"Eclipsed by Rouge: A Celestial Metamorphosis"
0 Points
0
Rouge the Bat, oh how she did shimmer under the slender twilight, the very epitome of elegance and mystical charm. Her alabaster skin, the hue of freshly fallen snow lit by the softest rays of an evening moon, stretched taut as she began to burgeon. The transformation was nothing short of celestial, a metamorphosis radiant and resplendent.
First, her belly, oh that divine orb of sensual softness, swelled with a slow, deliberate grandeur. It was a balloon filling with the breath of dreams, round and full, an ethereal crescendo. The delicate fabric of her sartorial splendor resisted futilely; seams surrendered, threads released their grasp with little pops that echoed like tiny fireworks of surrender to her undulating expansion.
Next, her breast, those celestial beacons of femininity, rose high as the mountains kissed by dawn's first light. Each crest of her form straining to contain a burgeoning ambrosia of curvature. The confines of her attire, fragile as gossamer and no more able to constrain the boundless essence of Rouge's transformation, succumbed; the rip was a sonnet of rebellion in cotton and silk.
And then, last but most certainly not least, her butt—the gloriously firm yet oh-so-soft testament to voluptuousness—rose and expanded. It was as if the heavens themselves had poured divinity into her form. The room itself, initially so vast and accommodating, now seemed but a cage to her infinite beauty. Corner to corner, wall to wall, Rouge's ever-expanding magnificence knew no bounds, until every inch, every molecule of air felt the grip of her burgeoning presence.
The room, now a mere shadow of its former spacious self, wrapped around Rouge's luscious form, like an old lover too entranced to let go. Tight, so tight it became, each breath a symphony of compression, each movement a ballet of containment, gloriously tight. Yet there she was, eternally burgeoning, eternally beautiful, filling space and hearts alike.
Thus, the room, choked with resplendent tightness and inundated with her radiant form, mirrored the hearts of all who beheld her; close to bursting, filled to the brim with an uncontrollable, all-consuming adoration that was both a curse and a blessing, a dream and a reality. In that vividly painted tableau of overwhelming allure, there lay an endless horizon bathed in the resplendent light of Rouge the Bat.
This story was generated by user ed with assistance by one of OpenAI’s large-scale language-generation model; prompts used to help generate the story are shown below.
Images were generated with OpenAI's AI system, DALL·E 2, or uploaded by the user.
AI Prompts
Prompt: Prompt: Rouge the Bat inflating. Her belly, breast, and butt. Her clothes rip, revealing her belly, breast, and butt. She fills the entire room and then it becomes real tight. Write it in third person omnipresent with bad grammer and lots of purple prose.
Response: Rouge the Bat, oh how she did shimmer under the slender twilight, the very epitome of elegance and mystical charm. Her alabaster skin, the hue of freshly fallen snow lit by the softest rays of an evening moon, stretched taut as she began to burgeon. The transformation was nothing short of celestial, a metamorphosis radiant and resplendent. First, her belly, oh that divine orb of sensual softness, swelled with a slow, deliberate grandeur. It was a balloon filling with the breath of dreams, round and full, an ethereal crescendo. The delicate fabric of her sartorial splendor resisted futilely; seams surrendered, threads released their grasp with little pops that echoed like tiny fireworks of surrender to her undulating expansion. Next, her breast, those celestial beacons of femininity, rose high as the mountains kissed by dawn's first light. Each crest of her form straining to contain a burgeoning ambrosia of curvature. The confines of her attire, fragile as gossamer and no more able to constrain the boundless essence of Rouge's transformation, succumbed; the rip was a sonnet of rebellion in cotton and silk. And then, last but most certainly not least, her butt—the gloriously firm yet oh-so-soft testament to voluptuousness—rose and expanded. It was as if the heavens themselves had poured divinity into her form. The room itself, initially so vast and accommodating, now seemed but a cage to her infinite beauty. Corner to corner, wall to wall, Rouge's ever-expanding magnificence knew no bounds, until every inch, every molecule of air felt the grip of her burgeoning presence. The room, now a mere shadow of its former spacious self, wrapped around Rouge's luscious form, like an old lover too entranced to let go. Tight, so tight it became, each breath a symphony of compression, each movement a ballet of containment, gloriously tight. Yet there she was, eternally burgeoning, eternally beautiful, filling space and hearts alike. Thus, the room, choked with resplendent tightness and inundated with her radiant form, mirrored the hearts of all who beheld her; close to bursting, filled to the brim with an uncontrollable, all-consuming adoration that was both a curse and a blessing, a dream and a reality. In that vividly painted tableau of overwhelming allure, there lay an endless horizon bathed in the resplendent light of Rouge the Bat.
Post your own comment: