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.

Guy just wants some cold air and maybe a drink, ends up trapped in the quietest, horniest little horror-comedy grocery store on earth. That’s the vibe here. You walk in, sun burning your brain, and suddenly the outside world just kind of... blinks out. The door locks, shelves feel slightly wrong, lights flicker like they’re trying to flirt, and there she is behind the counter: tiny goth clerk with a stare like she already knows exactly how weak you are. Not the cliché latex dominatrix thing, more like “sleep-deprived art major who could crush your soul with one sarcastic comment” mixed with “MILF energy in training,” if that makes sense. Big tits under a cheap t‑shirt, jeans, zero effort styling, but somehow she looks like a walking fetish ad that forgot to be subtle.

The weird part is, nothing technically “happens.” No actual sex, no naked bodies flying around, nobody jumping your dick. It’s all edging, all mind games, like the game is blueballing you on purpose and laughing. She’ll lean over the counter just a little too far, bend down to grab something so her ass lines up perfectly with your eyes, stretch like she’s in a yoga ad, then act like you’re the creep for looking. She calls you out for every tiny reaction, every stolen glance, like she’s reading your browser history in real time. At one point she casually drops a line about how “guys like you are easy to rewire” and the screen does this tiny flicker and yeah, you feel it. Not jump scare, more like you skipped a frame in your own head. You’re not sure if she’s hypnotic or just really good at gaslighting, but you start clicking through lines faster, waiting for some kind of payoff that never quite lands. It’s a kinetic novel, so no choices, no branches, you’re just strapped into her vibe. That’s kinda annoying and kinda perfect. You keep thinking “ok, next scene she’s gonna finally do something,” and instead she just mocks you, teases harder, leans in with that bored stare and explains exactly how she could make you crawl with a single word. Then nothing. Then a joke. Then she looks straight at you again and tells you you’re breathing too loud.

What got me is how the voyeurism hits without any peepholes or secret cams. You’re just there, stuck, watching her do normal clerk stuff while she very obviously watches you watching her. It flips around, like you become the thing on display. She wipes down the counter real slow, checks her phone, pops gum, types something you can’t see, then smiles in that “yeah, I just changed something in your brain” way. At one point she makes you read signs on the wall, stupid boring rules, but the text starts feeling like commands, like she’s training a dog. She never raises her voice, never goes full “kneel, worm” mode, but you still feel dominated, like your dick is on a leash you can’t see. The humor is messed up in a good way too; she’ll roast your porn tastes, call out your search terms, then switch to dead-serious for two lines and talk about control and consent like a late-night TED talk in a haunted 7‑Eleven, then immediately ask if you’re thirsty. Zero subtle transition. The art is rough but kinda perfect for it, she’s cute and a little off-model from scene to scene, which almost sells the idea your memory is being edited. There’s no big climax, no “and then you bang her” scene, it just leaves you horny, slightly confused, and lowkey worried she’s going to show up in your dreams and make you apologize for scrolling Twitter during the dialogue.

Your boss finally notices you, but not for the reason you wanted. You bust your ass at work, grind through pointless meetings, kiss enough corporate ring that your tongue should get hazard pay, and it actually pays off. Promotion on the table, big project, all eyes on you. Then he invites you to his place to “celebrate the new chapter” and you’re already half thinking about LinkedIn flex posts in your head. Instead you walk in and meet the real final boss of the game: his wife, wrapped in a tight dress that looks painted on, tits practically spilling, eyes locked on you like you’re dessert she ordered for herself.

She doesn’t even try to hide it. From the moment she leans in a bit too close to pour you a drink, her huge chest brushing your arm, it’s this slow burn of “this is wrong” versus “this is hot as fuck”. The game leans hard into that quiet, private tension. Soft little smiles, hands lingering on your shoulder a bit too long, her bending over the table to pick something up and making sure you can’t miss her ass straining the fabric. There’s no instant jump to sex, it’s more like she keeps poking at the line and watching you twitch. She corners you in the kitchen, finger trailing along the glass, asking if you’ve “ever had a woman who knows what she wants”. Boss is in the next room, rambling about quarterly numbers, while his wife slowly closes the distance, eyes half-lidded, tongue wetting her lips. At some point she presses you against the counter, her tits pushed up against your chest, her hand sliding down, fingers teasing your crotch over your pants like it’s just casual fun. And you’re there thinking, “Say no, say no” while your body is screaming yes.

The corruption angle actually hits different because you’re not some loser with nothing to lose. You built your way up, you care about the job, and that makes every handjob under the table at dinner feel ten times more dangerous. There’s this one moment where she invites you to “help” her in the study while the boss is on a call. Door almost closed, just a crack open, and she drops to her knees in front of you so casually it feels like she’s done this before. She looks up at you while unzipping you, like she’s daring you to pull away, and of course you don’t. Warm mouth, slow strokes, her lipstick smearing on your skin while she moans around your cock, then wiping her mouth with this smug little smile and going back out like nothing happened. The teasing is constant. She texts you after, sending pics of her in nothing but an open shirt, tits barely contained, saying she’s “bored when hubby is at the office”. Some routes let you push her further, turning that sexy wife into someone who basically lives to sneak around behind his back with you, climbing into your lap, grinding that big ass against you while she whispers how her husband never fucks her like you do. And yeah, part of you knows this will wreck everything you’ve been working for, but by the time she’s riding you on his couch, soft moans mixing with the sound of her skin slapping on yours, nails digging into your shoulders, you’re way past pretending you’re the good guy anymore.

A lazy demon getting yanked out of his comfy hell and dumped in a house full of horny, chaotic witches is already a good start, but here it actually turns into a whole sandbox of “how much of a perv do I feel like being today”. You start as this summoned demon guy, technically a virgin in the human world sense, trying to figure out what the hell is going on while these girls poke, test, tease, and half the time forget they literally brought a supernatural sex machine into their living room. One minute they’re arguing about magic circles and some paranormal crap, next minute one of them is leaning over the table and you’re stuck staring at bouncing tits from first person view while she “checks your aura” with her hand way too close to your dick. The game flips between goofy jokes and really direct lewd stuff so fast it feels like watching a horny sitcom that suddenly remembers it’s allowed to show creampies and anal.

What I like is how it keeps that roguelike brain-itch of “ok, but what if I click the other option this time” without drowning you in stats. You pick if you want to be more obedient to the witches or lean into being a corrupting bastard, and that choice quietly changes the flavor of everything. Go softer and you get more teasing, romance, and these slow corruption moments where a “good girl” witch lets you grope her under a blanket and pretends it’s some kind of energy test. Go full demon and the same girl shows up later in a tiny outfit, practically begging to be spanked and filled in every hole while you talk shit in her ear. There are milfs mixed with younger-looking witches, big asses everywhere, big tits that jiggle when they strip, and the camera loves parking itself at that angle where you watch your own hand wrapped around a cock or a dripping pussy in POV. Sometimes you’re just jerking off secretly while they argue about magic, sometimes you’re in the middle of group sex on the couch with bodies piled up and someone still trying to keep up the “serious coven meeting” vibe. The humor is dumb in a good way, like that one time a “serious ritual” ends with a blowjob under the table while another witch pretends not to see, and there’s this whole lazy domestic thing where you’re conquering some mundane human object and somehow it ends with a handjob or a girl riding you after she loses a bet. Half the content feels like voyeurism you stumbled into, half feels like harem power trip where you decide who gets bred tonight and who just has to watch and masturbate. Sometimes they flip it and put a boot on your chest or sit on your face and take control, and sometimes you’re the one grabbing their hips, fucking them raw from behind, listening to them moan about getting pregnant in this new world they dragged you into. It’s messy, horny, funny, and just self-aware enough that when the witch you corrupted earlier walks past in a too-short robe and “accidentally” flashes you, you know the game is winking at you as hard as she is.