Jake crawling back to that creepy family house after fucking up his big “I’ll be a businessman” dream is already kind of hot in a pathetic way. He’s broke, ashamed, stuck in a place he hates, surrounded by people that should feel familiar but don’t. Mom looks too perfect, too young, tits pushed tight in those thin tops like she’s trying not to notice his eyes sliding down. The “relatives” smile wrong, stand a little too close, talk about “taking care of him” like they’re rehearsing a script someone else wrote. And the house itself keeps breathing in the background. Doors open on their own, lights flicker, someone moans down the hallway when everyone’s supposed to be asleep. Of course he goes to check. Of course he shouldn’t. The best thing here is how the horny stuff always sneaks in right behind the weird. You’re reading a normal line, then suddenly a hand is on his thigh, or he rounds a corner and sees two women pressed together on the couch, one with her tongue sliding up the other’s inner thigh while the TV just hums static. Then it cuts to a different angle and you notice that one of them has a thick cock slowly hardening between her legs, pushing at her panties, and she’s not embarrassed at all. She stares back like “yeah, you’re next.” And you know the game will let you chase that. Or just watch. Or act like you’re disgusted and then sneak back later and beg for it. Small thing that annoyed me: the sound of the old floorboards is exactly the same no matter where you walk. It messed with the tension a bit. I kept thinking someone else was moving, but no, just the same effect looping. Whatever, my brain still filled in the gaps. The corruption here feels more fanfic than official story, in a good way. Canon would never let the “family” blackmail him with phone pics of him jacking off in the bathroom while something invisible whispers in his ear. But this does. One route lets them trap him slowly, pushing him into humiliating situations, making him walk around half naked, hard, while some unseen presence strokes his ego and his dick. The paranormal stuff doesn’t just stay in the background either. Sometimes the ghostly shit joins in. You get those scenes where a door slams and the room goes dark, and there’s nothing on screen except text describing breath on his neck and a wet tongue dragging along his ear, and he can’t move because he’s scared and turned on at the same time. It feels like reading a filthy fan ending where the author said “fuck canon” and finally let the tension boil over. One path might lean into him stealing other people’s lovers, slipping into someone’s bed that is technically already “taken”, fucking them while their partner is under some weird influence in the next room. Another path can flip it, where he’s the one losing control of the people he thought were on his side, watching them slowly gravitate toward that smug futa neighbor, or the “aunt” with the big tits and the fake sweet smile, until he’s left alone with some monster touching him in all the ways they used to. Some scenes go all the way into ugly, drooling ahegao faces, mascara running, spit and cum everywhere, and then right after that you get a quiet moment where he’s just standing in the hallway, listening to the house creak and thinking “something’s wrong” like he didn’t just blast a load all over someone’s face five minutes ago. It’s messy in the right way. Kind of feels like a horny horror doujin that grew too big and turned into a full game, kept all the weird edges, never smoothed them out. You get those animated moments where the thrusting goes on just a bit longer than is comfortable, or the camera holds on the look of shame-turned-pleasure on someone’s face while they’re being watched through a half open door. And of course, every time you think you found the “true” story, another route appears, another ending that says no, that wasn’t canon, this is. Until the next one.

Katy didn’t plan to end up surrounded by horny girls in tight uniforms, but that’s exactly where she lands - a pristine academy that looks innocent until you realize every hallway hides someone’s dirty secret. She’s supposed to blend in, keep her little “extra” part a secret, but the game doesn’t really let you stay quiet for long. You start with harmless stuff - chatting, exploring the dorms, helping classmates with “projects” - and before you know it, someone’s bending over a desk, and you’re wondering if you should stop or push a little further. The writing’s cheeky in that way: it teases you, then drops you into something filthy before you can think twice. It’s not subtle, but it doesn’t need to be.

What makes it weirdly addictive is how casual everything feels. You’re just living a day, checking your phone, picking what to do next, and suddenly you’re watching two girls making out behind the gym while pretending to study. There’s a voyeur vibe, but also this trainer-like loop where you shape Katy’s reputation - saint, slut, or both. Sometimes it’s funny, sometimes it’s just hot. The corruption part sneaks up on you; one moment she’s shy, the next she’s spanking her roommate for “discipline practice.” It’s messy, inconsistent, and that’s what makes it feel alive. The sandbox part gives you freedom, but it also means you’ll waste time doing dumb stuff like walking across campus just to peek through a window. Worth it though.

The art? Yeah, the girls look good - soft skin, big tits, that glossy anime sheen that makes you stare too long. But it’s the little things that stick: the sound of a zipper, the blush when someone realizes what Katy’s packing, the way control slips away during a scene. It’s horny, sure, but also kind of funny how everyone pretends it’s normal. Maybe it is, in this place. Maybe that’s the point.

Darci hits like a wet dream that crawled out of your teenage goth phase and learned how to fuck reality. Big tiddy, crow-winged, pointy-eared trouble walking through this moody Avalonian city where every alley feels like it smells of cold rain and dirty sex. She is this tall, black-lipsticked futa elf with thighs like religion and a cock that looks like it has its own backstory. Sometimes she just stands in the mirror of her crappy rented room, eye bags dark as ink, feathers twitching, and you feel how much she hates and loves her own body at the same time. The game lets you sit inside that body, inside her head, while she tries to pretend she is just another freak in a society full of polished liars and quiet monsters.

The first time you walk into the GothHouse, the place feels less like “home” and more like someone mashed a sex dungeon with a student dorm and forgot to clean up the energy. Those girls are not just NPCs, more like walking fetishes with their own scars. There is that pale vampire-esque girl in the corner, huge tits squeezed in a corset that looks one breath away from breaking, who pretends not to stare at Darci’s bulge. Later, when you actually choose to follow her to the shared shower, the way the scene goes from awkward small talk to her on her knees, lipstick smeared on Darci’s shaft, water hissing over skin, feels messy in a good way. It is not some clinical porn flow. She gags once, laughs, then keeps going, and Darci’s crow instincts flare up, claws digging into tile, eyes glowing that sick underworld purple. The sex can switch from slow, clingy lesbian grinding to full-on “pin her against the wall and fuck her brains out” when Darci stops being scared of her own power and actually uses it. The game is at its best when it lets you drag that line between tenderness and corruption with one more thrust.

Funny thing, the story pretends to be about “finding her place in society”, but half the time you are just seeing how far you can push these girls before something breaks. There is that elf priestess type who looks holy until you get her alone behind the shrine and make her moan so loud it feels like prayer turned inside out. Darci buries her cock in her while feathers shed to the ground like black snow, and for a moment the underworld power pulses through both of them, giving you this tiny illusion of romance that the next scene absolutely ignores. Some conversations drag on too long, like the game is trying to be all deep and moody while you are just waiting to see if the big ass demon girl in the kitchen will finally bend over the table. She does, eventually, and the vision of Darci grabbing those wide hips, tits swinging, driving in hard while the demon girl laughs and claws at the wood, that wipes away most complaints. Not all, because yeah, sometimes the pacing stumbles and the “universe notes” feel like reading someone’s tumblr lore between jerk-off sessions. But then there is that quiet night where Darci, exhausted, curls around another goth girl in bed, both naked, soft boobs pressed together, dick resting lazy between warm thighs instead of pounding. It is almost sweet. Almost. Then she wakes up, remembers she is a half-crow freak with hellfire between her legs, and you go hunting again.

You wake up wrong. That is the first thing that hit me. Not heroic, not cool cyberpunk badass, just this sick, half-loaded feeling like your soul got dragged through a glitchy Pornhub ad. You’re in your backup sleeve, lying in some cheap future med-bay, the kind that smells like burnt plastic and sex lube, and your own body doesn’t quite fit. Your fingers are a bit too long, your chest feels heavy in a way it shouldn’t, heart rate monitor chirping like a horny bird, and your vision keeps tearing like a bad stream on xVideos. Crew’s a mess, ship’s a mess, and your upload is corrupted enough that if you calm down, you die. Which is a fucked up way of saying: you literally need to be kept turned on just to keep your brain from shutting off.

The “keep his heart rate up” thing sounds like a cheesy porn excuse, and yeah, it is, but here it actually wraps around into the story surprisingly tight. You’re surrounded by these thick-thighed, short-haired, neon-dyed space girls that look like someone smashed together a strip club and a hacker bar, then sprinkled futa on top for good measure. They are not gentle nurses. You’re not in some healing crystal spa. You are meat they are determined to keep pumping, with hands that wander the second the monitor dips below a number they like. One moment the medic is calmly explaining your neural corruption, next moment her gloved hand slides under your hospital sheet and she squeezes like she’s testing a weapon part. The captain leans over you, short hair brushing your face, tits spilling out of a half-open suit, and she’s pissed you almost died but she’s also grinding on your thigh with this lazy, practiced dominance that says she has done this before with other poor fucks on other poor ships.

I liked how the game doesn’t even pretend to be subtle about the body stuff. Your sleeve is customizable, but not in that boring “pick eye color, done” way. It’s big asses that bounce when you get grabbed, heavy tits that strain cheap fabric, cocks and clits and both, because why not if you’re paying for a synthetic body anyway. Cyberpunk setting, sure, there are glowing cityscapes outside the porthole and some talk about data smuggling and black clinic surgeons, but honestly the real sci-fi here is “how far can we push this body before the heart flatlines.” There is this one scene that stuck with me: you’re strapped into this sloopy auto-doc chair, and a futa crew engineer, all colorful undercut and grease on her cheeks, is pretending to “check your reflexes” while she slowly strokes you with one hand and plays with the med panel with the other, watching the HR line spike when she squeezes your balls just a bit too hard. And the worst part? She keeps half-talking about thruster repairs, like she’s multitasking you like any other ship component.

Not everything lands. Some of the dialogue comes out a bit stiff in the wrong way, like someone tried to write badass one-liners while also jerking off and lost the balance. There is a moment where a character calls a neural buffer a “quantum RAM thingy” and I still don’t know if that’s on purpose or just lazy, but I kind of love it because it feels like late-night shitposting turned into a game script. The pacing jumps all over: one second you’re gasping, being ridden hard by a thick-hipped futanari officer who pins your wrists to keep your pulse up, the next second someone brings up fuel dates and cargo lists like we didn’t just watch you cum all over the med bed. Also, tiny complaint that bugged me way more than it should: the damn heart rate sound is slightly too high-pitched, like my Fitbit having an orgasm, and it made me reach for my phone twice, thinking I got a notification. Still, when the girls crowd around you, colored hair brushing your skin, their hands greedy, their voices low and bossy, using your overheating body as both patient and toy, that shrill little beep just disappears into the background like any other cheap future noise. Sex as life support. Literally. It’s messed up, and it works.