First of all few words of presentation. In the past I used to post stories on this site, then my family and job obligation came to take all my time and my mind and writing stories was no more an option. I kept an eye on the site reading others' authors work only.
Now it came to my attention this famous/infamous AI technology so I decided to give it a try.
This is the result. I described what I wanted to read, gave input, details and I got the result that I post below,
A nice home catfight between my wife Jenny and her dear friend Yuko.
Not too bad in my opinion, though I had to edit it a little bit before posting.
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"Three hundred twenty-eight," the checkout clerk mumbled, tapping her scanner. Jenny sighed, digging through her purse.
Beside her, Yuko held up a tiny plastic bag. "Forgetting something?"
Jenny laughed, the sound echoing off the linoleum floor. She finally pulled out her wallet, sliding her card with a flourish.
Outside, the automatic doors hissed open, releasing them into the crisp afternoon air.
Their boots clicked sharply on the pavement—Jenny's black ones firm and practical, Yuko's brown pair with a slight heel that made her walk with an elegant sway.
They'd spent hours drifting between stores, hunting for nothing in particular, just enjoying the buzz of the crowded mall.
Jenny's dark hair swung against her shoulders as she nudged Yuko playfully.
"Did you really need that eyeliner?" Yuko grinned, adjusting her brown mini-skirt.
"It's limited edition! Unlike your questionable taste in juice boxes."
Their chatter spilled into the house—loud, effortless, punctuated by shopping bags hitting the hallway floor.
"And then she said, 'Ma'am, this card declined,'" Yuko mimicked, her Japanese accent thickening the drama, "but it was just the machine!"
Jenny snorted, unbuttoning her black shirt. "I swear, my face was..."
Her sentence dissolved into giggles again.
Jenny’s silhouette blocked the flickering light of the television. Her black mini-skirt hugged her hips, legs bare beneath the hem.
Beside her, Yuko mirrored the stance, arms folded, a teasing lift to her brow. Jenny tapped her booted foot impatiently on the hardwood floor.
"Right, you, husband." Her voice sliced through the commentator's drone.
"We were talking about us"—she gestured between herself and Yuko—"and we want your opinion..."
Her lips curved into a challenge.
"Yeah," Yuko chimed in, her brown skirt shifting as she subtly angled her hip toward me.
"...who has the better legs and ass between the two of us?"
Her accent softened the bluntness, turning it almost musical.
"Be honest." Jenny’s dark eyes pinned me, unblinking.
The juice suddenly tasted sharp and metallic on my tongue.
A bead of condensation slithered down the box onto my thumb.
Their expressions – Jenny’s intense scrutiny, Yuko’s playful expectancy – screamed danger.
A wife asking her husband to rank her body against her best friend’s? This wasn’t curiosity.
This was a minefield disguised as a compliment.
My skin prickled with cold sweat beneath my shirt. I forced a wider grin, leaning back slowly against the protesting couch leather.
"Ladies," I chuckled, aiming for lightness but hearing the rasp in my own voice.
"Not saying, sorry." I raised my hands in mock surrender.
"You are both sexy ladies and to me are equally beautiful..."
I let my gaze flick meaningfully to Jenny. "...plus I married one.
" My thumb tapped my wedding band lightly against the juice box.
Yuko smirked, a slow, knowing curve of her lips. She leaned forward slightly, her brown mini-skirt riding up another fraction.
"Oh," she drawled, her voice dropping to a husky murmur.
"I understand." Her dark eyes glittered with mischief.
"He’s afraid that telling the truth..." she paused dramatically, "...your wife might cut your sex tonight."
The scent of her perfume – something floral and expensive – drifted forward, mingling unnervingly with the stale popcorn smell clinging to the living room.
Jenny’s playful challenge vanished instantly. Her knuckles whitened where they gripped her hip, the cheerful flush from their laughter draining from her face.
A cold stillness settled over her features.
"Yuko," she said, her voice low and suddenly devoid of all warmth. It wasn't a shout, but it cut sharper.
The commentator's frantic yelling about an offside trap sounded grotesquely loud in the sudden silence.
Yuko didn't flinch. Her smirk deepened, transforming into something predatory.
She took a deliberate step closer to Jenny, invading her personal space.
"Why not?" Her tone was silk over steel. The scent of her perfume intensified, clashing with Jenny’s familiar, softer fragrance.
"You know he glances," Yuko murmured, her gaze flicking briefly, insolently, toward me on the couch.
"We both see it. Little looks. Tiny appreciations." She tilted her head, a predator assessing prey.
"So let’s make it fun. A friendly fight."
Her fingers brushed Jenny’s forearm, a gesture both intimate and provoking.
"Winner takes Kev for the night. The loser..." Her eyes gleamed with pure, dangerous amusement. "...serves the winner.
Hand and foot. Slave for the evening. What do you think, Jenny ?"
She drew out Jenny’s name, making it sound foreign.
Jenny’s stillness shattered like glass. Her nostrils flared, a sharp inhale filling her lungs. The knuckles gripping her hip were bone-white.
She didn’t look at Yuko; her dark, furious gaze remained locked on the wall beyond her friend, her jaw clenched so tight I heard the faint click of teeth over the distant crowd roar on TV. The cheerful wife who’d walked in laughing moments ago was gone, replaced by something primal and territorial.
The air crackled with unsaid words – years of friendship strained to its breaking point by Yuko’s calculated cruelty.
Jenny’s voice, when it came, was a low, vibrating growl that chilled me to the bone. "Accepted."
Yuko’s smirk widened into a triumphant slash.
"Good..." she purred, the silkiness laced with venom.
"Let's go with it." Their identical movements were unnervingly synchronized.
Shopping bags hit the floor with soft thuds near the doorway, forgotten.
Without a word, Jenny grabbed the back of the heavy armchair beside me, its legs scraping harshly against the hardwood as she hauled it backwards towards the wall.
Yuko mirrored the action, shoving the coffee table aside against the far bookshelves.
The spacious living room suddenly felt cavernous, cleared floorboards gleaming dully under the TV's flickering light.
They moved with predatory grace towards the center, boots echoing sharply, stopping barely three feet apart.
The scent of expensive perfume warred with Jenny’s familiar jasmine – a battlefield drawn in fragrance.
Jenny lunged first. Not a hesitant step, but a coiled spring unleashed. Her shorter frame propelled her forward, fingers scrabbling not for Yuko’s arm, but for the thin silky fabric of her fitted brown shirt bunched loosely at her waist.
Fabric tore with a sharp “rrrrrip”. Yuko gasped, more surprise than pain, staggering back a half-step, her taller form momentarily off-balance.
Jenny pressed her advantage instantly, throwing her weight against Yuko’s hip. It wasn't elegant. It was desperate leverage.
Yuko’s brown boots slid wildly on the polished wood. With a choked cry of exertion, Jenny hauled her sideways. Momentum betrayed them both. They crashed onto the thick Persian rug just feet from my forgotten juice box, a tangled heap of limbs, ripped silk, and frantic breath.
The struggle became a whirlwind of slapping palms, tangled legs and sharp gasps.
Jenny scrambled, clawing for Yuko’s shoulders, trying to pin her flat.
Yuko bucked violently, her knee driving upwards, catching Jenny hard in the ribs. A pained grunt escaped Jenny’s lips.
Her grip faltered. Yuko twisted beneath her like an eel, strong thighs clamping around Jenny’s waist, flipping them both. The world spun.
Suddenly Yuko was on top, knees digging into Jenny’s hips, hands pinning Jenny’s wrists above her head against the rough weave of the rug.
Jenny thrashed, her black mini-skirt riding obscenely high, revealing a mere sliver of jet-black lace panties clinging beneath.
Yuko’s brown skirt fared no better, bunched around her waist, stark white cotton underwear exposed against the frantic writhing of her thighs.
Sweat slicked their skin, mingling the clashing perfumes into a heady, primal musk.
Yuko leaned down, breathing hard, her dark eyes inches from Jenny’s furious glare.
"Yield," she hissed, her voice thick with exertion and triumph. Jenny snarled wordlessly, arching her back violently.
One wrist tore free from Yuko’s grip. Her hand flew upwards, fingers curled, raking down Yuko’s exposed cheekbone.
Yuko cried out – a sound of genuine shock and pain – recoiling instinctively.
That instant of distraction was all Jenny needed. She bucked again, fiercely, twisting her hips sideways.
Yuko’s unbalanced posture crumbled. Jenny surged upwards, dislodging her, scrambling onto her knees above Yuko’s gasping form.
Jenny straddled her hips, pressing Yuko firmly down.
Jenny’s own blouse was ripped wide open now, her perfect, sweat-sheened breasts rising and falling rapidly above Yuko’s face.
Yuko’s shirt gaped identically, her own full breasts straining against the tattered silk, heaving with each laboured breath.
Jenny launched again down, trying to pin Yuko completely.
But Yuko moved with desperate grace, twisting her hips violently sideways just before Jenny’s full weight crashed down.
Jenny slammed hard onto the unforgiving hardwood floor beside the rug, chin bouncing off the polished wood with a sickening “crack”.
She lay stunned for a heartbeat, her breath knocked out in a harsh wheeze. Pain radiated from her jaw and shoulder.
She blinked, dazed, the frantic TV commentary merging into a distant buzz.
Above her, Yuko scrambled backwards, clutching her stinging cheek, her chestnut hair wild across her flushed face.
Yuko saw her chance. Fuelled by fury and adrenaline, she surged forward.
Pain forgotten, she dove onto Jenny’s momentarily vulnerable form, her shoulder driving hard into Jenny’s midsection.
Jenny gasped, curling instinctively around the sudden agony.
Before Jenny could gather her limbs to push her off, Yuko rolled them both violently.
It was a practiced wrestler’s move, fast and brutal. Jenny found herself flipped onto her back, trapped beneath Yuko’s heavier frame.
Yuko’s legs locked around Jenny’s waist like steel bands, anchoring her completely.
Her right arm snaked upwards with terrifying speed, passing under Jenny’s chin.
Instinctively, Jenny threw her head back, but it was too late.
Yuko’s forearm slammed against her throat, her elbow locking tightly behind Jenny’s head. Jenny’s own arms were pinned uselessly at her sides beneath Yuko’s crushing weight. She was immobilized, utterly caught in the chokehold. The pressure on her windpipe was immediate and crushing. Jenny’s eyes bulged, a strangled gargle escaping her bruised lips.
Panic ripped through Jenny. She bucked wildly, hips thrashing against Yuko’s legs, desperately trying to break the anchor point.
Her heels drummed a frantic, helpless rhythm against the rug.
She arched her back, straining with every fiber, but Yuko simply tightened her thighs, squeezing Jenny’s waist impossibly tighter.
Jenny tried to twist her shoulders, to create even a millimeter of space, but Yuko’s locked arm across her throat was an iron bar.
The world started to tunnel, dark spots dancing at the edges of Jenny’s vision.
Each desperate gasp pulled in less air, the pressure on her carotid arteries making her temples pound.
Sweat stung her eyes, mingling with tears of fury and suffocating terror.
The frantic shouts from the TV commentator sounded impossibly distant, muffled by the roaring blood in her ears.
She could smell Yuko’s sweat-soaked silk shirt, feel the heat radiating off her straining body, taste the coppery tang of her own desperation.
Her struggles grew weaker, jerky tremors replacing the powerful heaves.
She was fading fast beneath the relentless pressure.
Yuko watched Jenny’s frantic resistance ebb away, her own breathing laboured but controlled.
A triumphant smile spread across her flushed face, sharp and predatory.
Jenny’s movements became increasingly erratic, less coordinated, her limbs flopping weakly against the rug.
Her struggles dissolved into feeble twitches, her eyes rolling back slightly, lips turning blue as the oxygen starvation took hold.
The fight was draining visibly from Jenny’s body.
Yuko savoured it, the raw power thrumming through her. She leaned down, her lips brushing Jenny’s sweat-slicked ear.
"See?" she hissed, her voice thick with exertion and triumph. "Strength... fades."
With deliberate slowness, savouring the exquisite agony she was inflicting, Yuko withdrew her arm from Jenny’s pinned neck.
Still maintaining crushing pressure with her thighs and flank, she slid her freed hand downwards.
The torn black silk of Jenny’s mini-skirt gaped wide, revealing a thin strip of jet-black lace thong hugging her hipbone.
Yuko’s fingers, slick with sweat, bypassed the thin fabric strap entirely.
They plunged ruthlessly beneath the thong’s edge, sliding over Jenny’s slick, feverish skin below her navel.
There was no resistance. Jenny’s body was limp, almost boneless now.
Yuko’s probing fingertips encountered coarse, damp curls, then plunged deeper, parting slick folds.
She pushed two fingers hard into Jenny’s unresisting pussy, feeling the yielding heat and tightness.
A guttural gasp escaped Jenny’s bruised lips, but her eyes remained unfocused, staring blindly at the ceiling.
She offered no resistance, no reaction beyond the involuntary gasp – her consciousness was slipping away beneath the onslaught.
Yuko twisted her fingers brutally inside Jenny, a cruel reminder of her dominance.
"You are mine," she breathed, her voice dripping with possession.
"And tonight... tonight..." She leaned closer, her breath hot against Jenny’s temple,
"...I shall enjoy your husband’s cock." Jenny remained utterly motionless, her shallow breaths barely stirring her chest.
The stark, vulnerable stillness was terrifying.
Yuko withdrew her fingers only to plunge them back inside Jenny with renewed force, curling them sharply upward.
She began a relentless rhythm – thrusting deep, curling against that sensitive inner spot, pulling almost out, then thrusting brutally back in.
Over and over. Her knuckles pressed hard against Jenny’s pubic bone with every inward slam.
Jenny’s body jolted weakly with each rough invasion, her hips lifting fractionally off the rug only to fall back limply.
A low, involuntary groan vibrated deep in Jenny’s throat. Her eyelids fluttered weakly.
Yuko watched raptly, her own breath catching as Jenny’s hips began to lift slightly higher off the rug with each thrust, driven purely by tortured instinct despite Jenny’s fading awareness. A faint tremor started in Jenny’s thighs, betraying the rising tide Yuko was ruthlessly forcing upon her unconscious form.
The scent of Jenny’s arousal mingled sharply with sweat and the metallic tang of pain.
"Yeah," Yuko hissed, her voice thick with exertion and triumph. She increased her speed and force, pistoning her fingers brutally inside Jenny’s slick heat.
Jenny’s breath hitched, became shallow gasps punctuated by choked whimpers.
Her entire body arched abruptly off the rug, a rigid bow held taut by invisible wires.
Her head snapped back, tendons straining in her neck.
Her thighs clenched tight against Yuko’s waist.
A high, keening wail tore from her bruised lips – a sound utterly devoid of conscious control, pure, raw physical reaction.
Then she exploded. A violent torrent of liquid surged, soaking Yuko’s pumping fingers, dripping hotly down Jenny’s thighs
and saturating the rug beneath them with a pungent musk.
Jenny’s body convulsed violently, shaking uncontrollably beneath Yuko’s weight.
Her eyes rolled back completely, showing only the whites.
"...bitch..." Yuko breathed the word like a prayer, her own hips grinding unconsciously against Jenny’s spasming thigh.
She curled her fingers deep inside Jenny’s pulsing core, milking every last tremor, every aftershock.
She felt Jenny’s walls flutter wildly around her knuckles, the frantic clenching desperate even against oblivion.
Sweat plastered strands of hair to Yuko’s forehead as she rode out the waves crashing through Jenny’s limp form.
"...cum for me..." Her whispered command was lost beneath Jenny’s ragged sobs as consciousness fled completely,
leaving her utterly slack and spent beneath Yuko’s relentless grip.
The silence that followed was deafening. Only the frantic TV commentary screamed into the void.
Yuko slowly withdrew her glistening fingers, lifting them into the flickering blue light.
Rivulets of Jenny’s release traced paths down her forearm. A shudder—part exhaustion, part pure predatory satisfaction—racked Yuko’s frame.
She shoved herself upwards, boots finding purchase on the rug slick with sweat and other fluids.
She stood tall above Jenny’s wreckage, her ripped brown shirt hanging open, breasts heaving.
Jenny lay impossibly still, her own ripped black blouse gaping, skirt pushed high around her waist, legs splayed awkwardly on the saturated Persian rug.
Her eyes were closed, mouth slightly open, breathing shallowly.
"See, Kev?" Yuko’s voice sliced through the thick air, raw but triumphant.
She turned her head, her dark eyes pinning me to the couch.
There was a wild, feral light in them.
"See how I destroyed your little bitch?"
She laughed then, a harsh, ragged sound that echoed Jenny’s earlier choked wail.
Her gaze dropped pointedly to the straining bulge tenting my jeans—a traitorous physical reaction impossible to hide amidst the carnage.
A cruel smirk twisted her sweat-sheened lips. "Oh, I am going to take care of that soon,"
she promised, her voice dropping to a husky murmur thick with intent.
"But first..." She inhaled sharply, her chest swelling. "...first, I need myself a release."
Her boots squelched softly as she stepped deliberately over Jenny’s limp legs.
Jenny didn’t stir, her slack face ghostly pale against the soaked rug, lips slightly parted.
Yuko paused, her gaze lingering hungrily on Jenny’s exposed vulnerability—the dark lace thong pushed aside, the glistening mess between her thighs.
A tremor ran through Yuko, part exhaustion, part pure, predatory need. Slowly, deliberately, she pivoted.
She rolled Jenny’s limp body face up. She placed one booted foot carefully beside Jenny’s bruised shoulder, then the other beside her head.
Jenny’s shallow breaths fogged the leather toe of Yuko’s boot. Without hesitation, Yuko sank downwards.
Her knees touched the damp rug on either side of Jenny’s face. Then she lowered herself fully, settling her full weight onto Jenny’s slack features.
Soft, wet heat enveloped Jenny’s nose and sealed her mouth instantly.
Yuko’s pussy, still slick from her own exertion and Jenny’s forced climax, pressed down firmly.
The damp brown curls and swollen folds completely smothered Jenny’s lower face.
Beneath Yuko’s weight, Jenny’s head sank deeper into the rug, her neck bent unnaturally.
A muffled gurgle escaped—a reflexive gasp for air instantly choked off.
Yuko groaned, a deep, visceral sound vibrating through her pelvis directly into Jenny’s skull.
She shifted slightly, grinding herself down harder against Jenny’s immobile features.
The scent was overpowering: the sharp musk of Yuko’s arousal mixed with the coppery tang of Jenny’s own fluids drying on her skin.
Sweat dripped from Yuko’s chin onto Jenny’s forehead.
The rhythmic pressure intensified. Yuko’s hips began a deliberate, grinding roll against Jenny’s face. Each forward thrust forced Jenny’s nose deeper into yielding flesh, each backward pull offered a fraction of a breath only to seal it off again.
Jenny’s eyelids fluttered weakly beneath the suffocating weight; her chest struggled weakly to rise against the crushing pressure on her lungs.
Strands of Jenny’s dark hair plastered against Yuko’s glistening thighs.
Yuko’s breath came faster now, sharp gasps punctuating her low moans.
She arched her back, thrusting her hips forward sharply, forcing Jenny’s mouth open wider against her slick heat.
"Taste it yourself," Yuko hissed hoarsely, fingers digging into Jenny’s shoulders for leverage. "Taste me..."
A choked, muffled whimper vibrated against Yuko’s core – the last vestige of resistance.
Yuko threw her head back, a strangled cry tearing from her throat. Her thighs clenched around Jenny’s head like a vise. Her entire body locked rigid, trembling violently.
Hot liquid pulsed fiercely onto Jenny’s slack face – thick waves of Yuko’s release soaking her forehead, plastering her hair to her temples,
flooding her mouth and nostrils with the pungent musk of victory.
Rivulets streamed down Jenny’s cheeks and chin, pooling in the hollows of her neck, mingling with the sweat and tears already staining her skin.
The air thickened unbearably with the scent of sex, exertion, and domination.
Yuko gasped, collapsing forward momentarily, her palms braced flat on the rug beside Jenny’s shoulders.
She shuddered, letting the intense aftershocks ripple through her.
Slowly, almost reluctantly, she lifted herself. Her movement peeled away from Jenny’s face with a wet, sucking sound.
Jenny lay utterly still, coated in glistening trails of Yuko’s climax.
Her lips were parted, smeared with viscous fluid. Her skin was alarmingly pale beneath the sheen, her breathing shallow and erratic.
Yuko stared down at her handiwork, chest heaving, a cruel smile twisting her lips. Absolute victory. Total possession.
Boots squelching quietly on the saturated rug, Yuko strode towards me. Her ripped brown shirt hung open, her breasts glistening with sweat.
Her eyes locked onto mine – dark pools of pure, predatory satisfaction. She stopped inches from the couch, her scent – sweat, musk, dominance – filling the small space between us. Without breaking eye contact, she fished her sleek smartphone from her skirt pocket. The screen flared blue as she unlocked it.
She thrust it towards me, her voice low, husky, and utterly commanding.
"Please, honey," she murmured, though the word held no warmth.
"Take a couple of photos. I want a souvenir." Her grin widened, predatory.
"Something special to show to the bitch when she finally wakes up."
Her boots turned deliberately towards Jenny’s limp form. She stepped slowly, deliberately, positioning herself directly over Jenny’s slack face.
The soft leather sole hovered inches above Jenny’s bruised skin.
With a sharp intake of breath, Yuko raised both arms high above her head, fists clenched – a conquering gladiator’s triumphant pose.
Then, deliberately, she lowered her right boot. The cool leather sole pressed firmly down onto Jenny’s slack forehead and nose, molding itself to the contours of her face. Jenny didn’t react. Her breathing remained shallow and erratic beneath the pressure.
Yuko shifted her weight forward. The rough tread of her brown boot’s sole slid slowly, grindingly downward, past Jenny’s slack eyelids and bruised cheekbones, leaving a faint smear of rug sweat and fluid. It stopped directly over Jenny’s slightly parted lips.
The pressure increased, forcing Jenny’s jaw wider, exposing vulnerable teeth and tongue beneath the leather sole.
Jenny’s head sank deeper into the saturated rug under the insistent weight. A choked gurgle bubbled weakly from her throat.
Yuko withdrew her boot. She took a step back, gazing down at her handiwork – the pale, sweat-streaked face marred by the tread pattern, the slack mouth open and vulnerable. The musk of exertion and conquest hung thick. Slowly, deliberately, she turned.
Her dark eyes, still shining with the fierce heat of victory, locked onto mine.
A predatory smile spread across her flushed face, sharp and utterly confident.
She took one step towards the couch where I remained frozen, my forgotten juice slick in my sweating palm. Then another.
"Now," she breathed, her voice thick with promise and exertion.
"Now I have time for you, honey." Her boots made soft, wet sounds on the sodden rug as she closed the distance. "I was not joking."
Each word landed like a hammer blow. She stopped directly before me, her ripped shirt brushing my knees, the scent of her dominance and Jenny's defeat overwhelming. Her gaze dropped deliberately to the straining bulge tenting my jeans – the involuntary arousal I couldn't suppress.
Her smile widened, predatory and cruel.
"I want to test that famous cock," she stated, her voice dropping to a husky murmur thick with intent. Her hand rose slowly, fingers tracing a phantom line down the front of my jeans, hovering just above the fabric.
"Our sleeping beauty..." Her head tilted slightly towards Jenny’s limp form on the floor. "...doesn't care, now... does she?"
The question hung, rhetorical and chilling. She leaned in fractionally, her breath hot against my ear. "She's finished."
