Reborn in Milfloria: The Only Man in a World of Seductive Queens-Chapter 53: Sacred Snu-Snu Awaits!

The Chamber of Aftercare glowed with a slow, seductive hum, like a lover whispering sweet nothings to your lower back. Every cushion, every misty tendril of perfume, every lazy swirl of whipped cream floating in midair—everything felt alive, sentient, and oddly invested in Henry’s well-being. Or at least in the squishier parts of it.

Henry lay limp on the featherbed, eyes glazed over in blissful confusion, as the ghostly hands of his spectral masseuse slid expertly beneath his shimmering temple robe.

"Oof—wait, wait, slow down—my bounce chakra is still twitching," he mumbled, clutching the pillow beneath him as it purred.

Beside him, Climaxa arched into her massage, the smoky hands working her lower spine like a jazz saxophone solo made of moans. "This is divine," she sighed, one leg slowly lifting into the air like a suggestive antenna. "Ten out of ten... would sin again."

Henry tried to respond but only managed a gurgle that sounded suspiciously like "Thighs be praised."

A steamy silence stretched between them until the spectral librarian’s voice slid into his ear like a warm tongue.

"Would you like the Book of Lower Back Lore, or shall I skip to Appendix C: The Forbidden Arch?"

Henry shivered. "Y-you’re not a real librarian, are you?"

The ghost-librarian chuckled, her breath tickling his nape. "Darling, I graduated top of my class in the Dewey Decibounce System."

From the corner of the chamber, Prudencia sat with a towel over her lap, eyes wide and arms crossed like a disapproving goddess of sarcasm. She was watching the scene unfold the way one watches a slow-motion train crash made entirely of lubricated affection.

"Y’all need Jesus," she muttered.

"Already met him," Henry murmured, melting deeper into the bed. "He said I had potential. Then he slapped my ass and left."

Prudencia groaned. "This place is melting your brain. And probably your hips."

Suddenly, the chamber dimmed further, the pink glow becoming deeper... redder... needier. Soft music began playing—harps, wind chimes, and suspiciously rhythmic squelches—as a new door opened slowly on its own.

From within emerged The Caretaker.

She was tall. Too tall. Like, bend-the-laws-of-physics tall. Her skin shimmered with a honeyed gloss. Her eyes glowed like she’d seen every sin in the book—and personally rated them on a scale from "mmm" to "unholy YES." Her outfit? Merely suggestions of clothing stitched together by threads of tension.

Henry blinked.

Climaxa sat up slightly, voice hushed. "That’s Madam Aftercare. She only comes out... when someone’s bounce has fractured the Twerk Continuum."

Henry raised a trembling finger. "M-me?"

The Caretaker nodded once. Her voice was like melted chocolate poured over warm thighs.

"You... have disturbed the cheeks of time."

Henry gulped. "I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to."

She stepped forward.

"I’m not here to punish, Grand Thrusticator..."

She leaned in closer, her breath warm and fragrant like a cinnamon dream.

"...I’m here to soothe."

Prudencia stood up instantly. "NOPE. We’re done. Time to leave. You’ve been soothed enough."

Climaxa waved lazily from the bed. "Let him be soothed. The prophecy didn’t say anything about a limit."

The Caretaker turned to Prudencia, one brow lifting. "Would you like a hot towel for your jealousy?"

Prudencia threw a cream puff at her. "He’s mine! I mean—not mine. But he’s not yours!"

Henry, sensing danger and boners colliding in the air like two moist asteroids, sat up, robe slipping off one shoulder again.

"Okay—okay—maybe we all just do some... breathing exercises?" he offered weakly.

"Breathe this," said the pillow beneath him, vibrating with sass.

Suddenly, the Caretaker smiled gently, stepped back, and clapped her hands once.

"Very well. You’ve earned your rest, Archbishop. But remember—the Bounce Blessing must be replenished... or you’ll crumble mid-thrust."

Henry looked horrified. "Mid-thrust? That’s... tragic."

Prudencia grabbed his arm. "No more bouncing for today. I’m dragging your squishy butt out of here and into something dry and platonic."

He pouted. "Even my towel’s wet with emotional damage."

She threw a cloak over him and marched him out.

Climaxa giggled behind them. "Try not to dislocate any clouds on the way out!"

As the door closed behind them with another wet schlurrrp, Henry glanced sideways at Prudencia.

"...You’re kinda jealous."

She didn’t look at him.

"No, I’m concerned. There’s a difference between protecting a friend and not wanting their nipples blessed by strangers."

Henry smiled. "So you admit I have blessable nipples?"

Prudencia stopped walking.

She turned to him.

And poked his chest.

"...They’re adequate."

Henry beamed.

"That’s the nicest thing anyone’s said to my chest since my pillow called them ’biteable marshmallows.’"

They walked in silence for a few moments.

Finally, Prudencia sighed, her voice softer. "You really gonna go to Rumporia tomorrow?"

Henry nodded. "I guess. It’s what Archbishop Thrusticators do, apparently."

She stopped again. This time, her eyes were serious. "You know they want you for more than diplomacy, right? They want the prophecy. The last man. The symbol. The thighs."

Henry nodded again. "I know."

"...And you’re okay with that?"

He looked at her, really looked at her. For all her sarcasm and eye-rolls, she was the only person who still saw him—not just the prophecy. Not just the bounce. Just Henry.

"No," he said honestly. "I’m terrified."

A pause.

"...But I don’t want to be alone."

She looked at him for a long moment. Her fingers twitched at her side. Then, slowly, without a word, she reached out and took his hand.

"Good," she whispered. "Because I’m coming with you. And if anyone tries to drain your sacred juices without permission, I will hex their ovaries into a pretzel."

Henry blinked.

"...I’m not sure if that’s romantic or horrifying."

She smirked.

"Welcome to Milforia, baby."

—

Elsewhere...

In a dark chamber lit only by pulsing red light, Mistress Quivaria, High Queen of Rumporia, sat atop her throne of velvet thighs. A dozen handmaidens massaged her feet with enchanted oils. Her long lashes flicked upward as a scroll was placed before her.

It read:

> "The Grand Thrusticator approaches."

Her lips curled.

"At last... the cheeks shall be balanced."

She snapped her fingers.

"Prepare the royal bedchambers. And bring me the Peach Crown."

The handmaidens gasped.

One fainted.

And far away, Henry sneezed.

Not from cold.

But from destiny.

And thighs.

Henry let out a soft, exhausted sigh as the spectral hands slid down his back like whispers on satin. The curvy librarian-masseuse purred near his ear, "You’ve got knots in places I didn’t even know had names."

He groaned. "That’s because those places weren’t supposed to be real. They were invented during the Great Bounce."

From the corner, Prudencia was trying to enjoy her massage, but her feather cushion kept sighing every time she shifted. Loudly. Obnoxiously. Like a teenage boy seeing thighs for the first time.

"Stop that," she whispered to the cushion.

The cushion whimpered, "But I like it when you move..."

She smacked it. It moaned. She immediately regretted making physical contact.

Henry peeked at her from the side. "Your cushion okay?"

"No. It’s emotionally attached and slightly clingy. Like you after one compliment."

He smiled. "You said I was a thirst trap. That counts."

Suddenly, the whipped cream floating overhead began to coalesce... forming a glowing orb. It sparkled like a sugar-dusted prophecy.

Climaxa, now lying upside-down on a silk hammock that somehow massaged her shoulders and ego simultaneously, looked up at it and said, "Ah. The Cream of Revelation."

Henry blinked. "The what now?"

Climaxa gestured lazily. "The temple’s way of sharing divine visions. Sometimes it’s a warning. Sometimes it’s just... lewd."

The orb shimmered, and slowly, images appeared within.

A mysterious land of soft rolling hills and bouncing maidens came into view. The sky was pink. The rivers flowed with honeyed lotion. And at the center of it all was a woman. No—a queen. Clad in robes so thin they were practically rumors, her every step made the land ripple with squishy grace.

Henry sat up. "Who... is she?"

Climaxa sighed dreamily. "Queen Succulenta. Ruler of Rumporia. The woman you’re fated to assist."

Prudencia snorted. "Assist? You mean seduce."

Climaxa shrugged. "Tomayto, tomahto. Bounce, boink."

The vision zoomed in. Succulenta’s throne was shaped like a lovingly slapped cheek, and her scepter... was just a really polished pole dancer’s pole.

She stood and turned to face the vision. Her voice echoed from the cream like honeyed thunder.

> "Let him come. I’ve waited long enough. My cheeks yearn for prophecy."

Henry nearly choked. "Is that... is that a political request or...?"

Climaxa nodded solemnly. "It’s both a plea and a pickup line. Very official."

Prudencia facepalmed. "So we’re walking into another place where his meat scepter is the solution to an entire kingdom’s crisis?"

Henry shrugged. "What can I say? I’m divine now."

The orb of whipped cream faded into mist. In its place, a scroll fluttered down and smacked Henry in the forehead.

He caught it, unrolling it to reveal their mission itinerary, which included:

"Diplomatic Bouncing"

"Royal Thigh Inspections"

And something called "The Ceremony of Sacred Snu-Snu." 𝚏𝕣𝕖𝚎𝚠𝚎𝚋𝚗𝐨𝐯𝕖𝕝.𝕔𝐨𝕞

Henry blinked. "Wait, there’s a dress code. Crotchless formalwear?"

Prudencia stood up. "Nope. I’m bringing my chastity spear."

Climaxa purred. "Don’t be shy, Prudencia. You survived the Temple of Twerklight. You’re practically vibrating with suppressed horniness."

Prudencia growled. "That’s just a cramp from the squish-couch."

Just then, the massage beds began to rise, lifting the three of them gently toward a soft-glowing skylight.

Climaxa smiled. "Time’s up. Destiny doesn’t wait."

Henry looked up, eyes wide. "Are we flying through a thigh-shaped portal?"

Prudencia squinted. "Why does the sky have a cleft?"

Climaxa licked her lips. "Because all great journeys begin... between the cheeks of fate."

And with that, they ascended—into the sky, into prophecy...

...and straight into Queen Succulenta’s eagerly awaiting thighs.