#AI Image

[naughty-salsa]

[iasexyseaart]

THE BEAUTIFUL ANDROID 18!

[dreamscape-ai]

[2dpocketgirls]

Jessica Rabbit dancing for you

This Jessica is made with 3D and Stable diffusion and After Effects. Her H video is on the making process and will be uploaded soon on my P page.

[rockpapercynic]

I spy, with my little eye, a photo that was faked by an AI image generator! Can you spot the clues?

FB is turning into a parade of fake AI images churned out by click-farming pages. More misinformation is on the way. Learn some tricks for spotting AI photos!

[masha-k-ia]

I know you will like this 🔥🔥🥵

If you like your ❤️ and follow me. Don't forget to visit my Patreon uncensored and quality content 🫦🔞

[studioskorm361]

[lenki-san]

[naughty-salsa]

[iasexyseaart]

[octuscle]

Pride fare

Dmitri and Igor stared at the young man with the pink hair like he was some disgusting insect. Brave move by Austrian Airlines to put a fairy like that at Istanbul’s not-so-gay-friendly airport. And Dmitri and Igor? Definitely not allies. They were textbook nouveau riche Russians: posing as oligarchs to impress women. Truth be told, they were rich — but oligarchs? Not even close. Still, who cared. They had a few million stashed in accounts around the world. Most of those accounts were frozen, unfortunately, but they had enough cash on hand to look forward to a fun weekend in Vienna.

Getting here had been hell. They missed the days of direct flights. But the special military operation was important. Righteous, even. Unlike the hysterical reaction from the decadent West.

Max looked up at the two men checking in. Expensive clothes — loud, tacky. Overweight. Probably fifty-something, though the Botox made that hard to confirm. Max wouldn’t have touched either of them with a ten-foot pole, no matter how much they paid. But he was a professional. And kept his smile.

“You sweethearts do know the Pride promo fare only applies to passengers under 25, right?” Dmitri growled something that sounded like “I’m not sweet, you fucking faggot.” Luckily, Max didn’t speak Russian.

“No worries, lovebirds,” Max said, fingers dancing across his keyboard. “Just a couple of adjustments. There we go. So, which one of you is Dima? I’ll take your suitcase.”

Dmitri was ready to snap. Dima? What kind of asshole used that name? Maybe his mother once did. But not some smug twink at check-in. He took a breath. And looked at Max. Cute, actually. So he hoisted his bag — plastered with rainbow and leather pride stickers — onto the belt.

“And what’s your boyfriend’s name, darling? I assume you two wanna sit together.”

“Next to Igarjok? Hell no. Split us up. Better chance of meeting someone hot onboard.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” Max replied with a wink. “No one checking in today’s really been hot.”

“I’ll go first then,” Igor grunted, throwing his studded travel bag on the belt. Max pulled a face of theatrical pain. Sure, the man Dima called Igarjok didn’t look half-bad for his age. According to his passport, he was 48. But hot? Max had seen better. He handed over their rainbow-colored boarding passes and wished them a pleasant flight and a fabulous Vienna Pride Week.

The two grabbed their carry-ons — Dmitri had a black leather backpack, Igor carried a battered Soviet navy duffel. Dmitri called out that he’d catch up; needed to take a quick piss. Igor nodded and headed toward security. Dmitri veered toward the nearest restroom — hoping for a quickie. He was always horny. And the airport bathrooms? Great spot to catch a tight Turkish guy. Flash a few dollar bills, and boom — someone would be on their knees in minutes.

And hell yes — the Turkish macho he found was worth every cent.

Dmitri checked himself in the mirror. Close-cropped hair, sharp jaw, beard shadow, leather jacket. Still a good-looking man in his mid-forties. It was a privilege to suck his cock.

He joined the line at security. Igor wasn’t far — ten, maybe fifteen people ahead. Apparently, he’d made a bathroom detour too. Dmitri watched him: that ass, tight in olive army pants, turned heads. Including Dmitri’s. Everyone could see it, and Igor knew it.

At the scanner, Igor stripped off his bomber jacket, showing off muscles under a tight tee. He removed his studded belt, loaded the tray, and stepped through the scanner — which immediately beeped. Dmitri grinned. He had a hunch. Igor grinned too as the buff security officer scanned him — especially thoroughly in the crotch. Dmitri couldn’t hear what was said, but the guard clearly told Igor to grab his tray and follow him. Lucky bastard.

When Dmitri’s turn came, the officer gave him a cold look. Jacket and backpack went in the bin. Then the guy nodded toward his pants.

“Anything else down there?”

Dmitri smirked. Popped open the top two buttons of his jeans, just enough to show his pubes, reached in, and pulled out a cock ring.

“Oops, sorry officer. I always forget about that,” he said with a grin.

Surprisingly, the scanner didn’t go off despite the piercings. But his backpack got flagged. A security guy pulled out a full-body harness and held it up.

“What’s this?”

“Want me to show you?” Dmitri offered. “But I’d have to take my pants off…”

“Come with me.”

The cavity search took place in the same back room where Igor was being inspected. The officers had called for backup — two more guards, just to keep everything under control. Between the four of them, they somehow managed to plug all the holes.

Just in time, Dmitri and Igor boarded the plane, called by name in the final boarding announcement. Igor squeezed into 9E, Dmitri into 6C. Max had made sure they were both well-placed: the hottest guys onboard sat in 6B, 9D, and 9F. The purser had even reserved a toilet just for them.

At baggage claim in Vienna, it was obvious: the gays of the world were converging for one of the wildest parties of the year. And Dima and Igarjok? Guests of honor.

In the West, hardly anyone had noticed. But in Moscow, it had been a scandal when the two beloved teen soap stars came out. The draft order followed almost immediately. They barely managed to flee to Western Europe in time.

Broke, they turned to porn — and it was the best thing that could’ve happened. For them, and for millions of fans. They’d lost count of how many magazines they’d autographed by the time their luggage arrived.

Their driver was waiting outside. Hot. Thank God. It had been over an hour since their last fuck on the plane.

Thanks to @deliciousrunawaydetective for saving this story!

[mpreg-edits]

So… here we are. Nine months in, and I can barely believe how big I’ve gotten. My belly’s huge and round—our little one is almost ready. I was just standing there, shirt lifted, rubbing the sides of my bump, when my husband knelt down and kissed it so gently. He does that every day now, talks to the baby, kisses my belly like it’s sacred. And every time, I melt. I feel strong, I feel loved… I feel like we made something beautiful together.

[softwaring]

we’re really out here living in an AI dystopian hellscape and this shit has just begun… the future is grim…

[fairytaleprincessart]