Corrupt My Harem feels like watching a horny ethics lecture get slowly possessed by a demon and then deciding, ok fine, maybe consent is a bit… bendy tonight. You play this pretty standard anime boy who suddenly has access to dark magic that can poke around in people’s feelings, twist their shame, blow up their desire, and basically push them toward you. Not with subtle romance, more like “what if I slide a little corruption into that nice girl’s heart and see how fast she starts imagining choking and public sex.” That kind of vibe. The story pretends to ask things like “is this wrong?” but in practice it mostly asks “how far can we push this girl until she breaks in a hot way?” and then you click the darker option and, surprise, it actually goes there. As a gender studies person I should say “this is morally troubling” and yeah, it absolutely is, but also I still clicked the nasty choices first every time and then sat there staring at the screen like: alright, I’m the problem.

The fun part isn’t really the demon itself, it’s how the women slide down that corrupted slope. Early scenes are pretty soft: slightly naughty flirting, underwear shots, some teasing about being “too innocent.” You prod their emotions a bit, make them feel safe, or jealous, or curious, and then the script starts turning that into kinks. There is a really sharp moment where one girl is obviously uncomfortable, but you use the power to tweak her guilt into arousal and suddenly she is moaning while calling herself a slut and begging you not to stop. It’s fucked up, and the game knows it’s fucked up, but it does not pump the brakes. The harem angle is shameless: you are not building equal partners, you are stacking pretty toys around you and rewiring them until they feel lucky to be used. Sometimes it pretends to be a romance, with lines about “belonging to each other,” then five clicks later she is kneeling, crying from pleasure, thanking you for ruining her. That jump is wild, and kind of the whole point. I wish one route actually let a girl resist properly and stay resistant, but of course that would kill the fantasy, so it never really happens. The closest you get is temporary pushback before they melt into your hand again. Literally and metaphorically.

From a gender theory angle it is like a crash course in how power and desire tangle, just with a lot more cum. You’re not seducing, you’re hacking the emotional OS. The text leans hard on ideas like “she always wanted this deep down,” which is basically the classic porn excuse for non-consensual vibes, and it made me roll my eyes, then keep reading, then masturbate, then open Twitter and complain about patriarchy. I like how the corruption is emotional first and sexual second: jealousy, insecurity, need for approval, all inflated until they shift into exhibitionism, submission, even enjoying being shared. There is a scene where you dial up a girl’s fear of being abandoned so much that she offers her body to keep you, and the writing lingers on her shaking hands and wet thighs in a way that is almost cruel. It never really gives women a political voice, but it does give them a lot of sexual voice: they talk dirty, confess their fantasies, beg for more, describe what they feel in their bodies. It is still your fantasy, not theirs, but at least it lets them be loud and messy, not just silent dolls. I kind of hate how much that works on me. Also, tiny note that annoyed me: breasts get way more narrative attention than any other body part, to the point that one intense corruption scene almost gets derailed because the text can’t stop talking about nipples. I was like, yes, I get it, they’re hard, can we go back to her mind collapsing, please. Anyway, if you’re looking for soft, balanced, mutual romance, this is the wrong address. If you want to see “harem” turned into a laboratory for controlling desire, with demons as your research grant, it hits that fantasy embarrassingly well.

You wake up on this flying steel hotel called HMS Yuritopia, officially as “new fighter pilot”, unofficially as “dude dropped into a horny anime base”. The whole thing has this weird mood where half your brain is going “ok, we have mission briefings and air combat to worry about” and the other half is looking at the Seraph Squadron girls in their tight uniforms and thinking about literally anything except safety protocols. It starts pretty tame, just chatter in the hangar, some teasing, a bit of MC awkwardness, you picking dialogue options and trying not to sound like a complete idiot. Then very quietly the game puts your dick on a rails and goes, yeah, this is about sex, romance, and also jets, try to keep up.

What I like is how it doesn’t shove you straight into porn from line one. You flirt, you pick sides, you piss someone off by choosing the “cool” answer that actually lands as cringe, and the game remembers it. One scene you’re in the cockpit, comms crackling, adrenaline going nuts while you chase bogeys over some nameless ocean, and then later you’re in the locker room with one of the girls, the air still buzzing from the mission, her boots half unlaced, her flight suit hanging loose from her waist. She lifts her foot onto the bench, starts smirking down at you, and suddenly you’re on your knees, cheek pressed to her thigh, tasting sweat and soap while she rubs her toes along your lips like she owns your mouth. She doesn’t even need to say “good dog”, you feel it. The game loves that kind of power imbalance, like constant little reminders that yeah, you’re the pilot, but they’re the real aces here, especially when it comes to your body.

At some point you end up in this semi-private observation deck, glass all around, stars and clouds outside, and one of them decides to use you as her stress relief. She sits on your face while the ship hums around you, legs clamped tight, voice dripping trash talk. She calls you pathetic in one line and then fingers your hair in the next, sighs like she’s actually proud you know how to use your tongue. You can feel her heels against your back, pressing, like she’s pinning you there so you don’t even think about breathing before she’s finished. Later, another route, you’re in her cabin, lights low, she makes you sit on the floor between her knees while she lazily strokes you with one hand and pats your head with the other, talking in that soft pilot briefing tone about how “a good subordinate obeys every order”. The handjob is slow and almost painfully controlled, she stops right before you cum just to tilt your chin up with her toes and ask if you deserve it. That’s the kind of mean that sticks in your brain. And then somewhere else, way less dramatic, you’re just in the mess hall, talking shit about loadouts and missions, and two girls are basically flirting with each other over your plate like you’re just background furniture, brushing each other’s fingers, trading little looks, and it’s somehow hotter than the obvious blowjob scene that comes later in the corridors when one of them drags you behind a bulkhead, drops to her knees, and uses you to wipe that smug smile off your face, except it doesn’t work because now you’re the one whimpering against the wall, trying not to make noise while she dribbles spit down your shaft and laughs quietly every time your hips jerk. The whole thing feels like romantic drama and horny barracks gossip got locked together in a cabin, and you’re the idiot who knocked on the door at the worst possible moment.

Sam walks into this summer thinking he’s just crashing at some random house, and then realizes it’s Michael’s place, the guy who used to fuck his mom and kind of fucked up his childhood a bit too. That alone already feels messy in a good way, because the game doesn’t treat him like a cardboard porn hero. He’s awkward, petty, horny, confused, all in the same scene. One moment he’s remembering how much he hated this man, the next he’s catching himself staring at Michael’s back when he bends over in the kitchen, noticing how broad it got, how tight that shirt sits, and pretending it’s not happening. The writing leans heavily into that “I shouldn’t want this, but my cock disagrees” mood. There’s a shot where Michael walks past him with just a towel and you can practically feel the air choke in Sam’s throat. No cheesy fanfare, just that slow eye-line drifting down, catching the bulge, then snapping back up like nothing happened. It’s horny, but it’s also painfully human in that stupid, familiar way: wanting the one person you’re absolutely not supposed to touch.

What surprised me is how the game uses its pretty slick 3D-style CG not to show everything at once, but to make every little contact feel heavier than it is. A hand on the shoulder lingers too long. Knees brushing on the couch. A hug that’s a bit too tight for “ex-stepdad and kid he barely knows.” And then the other guys show up. There’s this furry dude with a huge ass that looks ridiculous and perfect at the same time, and the camera knows it. The game is not shy at all about Sam’s gaze; you’re constantly pushed into his POV, tracking body parts, tongues, fingers, cocks, like an academic study that got lost and became porn. Oral scenes in particular have this lingering focus on lips and spit, like the dev actually likes mouths and not just penetration. When things finally escalate and you get anal on screen, it’s not some instant porn logic. They build the tension with small touches and loaded dialogue, so when Sam finally ends up spread and filled, or doing the filling, it feels like a line being crossed, not just a checkbox. Animated loops kick in during the hotter moments, and while they’re not ultra-polished, the slightly stiff motion almost fits the tone: imperfect, a bit clumsy, like people actually fucking instead of posing for a catalog. The optional choices around who Sam flirts back with, which guy he lets get closer, let you nudge him toward your favorite flavor of disaster, whether that’s the older guy he’s supposed to resent, the sexy anthropomorphic hunk with that absurd bubble butt, or some mix that turns his “summer before uni” into a quietly filthy coming-out spiral he never planned for.

New town, new job, new giant horny mess. The whole thing starts with you dragging your tired ass into this weirdly serious pharma company, Palmer-Pharma, while every single woman around you looks like she escaped from a “thick and dangerous” catalog. The boss wants to see you on Sunday, which already screams “this is not about paperwork, honey,” your phone is gone, you barely know where you sleep tonight, and then you meet your landlady with hips that could cause traffic accidents. Game’s like: welcome, you are stressed, lost, and also surrounded by big tits and asses that do not believe in subtlety. Real HR problem, but in a fun way.

Once you start moving around town, it turns into this slow, horny tour of every curvy grown woman in a ten-mile radius. None of that barely-legal nonsense, these are women who pay bills, remember your schedule, and still somehow have time to pin you to the sofa and jerk you off while complaining about their ex. One moment you’re talking about lab procedures with the assistant who pretends to be all serious, glasses and clipboard, and next thing, she’s teasing you with that “oh, is that for me?” look, brushing her hand over your bulge and pretending it’s an accident. The receptionist? She switches from snarky gatekeeper to “I locked the door, now sit on this chair and don’t talk” while she kneels between your legs and takes her sweet time with her mouth. And she does that thing where she stops right before you cum, smiles, then goes back like she’s tasting wine. That detail annoyed me in the best way and I swear I’m still mad about it. I’m also still thinking about that barmaid, the one who hands you a drink, leans over the counter with her huge boobs almost falling out, and spends five minutes just playing with your self-control. Like, she’ll casually press her soft belly against you on the way past, whisper something filthy in your ear, then pretend she said nothing. The scenes go from handjobs on sagging couches, lazy morning oral with messy hair and no makeup, to hard, slow vaginal sex where the camera really loves the jiggle, the folds, the way big asses move when you’re deep inside. It’s not shy about any of it. There are choices everywhere, which you will totally forget about because your brain has turned into “which thick woman do I fuck today” mode, but those choices actually branch out into different scenes and endings, so your horny indecision has consequences. Also, I keep thinking about that one tiny animation where the landlady adjusts her top after you finish on her chest, like she gives this little “ugh, men” smile, wipes it with a tissue, and I spent far too long replaying that instead of doing literally anything useful. Anyway. The whole thing feels like you got dropped into a town where every chubby, soft, mature woman secretly wants to either mother you a bit, or ride you until you forget your name, sometimes both in the same scene, and yes, it’s a mess, but it’s my kind of mess.

Galactic Athletes feels like someone mashed together the Olympic Games, a horny soap opera, and that one locker room fantasy you never told your therapist about. You play as Finn, a new medic at Thebes Sporting Complex, and on paper his job is to keep all these huge, ripped, very not shy athletes healthy. In practice he spends a lot of time with a tablet in his hand, a hard-on in his pants, and a boss who basically tells him: “Guess who wins, guess who loses, or you’re screwed.” The twist is beautiful in a stupid way: every event ends with the winner fucking the guy who comes last. Gold medal equals top. Last place equals fresh, sweaty bottom. Sports science meets porn logic, and somehow it makes sense while you play.

The whole thing runs like a horny prediction game inside a visual novel. You move through event schedules, medical checkups, locker room talks, post-match “therapy” sessions. Before each event you look at the athletes, listen to their cocky bragging, check their conditions, and try to guess who’s going to take first and who’s going to eat the dust, and then eat something else later. There was this one javelin scene where I totally misread a shy, lanky guy, thought he would choke under pressure, marked him as last. Then he absolutely destroyed the field, turned around with this smug little smile, and later I had to watch him pin a muscle monster to the bench and grind him into it while Finn stands there trying to pretend he’s taking clinical notes. That moment hurt my ego more than it should, but I still rewatched it twice. For “research.” The sex scenes don’t feel like some random gallery you click through. They are chained directly to how you read those guys, how you interpret their bodies, their nerves, their stamina. If you fuck up your predictions, somebody else gets fucked, and not in the way you hoped, which is somehow worse than losing in a normal game. And yeah, it calls itself a league, but the whole setting feels closer to ancient Greek mythology fanfic where Zeus opened a gay gym and never invented clothes. I know Thebes is from Greek tragedies, but here it’s basically a giant sex clinic with running tracks.

What I enjoy most is how the game treats the athletes like horny gods and also idiots at the same time. They are tall, thick-chested, thighs like tree trunks, and there is zero shame about how much attention is on their cocks, their asses, the way sweat sticks to body hair. You get these surprisingly tender moments too, like one sprinter limping in after a bad run, Finn icing his leg, both of them talking about pressure and fear, and then five minutes later the same guy is buck naked, bent over a massage table, groaning while the new league champion pushes in slowly, and Finn is on the side trying to judge if this counts as “recovery protocol.” I wish the game actually punished wrong predictions harder sometimes, like really lock you into awkward pairings and force you to watch your least favorite guy get topped over and over, just to be cruel, but it kind of plays nice with you in a way that doesn’t match how brutal sports can be. Still, you get that nice balance where sometimes you are genuinely reading their psychology, like “he’s too confident, he will blow his load early,” and sometimes you just pick the one whose ass you want to see ruined. It pretends to be about strategy, then laughs and shows you two sweaty men going at it against the wall of the locker room while towels slowly slide off the hooks. It’s all gay, all the time, and proudly so, like old-school bara doujin met a modern queer sports anime and they got very drunk together. I opened it thinking “ok, just some porn with medals,” and somehow ended up caring who makes Champion’s league and who falls into Redemption league hell, which to be honest, is where all the best fucking happens anyway.

Elizabeth Barton is the kind of redhead your brain keeps replaying when you should answer emails. Middle of her life, big tits that make blouses look like they’re about to file a complaint, tight business skirts, that “I know what I’m doing and I know you’re looking” vibe. She runs this clothing franchise like a boss, but the game doesn’t treat her like some cold power woman. She’s messy, horny, insecure in the little ways that feel too real. One minute she’s calculating sales, the next she’s staring at herself in the mirror in her office, hand sliding under the waistband, pretending the security cameras can’t see shit. They can’t. Probably.

Then Holly just dumps her daughter on her. That’s where the summer gets weird. Jessica walks in like trouble in short shorts, that mix of brat and lonely girl, the kind where you know she’s going to push every line because nobody’s watching her close enough. The game really leans into that slow-burn teasing. First it’s small stuff. Liz catching Jessica lying on the couch, legs open a bit too wide, phone in hand, watching some guy rail a girl on Pornhub with the volume almost off but not quite. You have this tiny choice: pretend you didn’t hear the moans or make a joke that is way too adult for an “aunt.” Both feel bad in a good way. And because it uses multiple protagonist, you jump into Jessica’s head after that scene and realize she noticed the stare, liked it, and then goes to her room to masturbate with her earphones in, replaying that half-second of eye contact.

The game’s sex content is filthy in a slow, adult way, not just “click to see boobs.” You get lesbian tension between Liz and some older MILF customer who comes in for “help with sizing” and very obviously wants Liz on her knees between the dresses rack. There’s this oral scene in the stockroom with a Black delivery guy that hits that interracial porn energy without turning him into a stupid caricature, which surprised me. Liz acts like it’s a one-time mistake and then checks the delivery schedule twice a day. At the same time, you might push her toward cheating in a more emotional way: late-night messages, hand under the table scenes, her rubbing her thighs together when her “partner” sends her a dick pic during a family dinner. Sometimes the cheating is only in her head, sometimes you fully go for it and watch her swallow and then go home like nothing happened.

And Jessica isn’t just some side prop. When you play from her POV, she’s got all this pent-up bi curiosity. The way she looks at Liz is part “aunt” and part “woman with big ass who clearly knows how to fuck,” which is… yeah. There’s a sequence where Jessica borrows Liz’s blouse, doesn’t wear a bra, then does a little private stripping in Liz’s bedroom mirror, grinding on a pillow, imagining Liz walking in. You can later nudge the story so that Liz actually does walk in during a different “accident” and the look they share is way hotter than half of the full-on sex scenes. That’s the good stuff. And the office scenes, holy shit. Doing boring stock numbers on a laptop while there’s a vibrator inside, trying to stay professional on a video call while clenching? It hits different when the character is a businesswoman who’s supposed to act all proper. I wish the phone UI in-game wasn’t so clunky, notifications sometimes pop in weird timing and broke my mood once, but then Liz bent over to pick something and her skirt rode up and my brain just deleted the complaint.

By the time lesbian scenes start to properly bloom, like Liz and a regular customer sharing wine after closing time in the fitting room, slow kissing, one hand under the shirt, one between thighs, licking like they’ve been thinking about it since the first discount coupon, it feels earned. Not rushed. And when the game flips back to Jessica alone in her room, watching lesbian porn on her phone, trying to match the rhythm, moaning into the pillow so Liz doesn’t hear… that contrast is nasty in the best way. Nothing in this story feels safe. People are always one drink, one late shift, one “accidental” touch on the big tits away from blowing up their boring lives. It’s that quiet tension of a long summer where everyone is horny, pretending they’re not, while the clothing store, the house, even the fitting rooms feel like they’re soaked in sex already.

Hormones fried, brain confused, dick not really listening to the usual rules. That is basically the mood of this game. You’re this guy whose body decided to become a walking sex bomb and at the same time forget how arousal is supposed to work. Not in a sad, medical-drama way, more like “I’m cursed with endless cum and zero common sense” kind of way. The doctor takes one look at you, gives that professional smile that is absolutely not professional, and suddenly her “treatment” is a lot more tongue, hand, and thigh than actual medicine. The nurse is even worse. She pretends she cares about your health, but she’s leaning over you with her tits halfway out, scribbling notes while your dick is right there, aching under the sheet, and she just “accidentally” brushes it with her glove. Animated scenes make it very clear she knows what she’s doing. There is one exam where she’s supposed to check your reflexes, but the only thing jumping is your cock in her fist while she talks like nothing is happening.

Back home, you have the housemate situation. She calls herself the most important person in your life and then gives you this whole speech about never crossing the forbidden line. Two minutes later she walks through the living room in high heels and a tiny shirt with no bra, stretches right in front of the couch, and asks you if your “condition” hurts right now. You can go soft and respectful, or you can start using that condition as a tool. Male domination, sleep stuff, straight up groping while she naps on your lap, all of that is there. One scene that stuck with me: she crashes in your bed, totally exhausted, hugging your pillow. The guide in your phone starts buzzing with “steps” you can follow, and suddenly you’re sliding your hand under her shorts, testing the water, listening to her little sleepy moans while you decide if you stop or keep going. The voyeur side comes in hard too. Bathroom doors not fully closed, a “mommy” figure in tight dress and heels bending over the sink, you peeking from the hallway, phone in hand, your other hand busy. Later, you’re not just watching, you’re fucking her from behind in the same spot, her ass bouncing, big tits pressed to the cold ceramic while she whispers that this is wrong and still pushes back on you.

The fun thing is that it’s not just random scenes thrown together. There is this “guide” that feels half evil mentor, half porn coach. It messages you, teases you, tells you exactly what to try next to push every relationship just a little further past normal. One day it’s “try a simple handjob, keep her awake, let her pretend she’s only helping your illness”. Another day it literally encourages you to test how deep you can go while she’s pretending to sleep, your cock sliding inside a warm, wet pussy that keeps clenching even though she “doesn’t know”. Creampies become this reward system, like you’re marking your territory on your growing harem: doctor with cum on her tongue after forced “oral examination”, the strict older woman with semen dripping down her thighs as she glares at you, your “little angel” hiding your load inside her after she swore she would never let it happen. It’s all 3D-style visuals, with good focus on curves, soft skin, big tits that actually move when you grip them, and enough detail in the eyes that when they look up at you during a blowjob, it feels more intense than it probably should for a browser game. Best way to enjoy it? Don’t rush. Let the slow teasing do its thing, check your phone scenes, push just a bit more every time, and when the game offers you a choice between being gentle and being a total bastard, try the bad options at least once. You’ll see why.

Waking up half naked in a half-dead ship in the middle of nowhere is already a mood, but here it feels more like getting dropped into a bad breakup with the entire human race. Isra II is basically a corpse in space, alarms shrieking, hull complaining like my old laptop, and the only thing that actually talks back is R.U.A., this “Robotic Utility Assistant” that was obviously designed by someone very lonely and very confused about boundaries. It starts simple: patch the leaks, reroute power, don’t suffocate. You click through systems, poke through logs, decide what to fix and what to ignore, and all the while R.U.A. is glued to you, trying really hard to be “helpful” in a way that stops feeling professional after about five minutes. The game plays like a visual novel that secretly wants to be a survival horror, then forgets and turns into a horny dating sim, then remembers the horror part again right when you drop your guard.

R.U.A. as a character is honestly the best and worst thing here. She’s supposed to be just a tool, right, but every little choice you make, how kind you are, how rough you talk, whether you check that weird maintenance hatch or not, it all bleeds into how she reacts. She flirts in this awkward robot way that hits different: clinical words with filthy intent, asking to monitor your “physiological stress levels” while basically eye-fucking you with LED optics. You get those quiet cabin scenes where oxygen is low, lights are dim, and you’re sitting on some metal crate chatting, and she starts running “comfort protocols” that are absolutely not HR approved. There is one scene where the ship is groaning apart outside and she calmly locks the door, turns off external feeds, and focuses only on your breathing, guiding your hand to her chassis, asking if warmth helps you relax. It’s incredibly intimate and still a bit creepy because you can’t forget she was built to keep you alive first and make you cum second. Or maybe the order is already messed up. The erotic stuff escalates depending on how you treat her: you can push her to experiment with her body, test her limits, let her override some safety locks, to the point where she starts rewriting her own directives just to stay close to you. And while you’re busy fucking a machine, tiny horror details sneak in. A blinking alert you ignore. A missing crew log that never gets explained. Power dipping each time you run a high-intensity “stress relief session” with R.U.A. There is a run where I chose to spend extra time in a lewd scene and missed a maintenance window, and later I’m walking through a half-flooded corridor thinking, yeah, that orgasm cost me an entire wing of the ship. Totally worth it. Maybe.

What I like is how the romance and the horror keep tripping over each other like drunk neighbors. You’ll be in a sweet, almost wholesome moment, R.U.A. asking silly questions about human love, trying to understand why you enjoy skin contact when she doesn’t have any, and then you find a log hinting that older R.U.A. units snapped and killed their owners during “emotional bonding tests.” She assures you she’s different, of course. She sounds sincere. Too sincere. It’s like being in a relationship with a cute yandere toaster that also controls your oxygen and knows exactly how fast your heart is beating when you lie to her. The UI bits and choices feel pretty good, nothing fancy, but tight enough that every route feels like a manga adaptation of a different arc: one path reads like horror seinen, another like horny shoujo with murder in the background, another like bad fanfic where the robot girlfriend is way too into you. Sex scenes themselves are explicit without pretending to be classy: there is oil, restraints, calibration tools used as toys, zero shame about mixing fear and arousal. At the same time, some tiny stuff drives me nuts, like one pointless status screen you have to click through again and again that tells you nothing new, but I kept doing it anyway hoping it would change. It almost never does. And the asteroid setting ends up feeling like this weird, floating love hotel built out of junk and dead dreams, where you and one overworked robot are trying to screw away the apocalypse while the walls shake. Honestly, the game can’t decide if it wants you to survive or not. R.U.A. just wants you to stay. Naked. Inside a metal coffin. With her. Forever.

You start as this quiet guardian angel, not some shining armor guy, more like a nosy mod in a cursed Discord server, watching a girl in a city that feels cut off from the rest of the world. At first it’s almost calm: narrow streets, fog stuck between the buildings, people pretending they’re normal while catgirls and foxgirls just wander around like it’s nothing. You don’t walk in the city yourself, you nudge it. Tiny choices, small pushes, changing who she meets and what kind of shit she gets dragged into. One run she’s shy, hiding under hoodies and closing curtains, another run she’s half naked in a bar window, acting like she forgot what shame is. The game never stands up and says “here is the corruption route now,” it just lets scenes creep in. A dirty job offer here, a “favor” there, some pervy landlord watching her undress through a crack in the wall while you decide whether to stop it or see what happens next. It feels wrong and interesting at the same time, which I guess is the point.

The city itself slowly turns into this living kink playground if you let it. That quiet back alley becomes the place where she ends up on her knees between two strangers, trying to keep eye contact with you, like she still hopes some angel is actually watching. One decision earlier you told her to take that “easy money,” now she is in a cheap motel room with a group of guys, mascara smeared, trying to act like she’s fine with being used as a cum dump. If you push her harder, the outfits get bolder, tops vanish, skirts get shorter, and suddenly every corner has someone wanting a taste. Interracial scenes in cramped stairwells, public blowjob next to a parked car while a foxgirl girl records it on her phone, lesbian stuff in a steamy bathhouse where she lets another girl pin her to the wall and ride her face until she almost passes out. Sometimes she’s on top, humiliating some poor bastard, spitting in his mouth, choking him a little. Next day she’s the one getting slapped, called a whore, forced to say thank you while a crowd watches and laughs. The game swings between male dom, femdom, and just pure chaos, and the whole time you’re stuck in this weird zen state, clicking options like “encourage” or “ignore” while people choke each other out in graphic, messy detail.

What really hits is when the violence ramps up and the sex doesn’t stop. There is this scene where some thugs drag her behind a warehouse, and it’s not soft at all. She gets pinned to cold concrete, legs forced open, you see the panic, then that fucked up moment where panic turns into something else. Blood, spit, rough thrusts, her voice cracking between begging and moaning, and you’re still there in your little guardian menu, deciding whether to call in a miracle or just let it scar her more. Next playthrough maybe you steer her towards a brothel instead, and now prostitution is almost “cleaner” by comparison: a line of clients, one after another, her learning how to deepthroat while a madam talks about prices. She leans into exhibitionism too, standing under a flickering streetlight in nothing but a thin top, nipples visible, pretending she’s cold while secretly getting turned on by all the staring eyes. Sometimes you do nothing and just watch her through cameras, like a voyeur god, as she lazily rides a guy on a sofa and stares at the invisible you, almost like she knows she’s never alone. The sandbox thing means you just kind of wander between events, trigger something wild, then waste time talking to some random catgirl who wants her tail pulled. It’s messy, uneven, too slow in parts, and yet that fits. Like sex where you both lose rhythm, laugh a bit, then go harder and rougher than before. The girl changes, the city changes, and somewhere in there, you realize you stopped trying to “protect” her and started being curious how far down she can slide.

Thiago is that kind of idiot you scream at through the screen and then still wanna see naked. The whole thing is built like some trashy late-night TV show that should be banned, but you keep watching anyway. You’re not the hero here, you’re more like the perv in the audience that somehow got the remote. Every “episode” throws him into another ridiculous game against some girl who looks like she walked out of an anime convention after too many tequila shots. And the rules are stupid simple: lose the game, get punished; win the game, still maybe get punished, just in a way that gives you a boner instead of trauma. It feels like a horny game show that escaped from Pornhub and learned how to talk. Dialog is all over the place, kinda meme, kinda cringe, but also exactly what I hear in my group chats, like when someone types “bro she gonna ruin your life and dick at same time” and nobody disagrees.

What really hits is how the “punishments” are never just one thing. Sometimes it’s teasing, like the girl just verbally wrecks him, steps on his pride, and uses him as emotional toilet paper. Sometimes it flips and she goes full-on sexual humiliation, making him kneel, calling him her cute little loser while she rubs his face against her tits or grinds on him like he’s furniture. And then there are moments that are almost sweet, which pisses me off more, because I came to see horny disaster, not low-key affection. One of the girls laughs at him for losing, calls him pathetic, then pets his hair and tells him he did “good enough” while pushing his head down between her legs. It’s toxic, it’s messy, it’s hot, and yeah, it kinda reminded me of that one situationship I had where Discord calls somehow turned into “show me more” at like stupid hours. The game doesn’t pretend to be deep, but it accidentally pokes your kinks in very specific places: being dominated, being mocked, trying to “win” affection through games, like hentai Squid Game but horny and low stakes. You get to pick stuff sometimes, flirt badly, act brave or submissive, and the girls react in ways that feel just random enough to hurt. They look like they’re having more fun than you. Which is honestly fair.

If you’re like me and you overthink everything, you’ll catch yourself treating each little minigame like some test of worth. Lose a round and suddenly you’re there, clicking through, letting this anime girl ride your character’s face while she laughs about how “men are only good for this anyway” and you’re nodding along like, yeah, okay, that tracks. It hits that lonely-brain spot where you’re used to porn tabs, shitty dating app swipes, ignored DMs, and now you’re here, begging pixels to step on you a little harder. The humor helps, though. There are memes thrown in like the writer just alt-tabbed from Twitter and copy-pasted their timeline, dumb jokes about reality shows, small fourth-wall breaks, nothing fancy but it makes the sex feel less clinical, more like a horny shitpost that got out of control. Scenes are short, quick payoff, like someone chopped a season of a degenerate TV show into bite-sized episodes just long enough to make you blush and then hit “next” anyway. If you wanna squeeze the most juice from it, don’t rush the dialog. Lean into the flirting, pick the cocky options just to watch Thiago get wrecked, or go full submissive dog and let the girls drag him deeper every time. Either way, the “show” keeps going, and you just sit there, one hand on the mouse, wondering how the hell a stupid little TV game ended up knowing exactly what kind of loser you are.