Again with the padding? I’d make it spiked.

This is the one I altered the most for the version I kept. I cropped out and erased the rest of a fourth girl to the right that had the rod coming out her mouth. That’s too much for my tastes. Note this one has no man in it.

>>47359
>>47358
>>27979
Nice

Amazing! Do you take requests?

Please come back.

Superfood for troll. Continue please!!!

Bump

Bump

Bump

The style looks like some stuff I’ve begun posting (as I get time and motivation). I won’t claim it’s the same artist, I’ve been wrong before, but look on the Art board under the title “bondage torture” and make your own call.

Slicing the ass cheeks off, using whatever you can do. Even if you need to change the girl to a more AI looking version

>>29489
>>29495

that'd be interesting, maybe I can do another episode of the natives vs. nuns series.

>>29496

I know animated characters tend to draw less censorship. In fact, grok selectively allows genitalia for animated characters, I can give that a shot.

>>29495
i actually made a story inspired by this drawing (here: https://boards.guro.st/lit/koko.php?res=32055&page=1
or here https://www.pixiv.net/novel/show.php?id=29319159

As the monster reached the frenzied peak of his exertion, his movements shifted from rhythmic brutality to a predatory stillness. Vara, drifting in a fog of concussed misery, felt the sudden, cold void where his weight had been, only for it to be replaced by the pressing heat of his chest against her shoulder. Then, she felt it: the obsidian blade. It didn't strike with a sudden blow; instead, it rested against the outer curve of her left breast with a terrifying, heavy deliberation.

Vara’s eyes flew open, staring up at the canopy of interlocking leaves that now seemed like a cage. As the blade began to move, the physical sensation was an invasive, grinding heat. She felt the obsidian edge bite through the surface of her skin, moving with a slow, agonizing pressure that felt as though the monster was carving through stone rather than flesh. The blade didn't glide; it dragged. She could feel every microscopic jagged edge of the volcanic glass scraping against the inner wall of her chest, shearing through the fatty tissue and muscle with a methodical precision. The pain was a white-hot line of fire that radiated from her sternum, a slow-motion demolition of her own body.

But as the blade worked its way across her chest, joining the left breast to the right in one continuous, horrific slice, a different kind of agony bloomed—a psychological devastation. Vara had always been proud of her form; her breasts were a source of strength and admiration within the matriarchy of Aethelgard, symbols of her maturity and her status as a warrior-leader. To feel them being treated as mere raw materials for a trophy board was a violation deeper than the physical wound. She felt the sudden, terrifying lightness as the tissue was severed from the ribcage, the psychological weight of her identity being sliced away in real-time. The loss was not just of flesh, but of her dignity, her womanhood, and the very essence of her power.

The blade finally completed the arc, exiting the right side with a wet, final snap. Vara let out a sound that wasn't a scream—it was a broken, airless wheeze. She looked down and saw the monster hoisting the prize: her own breasts, still joined by a narrow, pulsing bridge of skin, held aloft like a grotesque piece of fruit. They swayed in the humid breeze, glistening with a vivid, terrifying crimson. The sight of them, detached and displayed, broke something inside her that the physical pain had not. She was no longer a Captain; she was a specimen.

The monster didn't glance at her shattered expression. He turned away with a guttural grunt of satisfaction, the obsidian blade still dripping as he began to stride toward the ancient oak. He carried his new trophies with a proprietary pride, his heavy footsteps echoing the rhythmic thud of Vara's failing heart. As he walked, the joined breasts swayed in time with his gait, a rhythmic reminder to Vara that her body was no longer her own.

The monster’s movements were methodical, almost ritualistic. From her position in the dirt, Vara watched through a blurring haze as he reached the oak. With a series of wet, rhythmic thuds, he pinned her breasts to the upper branch of the stake. He didn't just attach them; he arranged them. He spent a moment adjusting the bridge of skin, ensuring the trophy hung with a precise, symmetrical gravity. Seeing her own flesh displayed as a curated piece of art was a psychic blow that eclipsed the physical agony, a cold realization that she had been reduced to a decorative object.

Then, the shadow returned. He didn't just bring the trophy stake back to her; he slammed the heavy wooden cross into the loam inches from her head. The severed remains of four other women swayed mere inches from her eyes, a dripping canopy of failure and flesh. Vara tried to recoil, but her body felt like a distant memory, a heavy weight of numb meat.

Comment too long, view post No.32056 to see the full comment.

Captain Kaelen, the head of the guard, felt the weight of this inadequacy like a stone in her gut. She looked at her subordinates and saw not veterans, but girls playing at war. The terror was there, simmering just beneath the surface of their disciplined faces, and she knew that the sight of the trophy stake would shatter their composure before the first blow was struck. There was no time for a strategic retreat or a coordinated defense of the inner circle.

"Squad Rosebud! To the west gate, now!" Kaelen barked, her voice echoing through the limestone corridor.

Ten women snapped to attention, their armor clinking in a dissonant chorus. They were a hand-picked group, the strongest of the available shift, but as they marched toward the ramparts, their formations wavered. They gripped their halberds with white-knuckled intensity, their breaths coming in shallow, synchronized gasps. They were marching toward a single enemy, yet they moved as if they were facing an army, the sheer absurdity of the monster’s appearance—the concentric circles of laughing masks—warping their perception of the threat.


"Loose!" Kaelen’s command ripped through the air, and ten shafts whistled downward in a synchronized arc. The arrows struck with a series of dull, metallic clacks, bouncing off the layered porcelain of the monster's torso or glancing harmlessly off the curve of his masks. Not a single bolt found a seam. From beneath the smallest, most manic grin, a sound erupted—a scornful, guttural laugh that vibrated through the stone of the ramparts. Then, the creature moved. He didn't just run; he launched himself forward with an inhuman, predatory fluidity, his massive frame blurring into a streak of grey and white. Despite the cumbersome weight of the nested masks, he moved with a terrifying agility, closing the distance of the open courtyard in a matter of heartbeats.

"Swords! Draw your steel now!" Kaelen screamed, the panic finally breaking through her command. But the transition was too slow. The guards were still fumbling with leather scabbards and shaking off the shock of the monster's speed when the beast collided with the front line. He didn't strike with a blade; he struck with a demonical, focused intent upon the most vulnerable architecture of the female body.

The first guard had barely managed to step back when the monster’s spear surged upward in a brutal, diagonal thrust. The heavy iron head didn't seek the heart; it drove straight through the soft center of her groin. There was a sickening, wet tear as the spearhead punched through her pelvis and exited violently through her right buttock. The woman’s scream was cut short by the sheer shock of the intrusion, her body jolting upward as she was momentarily pinned to the air. With a callous, rhythmic snap, the monster yanked the spear back out of her ruined anatomy and immediately pivoted toward the second guard.


Comment too long, view post No.32057 to see the full comment.

He stepped into the inner sanctum, the polished marble floors echoing his arrival. The air here was thick with the scent of jasmine and expensive oils, a stark contrast to the copper stench clinging to his masks. The monster paused, his concentric grins reflecting in the mirrored walls of the hallway, and let out a low, vibrating growl that rattled the crystal chandeliers above. He could feel her now—the sovereign of Aethelgard—somewhere deep within the gilded labyrinth. The final trophy was waiting, and the harvest had finally reached its peak.

The corridors of the royal estate were designed for the graceful glide of silk gowns, not for the frantic scramble of panicked soldiers. This architectural elegance became a tactical bottleneck for the guards. In the narrow, jasmine-scented hallways, the women could not swarm him; the walls forced them into a thin, desperate line. Only one or two could bring their blades to bear at any given time, turning the defense of the palace into a series of isolated, doomed encounters.

For the monster, this lack of space transformed the hunt into a game. He didn't simply kill them to clear a path; he began to play with his food. When a young guard lunged with a short-sword, he caught her wrist and pivoted, driving his knee not into her stomach, but with a precise, crushing force into her groin. As she gasped, her body arching in a sudden, visceral shock, he used the obsidian blade to leisurely carve a jagged, grinning smile across her chest, slicing through her tunic and skin with a slow, rhythmic drag. He wasn't trying to break her spirit anymore—he was simply enjoying the tactile sensation of the harvest.

Another guard attempted to tackle him from the side, and he caught her mid-air, slamming her against the limestone wall with a bone-jarring thud. While she was pinned, he didn't go for the throat. Instead, he took a perverse delight in the "sculpting." He used the blade to methodically shred her breasts, the obsidian grating against her ribs with a wet, granular sound. He laughed—a low, guttural rattle behind the masks—as he watched her struggle to hold her chest together, the blood staining the pristine white marble of the hallway in long, arterial streaks. It was pure, mindless recreation, a chef sampling the ingredients before the main course.

The carnage trailed behind him like a red carpet. He stepped over the twitching bodies of the guards, his heavy boots splashing in the pools of blood and shredded fabric. The scent of jasmine was now completely overwhelmed by the metallic tang of open veins and the musk of the beast. He didn't hurry; he savored the echoes of the dying women's whimpers, which bounced off the high, vaulted ceilings of the corridor, creating a symphony of failure that announced his approach to the inner chambers.

As he reached the final set of double doors—heavy oak inlaid with gold filigree—the monster paused. He could smell her now: the Queen. Her scent was different, a mixture of royal perfumes and a deep, instinctive terror that acted as a pheromone to his predatory nature. He didn't knock. With a single, explosive heave of his shoulder, he shattered the oak doors, sending the gold leaf flying like shrapnel.

The Queen did not look like a woman about to be dismantled; she looked like a masterpiece of aristocratic poise. Now in her forties, she possessed a voluptuousness that had aged into a refined, commanding elegance. As the monster scanned her, his gaze lingered on the swell of her chest beneath the royal silk. They weren't the largest he had ever seen, but they were substantial—firm, royal, and carrying a weight of dignity that promised a satisfying resistance to the blade. She stood there with the unmistakable aura of a woman who had spent her life winning wars with words and diplomacy, a woman for whom the concept of a weapon was something purely decorative.

Comment too long, view post No.32058 to see the full comment.

The dogs got hungry, i gave them my body

>>29607
Goo one, please more dog feeding

I was chopped in half by my husband and left to die, but my dog find joy

Are you open for commission or request?

These are really good!

This is so cute :3

>>32005

https://boards.guro.st/lit/koko.php?res=31884&page=1#q31884

Hi Tania
I've only posted a few here so far, but I'm working on another part of The Zombie Girl (she is a horny undead girl who always comes back after being snuffed) and I think I'm going to stick with that storyline for a little while. Thank you for saying hello, and I hope you enjoy all the stories here! I'm still not done with Jenny's Piglet Cure yet. I've really been milking it like it was Daisy Moo 🤤

Your pics are always great. Thanks again for all you do! 🩷

>>32020
Ugh!!! I just reread that comment and realized it says "Tania" when it should clearly say Tanja (phone just tried to change it again to have an i) I'm sorry!

>>32039
If only there were a way to edit a post... ;)
(hint: there is)

>>32040
This site is just very clunky on mobile. Thanks for the hint though. Now I learned that I can edit, and there's apparently a time limit on editing a post. 😅

>>32039

Hi Foxy

If you hadn't pointed out your mistake, I wouldn't have noticed it at all. Mistakes happen—as long as you don't make a major blunder, like (literally) losing your head at the barbecue, everything's fine.


I’m currently putting together images for the last chapter of the story *Mirror into the Future*. I want to finally finish posting this story.

After that, I wanted to read through your stories.

One more important note: all simple images (motifs with only one theme), without any context related to my stories (image combinations), can be used by authors here on the website for their stories.


Comment too long, view post No.32045 to see the full comment.

>>29443
Don't know, man. I don't think this a hyper-realistic video. But it's all up to the mods, of course.

>>29446
> Don't know, man. I don't think this a hyper-realistic video. But it's all up to the mods, of course.

I must admit, as a former "janitor" here and now moderator, we haven't been totally consistent on what we judge to be too realistic or not.

I'd prefer, however, if posters err on the safe side and host anything where the people look realistic in general off site, even if their internal anatomy does not.

I took the liberty of making a catbox link for you, and making an anime-style thumbnail. You might want to add a file.garden link of your own too, since Tor users often can't access catbox links.

The catbox link isn't working. OP, could you repost your own catbox or file garden link? The rotoscoped looking thumbnail is crazy hot and I'd love to see the original video.

>>29516
> The catbox link isn't working.

catbox itself, not just that link, is down at the moment. The link should work once catbox is back up again. An additional file.garden link would be a good idea, however.

>>29399
Incredible. How did you do this? Do you take requests?

bump

More:
https://e-hentai.org/g/3821535/1324274150/

More:
https://e-hentai.org/g/3815693/afb82418d4/

>>29394
don´t like gutting, but like the style ;-)

from DF_Kraken

On a beach boardwalk, Abby is a petite, slender, perky, short, 19-year-old Valley girl. She has long golden-blonde hair and blue eyes. She is wearing a shredded hot-pink string bikini, exposing her vagina, breasts and nipples. She screams out in terror. She has a large, head-popping bloody gunshot hole on her forehead; bloody bits of brain explode out of her head. Her bloodshot, bulging dead eyes roll up. Her chin slackens. Her tongue flaps out of her bloody wide-open mouth. Yellow water sprays from her vagina. There are six bloody gunshot holes on her chest. There is a large bloody, gut-spilling gunshot hole on her stomach. She lactates vigorously. Her breasts flop upwards, spraying. An angry, skinny, hairy man wearing a bloodied T-shirt and sunglasses is firing a gun in the background. There is a pile of sexy, extremely bloody, grotesque, dead bikini-clad bimbos of various hair. stacked together nearby. Their asses are presented. Their legs are intertwined. The soles of their dead feet are dirty and bloody. White ooze drips from their gaping orifices. They are overflowing with white cream. Their large Breasts are flopped, resting displayed on the boardwalk.

No.2934 Here it is

On a beach boardwalk, Abby is a petite, slender, perky, short, 19-year-old Valley girl. She has long golden-blonde hair and blue eyes. She is wearing a shredded hot-pink string bikini, exposing her vagina, breasts and nipples. She screams out in terror. She has a large, head-popping bloody gunshot hole on her forehead; bloody bits of brain explode out of her head. Her bloodshot, bulging dead eyes roll up. Her chin slackens. Her tongue flaps out of her bloody wide-open mouth. Yellow water sprays from her vagina. There are six bloody gunshot holes on her chest. There is a large bloody, gut-spilling gunshot hole on her stomach. She lactates vigorously. Her breasts flop upwards, spraying. An angry, skinny, hairy man wearing a bloodied T-shirt and sunglasses is firing a gun in the background. There is a pile of sexy, extremely bloody, grotesque, dead bikini-clad bimbos of various hair. stacked together nearby. Their asses are presented. Their legs are intertwined. The soles of their dead feet are dirty and bloody. White ooze drips from their gaping orifices. They are overflowing with white cream. Their large Breasts are flopped, resting displayed on the boardwalk.

On a beach boardwalk, Abby is a petite, slender, perky, short, 19-year-old Valley girl. She has long golden-blonde hair and blue eyes. She is wearing a shredded hot-pink string bikini, exposing her vagina, breasts and nipples. She screams out in terror. She has a large, head-popping bloody gunshot hole on her forehead; bloody bits of brain explode out of her head. Her bloodshot, bulging dead eyes roll up. Her chin slackens. Her tongue flaps out of her bloody wide-open mouth. Yellow water sprays from her vagina. There are six bloody gunshot holes on her chest. There is a large bloody, gut-spilling gunshot hole on her stomach. She lactates vigorously. Her breasts flop upwards, spraying. An angry, skinny, hairy man wearing a bloodied T-shirt and sunglasses is firing a gun in the background. There is a pile of sexy, extremely bloody, grotesque, dead bikini-clad bimbos of various hair. stacked together nearby. Their asses are presented. Their legs are intertwined. The soles of their dead feet are dirty and bloody. White ooze drips from their gaping orifices. They are overflowing with white cream. Their large Breasts are flopped, resting displayed on the boardwalk.

On a beach boardwalk, Abby is a petite, slender, perky, short, 19-year-old Valley girl. She has long golden-blonde hair and blue eyes. She is wearing a shredded hot-pink string bikini, exposing her vagina, breasts and nipples. She screams out in terror. She has a large, head-popping bloody gunshot hole on her forehead; bloody bits of brain explode out of her head. Her bloodshot, bulging dead eyes roll up. Her chin slackens. Her tongue flaps out of her bloody wide-open mouth. Yellow water sprays from her vagina. There are six bloody gunshot holes on her chest. There is a large bloody, gut-spilling gunshot hole on her stomach. She lactates vigorously. Her breasts flop upwards, spraying. An angry, skinny, hairy man wearing a bloodied T-shirt and sunglasses is firing a gun in the background. There is a pile of sexy, extremely bloody, grotesque, dead bikini-clad bimbos of various hair. stacked together nearby. Their asses are presented. Their legs are intertwined. The soles of their dead feet are dirty and bloody. White ooze drips from their gaping orifices. They are overflowing with white cream. Their large Breasts are flopped, resting displayed on the boardwalk.

I don't know if "science" has any bearing here. The Amazons didn't exist, and are a fictional group from Greek Mythology. But I concur with consistent descriptions with obsidian.

This was a fun story OP. It was a clever idea to use their own severed breast as the target and as a way to keep score.

>>32012

> The Amazons didn't exist, and are a fictional group from Greek Mythology.
Yes and No.
You are right in the sense that there was probably no tribe/kingdom/society that was exactly named "Amazones".
You are wrong in the sense that there were no tribes/kingdoms/societies with matrilineality[1] and/or matrilocality[2].
Archaeologists discovered burial sites of female warriors and the horse cultures of the Scythians[3] and the Sarmatians[4] are believed to be the template for the Amazones. The old Greeks considered them as real but because their origin could not be exactly located (pretty normal for nomadic life) classic scholars declared the Amazons to be a myth.
Be that as it may, every myth has a more or less on reality based core.


[1] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Matrilineality
[2] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Matrilocal_residence
[3] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Scythian
[4] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sarmatians

>>32016
I didn’t bother at all with the historical background… I was just interested in a (extreme) breast fetish story. if you like that kind of stories... check my pixiv-site https://www.pixiv.net/en/users/2996805
i use pixiv because it´s easier to post stories there (no splitting needed).

as for the obsidian/steel error: blame the AI ;-)
(ok, and my laziness to skip the proofreading)

>>32022

> I didn’t bother at all with the historical background…
Oh, this comment (>>32016) was adressed to Anonymous, who denied the existence of the Amazons. As background of your story they are an excellent choice, equally whether they are mystical or were real.

> I was just interested in a (extreme) breast fetish story.
It has turned out very well.

> … obsidian/steel error: blame the AI ;-)
Oops, you worked with AI? I wouldn't have thought of this. I'm curious, how much AI is in the story?

>>32031
the whole plot is from me - the whole wording is from the ai

>>128688 what is the source of this image?

>>136481
If you drew this, I'm rooting for you evolving as an artist!

Can you make the girls armed? Just a suggestion. You can ignore it if you want