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(don't bully me i'll cum and etc) directed by gridanon
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Description

Oh no he hates it when that happens!

Alts:https://imgbox.com/g/C48e1tjIy6

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 - Fate, that Cruel Comedian

In the neon-drenched aisles of the 24-hour convenience store, where the hum of fluorescent lights buzzed like a swarm of lazy bees and the faint scent of stale coffee mingled with the chemical tang of floor cleaner, stood Whiskers—or at least that's what the bullies called him. He was a sleek black anthro cat boy, all slender limbs and twitchy tail, with fur as dark as midnight velvet and eyes like shimmering sapphires that always seemed to glint with a mix of defiance and dread. His outfit screamed "look at me but don't touch"—a tight white t-shirt emblazoned with pink letters reading "Don't Bully Me I'll Cum :c," paired with those ridiculous pink-and-black striped arm warmers and thigh-high stockings that hugged his lithe legs like candy wrappers. A pink collar jingled softly around his neck, the little bell tinkling with every nervous shift of his weight, and his pink panties peeked out just enough to make him blush furiously under his fur. He was the epitome of a twink cat boy: petite, effeminate, with a tiny cock and even tinier balls that betrayed him at the worst moments.

Whiskers had wandered in here late at night, craving a bag of sour gummies to soothe his emo soul after a long day of scrolling through furry forums. The store was mostly empty, save for the bored cashier chewing gum behind the counter and a flickering vending machine that spat out sodas with a mechanical groan. But fate, that cruel comedian, had other plans. As he reached for a pack of candy on the top shelf, his tail swishing irritably, a group of rowdy anthro wolves—big, burly, with muscles rippling under their gray fur and grins wide as canyons—strolled in, their heavy boots thudding against the linoleum floor like thunderclaps. They smelled of cheap beer and musk, a heady mix that made Whiskers' nose wrinkle in disgust even as his heart raced.

"Hey, look at this little kitten," the leader, a massive wolf named Fang, barked with a laugh that echoed off the shelves. His voice was gravelly, like sandpaper on wood, and his yellow eyes locked onto Whiskers' shirt. "What's that say? 'Don't Bully Me I'll Cum'? Ha! Is that a warning or an invitation, twink?"

Whiskers spun around, his blue eyes widening in horror, cheeks flushing hot under his black fur. He crossed his arms tighter over his chest, the fabric of his shirt stretching taut, but it only made his pose look more petulant. "S-Shut up! It's just a stupid shirt! Leave me alone, you big dumb mutts!" he hissed, his voice high and bratty, tail lashing like a whip. But inside, his tiny cock twitched traitorously in his panties, those minuscule balls tightening in anticipation. He could feel the heat building already, the soft fabric rubbing against his sensitive skin with every fidget.

The wolves circled him like sharks, their laughter booming, filling the air with a cacophony of snorts and howls. One of them, a lanky one with patchy fur named Spike, leaned in close, his hot breath reeking of onions from whatever greasy snack he'd devoured earlier. It washed over Whiskers' face, making him gag dramatically. "Aww, look at him pout. What's the matter, kitty? Afraid we'll make you meow?"

"Don't you dare!" Whiskers snapped back, stomping his pawed foot, the claws clicking sharply on the floor. But Fang grabbed the hem of his shirt, yanking it up just enough to expose the edge of his pink panties. The cool store air kissed his exposed fur, sending shivers down his spine, and the public exposure hit him like a slap—right there in the candy aisle, with the cashier glancing over curiously and a security camera blinking its red eye overhead.

"Bet this little guy's packing peanuts down there," Fang teased, his paw roughly patting Whiskers' crotch through the fabric. The touch was firm, insistent, not enough to stroke but plenty to bully. Whiskers yelped, a mix of indignation and unwanted pleasure shooting through him. "Hey! That's not fair! Stop touching me, you jerk!" But his body betrayed him instantly—his tiny cock, no bigger than a pinky finger, hardened against the panties, and those pea-sized balls churned. A hands-free spasm rocked him, cum spurting in pathetic little dribbles that soaked the front of his underwear. The warm, sticky fluid trickled down his thighs, the scent of his own musk faint but unmistakable, mixing with the store's popcorn aroma from the nearby machine.

Whiskers' face burned with embarrassment, his ears flattening as he doubled over slightly, trying to hide the wet spot. "N-No! Not again! Why does this always happen? You idiots made me... made me cum! In public! I hate you!" he wailed bratttily, voice cracking into a whine, but the wolves just roared with laughter, the sound vibrating through the air like a bass drum.

"Oh man, he actually did it! Look at that stain—kitty's got a leaky faucet!" Spike howled, pointing as the other wolves joined in, their paws slapping knees in mirth. The cashier, a disinterested fox anthro, popped her gum loudly, smirking from afar, her eyes flicking to the mess.

Undeterred, Whiskers tried to bolt toward the door, his stockings whispering against each other with every hurried step, but the wolves blocked him, herding him toward the slushie machine. The machine gurgled and whirred, dispensing colorful frozen drinks that smelled sickly sweet, like artificial cherries and blueberries. "Come on, leave me alone! I'm not some toy!" Whiskers protested, his tail puffing up in fury, but Fang grabbed his collar, the bell jingling merrily as he tugged him close.

"Admit it, you love the attention, you little brat. That shirt's basically begging for it," Fang growled playfully, his free paw wedging between Whiskers' thighs, pinching the soaked fabric. The pinch was sharp, teasing, sending jolts of humiliation-laced pleasure up Whiskers' spine. He could taste the salt of his own tears welling up, mixing with the lingering flavor of the gum he'd been chewing earlier—minty and sharp.

"Stop! You're ruining my outfit! And... and... oh no, not again!" Whiskers mewled, his bratty tone laced with despair as another wave hit. His tiny cock pulsed hands-free, balls contracting in futile protest, spilling more cum into his already drenched panties. The sensation was overwhelming: the sticky warmth spreading, the cool air making it chill against his fur, the wolves' mocking cheers ringing in his ears like a bad comedy show. "This is so embarrassing! Everyone can see! Why can't I control myself? You bullies suck!"

The wolves weren't done. They dragged him to the chip aisle, where bags crinkled underfoot like autumn leaves, the salty scent of potato chips wafting up. A customer—a burly bear anthro browsing energy drinks—paused to stare, his deep chuckle adding to the chorus. "Looks like the kitten's having a rough night," he rumbled, sipping his drink with a slurp that echoed.

Spike snatched a bag of hot Cheetos, waving it tauntingly. "Bet I can make him pop just by calling him names. Hey, twink! You're a pathetic little cum fountain, aren't ya?"

Whiskers bristled, fur standing on end, the prickly sensation like static electricity. "I'm not! Take that back, you flea-ridden dog!" But the words fueled his own humiliation, the public gaze burning his skin. His tiny package betrayed him once more, cumming in spurts that now leaked down his stockings, the fabric growing slick and clingy. The taste of shame was bitter on his tongue as he licked his lips nervously, dialog spilling out in bratty bursts: "Ugh, great, now my stockings are ruined too! This is the worst! Why do you have to be so mean?"

Fang, grinning wickedly, pushed him against a display of sodas, cans clattering softly as they shifted. The cold metal of the shelf pressed into Whiskers' back, a stark contrast to the heat flushing his body. "Because it's funny watching you squirm, kitty. Look at that tiny dick of yours—barely a bump, but it sure loves the spotlight."

Another wolf, Claw, joined in, his voice a low purr that vibrated through the air. "Yeah, bet those balls are like marbles. Roll 'em around and watch the show!"

Whiskers kicked futilely, his paw connecting with a can that rolled away with a metallic tink, but the teasing words wormed into his ears, amplifying the embarrassment. The store's muzak played faintly in the background—a cheesy pop song about love and loss—ironic as hell. "You're all perverts! Stop staring at my... my stuff! Oh gods, here it comes again!" Cum erupted hands-free, his tiny cock throbbing visibly through the wet panties, balls emptying what little they had left. The scent was stronger now, musky and sweet, drawing a curious sniff from the bear customer who muttered, "Kid's got issues."

Tears streamed down Whiskers' cheeks, fur matted, as he slid to the floor in a puddle of his own making. The linoleum was cool and sticky under his butt, the wolves towering over him like giants. "I hate this! I hate you! Why can't I just shop in peace without... without exploding like a defective firework?" he sobbed bratttily, but his voice held a comedic edge, like a cartoon character in perpetual peril.

The bullying continued relentlessly. Fang hoisted him up by the arm warmers, the stripes stretching comically, and paraded him toward the freezer section. The cold air blasted out as they opened a door, goosebumps rippling across Whiskers' fur, the chill making his nipples harden under the shirt. Ice cream scents—vanilla and chocolate—wafted out, clashing with his own aroma. "Time for a cool-down, cum-kitty. Or should I say, heat-up?"

Spike mocked him with exaggerated moans: "Oh no, big bad wolves, don't bully meee~ I'll cuuum!"

"Shut your muzzle!" Whiskers yowled, swatting at them weakly, but the mimicry pushed him over. Another orgasm rocked him, tiny cock spurting against the freezer glass, leaving a smeared streak that fogged up from his hot breath. "No fair! That's cheating! Now the glass is dirty because of you!"

The cashier finally intervened, her voice crackling over the intercom: "Hey, take your weird party outside before I call the cops!" But even she was stifling giggles, popping her gum in rhythm with Whiskers' humiliated whimpers.

Claw leaned in, whispering hotly into Whiskers' ear, his breath tickling the sensitive fur: "One more for the road, brat. Admit you're a public cum-slut."

"I'm not! I'm a respectable cat boy! You... you... ahhh!" Defiance crumbled into ecstasy as the final bullying wave hit—words alone triggering his tiny package. Cum dribbled out in exhausted trickles, soaking everything, the sensation a mix of relief and utter mortification. The wolves high-fived, their paws smacking loudly, as Whiskers collapsed in a heap, panting, the bell on his collar jingling like a punchline.

As they finally sauntered out, leaving him in his mess, Whiskers glared after them, voice a bratty squeak: "Next time, I'll... I'll wear armor! Or something! This sucks!" But deep down, in the comedic chaos of his life, he knew the shirt was staying on. The store's door chimed as it closed, sealing his humiliation in neon-lit eternity, the scents, sounds, and sticky touches lingering like a bad—but hilariously unforgettable—dream.

Blacklisted
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