First time I opened it, I thought the colors looked a bit too clean, like candy wrappers in a porn set. But then she turned her head - Alya - and her eyes had this lazy way of tracking you, half bored, half aware you’re staring at her chest. It’s supposed to be parody, right? But it feels like the people who made it both love and mock what they’re copying. The male lead moves like he’s unsure if he deserves to be there, which somehow makes the whole thing dirtier. There’s something wildly unbalanced about how quick it switches from sweet talk to her mouth sliding down him. No fade-outs, no convenient camera cut. It just lingers. Too long maybe. Or not long enough.

The dating sim mechanics are barely pretending to matter. Tap, choose, get flustered text messages, and suddenly you’re deep in a warm rhythm that feels too personal for something you’re doing on your phone. I caught myself thinking about her hair texture mid-scene - like, how soft would it actually be after? That’s the kind of stupid detail that shouldn’t matter, but it’s there. She teases constantly, calling him “senpai” in a voice that sounds more drunk than shy. The transitions between affection and filth are messy, which I kind of adore. You can tell the animators didn’t care about polishing it smooth; they wanted it to *feel* like it could go wrong at any moment. When she presses against him, breasts heavy and animated with this exaggerated bounce, I almost laugh. Then I don’t.

There’s a scene (pretty sure it’s optional) where she insists on finishing him while keeping eye contact, and it’s uncomfortable and hot in a way only parody can be. The game pretends to be romantic, but the romance cracks open fast once things start moving under the sheets. Maybe that’s the point - pretend sweetness wrapped around shameless fucking. You could call it satire. But I’d rather call it honest.

This chat-format visual novel hits different when you're watching your fiancée get her world rocked through emoji reactions and text bubbles. Oscar's stuck at home after some accident - honestly, the setup doesn't matter much because what follows is pure psychological fuckery mixed with actual fucking. You've got this weird psychic connection with Lucy where you feel everything she's feeling, which sounds romantic until Logan shows up and starts making her feel things that'll make your phone screen fog up.

The whole thing plays out like you're reading someone else's sexts, except you're the poor bastard whose girl is sending them. Lucy starts innocent enough - "miss you babe" type messages - but Logan's got that smooth operator energy that turns sweet girlfriends into cock-hungry rebels. Watching her transformation through chat logs is weirdly addictive. One day she's asking about dinner plans, next she's describing how wet she got during "study sessions." The corruption arc moves at breakneck speed, which honestly feels more realistic than these slow-burn games that take forever to get anywhere interesting. Though sometimes I wish the pacing slowed down just so I could savor the psychological torment longer.

What really gets under your skin is the choice system - you can play Oscar as the understanding boyfriend type or go full jealous psycho mode. Neither path feels particularly satisfying because you're fundamentally powerless, just reacting to Lucy's increasingly bold adventures. The voyeuristic elements work better than expected since you're experiencing everything secondhand through texts and calls. When Lucy starts sending photos... well, let's just say the chat format doesn't limit the visual storytelling. Multiple endings give you different flavors of heartbreak or acceptance, depending on how much dignity you're willing to sacrifice. It's messy, uncomfortable, and exactly the kind of emotional masochism that makes NTR content so addictive.

It’s weird how something that starts like a cheap parody ends up crawling under your skin, both in the horny way and the “what the hell is happening” way. The club looks like it was built by someone who never actually went to one - neon lights too bright, music looping like a fever dream, and those animatronic girls that move just a little too human when they think you’re not watching. You’re supposed to be fixing stuff, right? Checking circuits, running diagnostics, pretending you’re not staring at the tiger girl’s hips when she bends over the stage railing. Aurora purrs when you talk to her, but it’s not cute - it’s low, like she’s tasting your fear. Or maybe your sweat. I can’t tell anymore.

There’s this rhythm to the nights, like foreplay stretched across fourteen shifts. You start thinking you’re in control, pressing buttons, locking doors, teasing them with the intercom. Then one of them whispers your name through the static and suddenly you’re the one being toyed with. The bird one - Chi, I think - has this glitch where her voice doubles, and it sounds like two women moaning out of sync. It’s messed up and hot and wrong in all the right ways. Sometimes the game throws a jump scare right after a sexy scene, and it’s like your body doesn’t know whether to flinch or cum. I hate that it works.

And yeah, the humor’s filthy. It knows exactly what it’s parodying, and it doesn’t care if you get the joke or not. Half the time I laughed, half the time I felt like I needed a shower. The writing’s uneven, but maybe that’s the charm - it feels like a drunk confession typed at 3% battery. There’s a story somewhere under the tits and terror, something about prototypes and control, but honestly, I stopped trying to separate the plot from the arousal. It’s all tangled together, like wires and sweat and fur.

You start as this washed-up ex-child actor in LA who peaked before puberty, which is already kinda hot in a fucked up way, because the game never lets you forget he’s a mess. He’s broke, clingy, horny, trying to squeeze fame out of a podcast that no one sane would listen to. The whole thing is built around this dumb but perfect idea: a sleazy “sex-adjacent” podcast with hot girls who are supposed to talk about clout and drama while low-key getting dragged into this spiral of blackmail, cheating, and public humiliation. It feels less like “build your dream harem” and more like “weaponize people’s trauma for clicks and pussy,” which I mean as a compliment, kinda. The humor is actually funny sometimes too, not that Marvel quip bullshit, more like “wow you really said that on camera?” nasty.

The girls are exactly the type you’d expect around a thirsty LA podcast setup: big tits, big ass, big mouth, tiny filter. They’re not just sex dolls though, they roast you, they tease you, they bully you, they drag you on your own show. One of my favorite bits is when you’re trying to keep two of them from absolutely destroying each other on the couch while you’re still rolling, and at the same time you’re trying to angle the conversation into “so, what’s your type in men?” so you can line up some pussy later. There’s a lot of femdom energy floating around, not in a leather-and-whip way, more like they know you’re desperate and they use it. Sexual harassment in both directions too, guys and girls just crossing lines like it’s a sport. One minute you’re getting a lapful of big ass during a fake “twerk contest for the fans”, next minute that same girl is using your fuck-up on stream to blackmail you into quietly helping her cheat on her dude. Or worse, she lets you fuck her and then laughs that she’s going to describe every second of it on TikTok as “content”.

The netorare stuff hits that specific dirty brain itch. It’s not just “oh no, my waifu is stolen”, it’s more like everybody is playing this clout game where loyalty is negotiable and sex is currency. You run into situations where another guy gets invited as a co-host or guest and suddenly he’s charming the girls on-air, touching their thighs while the camera “accidentally” stays too low, and your MC is forced to smile for the audience while his brain screams. There’s this one bit where you help set up a collab to boost your view count, and it slowly turns into you literally watching one of the girls slide closer to him on the couch, hand on his chest, and you can tell she’s deciding if she’s going to ride his dick later purely because it’ll piss you off and make better drama. The game leans into that, like “yeah, you wanted fame, here’s your girlfriend getting fucked for engagement numbers.” Or maybe she’s not your girlfriend. Or maybe she was, but only between ad reads. The sex itself can get surprisingly tender or straight-up nasty depending how you play it, from teasing strip moments during “body positivity talk” to full-on vaginal scenes that feel like you’re sneaking them past the algorithm. Half the time you’re trying to keep sponsors happy and the other half you’re wondering if that shadowy group pulling strings cares more about views or about watching you crumble while someone else makes your girl moan on a couch that smells like cheap perfume and broken promises.