FSS Lamashtu feels like somebody mashed up a cold war naval thriller with a filthy space brothel and then forgot which part was supposed to be serious. You’re the freshly minted captain of this “experimental cruiser” that is absolutely not built for exploration, unless you count exploring how many holes your crew can take in a single patrol. Officially it’s the proud weapon of the Alliance, last hope in a long-ass war. Unofficially it’s your floating fuck-lab, staffed with officers who look like they came out of a horny AI art generator after you typed “war crime but sexy” too many times. The ship layout screen is almost a character by itself: bridge, medbay, cargo, those little tucked-away compartments you quickly learn are perfect for “private disciplinary sessions.” You jump between menus pretending to care about fleet orders, but the only thing you actually remember is which corridor you cornered that technician in when she kept “accidentally” brushing her giant tits against you.

The story likes to pretend it’s about geopolitics and rebellion, and sometimes it even tricks you. You’ll get this long briefing about the Neo-Terran strategic line, convoy raids, morale of the Alliance, all that stuff. Then two clicks later, you’re watching a proud enemy pilot on her knees, mascara running, mouth full of cum while she tries to spit out her rank and serial number. The tone whiplash is almost funny. There’s a certain charm in how the game refuses to pick a lane: you capture prisoners, you break them in slowly or just slam straight into collar-and-chain slavery, you’re supposed to feel the “moral weight” of it, but the next scene has them begging for anal like they read the script ahead of time. The AI CG does that exaggerated wetness thing, where every hole looks like you dumped a bucket of lube on it, and every creampie is this ridiculous white flood that should qualify as a bio-weapon. Sometimes the faces twist into that extreme, over-the-top ahegao that doesn’t even look human anymore, more like a melted idol poster, and it somehow fits this world where war propaganda and porn have fused into one genre.

What sticks in my mind most is how physical the ship starts to feel. You’re not just choosing sex options, you’re shaping routines. That science officer who starts with stiff posture and carefully zipped uniform? A few “private evaluations” in your quarters, and suddenly she’s walking around with visible bite marks on her neck, trying not to react when you casually grope her in front of others. There’s a scene in the hangar where two captured enemy girls are supposed to be processed for interrogation, and you can decide if that means basic questions or “group demonstration of Alliance hospitality.” The way their bodies are posed, covered in semen from multiple angles, has that bukkake ritual vibe, everyone participating because the war needs “unity.” You get toy usage too, not just as accessories but as tools of control: a vibrator left inside during a formal strategy meeting, the slow dawning horror on your new slave’s face when she realizes the remote is in your pocket while admirals talk about casualties. The game never really resolves whether you’re a genius commander or just a sex-obsessed tyrant who got lucky with experimental hardware. At some point there’s a tender-ish lesbian moment tucked awkwardly between brutal scenes, two crew girls comforting each other after a mission, fingers exploring, tongues slow and hesitant, and for once you’re not in the frame at all. It feels almost like the game forgot its own premise for a second, then remembers, throws you back into forced deepthroat in a dark interrogation room, and moves on like nothing happened.

Heavy metal sky, poison fog somewhere far under your feet, and you stuck on this floating rust bucket where everybody pretends they’re professional and noble until the lights go dim and belts come off. That’s the vibe here. You’re the new guy on the elite resource crew, supposed to be all serious with scanners and oxygen levels and “mission focus,” but half your brain is already thinking about that mechanic girl in the hangar who keeps “checking” your harness straps way too slow. On the surface it’s all sci-fi gear, suits, fancy tools, but between trips it turns into something closer to a porn hub search history that learned how to walk. You go from briefing room to blowjob in a storage closet faster than Discord goes from “hey guys” to full rule 34. Some of the scenes hit hard out of nowhere too. One moment you’re watching the airship drift through this neon green cloud, listening to some low hum like a chill lo-fi playlist, next moment you’re on your knees between someone’s thighs, hands tied to a pipe, feeling her thighs push your face deeper while she rides your mouth like it’s the last oxygen tank on the ship. The animation has this slightly off timing sometimes, which weirdly makes it feel more real, like when a horny cam model’s camera lags on Chaturbate and your brain just fills in the movement anyway.

What I liked is how the sex isn’t just “reward unlocked, congrats, here is generic pose number three.” There’s this scene after a rough mission where you stumble back to your bunk, sweating, gear still half on, and this older officer follows you in, locks the hatch, pushes you to sit, then just sinks down on your cock without a word. No slow fade, no speech, just this desperate grind. You feel the airship tilt a bit, alarms muffled in the background, and she clamps down on you right when some turbine roars outside. She rides you hard, nails digging into your shoulders, and when she makes you cum inside her, it doesn’t cut away. She just stays there, full of you, breathing heavy, one gloved hand on your chest, and you see your cum leak out slowly when she finally lifts off and tells you to “suit up again, hero.” That creampie shot with the light from a cracked porthole flickering over her skin honestly stuck in my head more than the big “story” moment before it. Funny thing, the UI color drives me crazy, by the way, this weird shade that looks like someone tried to copy Spotify in low light and failed. Anyway, the BDSM bits start almost playful then escalate, like the first time they strap you to that inspection table “for a safety scan” and suddenly the restraints tighten more than they need to. There’s a scene where they gag you with an air filter strap and use you until you’re basically just a toy, and at the same time the game pretends it’s still about keeping the city alive. It lies. This thing is about mouths full of cock in maintenance shafts, messy cream dripping onto cold metal floors, and that strange feeling when you’re hanging from a cable over the toxic fog thinking about how good it felt when the captain’s boot pressed between your shoulder blades while she rode you from behind and told you you’re just another resource to extract.

Tuesday night, brain fried, eyes half closed, you crash into bed and instead of doomscrolling TikTok again, you kinda just wish the whole week would fuck off. Then this world shows up. Not a heroic chosen-one thing, more like the universe says “hey dude, wanna be a walking cum tank for a planet that runs on your load?” and doesn’t wait for a polite answer. No guys there. Not even one. Just monster girls with curves that look like someone overfed an AI prompt with “thick milf fox with big tits” and hit generate until the GPU cried. You wake up in this weird fantasy sci-fi mashup where half the locals have tails, horns, fluffy ears or tentacles, and all of them look at you like Pornhub Premium just became sentient. The town you spawn in is kinda cozy actually, if you ignore the giant billboard-sized ass on the slime milf at the fountain. Your daily life is basically “pick a direction, get seduced.” One moment a shy librarian with glasses and a tail “accidentally” brushes your crotch while you’re trying to read some dusty old lore about cum crystals that power the continent, next moment a spider-girl milf wraps you up tight and starts teasing your feet like it’s some holy ritual, toes in her mouth, soft moans right in your ear. You’re trapped and you’re not complaining at all. Except you will, like me, complain that sometimes the teasing goes on so long you’re begging the screen. And nobody hears you. That drove me crazy. Still kinda hot though.

The game is text focused, so you sit there and your brain fills the gaps. Little AI pictures in the background give you a rough idea, but the real thing happens in your head. You read “her tentacle slides around your thighs, forcing your legs open” and suddenly you feel it like she’s next to you, whispering, breathing, making you hard just by existing. There is this one scene where a cocky wolf-girl milf with big tits drags you into an alley and tells you she needs “fuel” before her patrol. She starts with a lazy handjob, thumb circling your tip so slowly it’s almost rude, grinning while she keeps eye contact, then drops down and gives you a sloppy blowjob that feels like she’s trying to drink your soul through your dick. She makes you cum, swallows, checks if there’s more, then gets annoyed you’re “empty” already and rides you anyway, grinding that fat ass on you till you’re overstimulated and leaking again. It’s affectionate and cruel, which is perfect. Then there’s a goofy scene with a catgirl who thinks exhibitionism is a love language, tugging you out into the open square, jerking you off while innocent-looking plant monsters pretend not to stare. She forces your cock between her tits and rides it like she’s streaming on OnlyFans, making that stupid ahegao face when you finally creampie her mouth and she shows it off to literally everyone. I liked that one way too much, and not enough at all. Some routes go heavier: a tentacle “priestess” stuffing toys and tendrils into you and around you at the same time, grinding against your body while she milks you for “energy,” internal view described so detailed you can almost hear the wet sounds in your head like a scuffed ASMR track. There’s anal, there’s messy creampies, there’s milfs with massive asses pinning you and using you as their personal vibrator until you have no idea if you’re being worshipped or drained. You’re the only guy, but half the time you feel like the toy. Which is kinda the point. The game keeps playing with that sweet spot between being wanted and being used, and if your brain likes slow, dirty whisper-in-your-ear type stuff more than flashy cutscenes, it hits way harder than it has any right to.

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.