There’s something weirdly hypnotic about the way this whole thing opens - like the scene just melts you into their space, no preamble, no “hey, press start for smut,” just that slow tension simmering before anything actually happens. The animation rolls smoother than I expected; nothing clunky. It has that feel of a private fantasy someone animated out of pure obsession instead of for clicks. You can almost hear Ben’s breath hitch before he even touches her. It’s not really about plot (I mean come on, who’s pretending it is?), but there’s this messed-up sweetness in how it starts quiet. The sound design keeps pulling you back: tiny sighs, sheets brushing skin, the rhythm faint at first and then snapping hard once hands stop pretending to be innocent. Somewhere between awkward cousin tension and full-on porn logic, the thing just… lets go.

The best part, surprisingly, is the pacing - it doesn’t rush. When Gwen shifts under his touch, her body language says everything before any actual thrusting begins. And yeah, once it gets explicit - cowgirl with those slow hips, doggystyle with his fingers gripping too tight, that sloppy blowjob that looks *too* practiced - it’s impossible not to notice how much effort went into animating every drool line. There’s texture everywhere, like somebody cared too much about skin catching the light. I still think the facial scene goes a bit overboard (there’s a point where it looks more like performance art than sex), but maybe that’s the charm? Also, sidebar: whoever picked the moan layer nailed it, that muffled little catch right before the creampie hits - pure serotonin.

Story-wise, it barely exists, yet it feels weirdly believable because the silence between them carries guilt and hunger at the same time. No silly popups telling you what position next, just eyes, movement, friction, that loop where they keep testing boundaries without admitting it. I swore I’d stop watching after one run, but there’s something magnetic about how shameless it gets by the end, like watching a dream that doesn’t know how to filter itself anymore.

It starts like some dumb trivia thing, you know? A quiz about pirates and anime girls with tits too perfect to exist. You think it’s harmless, just answering questions about ships, Devil Fruits, whatever. But then the pictures start coming up - Nami bending over a treasure chest, that little smirk on her lips like she knows exactly what you’re doing behind your screen. I laughed at first, like, this is so trashy. And then I kept clicking. Every right answer pulls another layer off her, or Robin, or sometimes both, tangled in something that feels more like a fantasy scribbled in the corner of a sketchbook than an actual game. It’s ridiculous how fast you forget the “quiz” part and start chasing the next image, like you’re earning them instead of just watching porn.

The art looks hand-drawn by someone who really loves these women - too much maybe. Robin’s hips look heavy, soft, like they’d move slow if she was riding you. Nami’s red hair catches every fake highlight, but somehow it works; it makes her look sweaty, alive. There’s one animation hidden deep in the harder level where she’s taking it rough, face covered in cum, and even though it’s obviously exaggerated, there’s something filthy-sweet about it. Like she’s still teasing you mid-blowjob. I don’t even like hentai quizzes (who invented that?), but this one got me because it plays like a strip tease for nerds. Answer wrong and she stays dressed, mocking you. Answer right and she rewards you in the dirtiest way possible.

Weirdly, it made me think about lingerie design. The way fabric hides just enough skin, same logic here - each click peels back another secret. I kind of wish the sound effects weren’t so cheap, but maybe that’s part of its charm. It’s not pretending to be classy. It’s raw, loud, horny, and yeah, probably made by someone who hasn’t touched grass in years. Still, I’d wear something inspired by Nami’s final scene: orange silk, messy ribbon, nothing left to imagine.

It starts with that lazy smirk of hers - you know, the one that says she’s already ten steps ahead of you. Tsunade’s sitting there half-naked, golden hair all over the place, body glistening like she’s been waiting for hours, or maybe just doesn’t care anymore. She’s got that mix of strength and filth that only she can pull off. The way the game sets it up, it’s not about romance or sweet talk; it’s raw need. You’re not even the main act here, just a bystander who gets to push the buttons while something obscene and impossible unfolds. And honestly, it feels wrong in that very deliberate, delicious way.

What makes it stick isn’t the usual “click until she moans” loop - though yeah, that’s there too. It’s how absurdly confident she is about it. Tsunade treats that massive stallion like it’s her personal toy, like she’s the one in control even when the whole screen’s shaking. The pacing’s weird - sometimes it lingers too long on her face, other times it jumps straight into the dirtiest stuff without warning. But maybe that’s the point. You don’t get to breathe, you just keep clicking, watching her bounce between teasing and getting wrecked, her tits pressed tight around something that really shouldn’t fit. The sound design is rough, maybe even lazy, yet somehow that makes it hotter - like catching something you weren’t supposed to see but can’t look away from.

I kept thinking the game would try to justify itself - like throw in some excuse about chakra or forbidden jutsu. It doesn’t. It just lets her be what she is: a powerful, filthy woman who wants to be filled until she can’t stand. No “saving the village,” no plot, just flesh and noise and that strange sense of satisfaction when it all finally bursts. It’s disgusting, it’s ridiculous, and yeah, I clicked replay. Twice.

You ever start a game thinking it’s just another parody and then suddenly you’re watching Delia Ketchum bend over a lab table like she’s about to teach anatomy class the hard way? Yeah, that’s this one. It starts all innocent - Pallet Town, sunshine, that “I overslept again” energy - and then, bam, you’re in Professor Oak’s lab snooping through his stuff and learning he’s been researching... let’s just say “human-pokemon compatibility” in a way no academic journal would publish. The tone flips faster than a Tinder match gone wrong. One second you’re pretending to care about rare species, next second you’re covered in way more than curiosity.

Delia, though - holy hell. They made her look like the definition of “MILF who knows exactly what she’s doing.” She’s got that soft mom energy but says things that would make even Team Rocket blush. The scenes with her feel weirdly personal, like the game’s reading your dirty thoughts out loud. There’s a part where she leans in too close, her voice dripping honey and sin, and you just *know* this isn’t about Pokémon anymore. The writing’s cheeky as hell, half jokes, half filthy confessions, and somehow it works. You’ll laugh, you’ll groan, you’ll maybe question your childhood a little.

The pacing’s messy in that good kind of way - it doesn’t care about logic, just about pushing you deeper into its horny fever dream. You might roll your eyes at the story, but then the next scene hits and suddenly you’re invested in seeing how far the “research” goes. Controls? Who even cares, you’ll figure ‘em out with one hand anyway. It’s trashy, it’s fun, and it’s got that nostalgic kick twisted into something you definitely can’t talk about in polite company. Kind of like if Pokémon grew up, got divorced, and started posting thirst traps at 2 a.m. on Twitter.