Eddie sits in dim light, phone glowing over his face, rain outside matching the rhythm of his pulse, each notification a reminder of how far he’s fallen. His world has shrunk to a screen, a bed, and the sound of his wife’s quiet sighs from the next room.

Rachel lies on her side, one leg bare, the glow from her phone painting her skin in ghostly blue. She scrolls through chat requests that blur work and temptation, her body learning the rhythm of attention before her mind dares to name it.

Their love used to be messy and loud, sheets tangled with laughter and sweat. Now, foreplay happens through emojis and half-sent photos that pretend to be innocent.

A message arrives from Eddie’s boss - short, cold, and impossible to ignore. He joins the call, voice trembling, unaware that obedience will cost him more than pride.

Rachel’s new “manager” enters her chats with compliments that taste like control. Each request pushes her closer to the edge of exposure, each tip another step away from innocence.

The game unfolds through texts, moans, and pixel-lit secrets instead of heroic choices. Every buzz of the phone feels like a heartbeat shared between shame and arousal.

2D anime-style CGs capture Rachel’s slow descent - lingerie slipping, breath caught between fear and thrill. Her selfies evolve from shy to brazen, her eyes learning how to seduce the lens.

Eddie senses the distance but misreads it as exhaustion. He scrolls through old messages searching for proof that she still wants him.

The player witnesses both sides: her surrender, his denial. Cheating turns into ritual, pleasure into punishment.

Masturbation scenes pulse with realism - slow, awkward, painfully human. Rachel’s moans echo from a live feed meant for someone else.

Netorare isn’t a theme here - it’s the heartbeat of the narrative. Eddie’s arousal merges with humiliation until he can’t tell which one he’s chasing.

Each episode links them tighter through the cursed intimacy of technology. You watch, you ache, you scroll, trapped between empathy and desire.

By the end, every message feels like a scar written in pixels. NTR Phone Group isn’t just an eroge - it’s a mirror for how lust and loneliness feed each other.

For players who crave raw emotion tangled with erotic decay, this kinetic novel delivers both punishment and pleasure. Between cheating and affection, between love and exposure, lies the truth you can’t unsee.