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  #1  
Old 13-Feb-23, 06:24
d25 d25 is offline
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Trampling Ava (fatal trample story from AI)

Long time lurker, high time I gave something back, even if it’s only this I managed to get an AI to output. Hope it doesn’t violate policy - hope you enjoy

TRIGGER WARNING - DEATH

The party was in full swing when suddenly the room fell silent. All eyes turned to the commotion in the corner where a stunning little cocktail waitress named Ava stood over a crumpled, gasping man named Charles. Ava was a vision in her simple, but perfectly fitted black dress, nylons that clung to her legs, and sparkling heels that matched the glint in her eye. Charles was a big, entitled jerk who had always looked down on Ava and thought he was better than her.

But tonight was different. Charles had threatened Ava and she was done taking his abuse. With lightning quick reflexes, she deftly dodged his attack and plunged a stick pin into his flesh. Charles crumpled to the ground, and Ava stood over him, triumphant.

The onlookers cheered and jeered, egging Ava on as she began her victory poses, each step and gesture a display of her contempt for Charles. She started with delicate arching of her foot, moving it back and forth over his face, almost as if she was toying with him. Then she began to slip off her shoes, reveling in the feel of his skin against the soles of her feet.

Ava stood tall, hands on hips, as she looked down at Charles with a smirk. She could feel the power pulsing through her, and she was overcome with a sense of wicked delight. As Charles lay there, struggling for breath, Ava placed her foot on his neck, and with a playful giggle, she began to apply pressure.

The onlookers cheered and joined in, chanting for Charles to die. Ava's eyes met his, and in that moment, both their emotions were clear. Charles was mortified at being defeated, perishing, and humiliated by Ava's impertinence and arrogance. Ava, on the other hand, was relishing in the power she held over him, her preening in victory only adding to his sense of despair.

Ava's feet moved with purpose as she shifted her weight, crushing Charles' face under her soles. The sound of his last gasps were the only thing to be heard, his last breath was the dust from her feet. As she stood there, triumphant, Ava couldn't help but giggle at the irony of the situation.

The onlookers didn't want to help Charles, they enjoyed watching Ava do it, and their applause only added to her sense of earned victory. Ava's feet were a beautiful instrument of destruction, her nylons a glossy sheen as she posed on him, victorious.

As Charles lay there, slowly dying under Ava's feet, she leaned down, her breath hot on his ear, and whispered, "Die, you piece of trash. Die." And with a final gurgle, Charles took his last breath, defeated and demoralized.

Ava stood there, a picture of glamor and power, as the onlookers cheered and clapped. It was a spectacle of victory and defeat, both cruel and awesome, and Ava reveled in it. In that moment, she was the queen of the party, the shining star of the night, and she wouldn't let anyone forget it.

Last edited by d25; 13-Feb-23 at 21:38.
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Old 11-Apr-23, 07:32
bamfan30 bamfan30 is offline
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Default Re: Ava (fatal trample story from AI)

Nice story. Was this with the free version of chat gpt3? If so, how do you get it to write explicit outputs without violating it's own inbuilt content rules?
Well done in any case
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Old 19-Oct-23, 07:09
d25 d25 is offline
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Default Re: Ava (fatal trample story from AI)

Here’s another one:

The city outside seemed to blur into the background, an indistinct mosaic of lights and sounds, as within the cozy apartment, an entirely different scene was unfolding. Elise, dressed in chic casual attire, looked every bit the modern-day goddess. Her fitted jeans, ending just above her ankle, accentuated the toned muscles of her legs. The jeans paired beautifully with a loose-fitting white top that cascaded down her torso. But the real show-stoppers were her feet. Adorned in delicate lace ankle socks that accentuated the soft arch and curvature of her toes, her feet were ensconced in dainty ballet flats.

James was on the floor, gasping, his tie askew and shirt unbuttoned. His previous bravado had been replaced by a palpable fear, eyes widening as he realized the inevitable.

Positioning herself above him, Elise delicately, almost artistically, placed the ball of one foot on his chest, the lace creating a mesmerizing pattern on his skin. She shifted her weight, feeling the rise and fall of his rapid breaths beneath her. "Look at you, James," she teased, wiggling her toes. "All that bluster and bravado, and now you're nothing but a carpet beneath my feet."

James tried to speak, to plead, but she silenced him by sliding her foot up, letting the cool lace press over his lips. "Shhh," she whispered, the fingers of one hand playing with the strands of her hair, the other pointing down at him mockingly. "Every word you say, every breath you take, it's all at the mercy of my feet."

She relished the weight of her power, feeling him squirm beneath her. She adjusted her posture, flexing her calf and shifting her weight between her legs. It was an elegant dance of dominance. She moved her foot from his chest to his neck, applying just a hint of pressure, watching his eyes go wide with panic. "Do you feel that, James? The weight of my foot, the weight of your impending defeat. You're literally gasping for breath under my foot. Isn't it poetic?"

Desperately, James tried to resist, shifting his body in futile attempts to escape. Elise, sensing his desperation, decided to trample out his fleeting hope. Using both feet, she danced on his chest, her ballet flats creating a rhythmic pattern, pressing the life out of him. "You can't escape this, James," she crooned, her fingers tracing patterns in the air as her feet worked their cruel magic. "Every ounce of your dignity, your pride... I'm crushing it all under these pretty little feet."

As his resistance waned, she could feel his strength ebbing away, his body becoming more pliant and yielding beneath her. Elise stood on one foot, gracefully balancing with her arms spread out, while placing the other foot firmly on his face, her toes curling over his lips and nostrils. "Breathe, James," she mocked. "Take in the scent of my victory, the taste of your ultimate humiliation."

He struggled weakly, his life force dwindling. His muffled pleas and gasps resonated through the fabric of her socks. She watched with glee, the pulsations of his heart slowing, feeling the tremors of his dying moments under her sole.

As the last spark of life dimmed in his eyes, Elise slowly lifted her foot, striking a triumphant pose, one foot on his silent chest, the other raised in the air, fingers curled in a victorious fist. "What a way to go, James," she murmured, a hint of a smirk playing on her lips. "Defeated, humiliated, and crushed under the feet of a woman you so underestimated."
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