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AI artwork featuring #Restrained
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Restrained

AI art by ใ—ใ‚“ใ‚‰ใ on PixAI. Made with Tsubaki.3 Flash.

ใ—

ใ—ใ‚“ใ‚‰ใ

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1girl, solo, mature female, milf, black hair, long hair, hair spread on floor, blue eyes, silver glasses, rimless glasses, huge breasts, huge hips, wide hips, curvy, voluptuous, silver bodysuit, skintight bodysuit, metallic silver, silver gloves, silver boots, defeated, sad, troubled expression, furrowed brows, downturned mouth, tears welling, lying on floor, on back, side view, full body, from side, low angle, arms held down, legs bent, struggling, bound by slime, black slime, slime blob, amorphous blob creature, glossy translucent black slime, slime on face, slime on cheek, slime on breasts, breast torture, breasts squeezed, slime on arms, slime on legs, slime on back, half body covered in slime, body covered by slime, surrounded by slime, surrender, overwhelmed, cheek squashed, wet skin, glistening, high heels?, catwalk, giant white hallway, white walls, 100 cannons, wall-mounted cannons, barrel array, distant perspective, deep corridor, motion lines, seductive_smile? no, despair, sweat, blush, trembling, parted lips, heavy_breathing, spoken_heart, A low, slightly upward-tilted side view, full body, in a true profile-plane shot running the length of a monumental white hallway โ€” a polished catwalk floor with a pale seam line receding to a vanishing point, flanked on both left and right by tall blank white walls. She lies on the floor along that seam, tilted onto her back but turned three-quarters toward the camera: shoulders flat, hips twisted over onto her right hip, both legs bent and splayed, her right knee up and her left leg trailing straight, silver boots still laced and gleaming with scuff marks along the toes. Her long black hair fans across the white floor in a wide arc, individual strands lifted and stuck down where the slime has pinned them. Her silver bodysuit is a wet, chrome-glossy second skin stretched over huge breasts and huge hips, the fabric clinging and dimpling under pressure, seams strained at the bust and across the pelvis; her silver gloves and silver boots remain on, the gloves slicked with pearlescent slime up past the wrists. Her head is tipped back against the floor, cheek pressed flat โ€” and a thick black slime blob is pasted right across that cheek, distorting the skin beneath it, one arm of a silver glasses frame shoved crooked above her ear. Behind the lenses her blue eyes are wet, wide, fixed up and away at the cannon array on the near wall, brows knitted high and drawn together; her mouth is open in a distressed pant, lower lip trembling, a sheen of sweat on her forehead and body, and her breath visibly hitches at the throat. The black slime is everywhere and it is the attacker: glossy opaque black blobs, viscous and blobby, one large blob clamped over her breasts and crushing them inward in a harness of slime ropes across her chest, others wrapped tight around her upper arms and pinning them down to the floor, two blobs gripping her left shin and right thigh and pulling her legs outward and apart so her hips are forced open. More blobs mass in a low black tide around her hips and shoulders โ€” half of her body is already smothered under that wet black coat, with only one hip and shoulder still showing silver. Blobs crawl over her back past the spine, pressing her shoulders into the floor, and a black blob seals across her throat. Each blobโ€™s surface catches a hot specular highlight and trails a thin strand of slime to the floor, and wherever a blob presses down the platinum floor shows a dark, glossy smeared reflection that is softer and dimmer than the thing casting it. Along both white walls, a hundred wall-mounted cannons in three stacked tiers run toward the vanishing point, each short-barrelled and pale as the wall around it, their muzzles all angled down at her and casting hard cone shadows onto the floor. The only light is the hallโ€™s uniform white ceiling glow, cool and clinical, so the slime throws black reflections and her bodysuit blazes silver-white on every lit curve while the far end of the corridor falls away into white haze. Painterly mood: chrome-on-white with black slime as the only dark mass, tight, sad, overwhelmed. Mature anime style with glossy, high-finish rendering and soft lighting; skin blended with subtle gradients and warm highlights for a polished, almost airbrushed look, controlled harmonious colour and smooth, minimally visible brushwork, intimate and sensual mood throughout.
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Original Prompt
mature female, silver glasses, black hair, long hair, blue eyes, huge breasts, huge hips, silver bodysuit, silver gloves, silver boots, masterpiece, full body, sexy, max quality, masterpiece, defeat, breast torture, sad, lay on the floor, black slime blobs, surrounded, surrounded by black slime blobs, slime blobs, attacked on back , black slime blobs, body Attack by black blobs, black blob attacked on the face cheek, blobs attacked on arm, blobs attacked on legs, half body Attacked by a lot of blobs , almost body Attacked by blobs , cannons from the walls, 100 cannons from the walls ,catwalk, big white hallway with cannons, blobs attacked, body cover by a lot of slime blobs, surrender by blobs, blobs cover body , run, running with the blobs, lay down, face cover by slime blobs, side view
Mode
flash
Size
1104 x 1824
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Model & LoRA used

Tsubaki.3 Flash - AI Model cover image

PixAI DiT.3

Tsubaki.3 Flash
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AI artwork
ใ—
side view, full body, solo, mature female, black hair, long hair, blue eyes, silver glasses, huge breasts, huge hips, silver bodysuit, silver gloves, silver boots, lying on floor, on back, running, reaching upward, defeated, sad, crying, tears, grimace, surrender, black slime blobs, covered in slime, black slime on face, black slime on cheek, black slime on arms, black slime on legs, black slime on back, surrounded by blobs, many blobs, restrained by blobs, shiny skin, sweat, wet clothes, trembling, clenched teeth, looking up, catwalk, big white hallway, 100 wall cannons, wide shot, from side, dutch angle, high detail, cinematic lighting The camera sits low and level with the catwalk itself, a true side view of a single woman stretched on the floor of the corridor, the frame running the full length of her body from her silver boots at the lower left to her long black hair fanned loose across the polished walkway at the upper right. She lies on her back, her spine arched up off the floor and her hip and shoulder blades the only points of contact, her huge hips shifting her weight hard to one side and her knees drawn halfway up while one long leg tries to kick free โ€” she is caught in the same half second as her run, her body still carrying the forward momentum of a sprint that has already collapsed into a fall. Her silver-gloved arm reaches up and back over her head, the fingers spread and straining toward the tall ceiling, and the other arm is pinned across her chest. Her mature face is turned along the catwalk in profile, her blue eyes wide and wet behind the silver glasses that sit slightly crooked on the bridge of her nose, tears sliding sideways from the outer corner of her eye into the loose strands of her black hair; her mouth is pulled open in a sob and one brow knotted as she stares up past the cannons. Black slime blobs come down the walls and up through the gaps in the walkway on every side of her. They swarm her back in one glossy mass, wedging under her shoulder blade and hooking around her waist to peel her arched spine farther off the floor; they wrap her reaching arm from wrist to elbow and drag it back; they coil around both silver-booted legs in rings and clamp her ankle down. A small blob clings to her cheek just under the rim of her glasses, drawn thin and webbed where her face moves against it. There are far too many to count โ€” some the size of fists, some the size of her torso, all the same deep lacquered black with wet highlights. About half her body disappears beneath an uneven blanket of them, and a larger one is already climbing over her jaw and closing across her cheek and chin, spreading over her mouth and up over her nose. She has given up: the flicker of struggle in her hand is the last flicker, and the rest of her has gone limp on the floor. The hallway is a long vaulted run of white stone with a high polished catwalk down its center, and both interior walls are set with a regular grid of a hundred cannon barrels, every muzzle aimed inward and down toward the spot where she has fallen. Their metal shapes are silhouetted dark against the pale walls. The room is lit from above โ€” a single broad shaft of soft white light from high in the vault falls straight down and catches the top edges of the cannons and the walkway; the undersides of her body, her bent knees and the inside of the corridor floor fall into gentle gray shadow. Her reflection stretches long and distorted in the wet polish under her, darker and softer than she is. The palette is silver, white, and black โ€” silver suit, gloves and boots with clean specular sweep across their curves, white walls, and everything else rendered in glossy black slime โ€” with only her blue eyes and the faint warmth of her cheeks lifting out of the cold scheme, all polished and airbrushed in a mature anime style with soft smooth gradients and almost invisible brushwork. Desperate defeat.
ใ—ใ‚“ใ‚‰ใ
#Bodysuit
AI artwork
ใ—
side view, full body, solo, mature female, black hair, long hair, blue eyes, silver glasses, huge breasts, huge hips, silver bodysuit, silver gloves, silver boots, lying on floor, on back, running, reaching upward, defeated, sad, crying, tears, grimace, surrender, black slime blobs, covered in slime, black slime on face, black slime on cheek, black slime on arms, black slime on legs, black slime on back, surrounded by blobs, many blobs, restrained by blobs, shiny skin, sweat, wet clothes, trembling, clenched teeth, looking up, catwalk, big white hallway, 100 wall cannons, wide shot, from side, dutch angle, high detail, cinematic lighting The camera sits low and level with the catwalk itself, a true side view of a single woman stretched on the floor of the corridor, the frame running the full length of her body from her silver boots at the lower left to her long black hair fanned loose across the polished walkway at the upper right. She lies on her back, her spine arched up off the floor and her hip and shoulder blades the only points of contact, her huge hips shifting her weight hard to one side and her knees drawn halfway up while one long leg tries to kick free โ€” she is caught in the same half second as her run, her body still carrying the forward momentum of a sprint that has already collapsed into a fall. Her silver-gloved arm reaches up and back over her head, the fingers spread and straining toward the tall ceiling, and the other arm is pinned across her chest. Her mature face is turned along the catwalk in profile, her blue eyes wide and wet behind the silver glasses that sit slightly crooked on the bridge of her nose, tears sliding sideways from the outer corner of her eye into the loose strands of her black hair; her mouth is pulled open in a sob and one brow knotted as she stares up past the cannons. Black slime blobs come down the walls and up through the gaps in the walkway on every side of her. They swarm her back in one glossy mass, wedging under her shoulder blade and hooking around her waist to peel her arched spine farther off the floor; they wrap her reaching arm from wrist to elbow and drag it back; they coil around both silver-booted legs in rings and clamp her ankle down. A small blob clings to her cheek just under the rim of her glasses, drawn thin and webbed where her face moves against it. There are far too many to count โ€” some the size of fists, some the size of her torso, all the same deep lacquered black with wet highlights. About half her body disappears beneath an uneven blanket of them, and a larger one is already climbing over her jaw and closing across her cheek and chin, spreading over her mouth and up over her nose. She has given up: the flicker of struggle in her hand is the last flicker, and the rest of her has gone limp on the floor. The hallway is a long vaulted run of white stone with a high polished catwalk down its center, and both interior walls are set with a regular grid of a hundred cannon barrels, every muzzle aimed inward and down toward the spot where she has fallen. Their metal shapes are silhouetted dark against the pale walls. The room is lit from above โ€” a single broad shaft of soft white light from high in the vault falls straight down and catches the top edges of the cannons and the walkway; the undersides of her body, her bent knees and the inside of the corridor floor fall into gentle gray shadow. Her reflection stretches long and distorted in the wet polish under her, darker and softer than she is. The palette is silver, white, and black โ€” silver suit, gloves and boots with clean specular sweep across their curves, white walls, and everything else rendered in glossy black slime โ€” with only her blue eyes and the faint warmth of her cheeks lifting out of the cold scheme, all polished and airbrushed in a mature anime style with soft smooth gradients and almost invisible brushwork. Desperate defeat.
ใ—ใ‚“ใ‚‰ใ
AI artwork
ใ—
side view, full body, solo, mature female, black hair, long hair, blue eyes, silver glasses, huge breasts, huge hips, silver bodysuit, silver gloves, silver boots, lying on floor, on back, running, reaching upward, defeated, sad, crying, tears, grimace, surrender, black slime blobs, covered in slime, black slime on face, black slime on cheek, black slime on arms, black slime on legs, black slime on back, surrounded by blobs, many blobs, restrained by blobs, shiny skin, sweat, wet clothes, trembling, clenched teeth, looking up, catwalk, big white hallway, 100 wall cannons, wide shot, from side, dutch angle, high detail, cinematic lighting The camera sits low and level with the catwalk itself, a true side view of a single woman stretched on the floor of the corridor, the frame running the full length of her body from her silver boots at the lower left to her long black hair fanned loose across the polished walkway at the upper right. She lies on her back, her spine arched up off the floor and her hip and shoulder blades the only points of contact, her huge hips shifting her weight hard to one side and her knees drawn halfway up while one long leg tries to kick free โ€” she is caught in the same half second as her run, her body still carrying the forward momentum of a sprint that has already collapsed into a fall. Her silver-gloved arm reaches up and back over her head, the fingers spread and straining toward the tall ceiling, and the other arm is pinned across her chest. Her mature face is turned along the catwalk in profile, her blue eyes wide and wet behind the silver glasses that sit slightly crooked on the bridge of her nose, tears sliding sideways from the outer corner of her eye into the loose strands of her black hair; her mouth is pulled open in a sob and one brow knotted as she stares up past the cannons. Black slime blobs come down the walls and up through the gaps in the walkway on every side of her. They swarm her back in one glossy mass, wedging under her shoulder blade and hooking around her waist to peel her arched spine farther off the floor; they wrap her reaching arm from wrist to elbow and drag it back; they coil around both silver-booted legs in rings and clamp her ankle down. A small blob clings to her cheek just under the rim of her glasses, drawn thin and webbed where her face moves against it. There are far too many to count โ€” some the size of fists, some the size of her torso, all the same deep lacquered black with wet highlights. About half her body disappears beneath an uneven blanket of them, and a larger one is already climbing over her jaw and closing across her cheek and chin, spreading over her mouth and up over her nose. She has given up: the flicker of struggle in her hand is the last flicker, and the rest of her has gone limp on the floor. The hallway is a long vaulted run of white stone with a high polished catwalk down its center, and both interior walls are set with a regular grid of a hundred cannon barrels, every muzzle aimed inward and down toward the spot where she has fallen. Their metal shapes are silhouetted dark against the pale walls. The room is lit from above โ€” a single broad shaft of soft white light from high in the vault falls straight down and catches the top edges of the cannons and the walkway; the undersides of her body, her bent knees and the inside of the corridor floor fall into gentle gray shadow. Her reflection stretches long and distorted in the wet polish under her, darker and softer than she is. The palette is silver, white, and black โ€” silver suit, gloves and boots with clean specular sweep across their curves, white walls, and everything else rendered in glossy black slime โ€” with only her blue eyes and the faint warmth of her cheeks lifting out of the cold scheme, all polished and airbrushed in a mature anime style with soft smooth gradients and almost invisible brushwork. Desperate defeat.
ใ—ใ‚“ใ‚‰ใ
#Bodysuit
AI artwork
ใ—
1girl, solo, mature female, black hair, long hair, blue eyes, silver glasses, huge breasts, huge hips, silver bodysuit, silver gloves, silver boots, full body, running, defeated, exhausted, black slime blobs, blob balls, surrounded, attacked from every direction, covered by blobs, blob on woman, blob balls on cheek, blob balls on arm, blob balls on legs, half body covered by blobs, cannons in the wall, big white hallway, run-and-gun corridor, from below, wide shot, dutch angle, motion blur, saliva trail, asymmetrical pose, straining arm, Seen from a low, tilted up-angle wide shot that keeps her whole figure inside the frame, a mature woman runs through a long white corridor toward the right of the picture, caught mid-stride: her left boot is planted flat, her right knee is driven up and forward, her silver-gloved right arm is flung out ahead of her shoulder with the fingers splayed as she reaches for the next stretch of floor, and her left hand is clawing back past her hip to tear at a blob wadded against her lower back. Her long black hair streams out behind her head in a single dark ribbon, lifted off her neck by her own sprint, and her huge hips roll through the stride so the silver bodysuit pulls tight across the thigh and creases at the waist. A pair of rimless silver glasses sits straight on her nose; behind the lenses her blue eyes are half-lidded and dulled, lashes low, brow pinched, mouth open in a slack exhausted gasp with one thread of saliva tracked across her cheek โ€” she has already lost and is running on the last of herself. Black glossy blob balls are everywhere at once: one splats across her right cheek and the side of her glasses, distorting the light through the wet film; two more are latched onto her left forearm and right upper arm, sagging under their own weight and rippling with the swing of her elbows; three are wrapped around her legs, one stuck to the outside of her right boot and one dragged along the back of her left calf, and a broad slick mass coats her entire left side, chest to hip, so that half her body reads as shiny black over the silver. Each blob is a fat, translucent, glossy dark sphere with a soft highlight dome and a trailing drip, no eyes, no limbs. Deep along the corridor a row of white cylindrical cannons slide out of the wall on recessed rails, their dark muzzles aimed at her, and the walls carry rows of shallow circular ports still wet with residue. The corridor is over-scaled and empty, its white panels and floor seam lines converging to a vanishing point behind her right shoulder; she is small in it. Light comes from ceiling strip panels in a cold, even white, laying long hard shadow bars across the floor and putting a bright wet rim on every blob along the side that faces the ceiling, while the undersides of the blobs and the space under her chin sit in near-black. The floor carries the evidence: a broken line of wet black footprints where her boots have stamped through spilled slime, and a fresh shine on the panels where a blob has dragged. Palette stays strictly white, black, and silver, with the only warmth in her flushed face. Saccharine-bright, overwhelming pressure.
ใ—ใ‚“ใ‚‰ใ
#Bodysuit

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character: kaname_madoka_(magical_girl), copyright: mahou_shoujo_madoka_magica Kaname Madoka from Puella Magi Madoka Magica, pink twin tails tied with deep red ribbons, wearing her iconic magical girl costume, white corset-like bodice with delicate back lacing, voluminous layered white and pale pink ruffled skirt, crimson ribbons flowing loosely around her body, viewed from behind at a three-quarter angle, seated with her back gracefully arched, both arms extending naturally downward behind her back, one hand gently holding the opposite wrist, clearly separated hands, relaxed slender fingers, five distinct fingers on each hand, natural finger spacing, anatomically correct wrists, elegant delicate hands, visible knuckles, softly curved fingers, hands clearly visible against the white skirt, unobstructed hand silhouette, accurate hand anatomy, head tilted far backward, chin raised toward the darkness, face mostly hidden, elegant elongated silhouette, delicate exposed shoulders, soft loose strands of pink hair, dramatic asymmetrical composition, close medium shot, large skirt filling the lower frame, dark almost black background, dramatic directional lighting, pale ivory highlights, muted dusty pink, cold gray shadows, rich crimson accents, strong contrast between luminous fabric and deep darkness, thick impasto oil painting, expressive visible brushstrokes, heavy layered paint, rough palette knife texture, sculptural paint strokes, painterly edges, textured canvas, loose gestural painting, rich tactile surface, dramatic chiaroscuro, melancholic atmosphere, haunting beauty, full bleed composition, edge-to-edge artwork, no borders, no frame, textured illustration, grainy texture, crayon texture, chalky brushwork, impasto strokes, bold color blocking, stylized anime, flat shading, dry brush effect, atmospheric lighting, soft glow highlights, rough painterly anime style, visible textured brushstrokes, heavy impasto texture, scratchy charcoal-like linework, expressive gestural strokes, smudged edges, desaturated base tones with aggressive high-contrast color, sketch style, rough brushstroke
ใƒชใ‚ช
4#Puella Magi Madoka Magica#Kaname Madoka#Puella Magi Madoka Magica
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