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lifts-her-tail and the lusty argonian maid (the elder scrolls) directed by gridanon
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Description

Books are written about her for a reason!

Tech Talk

This was made using a local install of Reforge for Stable Diffusion using 3WolfMond-LastSDG: https://huggingface.co/Xeno443 . I'd recommend any or all of the 'Mond models, they're all some of the best furry SDXL models.

For the upload Tail Tagger was used to assist in tagging: https://github.com/renfald/tail-tagger . Along with the JPT-3 for AI assisted tags: https://huggingface.co/RedRocket/JTP-3/tree/main/models?not-for-all-audiences=true

AI Story - She Gets the Biggest Tips (If you know what I mean!)

In the bustling heart of Riften's Bee and Barb tavern, where the air hung thick with the scent of spiced mead, roasted venison, and the faint, earthy musk of Skyrim's misty evenings, Lifts-Her-Tail swayed through the crowded common room like a vision from some forbidden bard's tale. The Argonian maid was a sight to behold—her scales gleamed a deep, iridescent green under the flickering torchlight, polished to a shine from her own meticulous care. She was voluptuous in every sense, her body a tantalizing curve of feminine allure: massive breasts that strained against the low-cut bodice of her simple tavern apron, jiggling with every bouncy step she took; wide hips that flared out dramatically, swaying hypnotically as she moved; and a big, plump butt that seemed to have a life of its own, bouncing and wobbling beneath her short skirt like a pair of ripe moon-sugar melons begging to be squeezed. Her tail, long and sinuous, lifted just enough to tease the hem of her outfit, earning her name a literal flair as it swished playfully behind her.

"Oh, teehee! Another busy night at the Bee and Barb!" Lifts-Her-Tail giggled to herself, her voice a bubbly trill that cut through the low rumble of male voices like a sweet flute. She balanced a tray laden with frothy tankards of Black-Briar Mead, the golden liquid sloshing gently, its honeyed aroma mingling with the faint, salty tang of sweat from the patrons packed shoulder-to-shoulder. Every eye in the room—Nord, Imperial, Orc, and Elf alike—was glued to her, their gazes hungry and unashamed. And why wouldn't they be? She was the tavern's star attraction, far more intoxicating than any ale.

First up was Hulgar the Nord, a burly blacksmith with arms like tree trunks and a beard that could hide a dagger. He sat at a corner table, his massive frame hunched over as if trying to hide the enormous bulge tenting his leather breeches. It was impossible to miss— the thing was like a warhammer straining against its sheath, throbbing visibly with every heartbeat. "Lass—er, maid," he grunted, his voice thick with lust as she approached, "I'll have another mead. And make it... stiff."

Lifts-Her-Tail set the tankard down with a flourish, her breasts brushing ever-so-slightly against his shoulder as she leaned in. The contact sent a shiver through him, and she caught the way his eyes dipped to her cleavage, where her scales curved invitingly into soft, heaving mounds. "Oh, stiff mead? Giggle! But all our mead is nice and frothy, sir! Unless you mean you want it extra bubbly, like me?" She batted her reptilian eyelids, her full lips curling into a playful pout. The scent of his arousal hit her nostrils—a musky, primal heat that made her tail twitch in delight. "Teehee, you're looking a bit... swollen down there. Did you bump into something hard on your way in?"

Hulgar's face flushed redder than a forge fire, his bulge twitching as if it had a mind of its own. "Aye, somethin' hard alright," he muttered, shifting uncomfortably, the fabric of his pants creaking under the strain. "Yer curves are drivin' me mad, lizard lass. That tail o' yers lifts just right..."

She straightened up with a giggle, her wide hips cocking to one side, making her big butt jiggle enticingly. "Oh, you boys are so silly! Always talking about my tail. It's just for balance, you know? But if it makes you happy, I can lift it a little higher while I clean your table!" With that, she grabbed a rag from her apron pocket, the damp cloth smelling faintly of lavender soap, and bent over to wipe a spill. Her skirt rode up just enough to reveal the smooth, scaled underside of her thighs, and her voluptuous rear presented itself like a feast, cheeks so plump they wobbled with the motion. The entire tavern seemed to hold its breath, the clink of mugs and roar of laughter fading into a charged silence broken only by the subtle sounds of fabric stretching over aroused groins.

From across the room, an Imperial merchant named Lucius let out a low groan, his hand instinctively adjusting the massive erection bulging in his fine silk trousers. It was obscene—long and thick, pressing against the seam like it was trying to burst free. The air around him grew warmer, laced with the sharp tang of his excitement. "By the Eight, that Argonian's got more curves than the Gold Road," he whispered to his companion, an Orc warrior named Grimgor, whose own bulge was even more impressive, a green-skinned monster that made his loincloth look comically inadequate, tenting out like a siege tower.

Lifts-Her-Tail spun around at the sound, her breasts bouncing wildly from the sudden movement, nearly spilling out of her top. "Did someone call for me? Teehee! Oh, Mr. Lucius, your pants look awfully tight tonight. Is that a scroll in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me serve your drink?" She sauntered over, her hips swaying in a rhythmic dance that made her tail swish against the floorboards with a soft, teasing slap. The tavern's wooden planks creaked under her steps, and the flickering candlelight cast shadows that accentuated every voluptuous inch of her body—the way her scales caught the light on her ample cleavage, the gentle sheen of sweat on her neck from the heat of the room, the faint, exotic scent of Hist sap that clung to her like perfume.

Lucius swallowed hard, his eyes locked on her jiggling assets as she poured his wine, the red liquid gurgling into the goblet with a sound that was almost indecently suggestive. "It's... definitely happy to see you, my dear. Your service is impeccable. Perhaps you could... polish my goblet a bit more?"

"Giggle! Polish? Oh, you mean shine it up nice and bright?" She leaned in closer, her breath warm against his ear, carrying a hint of the sweet mead she'd sampled earlier. Her fingers—slender and scaled—brushed the rim of the goblet, stroking it in slow, deliberate circles. The motion was innocent enough, but the way her body arched, pressing her big breasts forward until they nearly touched his chest, turned it into pure erotic torture. Grimgor beside him growled low in his throat, his tusked mouth curling into a grin as his bulge throbbed, the fabric audibly straining. "By Malacath, wench, yer makin' me wanna bend ya over this table and show ya what a real tusk can do."

Lifts-Her-Tail gasped in mock surprise, her hands flying to her cheeks as she straightened, but her eyes sparkled with bubbly mischief. "Oh my! Teehee, you Orcs are so forward! But bending over is part of my job—I have to clean under the tables too, you know? All those sticky spills..." She demonstrated by turning and bending at the waist to pick up a fallen napkin, her wide hips flaring out, her big butt thrusting back toward them like an invitation. The skirt hiked up dangerously, revealing the curve where thigh met cheek, and the two men nearly choked on their drinks. The tavern erupted in a chorus of whistles and groans, every male patron shifting in their seats, their pants bulging with arousal so intense it was comical— a sea of tents pitching under tables, accompanied by the rustle of fabric and heavy breathing.

Not to be outdone, an Elven bard named Thalor strummed his lute a bit too vigorously from his stool by the fire, the strings twanging in time with the pulse of his own impressive erection, which poked against his robes like a hidden arrow. The fire's crackle and pop added to the sensory overload, the heat making sweat bead on Lifts-Her-Tail's scales as she approached him next. "Playin' a tune for me, handsome? Your instrument looks so... firm tonight!"

Thalor smirked, his voice smooth as elven silk. "Indeed, fair maid. But it's nothing compared to the melody I'd make if you handled my strings. Care to give it a strum?"

She giggled again, a light, airy sound that bubbled up from her chest, making her breasts heave. "Strum? Oh, I wouldn't know where to start! It's so long and elegant... but teehee, all you boys get so excited around little old me. It's like every time I walk by, something just... pops up!" She glanced around the room, taking in the array of bulges—Hulgar's hammer-like one, Lucius's elegant swell, Grimgor's brutish mound, and now Thalor's artistic protrusion—all straining in unison, the air thick with the mingled scents of arousal, ale, and anticipation.

As the night wore on, Lifts-Her-Tail continued her rounds, spilling drinks "accidentally" onto laps (leading to frantic wiping that only heightened the tension), bending to clean with exaggerated wiggles, and responding to every lewd comment with a bubbly laugh and a teasing retort. "Oh, careful with that bulge, sir—don't want it exploding like a dwarven ruin!" she'd say, or "Teehee, your pants are pitching a tent bigger than a Khajiit caravan!" The tavern was alive with erotic comedy, the men's frustrations building into a hilarious symphony of groans and shifts, while she reveled in the attention, her voluptuous form the center of it all.

By closing time, the patrons filed out with reluctant grumbles, their arousals unsatisfied but their spirits lifted by the lusty Argonian's charm. Lifts-Her-Tail waved them off with a final giggle, her tail lifting just a tad higher. "Come back soon, boys! There's always plenty of time for more... service!" And as the door shut, the tavern echoed with the lingering scent of desire, ready for another night of bubbly, bulging fun.

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