You start with this half-dead hotel that looks like it smells of cheap cleaner and old sex, and somehow it becomes this weird little universe where every floor has a different flavor of horny drama. It looks like a normal dating sim at first, like “oh yeah, I’ll just talk to the girls, raise some stats, classic stuff”, and then three scenes later you’re holding a trembling elf maid by the hips while she tries to act all proper and obedient and ends up squirting all over the new bedsheets you saved up to buy. And you’re thinking: ok, I just wanted romance, why is there a menu option for nipple clothespins in the housekeeping budget. But you still click it.

The hotel thing works too well. Everyone is under your roof, so you bump into them doing absolutely everything. You go into a hallway thinking you’re just going to check repairs, and you catch one girl “cleaning” a window with her tits pressed against the glass, tongue out, full ahegao, while someone down in the street could totally see her. It counts as voyeur and exhib stuff at the same time and the game doesn’t even wink at you, it just lets it happen, like yeah, this is just Tuesday here. You can be the pure romance guy and still the world keeps trying to corrupt you. There’s a religious girl praying in one scene, acting shy like a virgin, and later you’re there timing her orgasm denial with your phone while she begs for just one more thrust and you’re like, ok, maybe I’m not “pure” anymore. I kept telling myself I’m avoiding the nastier paths, and two minutes later I’m watching a lactation event where I was only trying to give comfort and suddenly there’s warm milk and a helpless girl calling you “master” in this shaky voice. Total accident. Kind of.

What really got me is how your role shifts without a big “you are a trainer now” sign. One moment you’re like a soft-spoken manager who buys cute maid outfits and simple cosplay ears, the next you’re running what is basically a private bdsm spa on the top floor, where you decide who gets the collar and who just gets spanked until their ass is bright red and they can’t sit in the café. Some girls push you around too, it’s not just male dom. There’s a yandere type that goes from clingy to “if you fuck anyone else I’ll break their legs” energy, and she rides you so hard you legit feel like the slave instead of the trainer. Then later the same night another girl kneels down in the lobby and gives you a slow, careful blowjob like it’s a love letter, and you remember why you came here for romance at all. But then there’s some fucked up family route on the side, anal stuff mixed with “we shouldn’t do this” whispers, a footjob in the laundry room, a titfuck in the elevator when the doors keep almost opening, group sex in a suite where everyone’s moaning your name at once, and somewhere in the middle of that mess you’re still checking income stats on your phone and thinking about upgrade costs like an idiot. The hotel keeps growing, the harem keeps getting bigger, some girls get their breasts reduced while others suddenly swell up like a fantasy elf breeding project, and you’re walking around your own building knowing exactly which room has a girl quietly masturbating, which one hides a camera for your voyeur habit, and which bed has fresh cum drying in the sheets because you didn’t even bother with pulling out after that last creampie. It’s romantic in the trashiest way, and trashy in a way that somehow still feels kind of sweet.

Lazuli is that kind of protagonist you usually see as a side joke in hentai: horny mad scientist, weird potions, zero moral brakes. Here she’s the center of everything, and the whole game just leans into that idea of “what if a futa alchemist decided the world is her test lab and every girl she likes is a guinea pig with tits.” The Cumcoction is her proud invention, but it behaves more like a jealous deity than a simple drug. One drop and a shy virgin trainer girl suddenly starts grinding on a table corner; a proud swordswoman wakes up from “just a drink” with hazy memories, cum leaking out of her ass, and a faint sense that she liked it way too much. The story keeps this strange mix of silly and fucked‑up: Lazuli talks about alchemy like a nerd who reads too many grimoires, but then she’s also the same maniac who will jerk off behind a curtain, whispering little comments while a corrupted Hinata worships her cock with both hands and mouth, drool everywhere, eyes shining with that brainwashed devotion hentai artists love so much. Scenes go from goofy experimentation to really mean stuff: blackmail with magically recorded voyeur footage, “accidental” sleep sex justified with bullshit pseudo‑science, and that slow corruption arc where proud heroines from worlds like Naruto, My Hero Academia, Dragon Ball, Fairy Tail, One Piece or Pokémon tumble down from “No, never” to “Fine, just my hand” to “Why does it feel empty when you pull out?” without even noticing how far they fell.

What makes it weirdly charming is how inconsistent Lazuli is as a character. One moment she’s doing an almost tender titfuck with someone like Nico Robin, clearly enjoying the shape of those big soft breasts, carefully smearing cum on them like she’s painting. Next moment she’s using transformation tricks so suddenly Serena or Nessa find themselves with a fat new cock between their legs, panic mixing with arousal while Lazuli explains in that smug voice how “temporary” it is, then pushes them into group sex anyway. The game uses that 2D and 3D mix in a dirty way: sometimes you get a short animated loop of a character like Erza or Android 18 taking anal, her ass bouncing and jiggling, and then it cuts back to static art for the aftermath, thick creampie dripping while Lazuli notes something in her research book. It feels like a porn lab notebook: handjob success rates, mind control side effects, level of groping tolerated before resistance drops. There are cute slices of perv life too, like Lazuli just watching Nami and Lillie masturbate separately under a subtle spell, legs shaking, completely unaware they’re being observed like experimental mice, or a harem scene where Kushina, Hinata and Sarada end up sharing the same futa cock, half from drugged lust, half from Lazuli’s shameless manipulation. The tone never fully decides if this is still “fun” corruption or already full damnation, and honestly that’s what keeps it interesting: you’re stuck in that sticky line where fantasy, mind control, blackmail, anal, vaginal, sleep sex, creampies, big tits, big asses, all blend together into one long, filthy project of turning every famous girl in anime into Lazuli’s personal property, catalogued, studied, and thoroughly fucked.

Satoshi thinks a spooky couples event will fix his boring love life. That alone already tells you this guy is in trouble. He drags Mary and a bunch of other young couples to this “Test of Courage” on some abandoned island, in this old Japanese mansion that feels like a love hotel got possessed by a ghost with a cheating fetish. At first it feels almost goofy: Halloween vibes, dumb costumes, everyone in sexy outfits that would get you banned from Instagram in 3 seconds. Mary’s tits are practically a plot point. Short skirt riding up every time she moves, big ass that camera keeps sticking to, those kind of angles where your phone browser bar just quietly disappears. The game pretends it is about courage and true love, but half the time the “ritual” looks more like a set up for a bukkake scene that forgot to start filming.

The fun of this thing is how it messes with your head while also just throwing raw porn in your face. It plays that classic NTR trick where Satoshi keeps catching glimpses of Mary and the other girls getting way too friendly with the staff. An attendant’s hand sliding over Mary’s thigh in a dark corridor, someone groping Natsuki’s huge boobs in the shadow of a paper wall, a door opening just enough so you see Mary on her knees between two guys, drool on her chin, then it slams shut and Satoshi acts like maybe it was just his imagination. The horror angle is not about ghosts. It is that slow, sticky feeling that your girlfriend is getting wet for other cocks right in front of you, and the island itself kind of pushes everyone to be filthier. There are scenes where Mary gets pinned against a pillar, panties torn aside, big tits bouncing while she takes a rough vaginal pounding and Satoshi just stands there, brain fogged, watching her moan “no” while her hips grind for a deeper creampie. The more the “ritual” progresses, the more she shifts from shy to addicted, going from accidental groping in the hallway, to getting passed around in group sex, riding some random guy with her tongue out, begging for cum inside like that is the only way to save their love. It is ugly, horny, ridiculous and kind of fascinating if you study how NTR keeps recycling the same pain fantasy and people still eat it up on their phones in Incognito mode.

I played Brothel Virgin like I was trying to sketch lace on a body that wouldn’t stay still. It’s messy and kind of hypnotic, and that’s probably what I liked about it first. The world feels like velvet that’s been worn too long - soft but a bit frayed, and when the screen fades into the room at the Crimson Reverie, there’s that quiet hum I only get at the end of a runway show when everyone’s pretending not to be aroused by the models. Jenny’s laugh sounds like lipstick smudging against a glass; I kept replaying her intro scene hoping she’d say my name differently, slower. She doesn’t. Small thing but it bothered me. Still, the lighting in her room (well, if you can call it lighting, it’s more like a blush across the walls) made me forget it fast.

Matty’s design confused me. She looks like she was drawn by someone who loves stretch marks too much and I respect that deeply. Her scenes go from comforting to - how do you say - sticky? I’m used to games where every gesture feels rehearsed, but here her hands have this clumsy warmth that almost made me feel guilty touching the screen. Maybe I’m just too sentimental. Then Raven shows up and she wrecks all that tenderness with one smirk. There’s a sound cue before she appears - like a zipper halfway down - and it’s cheap, but it works. I hate that it works. Her storyline plays with all those moments between dominance and longing, and I kept thinking about fabric texture again: latex pretending to be silk.

Some transitions drag; some dialogues feel written by two people who never met. But that’s part of the charm. It’s not perfect, not even close, but neither are the bodies it celebrates. Sometimes I caught myself wondering why the brothel walls shimmer like oil, or why Jenny doesn’t blink enough. Doesn’t matter. The thing is, if you stop expecting polish and just lean into the heat, like, really lean, you’ll find your own reflection looking back at you through those impossible colors.