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.

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 is glued to his phone, girl is glued to her loneliness. That’s the whole mood here. You drop into this couple where Alex is busy pretending work is some holy mission, while Sophia is slowly rotting inside on the couch, scrolling, waiting, getting wetter and angrier at the same time. No magic, no superpowers, just real ugly shit: late replies, blue ticks, half-assed “sorry babe, busy” messages. The game really leans on that phone stuff. Most of the heat actually comes from tiny notifications popping up, chats you’re not supposed to read, pics that were meant for one guy but somehow end up on another screen. You think nothing’s happening, then you realize your stomach tied itself in a knot because of one emoji and a blurry selfie. That’s the kind of filth going on here. Not screaming porn from the first second, more like slow poison that ends with someone’s panties pushed aside against a wall you never get to see in full light.

The 3D scenes look a bit plastic at times, yeah, but they use it well with the whole voyeur angle. You often feel like some creep hiding behind the digital curtain, catching Sophia in that in-between moment where she’s still technically “faithful” but already texting that other guy about how “lonely” she is. Sometimes it’s just her checking herself in the mirror, lifting the shirt a bit too high, wondering if she still looks fuckable for Alex, and then you see her take another pic where she pulls the shorts down just a little more because this other dude “appreciates her body more.” Those quiet scenes hit harder than the actual sex, at least for me. And yeah, there is sex. Cheap hotel rooms, car seats, public corners where you’re praying the camera angle doesn’t show too much, which of course is exactly what it does. There’s a fantastic bit where she’s supposed to be sending Alex a sweet “goodnight” message while she’s catching her breath on some other guy’s lap. Messaging bubble still open on the phone, her hair a mess, dress up, thighs glossy. It’s nasty and kind of beautiful in the worst way.

What actually got me hooked was how the game likes to humiliate quietly instead of shouting it. Alex doesn’t always get big dramatic scenes; sometimes his only “reward” is a dumb little selfie from Sophia in a new dress, smiling all shy, and you already know that same dress was around her waist earlier for someone else. The game rubs your face in that without throwing a big “NTR SCENE!!” sign. You get phone calls Alex misses while he’s at “work,” and you sit there knowing exactly what she’s doing while his name flashes on her screen and she just flips the phone over. Public stuff too: skirts too short, no panties, the way the camera lingers on her trying to act normal in crowded places while some guy’s hand is way too high on her thigh. The pregnancy part sneaks up on you as another mindfuck, like, she’s talking about wanting a baby “to fix things,” and you start counting in your head, doing that grim calculator: okay, which night was she actually with who. They never spell it out clean, which is worse, honestly. You’re left staring at her smile during some cute domestic scene, all warmth and soft lights, and you can’t stop thinking about the raw, messy clips you saw three choices ago where she let herself get used like a toy. It’s not classy, it’s not subtle, but it hits that dirty, voyeur brain spot real hard.

Epifania looks like some luxury fashion week gone rotten in the sexiest way. Neon on wet concrete, everyone pretending to be high class while they’re literally lining up for a hole in the wall. You arrive as this nobody with big hunger and zero connections, just you and this building that looks like an abandoned outlet store someone forgot to bulldoze. Then that Devil Investor shows up, all smug and perfectly dressed, like the kind of client who sits front row at a fetish runway show and buys the entire collection with one bored click. She doesn’t ask if you want in. She just throws you the mission: turn this wreck into the most profitable and depraved brothel in the city. And suddenly you’re balancing spreadsheets and cumshots in the same breath, which, honestly, feels familiar to anyone who tried to run an Etsy store while doomscrolling Pornhub.

First thing that caught my designer brain: the girls are not copy-paste dolls. You start “training” them and it feels weirdly like fitting models for a very, very illegal lingerie line. You watch them change from shy little things clinging to basic underwear into total predators who know exactly how to use lace, heels, and a dripping mouth. Some are sweet mom-types with soft tummies and milk-heavy breasts, the kind you’d shoot for an expensive maternity fetish catalog. You push them into public booths where strangers use them like shared accessories. That whole gloryhole section? It’s like designing a collection where the face is irrelevant, only the silhouette of thighs and tits matters. I hated how it turned me on. I loved how it turned me on. It’s messy like that. One night I focused on a single “pure” girl, double-checking her stats on my phone between Instagram stories, trying to keep her first time special then casually booking her into a gangbang room right after because the numbers looked good. The game doesn’t guilt-trip you. It just quietly asks: more clients or more conscience? And you already know the answer, you capitalist slut.

The management part is sneaky. You think it’s just clicking upgrades, then you realize you’re planning who gets which kink like you’re coordinating outfits for a runway lineup: anal queen here, bondage star there, the tall milf with heavy lactation in the VIP lounge that smells like perfume and sweat. There’s this weird thrill watching your building go from dusty warehouse to multi-floor pleasure machine, with private rooms, voyeur windows, and that one office where you handle “contracts” with potential corporate partners who want their own harem branch. I kept pausing, thinking how I’d design actual lingerie sets for them: soft leather harnesses for the submissive accountant type, transparent body stocking for the market manipulator who ruins competitors while taking a footjob on her desk. At one point I was negotiating prices for public use sessions on one screen and sketching a crotchless bodysuit in Procreate on the other, and it all just blended. The game lets you push the girls into pregnancy deals like they’re limited edition drops, fill them up, send them back out, watch clients line up for that. It’s fucked up. It’s hot. I still wish the interface didn’t hide some details in tiny menus like some cheap fast-fashion site, but then I catch myself zooming in on a courtesan getting her ass filled and I forget what I was annoyed about. Anyway, the city doesn’t care. You start with nothing, you end with a building full of moaning, swollen, used bodies and a bank account that keeps climbing every time someone walks through your doors. It feels like running a fashion brand where the models never leave the show, they just keep getting fucked harder behind the curtain.