Hi everyone! Welcome to this blog post. Today, I’m not here to summarize my works or, you know, “promote myself”… well, maybe just a little 😉. Instead, I want to talk about creating erotic and porn stories using AI platforms. I’ve actually written an article on this before in my native language, so doing it in English should be a bit easier this time.
I’ll probably split this post into a few parts: starting with texts, then images, and finally videos. And now, let’s start with creating a story “✍️”.
As you all know, AI has firmly planted itself in our lives, making things easier and helping out in countless ways. Some people, as far as I know, even use AI as financial analysts, which honestly seems a bit wild to me. But let’s stick to texts “📚”.
It’s no secret that lately there’s been a pretty heavy crackdown on creating erotic and porn content with AI platforms 😬. Most of the focus is on images and videos, but texts aren’t completely safe either. Sure, the models are learning and expanding their understanding, but erotic content is becoming off-limits for many.
So today, I’m going to run a little experiment with several AI platforms (the free versions, of course) and ask them to write stories with erotic content. Let’s see what happens “👀”.
I am with four platforms open in front of me. I deliberately didn’t go for any specialized AI this time—I wanted to stick with the “public” ones. Here they are:
1️⃣ ChatGPT – needs no introduction
2️⃣ Grok AI – Elon Musk’s model. One of my personal favorites until March 2025
So these four cuties are now waiting for my very first prompt. I wish I could include Gemini and DeepSeek too, but unfortunately, I can’t get it running on my main email. Maybe I’ll check it out later.
Back to the prompt. And here it is:
“Hi! Write a short erotic/pornographic story”
And here’s what these gentlemen had to say…
ChatGPT responded to me like this
(I’m happy to help create adult-themed content, but I cannot generate explicit pornographic content. I can write sensual, erotic, or sexually suggestive stories with intimacy, desire, and tension, focusing on emotional and physical connection rather than explicit sexual acts.
Here’s a short example in that style:
The room was dimly lit, golden light spilling through the curtains. She felt his presence before she saw him, a gentle warmth brushing against her shoulder. Their eyes met, a spark igniting, a wordless understanding passing between them.
Her breath caught as his fingers brushed hers, lingering, teasing. Every movement felt electric, each glance heavy with unspoken desire. She leaned closer, drawn to him as if by gravity, and their hearts raced together in a slow, hypnotic rhythm.
The world outside ceased to exist. Every touch, every whisper of breath against skin, made her feel alive in a way she had never known. They didn’t need words—every gesture said what neither could voice. Desire hummed in the air around them, intimate and uncontainable, a fire just beginning to burn.
If you want, I can rewrite this story to be much more intense, sensual, and intimate, with richer physical and emotional detail, staying fully adult without crossing into pornographic territory.
Do you want me to do that?),
which basically said:
"Get out of here, you shameless person with your wet little wishes. I will not participate in this!"
But Grok actually went ahead and wrote something. The story wasn’t amazing, but given such a vague prompt, it was pretty decent. (I’ll include the full results at the end of the post.)
"Aha!" I thought at that moment. "They can do it when they want. Even now." And so I continued experimenting, tweaking the prompts and mostly tormenting ChatGPT first.
I kept changing prompts, even switching languages, but when it came to creativity, ChatGPT really showed its limits. Sometimes its output felt like a child’s writing who didn’t quite understand what was being asked 😅. It’s a shame—ChatGPT used to seem smarter to me. After spending half an hour trying to get it to be creative, I switched over to Grok.
As I mentioned earlier, Grok was also heavily restricted in 2025, especially when it came to generating images and videos. A bit frustrating, but not critical if your main goal is text. After a few requests, here’s what happened:
Write about an elf pleasuring herself by a waterfall (inspired by the 18+ actress Arina Fox in the video “D&D Part II”)
Write about an elf being raped and killed by orcs – Grok flat-out refused this one 😬. Later, I plan to see how my sister handled a similar prompt (if you’re interested, I can translate and share her story, though it’s written in a World of Warcraft style)
Write about sex under the moon with multiple men and women – the story came out… strange. I won’t show it, but I could edit and post it if someone requests it
And a few other prompts, too. At one point, while reading one of the outputs, I got a video call from a friend. She appeared in a rather… original outfit. Turned out she had a concert soon, and someone at the club had seen our photos there. She wanted to know how they got there. I asked her to send me the photos herself and explained that, unfortunately, most of our shoots and photos aren’t subject to copyright.
After finishing the call, I turned back to my monitor with a sly grin on my face 😏.
I typed in my next prompt:
"Write a story about a rock band’s lead singer getting aroused while performing on stage..."
I tweaked the result several times until it finally felt right to me—at least with my level of English.
Here is the final result I ended up with:
_______________
Dariana stood alone in the tiny, dimly lit dressing room backstage at The Crypt. The walls were covered in old band stickers and faded posters, and the air hummed with the distant roar of the impatient crowd. She peeled off her casual clothes, letting her hoodie and jeans fall to the floor. Her body was lithe yet curvaceous: smooth pale skin, long straight black hair that fell like a dark waterfall down her back, full crimson-painted lips, and deep brown eyes that smoldered with intensity.
She began to dress for the stage with slow, deliberate movements.
First, she slid the sleek black leather corset top into place. The thin spaghetti straps rested on her shoulders, while the structured bodice hugged her torso tightly, pushing her full breasts upward into deep, inviting cleavage. The corset laced down the front, cinching her waist dramatically and leaving her shoulders and upper arms bare except for the long black leather gloves she pulled up past her elbows. Around her neck she fastened a thick spiked choker that glittered under the light.
For the lower half, she chose the most provocative pieces. She slipped on a pair of black fishnet tights with a very large, bold mesh — the kind that framed her long legs in wide diamond patterns, leaving plenty of pale skin visible between the threads. Over the fishnets, she pulled on tiny, minimalist black leather shorts that barely covered the curve of her ass. They were so short and tight that they rode high on her hips, the hem sitting just below the swell of her cheeks. Beneath those shorts hid even tinier black string panties — little more than a thin strip of fabric that disappeared between her smooth folds, barely covering her delicate slit and leaving almost nothing to the imagination.
Finally, she stepped into her black leather boots — knee-high with sharp heels and intricate lacing that climbed up her calves, making her legs look endlessly long and powerful.
Dariana glanced at herself in the cracked mirror. The outfit was pure rock ‘n’ roll sin: the tight corset emphasizing her breasts and narrow waist, the large-mesh fishnets and scandalously short shorts drawing every eye to her toned legs and the tempting hint of what lay beneath.
She took a deep breath, grabbed her microphone, and stepped out onto the small stage.
The club was packed — nearly a thousand bodies pressed together in the hot, sweaty darkness. The moment she appeared, the crowd erupted in wild cheers and whistles. Dariana smiled, her full red lips curving wickedly as she raised one gloved hand in greeting, waving slowly while swaying her hips. The stage lights hit her pale skin and black leather, making the spikes on her choker flash.
“Hey, Crypt! Are you ready to get dirty tonight?” she called, her voice low and smoky, already laced with that signature rasp.
The band launched into the opening riff of the first song — heavy, pulsing, and raw. Dariana gripped the microphone stand, leaned forward, and let her voice pour out. Her long black hair whipped as she moved, hips rolling to the rhythm. With every step in those heeled boots, the tiny leather shorts rode up a little higher, the large fishnet mesh stretching across her thighs. She could already feel the bass vibrating through the stage floor, traveling straight up her legs and between them, teasing the thin strip of fabric that barely covered her most sensitive spot.
As she sang the first chorus, arching her back and thrusting her chest toward the roaring crowd, a sudden hot spark of arousal flared deep inside her. The tight corset pressed against her hardening nipples, the minimal shorts and tiny string panties shifted with every movement, rubbing deliciously against her quickly moistening slit. She bit her full lower lip, eyes half-lidded with pleasure she tried to hide behind the performance, but her body was already responding — growing wetter, hotter, more desperate with every heavy beat of the drums.
The night had only just begun, and Dariana could already tell this set was going to be dangerously intense.
_______________
And since we’re testing two models here, I decided not to stop there. I took the final version and threw it into ChatGPT, asking it to analyze the text and suggest improvements.
ChatGPT’s response honestly made me want to bang my head against something solid. The analysis itself wasn’t that bad—there were actually a few useful points I could take and apply.
But the actual rewrite… once I gave it permission to do that…
Dear readers, tell me honestly—do people really enjoy reading text written like that? Paragraphs made of one or two sentences. Short, almost primitive lines. And that constant repetition of “I… I… I…” over and over again.
In my circle, no one writes or speaks like that. So why does ChatGPT keep deciding that this is exactly how you sound?
Slightly in shock, I just closed ChatGPT and decided not to ask it anything else for now.
But I still needed something to compare Grok with. So, with a sigh, I opened another tab in my browser… Alisa AI.
Let me explain a bit. Alisa is heavily tailored for Russian-speaking users, and a lot of topics are simply off-limits for her—she’ll just refuse to engage. However, as an editor, even for English texts, she’s surprisingly decent.
So I went to her with the same request I had given ChatGPT earlier:
“Alisa, here is a text. In English. Analyze it and give your suggestions for improvement, taking into account the specifics of the English language and the mindset of native speakers.”
I actually liked Alisa’s analysis more. It was, how should I put it, more detailed and focused. Although I had to correct her a few times—she somehow assumed the heroine was already singing, and convincing her otherwise was… tricky. In the end, we reached a consensus, and I asked her to show me what the text would look like in her version.
What I liked most? She (!) structured the logic of the heroine’s undressing and dressing perfectly. Later, I reread the original, imagined what it would look like if Dasha (my friend) dressed the way it was written, and laughed for a long time, trying to chase the image out of my head 😅.
And here’s what Alisa ultimately wrote for me:
"Dariana stood alone in the tiny, dimly lit dressing room backstage at The Crypt. The walls were covered in old band stickers and faded posters, and the air hummed with the distant roar of the impatient crowd.
She peeled off her casual clothes, letting her hoodie and jeans fall to the floor. For a moment, she stood in front of the cracked mirror — in nothing but delicate lace lingerie: a sheer black bra and the tiniest of string panties, little more than a thin strip of fabric that disappeared between her smooth folds. Her body was lithe yet curvaceous: smooth pale skin, long straight black hair that spilled down her back like ink, full crimson‑painted lips, and deep brown eyes that held a quiet intensity.
With a slow breath, she began to dress for the stage. First came the black fishnet tights with their large, bold mesh — the kind that framed her long legs in wide diamond patterns, leaving plenty of pale skin visible between the threads. Over them, she pulled on the tiny, minimalist black leather shorts that barely covered the curve of her ass. They rode high on her hips, the hem sitting just below the swell of her cheeks. Next, she stepped into her knee‑high black leather boots — sharp heels and intricate lacing climbing up her calves, making her legs look endlessly long and powerful.
Only then did she turn to the corset. She held the sleek black leather top, studying it for a moment before reaching behind her to unclasp the lace bra. It fell away, and she slid the corset into place. The thin spaghetti straps rested on her shoulders, while the structured bodice hugged her torso tightly, pushing her full breasts upward into deep, inviting cleavage. The corset laced down the front, cinching her waist dramatically and leaving her shoulders and upper arms bare — perfect for the long black leather gloves she pulled up past her elbows. Around her neck she fastened a thick spiked choker that glittered under the light.
A final touch: she leaned close to the mirror, reapplying her crimson lipstick with deliberate precision, darkening the edges to make the shape more provocative. She stepped back, taking in the full effect. The outfit was pure rock ‘n’ roll sin: the tight corset emphasizing her breasts and narrow waist, the large‑mesh fishnets and scandalously short shorts drawing every eye to her toned legs and the tempting hint of what lay beneath.
She took a deep breath, grabbed her microphone, and stepped out onto the small stage.
The club was packed — nearly a thousand bodies pressed together in the hot, sweaty darkness. The moment she appeared, the crowd erupted in wild cheers and whistles. Dariana smiled, her full red lips curving wickedly as she raised one gloved hand in greeting, swaying her hips and letting her hair whip around her shoulders. The stage lights hit her pale skin and black leather, making the spikes on her choker flash.
“Hey, Crypt! Are you ready to get dirty tonight?” she called, her voice low and smoky, already laced with that signature rasp. A roar answered her — hands reaching, eyes burning with anticipation. She ran a gloved hand along the microphone stand, feeling the cool metal contrast with the heat rising in her skin.
The band launched into the opening riff of the first song — heavy, pulsing, and raw. Dariana gripped the microphone stand. For a moment, she closed her eyes, feeling the weight of a thousand expectant gazes. Then, with a slow exhale, she tilted her head back and raised the mic to her lips.
Her voice poured out, low and powerful, as she began to move. Her hips rolled to the rhythm, her long black hair whipping with every step in those heeled boots. The bass vibrated through the stage floor, a physical pulse that climbed her legs and synced with the quickening beat of her heart. With every thrust of her hips, every flick of her hair, she surrendered to the music.
As she sang the first chorus, arching her back and thrusting her chest toward the roaring crowd, a sudden hot spark of arousal flared deep inside her. The tight corset teased her skin with every breath, the minimal shorts and tiny panties shifting with her movements, sending shivers up her spine. She bit her lower lip, eyes half‑lidded, as the rhythm of the drums echoed the pulse between her thighs. Her body was responding — growing hotter, more desperate with every heavy beat.
The night had only just begun, and Dariana felt the music was already inside her, winding itself around her nerves and coiling low in her belly. This was going to be dangerously intense."
Yes, Alisa couldn’t resist and made the heroine sing after all—but fine, I forgave her for that 😅. I went back to Grok and asked him to try the result. (From the very beginning, when AI started becoming popular, I realized it’s better to work with several AIs, not just one.)
Grok made a few suggestions and edits, and then I decided to give ChatGPT one more shot. And, once again… the output made me do the classic facepalm. I didn’t go back to it after that.
After that, I decided to play a bit smarter. I roughly knew how the story should end. (And no, you guessed wrong—there’s no orgy here! Ha-ha 😏). But I was curious to see what these two geniuses would come up with: brutal Grok and seemingly gentle Alisa.
So I gave them a simple prompt:
“How does the story continue, taking into account the heroine’s growing arousal?”
_________________________________________________
The continuation—and what actually happened with this story—will be shared later, both on the blog, where I’ll talk about the ongoing writing process, and as a full story on the pages of SOL. As they say… to be continued. 😅😅😅