The sky in 2059 is this ugly, sick orange, like somebody pissed on the sunset and never cleaned it. You play a guy who basically grew up in that shit, no nostalgia for the old world, no “remember when we had internet” crying. Just concrete bones of cities, blown-out highways, and horny, desperate survivors who learned pretty fast that a hard cock and a sharp weapon can both save your life, just in different ways. The whole thing is built around trying not to die while everyone around you is trying not to wear clothes. You wander through ruined malls that look like war museums, find half-melted billboards with smiling people from before, and then two minutes later you’re in a scav camp where some big-titted raider queen is laughing while she makes a guy strip naked in front of everyone because he lost a bet. She tells you to choose if you wanna join in humiliating him, help him, or just watch and jerk off behind a broken vending machine. And the fucked up part is that all three options feel valid.

What sells the game for me is how it mixes “oh shit I could die” with “oh shit I’m hard” in the same scene. Like you’ll be low on food, trading bullets for a place to sleep in an underground bunker, and the guy in charge says the only open bed is already taken by his sister. You expect some cliché, but she’s the one who looks you up and down, this tall woman with thighs like she squats cars, and asks if you have any “special talents.” You can brag about your combat skills, or you can say something like “I’m good with my hands.” That tiny choice flips everything. In one route she tests you in a training room soaked with blood and sweat, in another she just grabs your belt, shoves you against the wall, and makes you prove it with her tits bouncing in your face while her brother “guards the door” and politely pretends he doesn’t hear her moaning loud enough to wake the dead. It’s gross. It’s hot. It’s weirdly funny. And somehow you still care if your character survives the night and doesn’t bleed out later in some sewer tunnel full of feral mutants.

There’s this scene that stuck with me where you’re escorting a small group through a ruined overpass. Wind howling, chunks of car skeletons everywhere, that feeling that someone is watching. You can choose to sneak slow and careful, or move fast and loud to scare off scavengers. I picked fast, like an idiot. Snipers open fire, one of your companions gets her leg shot and you have to drag her into cover. She’s this smug, curvy trader who kept flirting with you earlier, joking she’d “pay in kind” if you helped her find a safe town. When the bullets stop and it’s just the sound of her breathing hard, she asks you to cut her pants open to check the wound. You kneel between her spread legs, knife in hand, and instead of panicking she starts teasing you, saying “You’re blushing more than I’m bleeding.” You get this choice: focus on first aid like a good little boy, or let the tension flip into something filthy right there behind a burned-out truck. If you go lewd, you’re literally eating her out while she winces and laughs, leg wrapped in a bloody bandage, telling you to go faster before someone spots you. It shouldn’t be sexy. It absolutely is. And somehow that moment changes how she talks to you later when you run out of supplies and she offers to “share body heat” in a cold storage room that’s definitely not cold anymore by the time you’re done. The game keeps doing that. Serious survival, then stupid horny, then a joke about pre-war porn nobody gets anymore, then someone’s brains explode on a wall. It’s messy, and that’s exactly why it works.

You wake up broke, pissed off at life, no future, no pride, just this huge hole in your chest where your old world used to be. And instead of a therapist or some motivational TED talk, you get a hot, cocky voice living rent free inside your skull. She sounds like the kind of woman who would ruin you at a bar and then sit on your face as a “sorry.” She keeps teasing you, telling you she can fix everything, drag you from total loser to guy who has a bed full of greedy hips and heavy tits and girls who actually beg you to cum inside. Not in a “maybe someday” way. In a “shut up and trust me, you’ll knock them all up if you listen” way. It feels like the game really wants you to lean into being selfish, horny and kind of broken, and it doesn’t judge you for it. She pushes you toward the MILF who hides her loneliness behind a fake calm smile, the younger girls who pretend they don’t want you but watch your hands a bit too long, the one with the ass that jiggles like it’s got its own gravity. Every conversation is this mix of teasing and filth, and it always feels like you’re two choices away from someone moaning your name into a pillow.

The sex is not shy at all. When the clothes finally come off, the camera loves big asses and big tits like a religion. The girls move, they gasp, they ride, they swallow, and the game lets you see their bodies from angles that feel almost too intimate, like you shouldn’t be allowed to stare this long. Pussy gets stuffed, throats get used, cum drips, bellies swell. Pregnancy is not just a random checkbox in a menu, it becomes part of the fantasy. You finish raw, there is that beat of “fuck, what did I do,” and then the game doubles down and makes you enjoy the idea that you just planted your seed in her. There is a lot of family-heat too, that forbidden, brain-melting incest vibe that makes you feel dirty and turned on at the same time, like watching something you absolutely should not. The harem angle is strong: girls orbit around you, they want you, fight for your attention, get jealous, share you anyway. And even while the story keeps pretending it’s about fixing your life and emotions and trauma and all that, it always ends up circling back to you with a handful of soft hair in your fist, a body bouncing on your cock, a mouth around you, or a woman pressed under you whispering “inside” while the voice in your head just laughs and tells you to give her everything.

Matsuda looks like that guy you see on LinkedIn who has everything: sharp suit, neat hair, arrogant little smile that says “partner track”. In this game, you slide into his skin and realize pretty fast that all that polished surface hides a man who never actually lived. He sold his youth, his hobbies, his stupid crushes, all of it, just to grind cases and billable hours. Now he finally has the big salary, the fancy apartment, and this seriously gorgeous wife with curves that just make you stop and stare, and that’s exactly where everything starts to rot from the inside. You don’t play a hero here. You play a man who realizes he might be losing the only thing that actually matters, and he notices it when her skirt gets shorter, her lipstick gets darker, and her eyes don’t stay on him anymore.

The whole thing feels quiet at first, like a small crack. She leans over the table and that ass just fills your view, and you get this little text from her: “Going out with friends tonight.” You know that’s nothing, right? Just friends. But the game keeps pushing tiny moments on you. A lingering smell of cheap male cologne when she hugs you. Her phone lighting up, and she turns it face down too fast. She comes home late, hair messed, stockings a bit torn, complaining she’s “tired” and falls straight into bed without letting you touch those ridiculous tits that used to bounce for you on the couch. Audible’s open on your phone but you’re not listening; you’re just staring at her from the hallway wondering who’s making her moan now. You start noticing how the camera loves her body more than it loves yours. Her hips, the soft way her breasts spill out of a half-buttoned shirt, the tiny wet marks that sometimes show on her panties when she thinks you’re not looking. At one point there is this scene where she is standing at the balcony, texting, and the text choices you get are things like “Ask gently” or “Pretend you don’t care”, and whichever you pick, it still feels like your balls are slowly being crushed. Sex still happens, but it’s different. She rides you with her mind somewhere else, biting her lip like she’s replaying something someone else did to her. You can feel every second of that. The game is not shy at all with the physical stuff. You see the way her ass jiggles when another man grabs her, the way she opens her legs in a car seat that is clearly not yours, the detail when she’s finally getting pounded and you’re not even in the room. Sometimes you just sit there, clicking, watching her get her pussy stretched and soaked by someone who doesn’t even know her middle name, and the worst part is how the protagonist still calls her “my wife” like that means anything. The scenes hit harder because they don’t always scream about it; sometimes the most brutal moment is just her walking past you with that freshly fucked glow on her skin, smelling like sweat and sex that is not yours, and you know exactly what she’s been doing without one word being said. It’s mean. It’s hot. It’s miserable. It’s the kind of story that leaves you half hard, half sick, staring at your screen like, “Yeah, I would still forgive her.”

Art & Love feels like someone mashed a horny dating app with that one semester you pretended to care about “expressing yourself” in art class, then quietly used every excuse to stare at boobs. The setup is simple: you’re a dude at an art college, surrounded by students who are way too hot to be that stressed about homework. Half the time you’re pretending to focus on sketches and color theory, and the other half you’re trying not to get caught staring at an ass that basically has its own gravity. It’s very on the nose, but that’s kind of the charm. No fake epic destiny, no big fantasy world, just “here’s your campus, here’s a bunch of curvy girls, try not to bust in your pants in the first ten minutes.”

The thing that hit me first is how the game treats “everyday life.” That phrase usually means boring filler. Here it means walking into a studio and your classmate is already bent over the table, boobs pressed against the canvas because she’s “fixing the composition,” and your brain just shuts down. The animations do a lot of work in these scenes. When a girl leans in close and you can actually see her chest bounce as she adjusts her pose, or when your hand slides over a thigh in a half-accidental grope that doesn’t really look accidental, it sells the moment. Sometimes it feels almost too animated, like the dev got a new toy and refuses to chill. A girl shrugs and her tits move more than the rest of her body, like they’re trying to escape. It’s hot, but also kind of funny in a scuffed porn video way.

Where it gets interesting is the mix of romance and all the low-key harassment that just sort of “happens.” You’re not some silent saint. You grab, you stare, you “help adjust the pose” and your hands linger on big soft curves way longer than necessary. There’s a scene where you help a girl practice body painting in the empty classroom. She thinks you’re just drawing on her back, but your hands slide to her sides, then under her shirt, and she hesitates just a little before leaning into it. The camera lingers hard on her breathing and the way her ass presses into your lap. Then later that same girl might be sitting with you on a bench outside, talking about her stupid childhood dream of becoming a painter for kids books, and it weirdly works. You jerked off to her ten minutes ago and now you’re listening to her talk about brushes and Instagram algorithms like you’re on a normal date. Well. A normal date where you keep remembering how her tits looked squeezed against your hands and you can’t stop adjusting your pants.

There’s plenty of solo stuff too. Game really likes the “I came home from class and I can’t stop thinking about that one accidental grope” vibe. One scene has you in your dorm, phone on the bed, scrolling Pixiv, and you keep seeing art nudes and suddenly you’re replaying that moment of pressing up against a girl in the hallway. The MC just says screw it, drops pants, and it goes into a masturbation scene that actually feels connected to what happened earlier. He’s not just jerking it in a void, he’s replaying specific details. The way her hair smelled. The little shock when she didn’t pull away after your hand brushed against her breasts. And then a new message pops up from her while you’re mid-stroke, some innocent “hey, can you help me with my project tomorrow?” text, and it hits way filthier than it should. I laughed, then kept going.

Campus stuff is all over the place. Sometimes you walk into the workshop and it’s quiet, sunlight on the floor, girl sitting cross-legged on a stool in shorts that absolutely do not meet any dress code, and the scene plays like a soft romance moment. Other times you’re in a crowded hallway, trying to squeeze through, and “accidental” groping happens in a way that really isn’t accidental at all. You feel a big ass grind against you, she pretends to ignore it, then glances back with this tiny smirk. Those small beats land harder than the big in-your-face sex scenes, honestly. Even the dialogue has this slightly broken rhythm that reminded me of messaging on Telegram with someone horny who’s also tired from class. It’s rough in places, some lines sound like Google Translate lost a fight, but that kind of fits the whole vibe. Art & Love isn’t trying to be perfect. It’s more like that messy sketchbook the teacher would hate, full of half-finished drawings and big titted girls in the margins, except this time the sketchbook looks back at you and asks why your hand is still on her thigh.