This one hits like some trashy fashion magazine fantasy where everybody forgot pants and basic morals, in a good way. You start as this regular dude who suddenly gets dragged into the DeLuca mafia mess, and the whole vibe is like “what if a crime family hired a himbo intern and all the women came straight out from a horny Pinterest board”. Outfits are wild. The older women especially have that rich, dangerous MILF energy, hips and ass doing 90% of the talking, tops that pretend to be classy but the buttons look one sneeze away from exploding. I kept pausing scenes just to stare at the clothes and thinking, ok, whoever designed these had a very specific kink folder on their desktop. Some of the dresses are useless for actual movement but perfect for pressing a big soft ass into the camera and teasing the hell out of you. Even the casual wear looks like “I only own clothes that make people want to grab me”.

The game makes you click around like a point & click from those old Flash days, but now everything is dripping with sex jokes, mafia tension and “please don’t catch me spying on that shower”. There was this moment where I was just doing some normal job for the family, then accidentally ended up watching one of the girls bend over and the camera just stays on her butt way too long. No one says anything, but the game knows. It leans into the voyeur stuff so hard: half-open doors, someone changing in the next room, your hand kind of “slipping” when you touch, groping that starts as “oops” and turns into “yeah you meant that”. And still it keeps cracking jokes. One second you’re laughing at some stupid mafia banter, the next second the scene goes fully horny and your only thought is “yeah, I’d risk getting shot for this”. Sometimes the violence pops up with zero warning, like a reminder that these pretty people actually kill for a living, which weirdly makes the romance hits harder. You flirt, you date, you cheat, you pretend you’re a good guy while very clearly not being one, and it never apologizes for that.

The animations are where the outfits really earn their paycheck. When a character leans in, the way fabric slides over curves is almost more erotic than the actual nudity. Tight skirts ride up just enough when they sit, stockings bite into soft thighs, a blouse pulls across big tits and you can almost feel the strain on each little button. Some scenes go from sweet to filthy so fast it’s like whiplash: a romantic chat, a playful tease, then suddenly her ass is pressed against you and your hands are “helping” her keep balance. There’s this one sequence where you’re supposed to be on a serious mafia job, but your brain is just locked on the sway of a certain MILF’s hips in this skin-tight dress that no HR department would ever allow. I actually wish there was an outfit gallery just to rotate them around and zoom in like a total creep, but I know it’s never gonna happen and that’s fine, I’ll live. The game keeps mixing humor, tension and raw sex in a way that feels messy, unfiltered, and kinda hot as hell. Nothing feels “safe for work”, even when everyone is still dressed. It’s like being trapped inside a fashion show hosted in a mob mansion where every look says the same thing: you’re in danger, but you really, really want to stay.

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.

This chat-format visual novel hits different when you're watching your fiancée get her world rocked through emoji reactions and text bubbles. Oscar's stuck at home after some accident - honestly, the setup doesn't matter much because what follows is pure psychological fuckery mixed with actual fucking. You've got this weird psychic connection with Lucy where you feel everything she's feeling, which sounds romantic until Logan shows up and starts making her feel things that'll make your phone screen fog up.

The whole thing plays out like you're reading someone else's sexts, except you're the poor bastard whose girl is sending them. Lucy starts innocent enough - "miss you babe" type messages - but Logan's got that smooth operator energy that turns sweet girlfriends into cock-hungry rebels. Watching her transformation through chat logs is weirdly addictive. One day she's asking about dinner plans, next she's describing how wet she got during "study sessions." The corruption arc moves at breakneck speed, which honestly feels more realistic than these slow-burn games that take forever to get anywhere interesting. Though sometimes I wish the pacing slowed down just so I could savor the psychological torment longer.

What really gets under your skin is the choice system - you can play Oscar as the understanding boyfriend type or go full jealous psycho mode. Neither path feels particularly satisfying because you're fundamentally powerless, just reacting to Lucy's increasingly bold adventures. The voyeuristic elements work better than expected since you're experiencing everything secondhand through texts and calls. When Lucy starts sending photos... well, let's just say the chat format doesn't limit the visual storytelling. Multiple endings give you different flavors of heartbreak or acceptance, depending on how much dignity you're willing to sacrifice. It's messy, uncomfortable, and exactly the kind of emotional masochism that makes NTR content so addictive.

You start as this guy who was living the dream on the court, and then your body just says “fuck you” and everything crashes. No more crowds, no more glory, just painkillers, physio, and a silence that feels way too loud. I liked how the game makes you sit with that for a bit. You’re not some magic gigachad from second one. You limp, you doubt yourself, you stare at your own reflection like “what now, idiot?”. And then the old college calls, throws you a lifeline in the shape of a girls’ basketball team that needs a coach, and suddenly that empty space in your life gets filled with sweat, tight uniforms, and way too many questionable thoughts during practice.

The mood shifts fast once you meet the team. They’re all in these fitted sport uniforms that hug every line, stretching over wet skin in the locker room, shorts riding up when they run drills. The game takes its time with the locker room scenes, the way water slides down their thighs in the showers, the way a simple stretch turns into your eyes getting stuck on bouncing tits and exposed underwear. It starts kind of innocent, like “you’re their mentor, be professional”, and then there’s this one late practice where you’re doing one-on-one training, her breathing all heavy, sweat shining on her abs, and she says she wants a “special reward” if she hits enough free throws. Suddenly she’s on her knees in the empty gym, lights low, giving you messy deep oral right there on the polished floor, her ponytail brushing your thigh while her uniform top is pushed up, nipples hard. The animation on her lips sliding down your shaft is surprisingly detailed, the little gag, the string of spit when she pulls away to catch her breath. You’re supposed to be correcting her form, and instead she’s stroking you with one hand, still gripping the ball with the other like it’s some dirty joke only you two understand. When you finally push her down on the bench and fuck her raw, legs spread, sneakers still on, the creampie shot is thick and slow, dripping out while she’s trying not to moan too loud in case someone walks in.

And then the story decides that’s not enough chaos and drops your ex back into the city. The one you knocked up during that “break” with your wife that was definitely not a real break. She shows up like a bomb. She’s softer than the sporty girls, more curves, more emotional landmine. There’s this scene where you meet her in some bland cafe, and under the table she starts rubbing your thigh like nothing happened, like she didn’t drag a whole kid-shaped problem into your life. Later on, at her place, it’s a totally different vibe from the gym sex. Lights low, slow romance mixed with guilt, handjob on the couch while the TV plays some random bullshit, her thumb teasing your tip while she looks you right in the eye and asks if you ever think about “that night”. You end up fucking her proper, bare, sinking into that familiar pussy, and it’s not just lust, it’s this heavy, dangerous comfort. The game leans into the wrongness of it without apologizing. There’s vaginal, there’s sloppy oral, there’s her riding you until your cum leaks out of her and stains the sheets, and for a moment it almost feels wholesome which makes it worse. Then next day you’re back in the gym with a cute rookie stretching in front of you, shorts sliding up her ass, and your phone buzzing with your ex’s messages, and you realize this guy’s life is one long fast break straight into a wall. I kinda loved it. I kinda hated everyone. I clicked “next” anyway.