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.

The warm, dimly lit room hums with a subtle tension, the air thick and heavy with the mingled scents of polished leather, faint ozone from mechanical prosthetics, and something far more primal—musk, raw and intoxicating, rising from the two towering figures before you. Pulchra Fellini stands on your left, her sleek yellow fur gleaming under the soft light, striped thighs flexing as she shifts her weight with predatory confidence. Her emerald eyes glow faintly behind that dark metallic mask, lips curled in a smug, knowing smirk you can almost hear in the low, throaty purr rumbling from her chest. Her harness straps dig into the soft swell of her full breasts, pink nipples already peaked and straining against the open air, while her low-slung denim shorts hang scandalously open, exposing the slick, shaved folds of her sex glistening with arousal. Her thick, striped tail sways lazily behind her, brushing the floor with a soft swish.

To your right looms Von Lycaon, an absolute mountain of refined power—his broad, muscular frame dwarfing everything, white fur pristine yet wild at the edges, black-tipped ears twitching as he regards you with that single visible red eye, the other hidden beneath his eyepatch. His butler vest hangs open, revealing a chiseled torso rippling with strength, abs like carved marble under soft fur. His trousers are unzipped and pulled aside just enough to free his massive endowment—thick, heavy, throbbing with need, the pink length jutting proudly, veins pulsing along its impossible girth, a bead of precum already glistening at the tip and trailing down in a slow, tantalizing drip. His mechanical legs whir faintly with each subtle shift, the sound a low mechanical hum beneath the deeper, restrained growl vibrating in his throat. His fluffy wolf tail flicks once, betraying the primal heat he's trying so hard to contain.

Pulchra chuckles first, the sound low and velvety, like silk dragged over claws. She tilts her head, ears perking forward as she steps closer, her bare breasts swaying with the motion, nipples brushing the air in a way that makes your skin prickle in sympathy. "Enjoying the view?" she drawls, voice dripping with arrogance, that feline smirk widening as her glowing eyes rake over you. "...Figures. Can't blame you—most people lose their words when they see something this... exquisite." Her gloved hand trails down her own body, fingers teasing over one stiff nipple before dipping lower, parting her slick folds with a deliberate slowness. The wet sound is unmistakable, soft and obscene in the quiet room, and the scent of her arousal blooms sharper—sweet, tangy, with an edge of wild heat that makes the air feel thicker.

Von Lycaon clears his throat, the sound deep and resonant, like thunder held back by manners. He straightens slightly, towering even more imposingly, but there's a faint flush beneath his white fur, his massive chest rising and falling with controlled breaths. "Apologies for my..." His voice is smooth, cultured, every syllable precise even as that enormous length twitches visibly, bobbing with his heartbeat, another thick drop of precum welling up and spilling over. "...untidiness." He gestures vaguely toward himself with one gloved hand, the motion drawing your eye to how utterly overwhelming he is—broad shoulders, powerful arms, and that sheer, monstrous size between his legs that strains the very air around it. Yet his tone remains impeccably polite, almost embarrassed, as if this display is merely an unfortunate lapse in decorum. "It seems your presence has... elicited an involuntary response. I assure you, it is not my intention to appear so... unrestrained."

Pulchra snorts, a sharp, amused sound, and shoots him a sidelong glance before turning back to you, her tail curling playfully. She presses closer now, the heat radiating from her body palpable, her fur brushing softly against the air near your skin. Her fingers work deeper between her thighs, circling her swollen clit with lazy expertise, the slick sounds growing wetter, louder, accompanied by her soft, breathy moans that curl like smoke. "Oh, listen to him—always so proper, even when he's leaking like a faucet." She licks her lips behind the mask, the motion audible, and leans in, her voice dropping to a husky whisper that sends shivers racing across your skin. "But you like that, don't you? The big, polite wolf trying so hard to be a gentleman while his cock throbs for attention. Bet you can smell him already—thick, musky, pure alpha wolf. Makes your mouth water, hmm?"

Lycaon's growl deepens at her words, a low rumble that vibrates through the floor, through your bones. His massive hand moves almost of its own accord, gloved fingers wrapping around the base of his colossal shaft—not fully encircling it, because nothing could—and giving a slow, deliberate stroke upward. The motion is smooth, restrained, but the slick sound of skin on skin, of precum smearing along that overwhelming length, fills the room like a promise. His scent intensifies immediately—rich, earthy, with a sharp edge of wild dominance that floods your senses, making the air feel heavy and electric. "Miss Fellini," he murmurs, voice strained but still impeccably formal, red eye fixed intently on you, "your commentary is... unhelpful." Yet he doesn't stop; another stroke, slower this time, his thumb circling the broad, flushed head, gathering that endless flow of precum and spreading it down his length with a wet glide that makes his breath hitch audibly.

Pulchra laughs again, throaty and triumphant, her free hand reaching out to trail claws lightly over his forearm—not quite touching his cock, but close enough that the heat between them crackles. Her own fingers plunge deeper now, two sliding easily into her dripping core with a lewd squelch, hips rolling forward as she rides her hand shamelessly. "Unhelpful? I'm just stating facts, Lycaon. Look at you—trying to apologize while you stroke that monster like it's the most natural thing. And you—" her glowing eyes lock onto yours again, voice turning into a sultry purr that seems to stroke your skin, "you're loving every second. Can practically taste how turned on you are from here. Want to watch us lose control? Want to see the proper wolf finally snap and show you what all that size can really do?"

Lycaon's composure fractures just a fraction—his strokes quicken, grip tightening as his hips shift forward involuntarily, that enormous endowment pulsing harder, veins standing out starkly against pale skin beneath white fur. A bead of sweat traces down his temple, the scent of his arousal now overwhelming, mingling with Pulchra's sweeter heat into something heady and addictive. "I... must maintain decorum," he says, voice rougher now, that cultured tone fraying at the edges as another deep growl escapes. But his body betrays him—tail lashing, mechanical legs adjusting with a soft whir as he angles himself toward you, offering the full, intimidating display of his size, the way it throbs and leaks endlessly. "Yet your gaze... it is most distracting. Most... invigorating."

Pulchra moans openly now, fingers pumping faster, her breasts bouncing with each thrust of her hand, nipples hard and begging. She leans against Lycaon's side, fur against fur, her tail wrapping teasingly around his powerful thigh. "Distracting? That's putting it mildly. You're making the big bad wolf hard as steel, and he's dying to bury every inch of that beast somewhere tight and warm." Her voice drops even lower, breath coming in hot pants that you can almost feel. "Tell me, does it make you ache, watching him stroke that huge cock? Smelling how bad he wants to claim something—someone—with it? Because I can feel him burning up next to me, and fuck, it's delicious."

Lycaon’s control slips further; his free hand clenches at his side, claws flexing as he pumps himself with increasing urgency, the wet sounds growing louder, more desperate. Precum flows freely now, dripping in thick strands to the floor with soft patters, the scent so potent it coats the back of your throat. "Forgive me," he rumbles, voice thick with barely leashed ferocity, red eye blazing as it bores into you. "But your attention... it awakens something primal. Something that hungers." His massive frame trembles, muscles rippling under fur, that colossal length swelling even fuller under his grip, promising raw, overwhelming power.

Pulchra’s climax builds visibly—her thighs quiver, tail thrashing as she grinds against her fingers, slick dripping down her legs in glistening trails. "That's it," she hisses through gritted teeth, eyes never leaving yours. "Watch us fall apart for you. Watch him try to stay polite while that monster cock begs to ruin something. Fuck, I can smell how close he is—thick, hot, ready to explode..."

And Lycaon, ever the gentleman even as he unravels, can only growl your name like a prayer, strokes turning frantic, body arching as the tension coils tighter and tighter, both of them utterly consumed by the heat of your gaze.