You wake up broke, horny, and back in your old room that still smells a bit like teenage shame and cheap body spray, and the game just kind of grins and says, “yeah, this is where it starts.” You’re this young psychology guy who thought he had life sorted, then it all collapses and you crawl back to mom’s house. Only mom isn’t just “mom” anymore. She’s this thick, soft, dangerous kind of beautiful, the kind that makes your eyes slide over her curves against your will. She walks around the house in clothes that hug her huge tits and that insane ass in a way no actual mother should, bending over the couch while you pretend to look away and fail every single time. The camera loves her, almost too much. It lingers on the subtle stuff, the underwear line digging into her hips, the way her nipple outline threatens to show when she moves. You’re supposed to feel guilty. You don’t. Or you do, but it just makes your dick harder. It’s that kind of story.

Then there are the sisters, and yeah, the game knows exactly what it’s doing. The older one moves like a witch who realized she can control a room just by existing. Goth clothes, dark nails that look like they’d hurt when she scratches your back, eyes that tell you she thinks you’re trash but her body keeps betraying her, slower each day. There’s this moment where you “accidentally” walk in while she’s bent over her desk in fishnets, headphones in, skirt just not quite long enough, and the main character just stands there too long while you feel his thoughts going places they absolutely shouldn’t. Later, when the hypnosis angle really kicks in, watching her resist you with this mix of hatred and arousal, hips still grinding in spite of her words, that’s where the corruption hits harder than any sex scene. She spits insults while she rides your cock, then trembles when you ask her who owns that tight ass now, and her voice breaks on the answer. It’s fucked up. It’s hot. It’s both at once. The younger sister is the opposite weather: all pastel pink, soft hair, candy wrappers, plush toys, girly socks that should not look so good wrapped around your waist. She trusts you way too much. She curls against you during a movie, her small tits brushing your arm, and the game slows the moment just enough that you feel that sharp, dirty edge when your hand lingers longer than it should on her thigh. Later, with the mind control, teaching her to touch herself on command, watching her bite her lip while she obeys, that’s the point where “romance” and “corruption” almost merge into this twisted little love story that you’re not sure you’re supposed to enjoy so much.

The hypnotherapist is the real doorway drug. Mom’s friend, older but still tight where it counts, eyes that see too much and voice that rolls over you like warm honey. You sit in her office as “assistant,” pretending to take notes while she drops other women into deep trance, fingers playing with their minds and their bodies at the same time, and you’re there, hard under the desk, memorizing every word, every pattern. There’s a point when she leans down behind a patient and guides the girl’s mouth on a toy, whispering triggers, and your brain just goes click. After that, going home feels different. Sleeping bodies don’t feel safe anymore. The game leans into sleep sex in a way that’s almost too intimate. Like, you stand over your mom’s bed at night, listening to her slow breathing, watching her tits rise and fall under the thin fabric, and one tiny suggestion you planted earlier makes her legs spread a little. She mumbles your name in her sleep while you slide your hand under her panties and the guilt is there, but it’s distant, like a voice behind glass. Same with the sisters, those late-night scenes where the younger one is half-asleep, squirming and moaning softly as your fingers tease her soaked slit, or the older one clenching around your cock in her sleep, cursing you in her dreams while her body begs for more. The game doesn’t flinch from that dirty intimacy. It loves deepthroats that go too far, tears at the corner of her eyes, spit and mascara mess. It loves big tits bouncing while you fuck them, cocks sliding between them until you paint her chest white. It loves asses, god, the asses: thick ebony hips, mom’s juicy milf curves, your sister’s perfect goth bubble butt stretched around your shaft when you finally push into her tight hole and she squirts all over the sheets. Anal, vaginal, titfucks, creampies that drip out slowly while she walks around the house pretending nothing happened. Sex toys buzzing between thighs, collars and ropes appearing on the “good girl” routes that still somehow pretend to be romantic. There’s a weird tenderness under all that filth too, like when you watch your own cum slowly swell inside a belly on the pregnancy scenes, or when a character you’ve completely twisted still smiles at you like you’re her whole world. It’s wrong. It’s beautiful in a fucked way. It feels like you’re building a harem out of people who were once your family, your patients, your lovers, turning them into obedient, wet puppets and devoted partners at the same time, and the game just lets you keep going, deeper, softer, nastier, never really asking you to justify any of it. I just wish the text messages inside the game didn’t use that ugly default pop-up style, it pulls you out for a second, but then somebody drops to their knees, takes you so deep they choke, and suddenly you forget you were annoyed at all.

Maya is a mess in the most relatable way. Girl wakes up horny, goes to class horny, comes back home even more horny, and half of the time she’s not even enjoying it, just zoning out with porn on her phone, doomscrolling Twitter between strokes, thinking about deadlines while fingering herself again. That kind of depressing, way-too-real masturbation loop. Then suddenly Heaven basically kicks down the door of her burnout life and tells her, “Congrats, you’re a chosen warrior, also your magic wand is that massive futa cock you keep failing to jerk off properly.” It sounds like a joke, but the game commits to it so hard it starts feeling weirdly earnest. One moment she’s choking on her own anxiety, the next she’s in a ruined chapel blasting horny demon girls with holy spells powered by edging herself. It absolutely should not work, and somehow it does.

What really hooked me is how it swings between horny clown mode and those quiet, uncomfortable scenes where Maya tries to act like a normal college student and just fails. You get her standing in a crowded hallway, clutching her phone, praying no one notices the bulge in her leggings while her “guardian angel” is whispering in her ear that she needs to go hunt succubi after midterms. Then cut to her in a forest, pants half-open, using her cock like a staff while a tentacled monstergirl coils around her legs and keeps trying to force a “you came, you lose” deal. The combat is turn based, but the rhythm of it feels more like edging than strategy: buff, tease, stall, big climax attack, try not to blow your load too early because you actually need that mana for the second phase. I like how blunt it is about failure too. Lose a fight, and you’re not just “defeated,” you’re getting milked, fucked, drained, creampied, used as a toy by whatever perverted thing you picked a fight with. Then you wake up back in your dorm like it was “just a dream,” still sticky, trying to pretend you’re fine on your way to group project meeting.

The sex is very “no modesty at all” in the best way. Maya titfucking older milfs that were supposed to be respectable professors, grinding her huge cock between their tits while they pretend it’s still about “extra credit.” Oral scenes where she’s deepthroated by a demon with a halo, or doing the choking herself during a sloppy blowjob behind a campus building, leaving mascara stains and cum streaks on the brick wall. Anal, vaginal, quick handjobs in weird places, masturbation scenes where she’s hunched over her phone in the bathroom trying not to moan as notification sounds keep popping off. And yeah, there are tender moments in all that filth. Monster girls that start as enemies turning into awkward half-friends you can date, sleep with, creampie, then actually talk to about your anxiety. One of my favorite bits is this goofy “training” session that just turns into mutual masturbation under glowing angel sigils on the ceiling while lo-fi style fantasy music loops in the background. It’s trashy, it’s horny, it’s often sad in a way that hits way too close to real mental health shit, and then suddenly you’re laughing because some demon just called her “Heaven’s cum cannon” and it actually kind of fits.

You load it up in a bored mood, thinking it will be just another horny office thing, and then suddenly you are sitting in this glossy fashion magazine, surrounded by women who all look like they walked out from some Instagram explore tab that you pretend not to check. HauteBeat hums in the background, that soft loop of office AC, a distant printer, heels clicking across the tiles like a metronome for your dirty thoughts. The protagonist is this fresh graduate, all awkward, shy, still a virgin, and the game really leans into that. He stammers when the editor-in-chief leans over his shoulder, her blouse just a little too open, her perfume basically choking him. The scene where he is alone with the secretary in a tiny meeting room, with the glass walls and everyone outside pretending not to look, that one hit me. She lowers her voice, asks if he understands what “loyalty” means in this office, and every click through the dialogue feels like you’re holding your breath, waiting for the moment her hand actually lands on his thigh. There is no rush, but also no mercy. The pacing is like that slow elevator ride where you already know you’re going to do something filthy when the doors open.

First choice that really made me stop was when you decide if he keeps his “good boy” energy, or starts testing his new power over these women who pretend they’re in charge. One path he plays the sweet intern, trying not to stare at his boss’s big ass every time she bends over a layout. The other path, he starts using what he learns about them, their little secrets, and the mood shifts from nervous to predatory. There is this one route with the married coworker from accounting, the one who always has her phone face down on the desk. She invites him to “help” with some files after hours. Music drops out, it is just the wet sound of her lips when she finally slides under the desk and starts sucking his cock right there, while the screen shows the office lights reflecting on her lipstick-smeared mouth. Her wedding ring catching the glow every time her hand strokes him is such a petty detail, but it sticks. And yes, later, if you push it, you can corrupt her properly, going from quick blowjob breaks to bending her over the office copier for anal, watching that big ass shake while the machine spits out useless sheets.

Not every scene is perfect. One of the titfuck moments feels a bit rushed, like they knew she has massive tits so they just went “ok, put dick between them” and moved on. But then another girl, the one styled like a cold, distant creative director, drags him into the wardrobe room full of clothes for the next shoot. She sits him down on a low bench, climbs on his lap like it is a throne, and the sound design quietly peaks. You hear fabric sliding, hangers tapping, her little moans that she tries to swallow because there are still people a few meters away. When she finally sinks down on his cock, the angle almost makes you feel that stretch yourself, slow vaginal grind that turns into rough fucking and then spanking her ass so hard the clothes around them rustle. The corruption is not just “she is horny now”, you feel how some of them start asking for it. The secretary who once flirted safely is later begging to be used under the desk while the boss is in a video call. The boss who once scolded him starts testing how far she can go before completely giving in. It is all choices and branches, but it never feels like a math problem. More like you are texting three people on WhatsApp at the same time, promising each of them something different, knowing at least one is going to get hurt and you kind of want that. And yes, the protagonist is inexperienced, but by the time he has a little harem of coworkers sucking, riding, getting spanked in the break room, he is not pretending to be a nice guy anymore. Or maybe he still is. Depends what you click.

Doom finally stops playing the Saturday morning cartoon villain and starts doing the dirty work everybody always joked he was doing off screen. "Behind the Doom" is basically what happens when a control freak supergenius decides world domination is fine, but ruining Susan Storm’s life from the inside out feels a lot better. It’s a slow burn kind of filth. At the start he’s showing off his shiny Latverian utopia, talking like some tech bro on a TED talk, pretending he cares about peace and progress. Underneath that armor he just wants one thing: Susan kneeling between his legs, wedding ring and heroic ideals both slipping off at the same time. You go from stiff political speeches to her staring up at him with drool on her chin and mascara running, and it somehow feels like a natural career path.

What I liked is that the game doesn’t rush to the hardcore. It lets Susan still believe she’s the good guy for a bit. She thinks she’s just “investigating” Doom, helping the world, being responsible. Then he starts playing with her invisibility in the most perverted ways. Ordering her to suck him off while she’s half invisible, so only her lips and tongue are visible wrapping around his cock, the rest of her fading in and out like she’s glitching from shame. There’s this one scene where he makes her hide under a table while a big diplomatic meeting goes on above, and her job is just to keep him hard with her mouth the whole time. The camera keeps jumping from the stone serious political chat to her swollen, stretched lips working on him under the armor. That moment stuck with me more than the flashy stuff, honestly. It’s the casual way he treats her like a background function now, like breathing or blinking.

Then the game remembers there are other heroines to break and just casually drops Scarlet Witch into the mess, like “oh yeah, magic slut, forgot about her.” Wanda starts as this smug powerhouse, acting like she’s above his tech, and two scenes later she’s helping him train Susan, rewriting her own morals while he rewrites her body. When they both end up on their knees, trading his cock between their mouths, Wanda using her powers to hold Susan’s hands behind her back so she can’t even stop herself from pushing deeper, it’s completely degenerate in the best way. Anal stuff hits harder than I expected too; Doom doesn’t go straight for brute-force pain, he makes it a reward, a “promotion” in his twisted little company. The first time he takes Susan’s ass, he does it on a balcony overlooking his perfect city, making her watch the peaceful streets while he grinds her open, whispering how this is what real stability looks like: her bent over, his cock buried in her, invisible or not, everyone beneath them belonging to him. It’s not subtle, it’s not romantic, it’s just cynical, nasty corruption porn with capes, and it works way better than it has any right to.