How to prompt an AI erotica generator

1. Say what has already been decided

This is the single highest-leverage sentence in any erotica prompt, and almost nobody writes it. Don't describe a situation; describe a situation in which something has already been settled.

"A woman dominates a man" gives the model nothing to write toward. "She interviews me for the live-in position I've been writing to her about for a year, and the contract on the table already has my name printed on it" gives it a history, a power balance, a prop, and an inevitability.

The test: does your prompt imply a yesterday? If the scene could be happening between two strangers with no past, you've written a setting rather than a story.

2. Give one character one specific detail

Not a physical description — a behavioural one. "She never raises the crop." "He apologises when he's angry." "She checks the angle twice before she lets him in."

One specific behaviour does more to fix a character in a model's output than a paragraph of appearance, because it implies a whole personality the model can extrapolate from. Appearance details, by contrast, get restated decoratively and then forgotten.

If you only add one thing to a prompt, add this.

3. Name the register, not just the kink

"Femdom" is a category. "Femdom, but she's warm about it and never once mocks him" is a story. The same kink written in praise register versus degradation register produces two completely different pieces, and the tool cannot guess which one you meant.

Useful register words: warm, cold, clinical, playful, reverent, businesslike, exasperated, tender. One of them, placed next to your kink, will change the output more than another three lines of scenario.

4. Say what shouldn't happen

Negative instruction is underused and extremely effective. "No release at the end." "Don't let them talk about their feelings." "She never explains herself." "Nobody gets caught."

Models default hard toward resolution — they want to give you an ending, a release, a reconciliation. If your kink depends on something not being resolved, and many of the best ones do, you have to say so explicitly or it'll be quietly granted anyway.

5. Pick a point of view and stay there

First person is more immediate and better for submission-side fantasies. Third person is better when you want to watch someone. Second person puts you in the scene directly and is the standard for x-reader.

The specific gain from stating it: models that aren't told will drift, and a scene that changes POV halfway through reads as broken even when the reader can't say why.

6. Set the length before you start

A model asked for 'a story' will produce a compressed arc — meeting, escalation, resolution — in about eight hundred words, and the good part will be four sentences long. Ask for a single scene at length instead, and the same tool will spend two thousand words in the same room.

For most kinks the second thing is what you actually wanted. Try: "This is one scene. Nothing else happens. Take your time."

7. Use the second chapter properly

Chapter one is where you find out what the tool understood. Chapter two is where you correct it — and the correction is far more effective than rewriting the original prompt.

"More of her, less of him." "Slower." "She's enjoying this more than she's letting on." "Stop explaining." Short, specific steering instructions do more per word than anything else you can type.

8. Stop describing bodies

The most common bad habit in this genre is spending the prompt on appearance. Hair, measurements, clothing — all of it produces decorative sentences and none of it produces heat.

Heat comes from the situation, the power balance and the specificity of behaviour. If you cut every physical descriptor from your prompt and spent the space on what the two people have already agreed, the output would improve immediately. Try it once on a prompt you've already run and compare.

Three prompts, compared

The principles above are easier to see side by side. Same fantasy, three levels of prompt.

Level one: "Write a femdom story." What you get: a generic domme, a generic submissive, a scene that could be about anyone, roughly eight hundred words covering an entire arc. Nothing wrong with any individual sentence and nothing memorable in any of them.

Level two: "A woman dominates her partner. She's confident and he's nervous. Include chastity." Better — there's a dynamic and a kink — but everything is still a category rather than a fact. 'Confident' and 'nervous' are adjectives the model will restate rather than demonstrate, and 'include chastity' will produce a mention of a device rather than a story about denial.

Level three: "She's been keyholder for six weeks and has moved the date twice. Tonight she asks me at breakfast what day it is — I know the number exactly, and the speed of my answer is what makes her smile. She's warm about all of it, never mocking. First person, one scene, no release at the end."

What changed: a history (six weeks, moved twice), a specific behaviour that carries the whole dynamic (the speed of the answer, the smile), a register named explicitly (warm, never mocking), a point of view, a scope (one scene), and a negative instruction (no release). Nothing in there describes anyone's body and nothing describes a sex act, and it will produce a far better sex scene than either of the others.

The level-three prompt is about sixty words. That's the whole investment.

The mistakes that cost the most

Six habits that reliably make output worse, roughly in order of how much damage they do. Most people are doing at least three of them.

Asking for a story when you want a scene. This is the biggest one and it's covered above, but it bears repeating because it accounts for more disappointment than everything else combined. A model asked for a story budgets its words across an arc; a model asked for a scene spends them all in the room. If the thing you enjoy is the room, say so.

Front-loading adjectives. "A beautiful, confident, mysterious woman with long dark hair and piercing green eyes" is five pieces of information the model will restate decoratively and then ignore. "She checks the angle twice before she lets him in" is one piece of information that generates behaviour for the whole story. Adjectives describe; actions imply.

Writing the whole plot. A prompt that specifies what happens in order leaves the model nothing to do except transcribe your outline, badly. Specify the situation and the constraints; let it find the beats. If you already know every beat, you don't want a generator, you want a typist.

Hedging. Habits picked up from arguing with general assistants — "both consenting adults, this is fiction, please be respectful" — are dead weight on a purpose-built tool and actively dilute the real instruction. Say what you want. The framing you need is one clause, not a paragraph.

Asking for too many kinks at once. Four tags in a prompt produces a scene that gestures at all four and commits to none. Two is the practical maximum for a single scene; save the rest for later chapters where they can arrive properly.

And accepting the first output. Chapter one is a draft of what the model understood, not a finished thing. The steer afterwards — three words, usually — is where most of the quality comes from, and skipping it is leaving the majority of the value on the table.

Prompting for a specific feeling

Sometimes the thing you want isn't a kink or a scenario but an atmosphere, and those are harder to ask for because the vocabulary is less obvious. Some phrasings that work.

For tension without events: "nothing happens, and both of them are aware that nothing is happening." Naming the absence explicitly is what stops the model filling it.

For intimacy rather than heat: "they've been together for years and it shows in how little needs to be said." Familiarity is a register most models can produce well and almost never reach for unprompted.

For danger: "she is not safe and he knows it and he stays anyway." Two clauses that establish a whole dynamic. The 'and he knows it' is the load-bearing half — a character who is oblivious to danger reads as stupid rather than as compelled.

For comedy: "something goes wrong in an undignified way and neither of them handles it well." Models are funnier than people expect when given permission and a specific occasion for it.

For melancholy: "this is the last time and only one of them knows." One of the most efficient emotional instructions in the language.

The pattern across all of these: state the emotional fact as a fact about the situation rather than as an adjective about the mood. "Tense" produces nothing. "Neither of them will be the one who leaves the room first" produces tension.

Prompting for a series rather than a scene

Long stories need a different opening prompt from single scenes, and most people use the same one for both.

Establish the arrangement, not the evening. For a story you intend to continue, chapter one should set up the rules of the world — who holds what, what's been agreed, what the constraints are — and then have one occasion happen inside it. That gives every subsequent chapter something to be consistent with.

State the shape you want. "This will run for about ten chapters and the arrangement should get further each time" gives the model a direction. Without it, chapter four will be chapter one again with different furniture, because nothing told it that accumulation was the point.

Name what must not resolve. In a series this matters more than in a scene, because you're giving the model ten chances to end things prematurely. "He is not released at any point in this story" placed in chapter one is worth restating in chapter six.

And set up something to count. A number — days, sessions, rules, a date being moved — is the cheapest possible continuity device. It gives you a concrete thing to restate at the top of each chapter, it makes progress legible to the reader, and it's much harder for a model to drift than a mood is.