It’s weird how something that starts like a cheap parody ends up crawling under your skin, both in the horny way and the “what the hell is happening” way. The club looks like it was built by someone who never actually went to one - neon lights too bright, music looping like a fever dream, and those animatronic girls that move just a little too human when they think you’re not watching. You’re supposed to be fixing stuff, right? Checking circuits, running diagnostics, pretending you’re not staring at the tiger girl’s hips when she bends over the stage railing. Aurora purrs when you talk to her, but it’s not cute - it’s low, like she’s tasting your fear. Or maybe your sweat. I can’t tell anymore.

There’s this rhythm to the nights, like foreplay stretched across fourteen shifts. You start thinking you’re in control, pressing buttons, locking doors, teasing them with the intercom. Then one of them whispers your name through the static and suddenly you’re the one being toyed with. The bird one - Chi, I think - has this glitch where her voice doubles, and it sounds like two women moaning out of sync. It’s messed up and hot and wrong in all the right ways. Sometimes the game throws a jump scare right after a sexy scene, and it’s like your body doesn’t know whether to flinch or cum. I hate that it works.

And yeah, the humor’s filthy. It knows exactly what it’s parodying, and it doesn’t care if you get the joke or not. Half the time I laughed, half the time I felt like I needed a shower. The writing’s uneven, but maybe that’s the charm - it feels like a drunk confession typed at 3% battery. There’s a story somewhere under the tits and terror, something about prototypes and control, but honestly, I stopped trying to separate the plot from the arousal. It’s all tangled together, like wires and sweat and fur.

Waking up inside a smartphone because a horny trickster god got bored with you is already wild, but this thing leans into it hard. You used to fuck other guys’ wives, now you’re literally trapped inside their husbands, riding along in their bodies like a cursed passenger. You feel what they feel, see what they see, and you’re stuck with their hard-ons, their guilt, their shitty life choices. Loki basically turned you into a pervy parasite and then sits there laughing while you try not to lose your mind every time some big titty wife bends over in front of “you”. It’s not subtle. It’s not gentle. It’s that kind of story where the universe kicks you in the balls and then asks if you liked it.

The pace is weird in the best way. Sometimes you’re just scrolling messages and photos, swiping through this guy’s life, then suddenly the wife walks in wearing nothing but a towel that barely holds her big ass, drops it “by accident”, starts teasing him like she’s bored and horny at the same time. You’re inside his head, feeling the heat climb, his cock getting hard under the table while she pretends it’s no big deal, sucking on a popsicle right in his face like a joke that goes too far. There’s this nasty, delicious corruption vibe, because half the time you’re pushing him to give in, whispering in his thoughts, “Touch her, go on, fuck her, she wants it”, and the other half you’re actually panicking, because you know some of these women are already being fucked behind his back by someone else. Or they will. Loki keeps hinting, poking, showing you clips, screenshots, little details that make you question everything. The netorare sting isn’t a sudden shock, it crawls under your skin. You see a lipstick mark that shouldn’t be there, a chat icon popping up a bit too often, a photo angle that screams “someone else took this”. You’re still jerking off in your own head when you realize you’re probably not the only one tasting her tonight.

What really got me is how horny it stays even when it gets mean. You’ve got slow, intimate scenes where she sits on his lap and grinds on him through thin panties, whispering soft romance shit in his ear, kissing his neck, guiding his hands under her top, making him feel her huge tits while she bites her lip. Then suddenly she’s on her knees, sucking him off messy, drool on her chin, eyes staring up like she’s in love and also in total control. The AI CG stuff has that slightly unreal polish, but in a good way, like you’re watching a fantasy that became just real enough to hurt. Vaginal, oral, stripping piece by piece, teasing until you want to scream at the screen. And you’re not actually “doing” anything, it’s a kinetic story, so your only job is to watch this guy live the life you deserved and kind of hate him for it, while Loki treats you like a pet he toys with. The worst part is that it works. One moment you’re melting when she cuddles up, saying she’s scared to lose him, the next your gut twists because something she says doesn’t match, and you know you’re being played from both sides. It’s horny, cruel, funny in that “I shouldn’t be laughing, but I am” way. Dare to play it alone, or invite company?

Royal Madness is probably the closest thing to a horny fairytale written by a very drunk court painter who really likes cats with huge tits and smug faces. You’re tossed in as Lewis, bastard ocelot prince, and the world instantly treats your royal blood like a kink rather than a title. It’s not subtle about it. Every rival, every “enemy,” every supposed threat ends up circling one question: are you fucking them into your harem, or are they turning you into their cute little pet instead. The game doesn’t pretend to be noble. It treats power as a sex toy and nobility as an excuse to collar people and re-style their bodies until they match your tastes a bit too perfectly.

What I liked is that the characters aren’t just recolors of the same cat-girl with different boobs. The art actually feels like someone sat there and thought “ok, what if a smug lioness warlord had hips like a fertility statue and armor that only makes sense if her nipples are a political statement.” Sometimes it looks messy, lines a bit shaky, anatomy going off on its own adventure, but that fits the energy. It’s not corporate clean, more like horny sketchbook that got out of control. There is this rhino general, for example, huge chest, scars across the muzzle, and when you win their challenge the magic doesn’t just slap “now they are pretty” filter. No, you literally watch the body warp piece by piece, broad muscles smoothing or sharpening, maybe the tits swelling stupidly big while they gasp halfway between outrage and getting turned on by losing. That slow change hits way harder than a simple “transformation finished” screen.

The actual structure is that loose sandbox style where you hop from one hot mess to another, switching perspective between male and female protagonist when the story feels like it, not when you are ready. One scene you’re Lewis using magic to slowly erode the pride of a tiger knight, teasing him until his cock and even his voice betray how much he wants to kneel. Next time the game flips and you’re playing as one of your own ex-rivals, now loyal, wandering your palace and accidentally starting something filthy with a new intruder who thought they’d be the one on top. That shift is the fun part. You see the same harem from different eyes, sometimes as a conqueror, sometimes as the newest toy, sometimes as the one being “improved” by your own magic. And the kinks slide around too. One route gives you a stacked lion queen that you carefully nudge from terrifying monarch into doting, overprotective mommy dom, then another throws you against a seemingly submissive bunny clerk that ends with you collared, hips reshaped, moaning her name while she tests how flexible ocelot royalty can be when properly “reformed.” Half the time I was cursing at the tiny UI buttons and weird pacing, the other half I was staring at the screen of my phone on the tram, trying not to bite my lip like a complete idiot.

If you really want to squeeze every filthy drop out of it, don’t rush straight to the obvious sex scenes. Poke around the challenges, lose on purpose sometimes, see how the transformations twist when you’re the loser instead of the victor. Talk to characters again after you’ve changed them, especially the big tits crowd and the ones who pretended they didn’t care about you. Watch how their new bodies and new roles corrupt their own original goals. Treat each battle less like a level and more like a negotiation with the world’s nastiest fashion designer. That’s where the game actually gets hot.

Two anxious lesbians, one shitty small-town hotel, and of course the last room left has a single bed. That’s the whole setup, and weirdly, it’s enough. The game doesn’t pretend to be some wild porn buffet, so if you’re expecting constant moaning and fluids everywhere, nah. This is more “oh fuck, her thigh is touching mine, do I move away or die here” energy. You click through their internal panic, their awkward jokes, that quiet tension when the room suddenly feels way too warm and nobody wants to be the first one to admit they’ve been crushing for ages. It’s slow, like watching two eggs try to flirt, but there’s something really honest about it. Not “queer for the male gaze” nonsense, more like “I’ve actually been that girl pretending to scroll Instagram while my heart beats like crazy because she rolled closer in bed”.

The art hits that cute and slightly shy vibe, not hyper-sexualized. Soft expressions, some blush, messy hair from a cheap pillow. You get a lot of focus on faces, on eyes looking away then back again, and small details like how their bodies shift closer without any big dramatic moves. When the game finally lets things get physical, it feels earned. Like, you actually went through the stomach knots first. There is kissing, touching, that little moment where one of them hesitates with her hand under the sheet like “is this really ok?” and the other practically melts at being wanted. It is hot, but not in a “fuck me daddy” way, more “I’ve wanted you for so long and I’m terrified but also so wet I can’t think straight” way. The sex scenes don’t go super graphic, there’s no huge list of positions or toys or whatever. It’s simple: hands, mouths, closeness, body warmth. The “porn” is the emotional build-up, which might annoy some people who just want quick masturbation material. To be real, I wished at least once they went a bit dirtier, like some actual explicit dirty talk, but the shy romantic tone never really breaks. One tiny thing that drove me mad: the way one of them keeps overexplaining feelings in her head mid-makeout, like girl, you’re not writing a diary, just grab her ass and breathe.

Still, I liked that it feels unapologetically lesbian, not a “bi-but-secretly-for-men” fake scenario. No random male intruder, no “what if your boyfriend finds out,” no bullshit. Just two girls who have known each other too long, stuck in a cheap room with one bed and a pile of emotions they’ve been pretending not to see. You feel the weight of shared history in tiny lines, like when one remembers how the other cried on her shoulder years ago, and that memory shows up again when they’re pressed together under the same blanket. It made me think of old queer fanfics on LiveJournal, before everything tried to be polished and SEO-friendly. There is romance, like actual romance, where consent is checked without turning into a lecture, where the affection doesn’t vanish once hands slide under shirts. Some moments do drag; one inner monologue goes in circles so much I almost alt-tabbed to Twitter just to breathe, but then there’s this one line where she admits she’s scared the other will regret it in the morning, and it hits way too close to home if you ever had internalized shit about your own desire. It’s horny, but it’s also about that queer fear that sex might ruin the friendship. And when their bodies finally align and someone lets out that first honest, helpless sound, it feels like more than just “oh nice, tits”. It feels like two girls deciding that yeah, this is worth the risk, even if tomorrow is awkward as hell.