps of his hips that buried him to the hilt. Each impact forced more of his previous load out of her in wet squelches, the overflow running down her legs in thick streams. Rita’s moans climbed higher, broken and desperate, her tough facade utterly shattered.

DeSoto, meanwhile, was pure savagery. He fucked Georgette like he wanted to break her—short, violent thrusts that jolted her whole body forward, heavy balls slapping her clit with bruising force. “Scream for me, princess,” he growled. “Let the whole fuckin’ city know who owns this cunt now.”

Georgette did—high, dramatic wails that dissolved into raw, animalistic cries. “Yes—harder—wreck me, you filthy beast!” Her body betrayed every ounce of her former primness, rocking back to meet each punishing thrust, chasing the ruin.

The brothers synced without a word, rhythms matching until the warehouse echoed with the wet, obscene percussion of flesh on flesh. Roscoe’s knot battered Rita’s entrance relentlessly, swelling larger with every thrust, until—on a deep, grinding roll of his hips—it forced inside again. The stretch burned white-hot; Rita’s second orgasm detonated instantly, fiercer than the first. Her pussy clamped in violent spasms, squirting in forceful arcs that soaked Roscoe’s balls and splashed across the floor. Vision tunneling, she screamed his name, voice cracking.

Georgette came a heartbeat later, DeSoto’s knot locking deep as he bit down on her scruff hard enough to leave marks. Her climax was explosive—body seizing, juices gushing around the seal, a high, keening sob tearing from her throat as pleasure short-circuited every spoiled impulse.

Then the flooding began again.

Roscoe’s roar was triumphant, hips jerking erratically as his balls unleashed another impossible torrent. Gallons of thick, scalding cum pumped into Rita’s locked womb, the pressure immense—her belly rounding visibly once more, skin stretching taut. Excess burst around the knot in rhythmic geysers, painting her hindquarters, his thighs, the concrete beneath them in heavy ropes that pooled and spread.

DeSoto’s release was feral—snarling, grinding deep as he flooded Georgette, cum jetting so forcefully she felt each pulse like a physical blow against her cervix. Her belly swelled beneath her, sloshing audibly, until seed had nowhere to go but out—creamy floods erupting with every throb of his knot, turning the straw and newspapers under her into a sodden, filthy mess.

They stayed tied longer this time, males grinding lazily, forcing smaller aftershock orgasms from the females with every tiny shift. When the knots finally deflated and slipped free, the gush was cataclysmic—mixed fluids cascading in thick waterfalls, leaving both Rita and Georgette trembling, gaping, utterly claimed.

But the Dobermans were insatiable.

Roscoe pulled Rita up, turning her to face him. “My turn to watch that pretty face fall apart.” He guided her onto her back, spreading her hind legs wide, and slid back inside with deliberate slowness—letting her feel every inch reclaiming her. Then he began a deep, rolling rhythm, eyes locked on hers, murmuring filthy praise. “That’s it… take every inch… gonna fill you till you can’t walk straight…”

DeSoto hauled Georgette up by the scruff and bent her over a rusted barrel, mounting her from behind again—but this time he pressed a thick thumb-pad against her tight tailhole, teasing. “Time to really ruin you, princess.” Before she could protest, he pushed in—slow, relentless—until she was double-stuffed, pussy and ass both stretched impossibly around him. Georgette’s scream was pure overwhelmed ecstasy, body shaking as he began to thrust in alternating strokes.

The final escalation came when they moved the females together—Rita on her back, Georgette straddling her face-to-face, muzzles inches apart. Roscoe took Rita beneath, DeSoto took Georgette above, the brothers thrusting in perfect opposition—when one withdrew, the other slammed home—so the females’ bodies rocked together in a constant, grinding friction.

Clits rubbed swollen against swollen, bellies sloshing with prior loads, fur slick with cum and sweat. The scents—musk, seed, desperate arousal—were so thick they could taste it with every pant. Rita and Georgette’s moans mingled, high and low, street-tough and theatrical, until neither could tell where one ended and the other began.

The climaxes built like a storm—slow, inexorable, until both females shattered at once. Rita’s orgasm ripped through her in endless waves, pussy and womb convulsing so hard she squirted continuously, soaking Roscoe’s fur. Georgette followed half a second later, entire body locking rigid, a raw, broken scream tearing free as she came harder than she ever thought possible.

Roscoe and DeSoto roared in unison, knots swelling to their absolute limit, locking deep as they unleashed the final, cataclysmic floods. Cum erupted in endless, heavy pulses—gallons upon gallons—bloating both females until their bellies pressed together, rounded and taut, sloshing with every breath. Excess burst out in continuous creamy fountains, coating everything in sight, turning the floor into a shallow lake of seed.

They stayed tied for what felt like hours, bodies trembling, aftershocks rippling through all four of them in chain reactions. When the knots finally released, the females collapsed in a tangled, cum-drenched heap—Rita’s street-smarts and Georgette’s diva pride both drowned beneath utter, blissful surrender.

Roscoe licked Rita’s ear gently, voice soft now. “Told you I was a class act.”

DeSoto nuzzled Georgette’s ruined curls, grinning ferally. “And you, princess… you look perfect like this.”

Neither female could manage words—only soft, exhausted whimpers of agreement, bodies still twitching with the echoes of pleasure.

The warehouse stank of sex and satisfaction, the dawn light creeping in to illuminate the wreckage they’d made. And deep down, all four knew this wouldn’t be the last time.

Blacklisted
(help)
  • Comments
    •

    There are no visible comments.