Sunshine Bay feels like the kind of place your dick and your conscience go to fight each other. You start as this junior law guy with a “serious future” and a serious girlfriend, Nicole, who’s hot in that smart professional way, but honestly, once you hit the bay she turns into more of a guilty background tab, like a Chrome window you’re too scared to close. Your sister calls you after years apart, begging you to help her keep her hotel alive, and that hotel is where everything quietly goes to hell. One minute you’re learning the ropes of bookings and handling annoying guests, next minute you’re getting your cock teased by a girl who has no idea she’s about two decisions away from a creampie on the lobby couch. Or she knows. Hard to say. People in this game smile with that “I might suck you off later” look and it works way too well.

The sex is filthy in that slow burn way. It doesn’t just throw you into tits and ass in the first five clicks, it crawls under your skin. You’re chatting with a guest about religion over morning coffee, she crosses her legs, sandal slipping off her heel, and two choices later you’ve got her toes wrapped around your shaft under the table. Footjob with the sound of seagulls in the background, like some cursed ASMR. Another path you’re helping a married milf unpack her bags, and she bends at just the right angle, blouse a bit too loose, tits spilling just enough for your brain to shut down. Titfuck in a half-unpacked room, her whispering that her husband doesn’t touch her like that anymore, and you’re just there trying not to cum too fast because the game lets you drag it out. There’s lesbian tension sneaking around too. One moment you’re catching two female guests kissing in the hallway, soft and careful, and if you play it right it turns into a three way where you’re almost an afterthought while they focus on each other, tongues, fingers, the whole thing dripping in front of you while you stroke yourself like a pathetic fanboy.

The twins are what really mess things up. They show up like sunshine with knives. Cute, playful, that “we finish each other’s sentences and maybe your soul” energy. They flirt as a pair, they tease as a pair, one grabbing your hand while the other presses her body against your back in the pool, their wet hair on your shoulders, asking these fake innocent questions about how “serious” Nicole really is to you. And if you give in, it’s not just one pussy, it’s mirrored chaos in your bed, one riding your face while the other sinks down on your cock, moaning in almost sync, and you just know you’re crossing a line you can’t explain on WhatsApp later. There’s interracial scenes tucked in, like this dark-skinned goddess at the bar who dominates the whole place without even raising her voice, and when you end up in her room she pushes you down and takes control without asking, handjob turning into a rough blowjob, her lips shiny, making you hold back until she decides you earn the creampie. On mobile it hits different, by the way, because you’re sitting there on the couch pretending you’re checking Instagram while the screen is filled with animated mouths on your cock, tongues sliding over the tip, your “moral choices” boiling down to whether you pull out or paint someone’s insides. Your sister keeps trusting you. Nicole keeps sending sweet messages. And you keep clicking that one option you know you shouldn’t, just to see who ends up on their knees next.

Mythos feels like somebody smashed together a late night crime podcast, a horny anime parody and that weird urban legend subreddit you scroll on your phone when you should be sleeping, then sprinkled way too many tits on top and said “yeah, this is fine”. You pick if you’re playing as a guy or a girl right at the start, and it actually matters, not just in “pronoun changed, congrats” way. Some scenes twist a bit depending on your body, who stares at you, who you can seduce, whose hand “accidentally” lands on your ass in the train when the lights flicker and the supernatural stuff leaks through. There is this first big moment where you’re at Lisa’s memorial, staring at a photo of your ex who got murdered in some fucked up way nobody wants to explain, and two completely different types of people hit on you almost at the same time: a smug cop with that “I’m totally abusing my badge” vibe, and this soft spoken girl with huge tits spilling out of a tight uniform that should absolutely not be legal in a public place. The game doesn’t stop to tell you “this is a choice”. It just lets you go horny detective or horny victim or both and quietly tracks who you want to bend you over later.

Sex is not just “reward unlocked, here’s generic bouncing”. You’re running around this fake-modern city where vampires are landlords, tentacle things hang out in dark alleys like drunk ninjas and one busty elf professor keeps “tutoring” you after class, squeezing your thigh while talking about mythology like she isn’t about to slide under the desk and wrap her lips around you. There is a scene at a cheap business hotel during a “vacation” that is not really a vacation. You’re supposed to investigate, but instead you spend half the night pinned against the balcony railing by a frustrated MILF who is technically someone’s wife and technically not human and technically doesn’t give a fuck. She rides you slow while the neon signs below blink and you can choose if you pull out or let her take every drop and feel that messy creampie drip down her inner thighs while she laughs and calls you a good little snack. Later the same day, basically in the same clothes, the story casually throws you into this awful netorare-ish angle where you watch through a half open door as a different woman you got close to is getting pounded by some supernatural asshole with a cock way bigger than yours. The game lets you peek, or walk away, or join and turn it into harem chaos. If you stay hidden, you see her begging for more, getting titfucked until her face is glazed and you can’t decide if you hate her, hate yourself, or just want in. And that mood, that messy mix of comedy, jealousy, horror and “fuck it, let’s suck his balls too”, that’s pretty much Mythos all the way through, jumping between murder clues, meme jokes, romance sweetness, corruption temptations and stupidly hot tentacle scenes in the dark where you swear you’re still solving a case while something slimy is filling your ass and your mouth at the same time.

A husband, a stupid fight, and that sick feeling in your gut when you suddenly notice how short your own shadow looks next to another guy’s. That is basically where this story sits, grinning at you. You follow this poor bastard of a husband who starts the evening thinking he is “the man of the house” and ends up wondering if his wife is getting her pussy filled by somebody taller, thicker, and a lot more confident. The game plays like a teasing lecture about NTR, but not in a cold way. It is like a drunk friend whispering in your ear, “You see that guy talking to your wife? Yeah, that is how it starts.” The visuals sell that uneasy vibe: soft, slow camera-like cuts, those slightly too-long pauses on her lips when she smiles at someone else, her shirt clinging in all the right places, and his eyes squinting like he is trying not to imagine her on her knees, drool on another man’s shaft. The pace is not rushed, it pokes you. You get moments where almost nothing “big” happens, just small looks, off-hand comments, her phone lighting up with a message while she is in the shower and you are left staring at the screen, imagining every filthy word she might be reading.

There is a strong “PSA from hell” vibe, yeah, like some horny officer in a police comedy explaining step by step how your wife goes from “I would never cheat” to getting her ass slapped by a stranger in some cheap hotel on vacation. The husband is technically the male protagonist, but it never really feels like you are in control. You are more like a ghost stuck in his skull, dragged through his jealousy, his twisted fantasies, his humiliation. One scene that hit hard: he is sitting on the bed, replaying his argument with his wife, and his brain starts playing its own porn parody. Suddenly she is there in his mind, bent over the kitchen counter, big tits pressed on the cold surface, some smug bastard gripping her hips while she moans his name instead. The sounds get louder than his own thoughts. Little sticky lip noises, wet slaps, her breathy “harder” that he is not sure she ever said to him in real life. The game leans into that: you never know where reality stops and his corrupted imagination starts. Sometimes you see Sara in normal everyday clothes, then next transition she is in a tight uniform, unbuttoned just enough, or a cheap lingerie set that looks like it was bought for someone else’s eyes. You get flashes of oral, her cheeks hollowed around a thick cock, but it cuts away too soon, almost mocking you. And in the middle of all this, the tone suddenly slides into this weird humor, like a wink to those who know Konosuba jokes and tentacle memes, like the narrator is some half-drunk wiz giving you “NTR survival tips” while the real lesson is just: if you feel it happening, it probably started a long time ago, back when you ignored how she smiled at her “friend” a little too much. The game never holds your hand. It kind of laughs while you squirm.

I played Brothel Virgin like I was trying to sketch lace on a body that wouldn’t stay still. It’s messy and kind of hypnotic, and that’s probably what I liked about it first. The world feels like velvet that’s been worn too long - soft but a bit frayed, and when the screen fades into the room at the Crimson Reverie, there’s that quiet hum I only get at the end of a runway show when everyone’s pretending not to be aroused by the models. Jenny’s laugh sounds like lipstick smudging against a glass; I kept replaying her intro scene hoping she’d say my name differently, slower. She doesn’t. Small thing but it bothered me. Still, the lighting in her room (well, if you can call it lighting, it’s more like a blush across the walls) made me forget it fast.

Matty’s design confused me. She looks like she was drawn by someone who loves stretch marks too much and I respect that deeply. Her scenes go from comforting to - how do you say - sticky? I’m used to games where every gesture feels rehearsed, but here her hands have this clumsy warmth that almost made me feel guilty touching the screen. Maybe I’m just too sentimental. Then Raven shows up and she wrecks all that tenderness with one smirk. There’s a sound cue before she appears - like a zipper halfway down - and it’s cheap, but it works. I hate that it works. Her storyline plays with all those moments between dominance and longing, and I kept thinking about fabric texture again: latex pretending to be silk.

Some transitions drag; some dialogues feel written by two people who never met. But that’s part of the charm. It’s not perfect, not even close, but neither are the bodies it celebrates. Sometimes I caught myself wondering why the brothel walls shimmer like oil, or why Jenny doesn’t blink enough. Doesn’t matter. The thing is, if you stop expecting polish and just lean into the heat, like, really lean, you’ll find your own reflection looking back at you through those impossible colors.