New condo, new title, and suddenly every horny problem in the whole building is your problem. That’s pretty much the vibe here. You’re not playing some heroic savior, you’re the poor bastard who got handed the trustee job in a place that looks normal at first, then every door you knock on turns into another “how the hell did I end up in this situation” moment. One floor you’re arguing about parking spaces with a stacked milf in a tight blouse who keeps leaning just a little too close, next you’re pretending you’re checking water pressure while actually staring at the shower through frosted glass, trying not to get caught with your dick already hard. The game really leans into that slow burn of “professional” talk that keeps sliding into filthy territory. One second you’re discussing condo fees, then she’s on her knees in the bedroom, lipstick smeared on your cock, asking if this counts as a “service discount.” It’s soft and romantic in that bullshit way where she’s blushing and shy right before she swallows every drop like she was training for it.

It’s fun how different the women feel just from how they talk to you. The blonde neighbor pretending she’s all pure and proper, always acting like this is just a formal meeting in her living room, but her shirt buttons never seem to stay closed, and those big tits are practically begging to fall out while she pours you tea. That moment where you just sit on her couch, listening to her complain about the previous trustee, and you’re not even touching yet, but you know she wants you to pin her over the armrest and pull her hair… that hits better than some porn sites I’ve got bookmarked in Chrome. Then there’s the redhead who doesn’t even bother hiding it. She’s the one who opens the door in a towel, “forgets” to tighten it, drops hints like “my shower is acting weird, can you come check it?” and then you’re suddenly pressed against the bathroom wall, water running, her mouth wrapped around you while she stares right up into your eyes like she’s daring you to cum down her throat. The brunette feels more like a slow romance route, texting you late at night on WhatsApp, sending half-safe pics, telling you about her shitty day, and then asking if you “really think she’s sexy” right before she lets you watch her undress with the lights low. Honestly the romance can feel cheesy sometimes, lines a bit too sweet, but then she straddles you and rides you like she hasn’t been touched in months, and the cheese just kind of works. I wish the game didn’t tease voyeur stuff so often without fully going full creepy neighbor energy, but it’s also kind of hot that you’re always on the edge of being caught peeking from the corridor or watching a window reflection while pretending you’re just checking the building lights. You bounce between dating sim choices, checking if you said the right thing three scenes ago, and those payoff moments where she finally drops the act and you get her lips around your cock, mascara streaked, calling you “trustee” like it’s some dirty title. It’s messy, a bit corny, sometimes too romantic for how filthy the scenes are, and that’s exactly why it sticks in your head long after you close the browser tab.

Rogue’s eyes flicker like she’s got a storm trapped behind them - no pun on Ororo intended, though she does make a cameo that feels like it came straight out of an adult fever dream. The game throws you in as this anomaly mutant who can brush against anyone without going poof, and suddenly what used to be dangerous turns into something primal, desperate, almost poetic if poetry was sticky and breathless. Rogue tests you early, there’s this scene - locker room, dripping tiles, wet echo - and she doesn’t know if she wants to kiss you or crush you. The writing snaps between tender and filthy so fast it makes your brain lag behind your pulse.

The wild part is how easily it flips from soft-eyed confessions with Jean Grey to pure shameless corruption paths with Emma Frost whispering filth you don’t even think Marvel’s lawyers could process. There’s something dirty-luxurious about that mansion setting; so many doors, each one unlocking another line you’ll probably regret reading at work. Some of the animations (I swear they move like low-res ghosts) have that “almost too human” vibe - you catch a tiny twitch of Rogue’s fingers clutching skin, and it’s hotter than the whole naked scene that follows. But then Storm steps in later and everything turns theatrical, lightning illuminating this ridiculously intimate chaos. You forget half the choices you made, yet every dialogue click still feels personal, like someone watching over your shoulder quietly taking notes.

And sure, maybe Jubilee’s route doesn’t sync right, and Wanda sometimes clips through clothing (yeah, that bug - literally distracting), but when those powers mix - light sparks tracing across bodies, voices overlapping, love and dominance tangling - it hits this weird emotional chord. Like half romance novel, half scandalous lab experiment. I hated that one sound loop kept restarting mid-scene, yet I replayed the moment anyway. It's messy, horny sci-fi and doesn’t pretend otherwise. Maybe that’s why it works. Maybe.

Alex isn’t some blank-slate hero. He’s tired, horny, confused, and still stupidly in love with his wife. The game throws you right into his messages, like you’re scrolling through someone’s private phone. Julia’s texts feel too real - half sweet, half cold - and when she starts posting those late-night blog updates, you can’t help but dig deeper. There’s that sick thrill of spying on someone you shouldn’t, mixed with the ache of wanting her back. You’ll find yourself switching between guilt and arousal faster than you can type a reply. It’s voyeurism wrapped in heartbreak, and it hits harder than expected.

The choices don’t just flip a switch - they twist the knife. One moment you’re convincing her to talk, the next you’re watching her “experiment” with another man while you pretend it’s fine. The game doesn’t hold your hand; it lets you drown in your own jealousy or curiosity. The sandbox bits let you chase different routes: rebuild what’s broken, open the door to other lovers, or just spiral into full-blown NTR madness. And yeah, the sex scenes go all in - no fade-to-black bullshit. Julia’s moans sound like confessions, not performances. Sometimes she’s teasing through the camera, sometimes begging, sometimes letting someone else touch her while you watch, and it’s messy and hot and awful in the best way.

What really got me though was how alive everyone feels. Chad’s that idiot friend who somehow gives good advice between dick jokes. The twins show up later and completely derail any moral compass you thought you had. Monster girls, MILFs, even a shy lesbian side route - it’s all there, tangled in one big horny emotional disaster. The writing swings from romantic to filthy without warning, and I kinda love that. It’s not polished, not safe, but damn if it doesn’t feel human. You’ll hate yourself for caring, then get off anyway.

You’re the poor bastard who climbed the ladder just high enough that nobody shoots you, but everybody dumps their shit on your desk. Whole galaxy is rotting, planets choking on smog, priests screaming about purity, and you’re in a cramped office where the lights buzz like insects while you decide if some mining colony gets air filters or “thoughts and prayers.” And right in the middle of that, you keep tripping over women who want to fuck you, argue with you, manipulate you, or all three at once. Not because you’re some chosen hero, but because your signature can save their lives or destroy their whole world, and in this empire, pussy is just another kind of paperwork.

You start as this awkward virgin clerk who suddenly has real power, and the game never lets you forget how weird that is. One moment you’re reading a report about famine on a frozen shithole planet, next moment a bored noble MILF is sitting too close on your couch, pretending she’s worried about “trade quotas” while her hand creeps up your thigh. She’s old enough to have kids in the guard, tits poured into some ridiculous formal dress, and she’s treating your office like it’s a private bedroom. You can push her away and grill her about corruption, or you grab her hair and she drops on her knees between your legs and starts sucking like this is the only way she remembers how to negotiate. The game is blunt about it: she wants a better result on your decision, and she’s ready to slobber on your cock for it, lipstick smeared, eyes watering, trying to moan around your dick while you skim her file. And it’s fucked up, because while she’s gagging on you, you’re also actually reading the numbers and thinking, “yeah, this planet is screwed.”

That’s kind of how the whole thing feels: serious and horny at the same time, like someone mashed a grim sci fi bureaucracy sim with a porn VN and just didn’t apologize. There’s this cute junior scribe who brings you data slates and looks like she’s gonna burst from stress, and if you’re gentle, she slowly cracks, starts opening up about how terrified she is of getting reassigned to some nightmare warzone. First time you manage to calm her down, she leaves… but if you keep backing her, she eventually turns up in your room, shutting the door, cheeks red, hands shaking as she offers herself like she’s filing a desperate last-minute request. She’s still technically the one begging, but you KNOW the power is in your hands when she climbs into your lap and whispers that she’s never done this before, then winces as you push inside her, tight and wet and clinging to your shirt so hard the fabric creaks. And right after you finish, there’s this short, shitty silence, like “ok, cool, now you both work in the same office tomorrow.” No magic romance fade-out, just sticky thighs and a stack of forms on the desk you still have to sign.

What caught me was how your traits twist those scenes. Pick paranoid and you’re double-checking everyone, even when some guardwoman with arms thicker than your waist is riding your dick in a barracks bunk, using you like a toy because she’s lonely and half drunk, and your brain is still going “is she trying to get a transfer out of that meat grinder of a front line?” Go empath and it actually stings when a woman offers her body like it’s the last thing she has left to bargain with. You can still grab her by the hips and fuck her raw over your office table, her moans mixing with the quiet hum of cogitators, but it hits different when you realize her whole world literally hangs on the word you’re going to stamp on that form after you pull out and she’s dripping on your paperwork. The art has that rough AI feel sometimes, but every now and then a scene lands just right: a milf with tired eyes but a hungry mouth, a scared virgin biting her lip while you push in slowly, a smirking manipulator who’s clearly enjoying the game more than you are. It’s messy, it’s not “nice,” and it leans into the idea that in this empire, romance, lust, fear, and red tape are all the same fucking language. Dare to play it alone, or invite company?