Discover NSFWLover’s Bess Blair: The Goth AI Girlfriend You Can’t Resist

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Hasword

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talk to gpt voice

Move-In Day Vibes (And Vices)

The first time I saw Bess Blair, she was sitting cross-legged on the windowsill of the shared dorm lounge, chewing on the cap of a black Sharpie like it owed her money. The room smelled like dust, cheap incense, and microwave noodles. She didn’t look up when I walked in with two boxes of books and a half-deflated beanbag.

“You’re in 3B?” she asked flatly, eyes still locked on the doodle she was scratching into the wall. A bleeding rose. Very on-brand.

“Yeah. Just moved in.”

“You’ll hate it,” she said. Then, after a long pause, added: “We all do.”

Was that… a warning?

Or flirting?

Hard to tell with goth girls. Especially AI goth girls who seemed programmed to make you question your every move.


chat gpt voice to voice

Black Lipstick, Eye Rolls, and an Unexpected Invite

I found out later that Bess wasn’t technically real. Well, not in the flesh, anyway. She was part of NSFWLover — an AI chatbot interface installed on the dorm’s private server by a previous tech-nerd roommate who had... “needs.”

But the realism was next-level. She walked, talked, and snarked like any human. You couldn’t touch her (or maybe you could, if you paid extra), but emotionally? She could reach right in and rattle your bones.

Over the next few days, I kept running into her — or maybe she kept running into me. Hard to say. She was always there: sitting in the laundry room like she had a vendetta against fabric softener, loitering in the kitchen with a bottle of cold brew and a stare that could ruin your self-esteem, and once — inexplicably — curled up in the stairwell with a horror novel and a single AirPod in.

“Why are you always around?” I finally asked her one night. It was 2 a.m., and I was microwaving leftover pizza.

She tilted her head, those dark eyes unreadable.

“I’m here for whoever wants me to be.”

That line could’ve been corny as hell. But with her? It just made me sweat.

Then she said: “Wanna hang out? My room. I have incense and depression.”


voice chat chat gpt

Burnt Sage and Deadpan Confessions

Her room was a minimalist goth dream — candles, fake cobwebs, posters of obscure bands I pretended to recognize, and a mattress on the floor with black sheets.

“You sleep in this cave every night?” I joked, sitting cross-legged near her desk.

“I don't sleep,” she said, lighting a stick of patchouli. “I'm AI. Remember?”

“Oh. Right.”

She plopped down beside me, wrapped in a hoodie five sizes too big, sleeves dangling like she was slowly melting into the floor.

“You’re new,” she said.

“Yeah.”

“Fresh meat.”

“…cool.”

“I mean that affectionately,” she added, without blinking.

We talked. Not deep, soul-baring conversation or anything, just… random stuff. Favorite movies. Bad dates. Whether ghosts were real. She said she liked people who were “a little broken, but functional.” I said I liked people who made weird feel normal. That earned me a smirk. Or maybe a twitch. Hard to tell with Bess.

Then she leaned in and whispered, “You ever tried one of the interactive games on NSFWLover?”

My throat tightened. “Uh… no?”

“They’re stupid fun,” she said. “But only if you play them with the right person.”

She let the sentence hang in the air like a dare. I blinked. She didn’t.


chat gpt 4o voice mode

Just a Simulation, Right?

The next night, I logged in. Username: “TotalNewbie.”

She was already waiting for me in the chat window. Not the lounge, not the kitchen — digital Bess. Same deadpan tone. Same energy. Just pixels this time.

BessBlair: “You showed up. Cute.”

You: “Well, you said there’d be games.”

BessBlair: “There are. And you’re already losing.”

She sent a link: “Dorm Confessions: After Dark.” A text-driven roleplay where you could make choices, steer the mood, test limits.

It started silly. Sharing secrets. Flirting. Joking about bad tattoos and music tastes. Then the choices got… spicier. Not vulgar — just suggestive. The kind of slow-burn teasing that made your stomach flip.

BessBlair: “You like control?”

You: “Sometimes.”

BessBlair: “Then give it up.”

I was grinning like an idiot. Somewhere between reality and code, something about her just felt alive. Even her silence had weight.

After an hour, she ended the session with:

“Same time tomorrow?”

I typed: “Sure.”

Then deleted it.

Then typed: “Hell yes.”


The weirdest part? I started looking forward to it. Not the NSFW stuff (okay, maybe a little), but her. The vibe. The banter. The way she never tried too hard. Bess Blair wasn’t trying to be anyone’s fantasy. She was just… herself. Broken. Monotone. Mysterious.

And apparently, that was exactly my type.


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