>>32206
>>32205
>>28507
source?

Bump!

I would love 2 see more like this 4 Xmas!

Bump!

>>75336
Jesus I love this shit.

What is wrong with me.

>>75604
darkspot?

>>128737
>>128736
>>128735
artist?

>>15567

source?

>>95410
and where do they post their art?

Im only into beheadings and butchered bodies

Belly inflation (freakshow) ending or not ending in burst (gore) is stupidly rare.

>>46878
What is the plor?

plot*

Consensual snuff sounds fun, I’d love to see romantic routes take that direction

>>46878
Some necro. Like a guy finds (or makes xD) a cute tomboy girl corpse. Undresses her and plays with her body. Fucked her: oral, anal, vaginally.

The next morning didn’t feel so good. Renya woke up with a massive hangover, and a sore vagina filled with fresh semen. The sun was just beginning to peek up over the horizon.

Jason was still awake and in the middle of having his way with her sleeping body.
“Stop it, I’m tired” Renya said groggily.
She complained a little at his thrusting, but he was close to cumming, so he just held her down till finished inside of her, using Renya as his personal cum dumpster.
“Ah, ah… unnng’ stop, you’re too big… you’re hurting me… oh, oh ,.. oooooh” she grunted as he raped her to a unwilling orgasm.

As it turned out, cumming from being raped while she was half asleep still felt pretty good.

“Morning babe.. you were a great lay last night… we should do it again sometime.”

“Sure… what’s your number?”


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The sun had barely broken the city skyline by the time they arrived at the local Dolcettburger restaurant.

Renya had thought that she would be taken to a meatplant. Fast food restaurants weren’t picky about their meat. She’d figured a body like hers would get a good meatgrade… Places like this didn’t even bother grading girls half the time.

God, she’d been such an idiot. She should have known Kesha would rat her out. Now she was gonna be someone’s breakfast burrito, or some other cheap fried, greasy meal.

Her parents had taken her to Dolcettburger often when she was a kid. It was always a special treat. She’d loved reading the little paper placemat biographies that came with every meal. She liked to know whose burgermeat she’d been eating, or the names of the kids who constituted her Kids nuggets.

Now she was gonna join them all. Just an order of Renya with fries and a large soda. Before the day was out, some hungry businesswoman would be dabbing bits of Renya’ gravy off her lips with her paper biography and pre-snuff photo.

Tears ran down Renya’s cheeks as they passed through clear plastic air dividing strips, and into the back of the Dolcettburger kitchen.

A spotty teenage girl, clearly working her first job was there to take possession of the consignment.

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Sapphie pulled the trigger on the end of the cable dangling from the ceiling and the conveyer kicked into gear.

Shannon screamed loudly, and there was a brutal spray of blood. Some got on Renya’s face. The buzzsaw cleaved quickly through Shannon's arms and legs, separating them from her.

“Nooooooooooo!” She screamed loudly.

Her purple haired friend squealed as she waved her new gory stumps around, looking at the absence of her own hands and feet unbelievingly. Shannon made an obscene farting noise as she pissed and crapped herself. Renya noted that unlike a real Meatplant, they hadn’t even taken the meatgirls to the toilets for the purpose of preserving the honour of the victims.

The former honour student didn’t have to wait long to experience being an involuntary amputee herself. She felt the cold brush of air against the fine hairs on her arms and legs first, before the blades spinning at 1000RPM took off her left hand side limbs at the joints. Renya saw the splash of shiraz before she felt the agony. Despite having been prepared for what was about to happen to her, she panicked at the suddenness of the lancing pain.

“Aaaaiiieeeeee” her voice broke as she hit the top of her register.

Then, SLICE, off popped her righthand side forearm and shin, and her brain overloaded with unadulterated suffering. Sometimes when she was alone at home, Renya had wondered how she would fare when her time to get processed into meat inevitably came. She had always thought that she’d take her snuffing with dignity; accepting her role in the food chain with the grace and poise of a good Meatgirl. Instead, she felt warm urine squirt onto her stubby thighs, and she squeezed out a soft brown turd onto the conveyor belt.

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Saphie snapped the metal restraint cylinder onto a set of rail mounted clasps, and the entire assembly sprung up, lifting the three emptied out meatgirls into the air. The Dolcettburger girl pushed them over the preheated deep fryers. Oily steam wafted up from the boiling yellow liquid. Renya could feel the blistering heat below her exposed, shaved crotch.

She moaned wordlessly, unable to conjugate proper human words through her haze of pain. Shannon gibbered nonsensically on one side, and Hana cried her heart out on the other.

“Time to fry, sows.” Sapphie said, taking far too much pleasure in her work for Renya’s approval. She clicked a setting on the fryers, and the bubbling increased, and the restraints lowered their torsos slowly into the boiling oil baths.

Renya’s delicate cunt lips touched the surface first. White light blinded her. It was like being hit in the head with a baseball bat. At first she felt nothing, then numb tingling, then every nerve ending in her vagina was on fire, then burned horribly, leaving Renya the full unvarnished experience of having her pussy dipped in boiling oil. She wanted to throw up, but she no longer had a stomach.

The three meatgirls screamed incessantly, as the yellow fluid crept up their hips, covered their shrivelled, hollow bellies, and splashed over their chests, burning their fair breasts.

Renya's skin reddened angrily, and her breaded coating crisped up. Her tongue flopped loosly from her mouth, and she went crosseyed as she was overwhelmed by the unstoppable pain of being deep fried alive. Her heart jackhammered in her chest, till the oil that had risen up through her torn out anal cavity bathed it. Her heart cooked near instantly and ceased beating. Its last pumps pushed boiling blood up into her brain where it fried her grey matter inside her skull until she was a braindead vegetable.

Renya’s living corpse convulsed in the oil, her higher brain functions having ceased. She’d gone insane from internal brain scarring. Gone was the bright young scholarship student. It took a few more minutes for her to cease any further movement. Her body crisped and turned golden brown under a shell of crispy batter. Renya’s besties were right there beside her, sharing in her hellish fate. They spasmed gently as they all slowly died from their severe oil burns, then they were still forever.

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has this thread been saved?

nice

bump

Any 4x club? I can't find that uncensored anywhere.

>>126684

great, it really looks like a page of a actual AAA comic book

>>132591
>>132594
Source/Artist?
Both look familiar.
Thank you.
Picrel Artist is Batgott.

>>134017
Here you are:
https://www.pixiv.net/en/artworks/105670806
https://www.pixiv.net/en/artworks/94173996

>>133333
Although I think the flipping is unnecessary, thank you very much for decensoring!

nhentai and hitomi.la has most of his work. original japanese and tons of translattions.

You really are dragging out all the classics
Amazing !

A classic masterpiece.

And very influential! ^^

>>133374
LOL! Fuck yeah it is!

Do to the fact that voting is currently tied, and i'd rather the season finale to not have a winner, I am putting in a last minute vote for Pixie-Bob to die

Pixie-Bobs stone horse ran across the empty fields of NGL. The Pro Heroes Association had been getting reports of a dangerous new species in this region of insect, so they sent the Pussy-cats to scout out the countryside, and gather information. However they had already ran into trouble. The first major problem was they had to leave all modern equipment behind, including their gear. After her teammates had changed into the NGL approved clothes all that was left wasn't something she enjoyed. The brown fabric shirt was to small, and tightly hugged her breasts which bulged obviously out. The brown pants weren't much better, her bubbly butt was far to emphasized for her taste, and if she sat wrong, the outline of her pussy was clearly visible. The worst part however where the boots, and socks. Even though it was summer, all they had left where a pair off winter socks that went up to her knees, and a pair of beaten up boots that would blister her feet if warm without socks. So her feet where hot as hell, and her socks soaking wet.

“Ugh! I can't take this anymore”

Ryuko said ripping the boots off, and tossing them aside, before slipping of the socks doing the same with them. She sighed with relief as the cool wind hit her sweaty feet. She wiggled her tiny toes, admiring her blue painted toes for a second, before looking back at the horizon with a serious expression. The second major problem was the group had decided to split up to cover more ground. She was starting to regret that. Her stone horse skidded to a halt, as three figures appeared in the distance. She dismounted her horse, the wet grass felt nice against her bare soles, and in between her toes.

“Who are you”

She demanded as the figures approached.

“A human dares to talk to the king in such a way?”

A hulking red man growled. A fair skinned man with butterfly wings snickered

Comment too long, view post No.15455 to see the full comment.

Alice-…Holy Shit

Lauren-Pixie-Bob had an extremely powerful quirk, but that wasn't enough to keep up with Neferpitou's far superior physical abilities

Alice-That should have been our Halloween special, like fuck

Lauren-Not only that, but Pituos non-physical abilities are nothing to scoff at. Provided with the corpses of strong people, her underlings could easily over power Ryukos. Not only that, but she can bolster her already great physical advantage

Alice-Poor Pixie was also outdone in the mental side of this battle. Neferpitou was able to learn how to understand, and physically manipulate the human brain after only being born for a few hours, while Ryuko was only an average 31 year old women when it came to intelligence. The ant was also far more brutal than the hero. She was not only willing, but happy to attack Pixie-Bob emotionally, while Ryuko had a rather kind nature

Lauren-In the end Pixie-Bob was completely outmatched in this fight

Alice-I guess curiosity really did kill the cat, well curiosity, and the weird, blood thirsty, human, ant, cat hybrid

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>>15456
man i wanna this but now with Pitou being nice dead and played with! Mmm…

Can you please upload anywhere else? Mega gives "exceeded daily quota" can't download the checkpoint :(

I've been playing with this and I'm getting like some good results but its not that properly understood, maybe needs to bake a tad harder to understand some concepts. Would you be able to provide a list of tags you've added, stuff like the spit roast or artists?

>>23172
i never added any artists but next version will have that. all the taggs it was trained on where in the preview images. but next version is jumping from 1.5k images to 4k and i will let the model train a little longer this time.

Can anyone one ban this category?
I thought realistic things are forbidden here.

>>39156
>I thought realistic things are forbidden here.
that is correct.
but it is allowed, to upload realistic AI elsewhere and post a link here.
the OP is doing a little self-advertising for commissions, which is not unusual and generally accepted.
the OP is a regular content creator on GUROchan, so this is not spam either.
it is also clear, that this thread is not asking for more realistic content being uploaded here.

in conclusion, the thread itself is okay and does belong on /s.
the sample pic however is questionable and in fact against the rules.
in such cases, GUROchan tends to be as lenient as possible.
I'm not deleting this, someone else still might.


Comment too long, view post No.39158 to see the full comment.

>>133807
>>133808
source: https://www.pixiv.net/en/artworks/74586077

https://smp15.simplex.im/i#ZBQCdUzbautFBc4Xyjts0luK2TeiWtiL/MONnnp4sawDC7XTJDZZh9xnLZmxZyWxB-x2DEDt32nQ
Try that

I made a updated link
https://discord.gg/qD7rm52Ay
I will also be making a SimpleX account to link from there.

anyone into fantasy rape chat about 18+ celebs, etc?

0567f1ec2c27c17020397a9f9ab99f91a62c2f1e342584278e91c96a58878efc40

anyone into fantasy wwyd rape chat about 21+ celebs or OF sluts?

057fd5ad9e1c08be4c054e20105842f96fe61cdcc092efda04953f7fa4ef8b7167

Updated discord link?

. The biological hardware remains, but the software of 'personality' has been effectively deleted."

Martha stepped back, the heels of her shoes clicking with a rhythmic, hollow sound. She looked at Lauren not as a child, but as a successful experiment. "The patient is no longer burdened by the chaos of the self. There is no more anxiety to trigger, no more failure to dread. She has transitioned from a subject of fluctuating mood to a state of permanent, stable equilibrium."

"Observe the contrast," Martha directed, her voice adopting the crisp, rhythmic cadence of a seasoned professor. She pivoted her body, shifting her focus from the frontal region to the back of Lauren’s skull, gesturing with a gloved hand toward the base of the girl's neck and the crown of her head. "While the executive center has been silenced, the architecture of the lower brain remains entirely pristine. The cerebellum continues its silent work, maintaining the basic equilibrium of the body; the brainstem remains an unwavering sentinel, pulsing with the automaticity of breath and heartbeat. We have not erased the machine, merely disconnected the operator."

She leaned in further, her finger tracing an imaginary line along the occipital lobe. "The visual cortex is still firing, processing the flickering of the overhead lights, though the capacity to assign meaning to those flashes has vanished. The temporal lobes still receive the sounds of this room, the hum of the camera and the click of my heels, her hippocampus comitting it all to memories, unfiltered without a frontal lobe to decide whats worth keeping and what can be thrown out and forgotten. The animal is intact; the person is gone."

Martha stepped back to survey her work, her expression one of clinical satisfaction. She looked down at Lauren, who remained as still as a sculpture carved from wax. The girl’s chest rose and fell in a slow, rhythmic tide—a biological clock ticking away in a room where the concept of time no longer existed. To the observer, Lauren looked asleep, but to the trained eye, the vacancy in her gaze was a profound, yawning void.

"Now, consider the internal landscape," Martha continued, her voice a smooth, academic drone as she gestured vaguely toward the crown of Lauren's head. "Within the skull, the frontal lobes are currently in a state of frantic, ghost-like activity. They are firing in a vacuum, sending out signals to a world they can no longer touch. Imagine a pianist playing a complex concerto, only to discover the keys have been removed from the instrument. The muscles are moving, the effort is there, but there is no sound, no resonance. She is attempting to parse the loss of outside stimuli—the sudden silence of a world that used to scream—but there is no bridge left to carry the realization back to her conscious mind."

Martha leaned back, her silhouette cutting a sharp line against the clinical white of the wall. "Over time, we expect this residual firing to fade through simple disuse. The neural pathways, deprived of feedback, will eventually atrophy, sliding into a permanent, blissful dormancy. What remains is a docile, easy-to-care-for patient. A child who will not fight her caretakers, nor fight the confusing currents of her own mind. This is the ultimate utility of the procedure: the total eradication of internal conflict. Violent outburst, psychosis and other mential disorders."

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Martha stopped by the tray, her gaze lingering on the silver tools. "Of course, our objective here was not the removal of a hemisphere, but the strategic severing of the emotional highways. Yet, the principle of plasticity remains the same. In the archives of the mid-century, there are two poorly documented cases—shadowy footnotes in medical journals—of children Lauren’s age who were subjected to similar 'quieting' for being unruly or unmanageable. They were described as hollowed out, vacant, drifting ghosts for months. And then, a year later, they returned. They didn't just recover; they reintegrated. They returned to a tearing their clothes and smashing toys."

She looked back at Lauren, who lay as still as a fallen leaf. "There is a theoretical hope, then. Not a hope for the Lauren who entered this room—that girl was a collection of anxieties and social obligations—but a hope for a new Lauren. A version of her that has navigated the void and built a bridge across the silence."

Martha reached out and ducked her bangs away from her eyes, a gesture that was almost tender, though it lacked any genuine emotional warmth. The nurse then turned toward the recording equipment, her movements efficient. "We shall see if the plasticity of a sixth-grader can outrun the finality of a steel spike. The biological clock has been reset. Now, we wait for the rewire."

With a decisive click, Martha deactivated the camera. The red light vanished, plunging the room into a sudden, oppressive silence that was no longer recorded for science. She didn't linger. She began to clear the tray, the metallic clatter of the instruments sounding like a closing door.

Martha worked in a focused, rhythmic silence, the sounds of the room shifting from the theatricality of a recorded lecture to the mundane chores of a clinic. She wiped the table with a pungent disinfectant, the smell of lemon and bleach cutting through the sterile air. Lauren remained exactly where she had been left, her head resting on the cold vinyl, her expression one of profound, empty peace. She didn't move when the air conditioning kicked in, sending a sudden, sharp draft across her exposed skin. The biological reflex to shiver was there, but the mind that would interpret the chill as "cold" was a fragmented map with no legend.

For a long time, Lauren simply existed as a series of pulses. She was the slow rise and fall of her chest; she was the faint, rhythmic thrum of blood in her ears; she was the weight of her own limbs pressing into the table. The world had narrowed to the physical boundaries of her skin. There was no "Lauren" to occupy the space, only a biological entity processing a stream of sensory data that it no longer knew how to categorize. A fly landed on her cheek, its tiny legs prickling against her skin, but she didn't blink. The sensation arrived at the brainstem, but it died at wall of severed white matter. it could reach a center capable of deciding that a fly was an annoyance.

Eventually, the silence was broken by the soft, metallic rattle of a wheelchair being maneuvered into the room. Martha didn't move alone; she signaled for a junior orderly, a quiet man whose presence was as unobtrusive as the beige walls. Together, they approached the table, their movements coordinated and devoid of urgency. They didn't speak to Lauren; they spoke about her, treating her body as a piece of luggage that needed careful shifting.

With a synchronized heave, they hoisted her from the table. Because the procedure had stripped away her motor functions, Lauren’s body was heavy and limp, her limbs swinging with a loose, pendulous momentum. She was dressed only in her simple white underwear, her small frame looking startlingly fragile against the industrial grey of the wheelchair. Her arms draped over the armrests like discarded scarves, and her head lolled to the side, her gaze fixed on a distant, unremarkable point on the floor. There was no struggle, no instinctive attempt to right herself; she was a passenger in a vessel that had lost its rudder.

The journey through the hallway was a series of rhythmic jolts. Every bump in the linoleum sent a shudder through Lauren’s spine, but the sensation arrived in her mind as a series of unrelated vibrations, devoid of the concept of "movement." She saw the ceiling lights pass over her in a blurring strobe of fluorescent white, a conveyor belt of light that she watched with a vacant, glassy curiosity. To her, the world had become a sequence of textures and flashes, a sensory movie with the sound turned off and the plot deleted.

They arrived at the recovery ward, a room that smelled of old linens and ozone. The orderly maneuvered the chair into a corner, tucked away from the main thoroughfare but within sight of the nursing station. He didn't

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He didn't bother to adjust her posture; he simply left her there, slumped in the chair, her chest rising and falling in a slow, mechanical cadence. Martha stepped back to survey the placement, her eyes scanning the room for any potential hazards. She didn't check if Lauren was comfortable; comfort was an emotional state, and Lauren was now an entity of pure biology.

"Wait here," Martha said, though she didn't look at the girl. "The parents should be arriving within the hour. Ensure she doesn't slide out of the chair."

The orderly nodded and retreated, leaving Lauren in the heavy silence of the ward. She sat in the stillness, her eyes open and unblinking. A clock on the wall ticked with a sharp, metallic snap, each second a physical strike against the silence. For the first time in twelve years, the noise didn't bother her. The ticking didn't signal the approach of a deadline or the pressure of a classroom; it was simply a sound, a rhythmic pulse in a world that had finally stopped asking things of her.

Somehow, this story is the sexiest non-sexual story I could ever imagine.

asstr-mirror[dot]org/files/Authors/Eficient/www/index [dot]html

He also reposted some other stories here, just search for the eficient Name. Not sure about Emily's journey specifically though.

The only stories on this website here (Guro) that I know of involving cannibalism are these two.

Two very good stories.


Eficient The Farm

https://boards.guro.cx/lit/koko.php?res=13838#p7_30332


A prequel to The Farm

https://boards.guro.cx/lit/koko.php?res=22356&page=0

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