Raven wakes up in Lustein with the kind of hangover you get from reality itself, not from alcohol. She knows three things: her name, that she’s a witch, and that everyone around her is way too horny for a Tuesday that doesn’t even exist. The town looks like some fantasy RPG town you half remember from an old JRPG, but somebody replaced half the NPC dialogues with porn hub comments and cult propaganda. On one corner there’s a prim girl in a hood preaching purity, on the next there’s a slime girl casually jerking off a tentacle beast in an alley, and both scenes feel normal after about ten minutes. The game doesn’t even apologize for it. You walk Raven around, poke your nose into “investigations,” and every lead about the mysterious Order somehow slides into another sex scene, another shady deal, another monster with way too much cock for its own skeleton.

What I liked is that Raven isn’t written like some clueless virgin protagonist who “accidentally” falls on dick every five steps. At first she’s confused, guarded, trying to treat every encounter like a real case file. You’re choosing dialogue options, digging for clues, following rumors about disappearances and strange symbols, but half the clue-givers are masturbating behind curtains or peeping through keyholes when you arrive. The voyeur stuff sneaks up on you: you accept a “stakeout quest,” thinking you’ll watch a corrupt priest meet his contact, and suddenly you’re crouched behind a crate, watching him get absolutely flooded by his own acolytes in a holy-bukkake ritual that looks like a blasphemous version of a Klimt painting. You can stay hidden, stroke yourself with Raven’s gloved hand while the scene unfolds, or reveal yourself and twist the ritual to your own kind of magic. The game pretends it is about an investigation, but it is actually about how far you push her corruption, how much you let Lustein leak into her soul and underwear. There’s turn based combat, sure, but it’s the kind of combat that laughs at normal balance. You’re casting spells that bind tentacles, seduce bosses, or literally masturbate mid-battle to charge a corruption bar that works like mana and moral decay at the same time. An early battle with a raven-headed knight is still stuck in my head: the fight starts like normal, you exploit his weak point, suddenly his armor snaps away and what’s under it could never fit in that plate mail. You can finish him “properly” with fire and hexes, or stun him using a seduction stance that turns the screen into a slow striptease, then ride him until he swears fealty with a mouth full of your magic. There is this absurd tension between “I am saving this world” and “I am absolutely getting railed by it.”

The outfits are not just costumes; they feel like alternate timelines for Raven. You change from a modest witch dress into a shredded leather top and thigh-high boots, and the game quietly adjusts how people react. That prim Order nun earlier suddenly stops seeing you as possible recruit and starts looking at you like potential prey, cornering you later in a side chapel and suggesting “purification” that involves ropes, candles, and her tongue taking a pilgrimage between your legs. Another time I put Raven into a delicate, almost scholarly robe, and went to a monster-infested forest. Bad idea. The tentacle plants there literally respond differently, coiling around her as if they’ve found a rare flower and need to pollinate it from every angle. You’re given choices, but a lot of them feel like you’re only choosing how filthy things get, not if. One quest has you investigating rumors about a masked witch corrupting villagers. Plot twist: that witch is basically you from the future if you dive too far into the hentai logic of Lustein. Fighting her in turn-based battle is weirdly arousing and tragic: magic circles, mirrored incantations, her taunting you with what you will become, then pinning you down with living chains while she pours her “knowledge” into your mouth. The best part is I hated some tiny UI things, like how the log sometimes hides a line you want to reread during a particularly heavy lesbian ritual, and I will complain about this in my head forever, but at the same time, when Raven kneels in a ruined library, covered in monster cum, reading sigils from a soaked grimoire while fingering herself to unlock a new spell, I forget everything else. It feels like those old fantasy paperbacks where the margins are full of notes from some horny reader before you, except now you’re the one writing them on Raven’s skin.

Clara’s “Love Hotel” feels like the place your horny brain built when you were fifteen and your wallet was already imagining sugar daddies. It’s not some classy high-society escort fantasy. It’s cheap perfume, sticky elevator buttons, and girls who still check their phone between clients. You follow a teen girl getting sucked into Clara’s world, going from “I’m just looking for some extra cash” to happily spreading her legs for whatever rich pervert books the suite. The whole thing plays like a kinetic visual novel where you’re mostly there to watch her brain rewire itself around money, cock, and control, with Clara pulling strings and smiling like a sexy devil in a tight dress. The story doesn’t rush. First it’s teasing and striptease in those themed rooms, girls grinding slowly while the client watches like a creep through tinted glass, then the jobs start getting nastier: anal for an extra wad of bills, creampies that drip out while Clara counts the cash, toys shoved in to keep the girl “ready” for the next guy. You barely make a choice, you just sit there like a voyeur, and somehow that fits the whole hotel vibe perfectly.

One moment that stuck in my head had the main girl lying on silk sheets while an older woman, a full-on milf type with that rich cougar aura, just toys with her for a client hidden behind the curtain. She whispers to the teen how she’s nothing but a fucktoy now, fingers deep, thumb circling her clit, and the hotel’s camera quietly recording every twitch for “private archives.” The girl pretends to be shy at first, but the game doesn’t keep that illusion long. By the time Clara pairs her with a calm, serious dilf businessman, she’s already the one pushing his cock inside, asking if he wants to finish in her ass or her pussy because “Clara gives bonuses for messy endings.” There’s a fun little moment where two lesbians working the same floor sneak into an empty room between clients, toys buzzing, tongue on tongue, and you realize they’re half doing it for pleasure and half to warm up before the next paying guest. The corruption doesn’t feel cartoonish, more like a slow slide where you watch the girl go from flinching at her first blowjob to riding a stranger like it’s just a normal shift. Some scenes lean more romantic, weirdly enough, especially when a regular client starts bringing gifts and treating her like his personal escort, and the game kind of pretends there’s “love” in a place that operates like a brothel. It’s messy, horny, sometimes sweet, sometimes nasty, and it never apologizes for treating every girl in that hotel as both employee and property, legs open on demand while Clara counts the profits with that lazy, satisfied smile.

You start as this quiet security guy who is clearly paid way too little for how dirty his nights get. Camera feeds, dark corridors, bored scrolling on your phone, that constant low buzz of cheap lights above your head. The whole place feels like it wants to keep secrets, and everybody around you already has one. The mafia angle actually works here, not just as excuse for guns and tattoos, but as this weird family you get sucked into, with people who smile at you while planning how to break someone’s fingers in the next room. It’s the kind of world where “loyalty” means a lot until someone prettier walks in with a better offer or shorter skirt.

The boss’s daughter is where everything breaks open. She walks like she owns not only the club, but your dick too, long before she even touches you. At first she flirts in front of the cameras, knowing exactly which angles you see from the control room. Short skirt, no bra, leaning over desks when she clearly doesn’t need to. She treats the surveillance system like her own private stage. There is a scene where she’s talking to her father in the office, pretending to be this innocent girl, and the second he leaves, she sits on the desk facing the camera, spreads her legs a bit and just stares into the lens like she knows you are about to undo your belt. That slow burn voyeur stuff works better than all the usual instant porn clicks. You feel like a creep. A very happy creep. And then later she acts offended you watched. Of course she knew. Of course she likes it. It’s a mafia world, everyone likes a bit of control, even when they pretend they hate it.

What I didn’t expect is how the game makes “security work” into foreplay. Checking blind spots, timing patrols, figuring out which camera to switch off right before your “meeting” with her in the storage room. One time she drags you into this dim back corridor, hand pressed over your mouth, telling you to be quiet while she jerks you off against a wall, and at the same time you keep one eye on the tiny monitor behind her to make sure no one sees. There is this mixture of panic and arousal that feels very honest, like being hard at the worst possible moment. Then things get heavier. Her idea of fun slides from teasing to choking, collar play, you on your knees between her thighs while her father is literally in the next room talking business. She will suck you off under a desk and then five minutes later act like you are her new bodyguard, ordering you to keep other girls “safe”, when everyone knows you are just checking them out on camera and imagining who will end up on their knees next. There is anal in places where nobody should realistically try anal, facials on floors that never get cleaned, a closed door scene where you hear two women moaning and only see them through a dusty monitor, their legs tangled together while you stroke yourself, too nervous to walk in. Corruption creeps up slowly, one favor at a time, until you realize you are no longer the quiet guard, but the guy coordinating who goes where, who gets tied up, who gets shared. And if you are smart, you’ll take it slow, let the teasing scenes breathe, stay a little longer on each camera, watch how their faces change when they think nobody is looking, then walk in at the worst possible moment and ruin their fake innocence properly.

It’s messy in a way that feels uncomfortably real, like watching someone make the worst decisions possible and still finding yourself leaning forward, curious where her next excuse will lead. Yumi moves through the story with this almost painful self-awareness - she knows she’s being watched, both by the player and the game’s world, but she never really stops preening for it. The first time she opens her blouse just slightly too far during that office scene, there’s no sound cue, no dramatic pause - just the soft rustle of fabric and that flicker of doubt on her face. I swear, that moment hit harder than any of the explicit stuff later. The game tries to sell corruption as gradual, but honestly, it’s more about how easily she adjusts to attention. Maybe that’s what makes it so believable.

Then again, sometimes it overplays its hand. There’s this one animation loop during a handjob scene where her eyes cross weirdly, and it pulled me straight out of it; felt more comedic than erotic - like a reaction meme frozen mid-spasm. But that’s part of its charm, right? It’s too earnest to be slick. Even the blackmail thread with Thompson manages to feel less like some grand scheme and more like the world’s creepiest HR problem spiraling out of control. Which, depending on your mood, could be hot or just exhausting. And yet, when Yumi whispers something half-hearted before giving in, it lands. Maybe because the voice acting doesn’t try to sound sultry - it sounds confused, nervous, real.

The lighting deserves attention though. Somebody clearly obsessed over skin tone gradients because every sweat bead looks deliberate. The husband scenes are quieter, tender even, though they carry that slow dread of knowing he’s already losing her. I found myself irrationally annoyed by his tie color - gray, always gray - as if that dull choice symbolized everything wrong with him. Maybe that’s reading too much into it. Or maybe the game wanted that reaction. Anyway, it lingers. You finish a session and keep thinking about those tiny hesitations, how desire can look like guilt when the camera holds just a second too long.