Reborn in Milfloria: The Only Man in a World of Seductive Queens-Chapter 50: The Arrival of Climaxa

A single button lay on the floor between them. Round, innocent, tragically overworked.

Henry stared at it.

Prudencia stared at him.

The air in the room had changed—like the moment before a thunderstorm, if thunder was made of thighs and longing.

Prudencia clutched her now-partially-unbuttoned blouse, breath shallow. Her collarbone—previously held hostage for thirty-five years—peeked out into the world like a shy debutante at her first scandal.

"I..." she whispered, eyes wide. "I haven’t... lost a button since the Great Censorship of ’04."

Henry stepped forward carefully, as if the floorboards might tattle.

"No one is here to judge," he said, voice low. "Only to bounce... and be bounced."

She swallowed.

"Your... your hips. They move like sin."

"They move like truth."

Another button popped.

Plink.

It hit the floor and rolled under a chair, whispering "freedom..." as it vanished into the shadows.

Prudencia gasped, stepping back. "Stop! I am a woman of discipline!"

Henry stepped forward. "Then consider this... your final exam."

She backed into a side table. The vase trembled. The couch moaned softly, unbidden.

"I graduated top of my class."

"Then you’re due... for some bottom work."

She turned bright red. "That’s... obscene!"

Henry grinned. "Correct."

He reached slowly into the folds of his towel. Her eyes followed, breath held. He pulled out...

...a tiny, shimmering scroll.

She stared. "Is that..."

Henry nodded. "Yes. The Miniature Glossary of Forbidden Fondling. Annotated edition. Laminated for safety."

She trembled. "That’s illegal in this village."

"So is pleasure."

A beat.

She snatched it.

The moment she touched the scroll, her bun snapped open with a soft twang, hair cascading in slow-motion like a waterfall of suppressed desires. Her glasses slid down her nose seductively. Her lips parted in a soft, accidental "Oh my..."

Henry whispered, "Welcome... to the Bounce."

She fell backward onto the couch, which immediately reclined of its own horny volition.

---

Ten Minutes Later

The house was... different.

Candles were lit. The doilies had been turned into makeshift garter belts. Even the tea had brewed itself into something steamier.

Prudencia lay across the couch, blouse fully open, flushed cheeks glowing like overripe peaches at a masquerade.

"I didn’t know... I could feel my knees."

Henry, still clothed in only his heroic towel and the glow of accomplishment, nodded. "That was just the preface. We haven’t even hit Chapter One."

She blinked. "You mean..."

He leaned closer, brushing a lock of her hair behind her ear.

"Yes," he whispered. "The Prologue of Penetrative Philosophy is just warming up."

She squeaked.

Henry stood.

And that’s when the floor creaked.

A loud, suspicious squelch echoed from under the rug.

They both froze.

Henry crouched, lifting a corner of the carpet. What he saw made his towel stiffen in shock.

It was a hidden hatch.

Beneath it, a dark staircase led downward, lit by flickering pink torches.

Prudencia sat up. "Oh no."

Henry raised an eyebrow. "Oh yes."

She looked panicked. "You weren’t supposed to find that. That leads to... The Cellar."

"What’s in the Cellar?"

She hesitated.

Henry stepped closer. "Prudencia. What’s in the Basement of Buttons?"

She sighed, buttoning a single button in reflex. "My shame."

Henry nodded solemnly. "Sounds hot. Let’s go."

---

Ten Minutes Later — The Forbidden Cellar

They descended into a space untouched by sunlight or sense.

The walls were lined with antique chastity belts, forbidden literature, and scrolls sealed in zip-lock pouches labeled "Dangerously Moist." A table in the center bore a sign that read:

> "In Case of Emergency: Bounce Hard."

Henry walked slowly among the relics. His fingers trailed across a set of ceremonial panties sealed in glass. The plaque beneath read: "Last worn during the Dry Crusades."

"This is incredible," he whispered. "Like a museum of repression."

Prudencia stood behind him, trembling. "My ancestors were the original suppressors. They once sued an opera singer for moaning in C minor."

Henry turned. "You’ve inherited generations of anti-thirst."

She nodded. "It’s in my blood. But something changed when you... when you gawked at me."

He took her hand gently. "Your thirst isn’t a curse, Prudencia. It’s a calling."

Suddenly, the floor trembled.

A giant pink crystal in the center of the room lit up. It began to pulse.

Henry stared. "That’s not just a relic..."

Prudencia’s eyes widened. "It’s alive."

The crystal burst open like a glowing vulva of revelation, and a holographic projection appeared—an ancient woman in high heels and zero shame.

She wore nothing but scrolls and sass.

She spoke: "I am Lady Grundlebutt the Unleashed."

Prudencia gasped. "That’s... my great-grandmother."

Lady Grundlebutt raised a bejeweled thigh. "If you’re seeing this, someone has finally bounced their way through the Flatworth bloodline."

Henry blinked. "What a sentence."

The hologram continued. "The time has come. The Bounce must be set free. And to do so... one must unleash the Final Jiggle."

Lightning struck.

Henry’s towel flared dramatically.

Prudencia clutched her chest. "The Final Jiggle?! That’s only a myth!"

Henry turned to her. "You mean the sacred move that bends hips, breaks shame, and causes at least one mirror to crack from thirst?"

She nodded, stunned. "Yes. That one."

The hologram of Lady Grundlebutt winked. "To unlock it, two cheeks must align. Perfectly. Righteously. Slapfully."

Henry nodded, his hips already warming.

Prudencia stepped forward.

Slowly.

A breeze drifted through the basement, despite no windows.

Music began to play from nowhere—a sultry flute duet backed by faint moans and castanets.

Henry raised a hand.

She raised the other.

Their cheeks met.

And in that moment, time slowed.

There was no longer a cellar. No village. No repressed rules or dusty relics.

There was only bounce.

Sacred.

Synchronized.

Slap-tastic.

The hologram wept. "At last... the cheeks of prophecy have collided."

Henry and Prudencia moved in unison—bending, gyrating, achieving a rhythm that could make the stars blush. The final button on her blouse exploded into pink glitter and repressed taxes.

The scrolls flew open.

The torches blazed higher.

The crystal glowed blindingly bright.

Then—

BOOOOOUNCE.

An eruption of divine energy rocked the basement, shooting upward through the house, into the sky, and bursting out of the village’s repressed air like a volcano of thighs and consent.

---

Back in the Village Square

The villagers paused mid-frown.

One by one, they looked up.

Then gasped.

Suddenly, bonnets flew off.

Collars loosened.

Knees were glimpsed.

One brave soul whispered, "What if... we clapped... for ourselves?"

Another shouted, "I just bought a scented candle!"

A revolution had begun.

---

Back in the Cellar

Prudencia collapsed into Henry’s arms, panting.

"That was... extraordinary."

Henry nodded. "It was more than bounce. That was a thesis defense."

Prudencia’s cheeks glowed. "Do I pass?"

Henry pulled her close. "With full honors."

The hologram of Lady Grundlebutt clapped.

"Go forth, my children of squish. There are more cheeks to free."

Henry looked at Prudencia. "Want to come with me?"

She smiled. "Lead the way, Professor."

Together, they ascended the stairs, cheeks glowing, scrolls flapping in erotic applause.

Outside, the village waited.

The world awaited.

The Bounce...

had only just begun.

Henry emerged from the basement like a blessed relic, towel fluttering, aura humming with freshly awakened bounce-energy. Prudencia followed behind him, her blouse in tatters, her hair liberated, and her once-firmly-clenched morality now doing jazz hands.

Outside, the village of Thimblewick had changed.

Where once there had been tight corsets and tighter rules, now there were giggles. Squeaks. A slight rhythm in how the villagers walked—hips that hadn’t swayed in decades were suddenly doing full choreographies in sync with the wind.

And in the sky above them, the clouds had taken the unmistakable shape of two cheeks clapping.

A sign, if there ever was one.

Prudencia shielded her eyes. "I haven’t seen this much cheek in public since the outlawed Moon Festival of ’89."

Henry adjusted his towel, which at this point was being held up entirely by sheer narrative protection. "What now?"

Before Prudencia could respond, a loud thump echoed through the village square.

Then another.

THUMP.

THUMP.

The ground trembled as a massive golden carriage rolled into view, pulled by six glowing zebras wearing fishnets and high heels.

Atop the carriage stood a statuesque woman, her body wrapped in silk, her thighs shimmering with glittering oil, and her cleavage deep enough to store emotional trauma. Her skin glowed like caramelized temptation. Her lips curled in a smirk that had launched at least six rebellions and two cults.

She wore a crown shaped like an upside-down bra.

Behind her, a flag fluttered: The Temple of Twerklight.

Henry whispered, "Oh no."

Prudencia whispered, "Oh yes."

The woman leapt gracefully from the carriage, landing with a seismic clap of thunderous hips. Dust flew. Windows shattered. A baby giggled and immediately grew up emotionally.

Henry stepped forward, towel flapping like a frightened flag.

The woman pointed at him.

"You. Squishcendent of Milforia. Bouncer of the Bound. Hero of the Hidden Cheek. We meet at last."

Henry blinked. "I... do I know you?"

She smiled. "Not yet. But your towel does."

Prudencia narrowed her eyes. "Who are you?"

The woman snapped her fingers, and a sensual gust of wind swirled around her dramatically.

"I am Climaxa. High Priestess of the Twerklight Temple. Liberator of Lust. The last survivor of the Sisterhood of Unholy Flex."

Henry tilted his head. "That’s a lot of titles."

She shrugged, and her bosom nearly caused a nearby tree to combust.

"You caused a ripple," Climaxa said, stepping closer, her hips moving in a rhythm that felt illegal in 48 provinces. "When you unleashed the Final Jiggle, the energy awakened the Sacred Cheek Beacon. I felt it from across the land. And now..."

She leaned in close.

"I’ve come to claim you."

Henry coughed, towel faltering.

"Claim me?"

Climaxa nodded, slowly licking a stray drop of sacred oil from her fingertip.

"You carry the Bounce. But you are still... untrained. Undisciplined. You lack the Sacred Grind. The Forbidden Twerk. The Thrust of Ascension."

Prudencia stepped between them, arms crossed and buttons barely clinging to hope. "Excuse me, but I just helped him awaken the Final Jiggle."

Climaxa arched an eyebrow. "And I applaud your pelvis, Grandmistress Buttonpounder. But this boy is chosen. His towel... is prophetic."

Henry looked down at it. "I just grabbed it because it was soft."

Climaxa smirked. "Soft now. But within it lies the stiffness of destiny."

A trumpet sounded from nowhere.

Suddenly, a scroll flew from Climaxa’s cleavage and unfurled in front of Henry.

He read it aloud:

> By decree of the Thighlords of Bounce, you, Henry of Earth, are summoned to the Temple of Twerklight to begin the Trials of Temptation. There, your cheeks will be tested. Your stamina judged. Your towel... removed.

Henry looked up. "Removed?"

Climaxa nodded. "To ascend, one must bounce without burden."

Prudencia gasped. "That towel is half his personality!"

Henry swallowed. "What happens if I refuse?"

Climaxa’s eyes gleamed. "Then the Bounce dies. Repression returns. The Sisterhood of Endless Heat will rise unchecked. And worse... your libido will be cursed to fizzle forever."

A gust of wind made Henry’s towel flap like a final warning.

He looked at Prudencia.

She nodded solemnly. "I think it’s time, Henry. Time you learned... to twerk responsibly."

Henry squared his shoulders.

"Then let’s bounce."

---

Later That Day — The Road to Twerklight

Henry rode beside Climaxa on a zebra named Driphoof. Prudencia followed on a slightly jealous mule named Geraldine.

As the carriage bounced along the dusty path, Henry stared out at the landscape. Mountains shaped like thighs. Trees whose branches twisted into suggestive poses. A distant lake that somehow moaned softly when the wind passed.

He turned to Climaxa. "So what are these trials?"

Climaxa leaned closer, her voice like melted candle wax.

"Trial One: The Mirror of Moisture. You must resist your own reflection."

"Okay..."

"Trial Two: The Corridor of Cursed Caresses. Do not let the phantom fingers find your soft spots."

Henry flinched. "That’s going to be hard."

Climaxa’s lips curled. "That’s the point."

"And the final trial?"

Climaxa looked to the horizon.

"Trial Three: The Duel of Domination. You must out-bounce one of our Temple Mistresses. Only then will you truly be... a Grand Thrusticator."

Henry blinked. "That’s not even a real word."

Climaxa grinned. "It is now."

Prudencia rolled her eyes behind them. "This whole world is just horny D&D."

But she smiled anyway.

Henry adjusted his towel one last time as the gates of the Temple of Twerklight came into view.

Tall spires shaped like thigh-high boots.

Gargoyles with pursed lips.

And above the gate, in shimmering neon letters:

> "Blessed Be the Buns, For They Shall Bounce Eternal."

Henry took a deep breath.

"Time to bounce... like I’ve never bounced before."

---