Reborn in Milfloria: The Only Man in a World of Seductive Queens-Chapter 55: His Stamina, Her Throne

Henry stood still, breathless, cheeks flushed, hips humming with residual bounce energy. The sacred cushions slowly descended back into the velvet floor, sighing in unison like a pair of thighs satisfied with a good clap. The crowd applauded, fans waved, and someone in the back fainted. Possibly from holiness. Possibly from horniness.

Queen Succulenta approached, her footsteps silent but sultry, like a gentle moan walking on tiptoes. Her golden robes shimmered like the inside of a peach lit by starlight. She carried herself with the confidence of a woman who knew the names of every thigh muscle and how to weaponize each one.

"Well done, Grand Thrusticator," she whispered, leaning in so close her breath flirted with the hairs on his neck. "You have bounced. You have blessed. And now, you must... recover."

Henry gulped. "Are we talking about a nap or—?"

Succulenta held up a finger. "No questions. Only lotion."

Two handmaidens appeared at his side, each holding a glowing bottle labeled: Moonlight Moisturizer: For Post-Bounce Glow. One poured a stream onto his shoulders while the other gently rubbed it in with circular motions that seemed entirely too intentional.

Henry shivered. "I feel like my skin is developing kinks."

Prudencia, now leaning against a thigh-shaped pillar with arms crossed and judgment fully loaded, muttered, "Your skin’s the only innocent thing left on you."

Climaxa floated by on a cushion like an indulgent aunt. "Let him have his moment. He just danced between cheeks blessed by six generations of booty monks."

Henry looked woozy. "Is that... impressive?"

Climaxa nodded. "Very. One poor soul got swallowed whole once. We don’t talk about him."

As the queen motioned for the chamber to clear, the attendants dispersed like glittery ninjas. Only Henry, Prudencia, Climaxa, and Succulenta remained in the throne room. The air grew heavier, like anticipation wearing silk.

Queen Succulenta raised her hands and, with a graceful gesture, summoned a moonbeam through the ceiling, which landed directly on a circular dais at the center of the room.

"Now comes the final phase," she said solemnly. "The Moonlit Twerk Baptism."

Henry blinked. "That sounds... safe. Probably."

Succulenta stepped onto the dais, turning slowly, her hips swaying like poetry having a midlife crisis.

"This rite can only be performed under the full Twerk Moon," she explained. "Which, conveniently, is tonight."

Climaxa raised a wine glass. "The moon is always full in Milforia. It’s emotionally needy."

Prudencia sighed. "Of course it is."

Henry stepped onto the platform beside the queen. The moonlight intensified, bathing them both in a soft glow that made every drop of oil on his body glisten like temptation’s tears.

Succulenta reached out and touched his chest. Her fingers were soft, warm, and buzzing with the kind of power usually reserved for gods and very dedicated masseuses.

"Now, Archbishop," she whispered, "we must synchronize our bounce frequencies."

Henry blinked. "Is that code for making out or—?"

She leaned in, lips brushing his ear. "It’s code for everything."

Their bodies moved together slowly, hips circling in perfect unity. A gentle drumbeat echoed through the chamber, coming from nowhere and everywhere at once. The moonlight pulsed with their rhythm.

Prudencia groaned. "I swear, if they start levitating, I’m leaving."

They did.

The dais lifted them several feet into the air, gliding like a hover-bed powered by libido. Henry’s robe fluttered dramatically, exposing one thigh. The moonlight licked it lovingly.

Succulenta’s voice echoed, sultry and ethereal: "Let the bounce flow... through you."

Henry tried. He really did. But his brain was melting, his thighs were quaking, and his dignity had already packed its bags.

"I can feel the prophecy!" he gasped.

Succulenta moaned softly, a sound so exquisite it could cause wars. "Yes... yes... yessss."

The dais reached its peak. A beam of pure moonlight surged through them both.

Henry screamed.

Not in pain.

In spiritual release.

The moon flashed. The air trembled. A nearby wall got pregnant.

Then—silence.

The dais lowered slowly, both participants glowing like candles after a particularly wild séance. Henry stumbled off, wobbly and glistening.

Climaxa clapped politely. "You’ve been moon-blessed. Thigh-level: Ascended."

Prudencia tossed him a robe. "Put something on before you knock up another corridor."

Succulenta placed a kiss on Henry’s forehead. "You are now one with Rumporia."

Henry blinked. "Does that come with dental?"

She smiled. "It comes with destiny. And a commemorative towel."

From the shadows, a handmaid presented the towel. Embroidered with golden thread, it read:

Bounce Boldly, Grand Thrusticator.

Henry wrapped it around his waist, beaming.

"So... what’s next?"

Climaxa grinned. "You rest. Then you march into the Kingdom of Jiggleton. They’re suffering from a terrible drought... of booty."

Prudencia cracked her knuckles. "More bouncing, more problems."

Henry smiled faintly, still glowing. "Then let’s bring the rain."

---

And somewhere far away, a gust of wind whispered across the cheek-shaped mountains...

The Bounce had begun anew.

The world blurred into a soft, velvet haze as Henry drifted between the twin pillars of destiny—Queen Succulenta’s thighs. They were warm, impossibly soft, and smelled faintly of honey and something dangerously like cinnamon roll frosting. Henry’s breath hitched as the atmosphere shifted from celestial prophecy to something far more... intimate.

The plush cleft beneath him cradled his every inch like a throne made of marshmallow clouds. The subtle sway of Queen Succulenta’s hips was hypnotic, a slow, rhythmic undulation that seemed to pulse with the heartbeat of Rumporia itself. Somewhere nearby, a choir of handmaidens hummed a tune so soothing it could put a dragon to sleep—or rile it up for entirely different reasons.

Henry tried to steady his racing thoughts, but all he could manage was a weak, "So... this is the diplomatic reception?"

Climaxa, lounging beside him on a silk cushion that vibrated slightly at her touch, purred, "Welcome to the grand courts of Rumporia, where negotiation is an art form... and an entire sport."

Prudencia, ever the grounded one, grumbled from her spot across the chamber. "And where every meeting ends in... well, you know."

Henry’s eyes flicked nervously to the enormous golden throne before them—the throne itself shaped exactly like a gigantic peach, glossy and inviting. Standing beside it was Queen Succulenta herself, radiant and unapologetically voluptuous, her shimmering robes barely containing her endless curves.

She smiled at Henry—a slow, mischievous curve of her lips that promised both political alliance and very personal agendas.

"Grand Thrusticator," she said, her voice like warm velvet wrapped in satin ribbons. "You have arrived just in time for the Ceremony of Sacred Snu-Snu. A tradition older than the bouncing hills themselves."

Henry swallowed hard. "Sacred... snu-snu?"

Climaxa’s eyes twinkled. "It’s not what you think. Well... maybe it is."

Prudencia elbowed Henry sharply. "Focus, dumbass."

The queen stepped forward, her every movement a symphony of sway and seduction. "You must understand, Henry, that in Rumporia, diplomacy isn’t just words. It’s actions. And tonight, you will prove your worthiness—not with sword or scroll, but with... bounce."

Henry’s cheeks flushed. "Bounce?"

Succulenta chuckled, the sound low and intoxicating. "Yes. The Bounce Blessing. It is the foundation of peace in these lands. Without it, chaos reigns. And you, dear Archbishop, are the chosen one to restore balance."

He tried to nod seriously but his mind was distracted by the queen’s ample cleavage practically begging for attention. "Uh... right. Balance."

Climaxa sighed lazily. "You better get ready. The ceremony involves rigorous thigh inspections, the sacred rubbing of the peach, and the ultimate test—the Dance of the Divine Bounce."

Prudencia folded her arms. "I swear if he messes this up, I’m hexing him into a toad."

Henry grimaced. "No pressure."

---

The chamber’s doors opened wide, revealing a procession of handmaidens, each carrying trays piled high with lotions, oils, and mysterious jars labeled things like "Essence of Euphoria" and "Tears of the Twerk Maiden." The scent of vanilla and musk filled the air, mingling with the queen’s natural intoxicating aroma.

Henry was gently guided to a pedestal cushioned with the softest velvet. "Sit," Succulenta commanded with a wink. "Tonight, you will be reborn through touch."

Before Henry could protest, the handmaidens began their work. Their hands were warm and practiced, gliding over his arms, shoulders, and chest with a feather-light touch that sent shivers down his spine. Prudencia shot him a warning glance. "Don’t get distracted."

Henry swallowed and tried to focus as the oils were warmed between two hands and then slowly massaged into his thighs, hips, and—he dared not even think it—lower.

Climaxa hummed approvingly. "That’s it, Archbishop. Feel the energy flow."

Suddenly, a handmaid placed a curious silver band around Henry’s upper thigh. It glowed faintly.

"The Band of Binding," the queen explained. "It heightens sensitivity and connects you to Rumporia’s sacred bounce energy."

Henry’s eyes widened. "Heightens... sensitivity?"

Prudencia rolled her eyes. "Congratulations, you’re about to be the most ticklish man alive."

--- 𝒻𝘳ℯℯ𝑤ℯ𝒷𝘯ℴ𝓋ℯ𝘭.𝑐ℴ𝑚

Minutes stretched as Henry was slowly anointed, caressed, and lubricated until he felt like a walking, talking melody of pheromones and embarrassment. Every touch sparked little fireworks of sensation across his skin, making it impossible not to squirm—especially when Succulenta’s gaze lingered on him with delicious intent.

Then came the moment of truth.

"You must dance," the queen said softly. "Show us your bounce."

Henry blinked, trying to suppress the rising heat in his face—and lower regions. "Dance? I don’t know if I’m—"

Succulenta smiled, stepping closer until her breath warmed his neck. "I will guide you."

Her hands settled on his hips, strong and confident, moving them with a slow, deliberate rhythm that echoed the heartbeat of the kingdom. Henry’s body obeyed, swaying tentatively at first, then with growing confidence. The music swelled around them—a sensual blend of drums, flutes, and whispered chants.

Prudencia clapped mockingly. "Not bad for a first timer."

Climaxa laughed softly. "He’s got potential. The Bounce Awakens."

Henry’s cheeks burned as he bounced—really bounced—his entire being focused on not falling flat on his face. Succulenta’s hands roamed with expert grace, encouraging, correcting, praising. Every subtle movement sent waves of pleasure and humiliation crashing through him.

And then, the crowd joined in—handmaidens, courtiers, even Prudencia letting out a rare whistle of approval. The chamber echoed with laughter, gasps, and the unmistakable sound of flesh meeting flesh in rhythmic harmony.

Henry’s world narrowed to the queen’s thighs—soft, powerful, and unyielding. He felt honored, terrified, and aroused all at once. The Ceremony of Sacred Snu-Snu was no mere ritual—it was an epic battle of wills, a dance of destiny, and above all, a reminder that sometimes saving the world meant embracing the absurd and the erotic in equal measure.

---

After what felt like hours, the music slowed. Henry collapsed onto the velvet pedestal, breathless but victorious. Queen Succulenta leaned down, planting a kiss on his forehead—warm, tender, and filled with promise.

"You have passed, Grand Thrusticator. Rumporia stands with you."

Climaxa clapped softly. "Now that’s what I call a bounce to remember."

Prudencia sighed, handing Henry a damp towel. "Next time, try not to die of embarrassment."

Henry grinned weakly, wiping sweat and oil from his brow. "No promises."

As the chamber doors closed behind them, Henry realized one thing loud and clear: in Milforia, fate wasn’t just something you accepted—it was something you bounced through, cheek to cheek.

The bounce had begun anew.

---

Henry could still feel the afterglow of sacred squish reverberating in his thighs as they stepped into the Hall of Cooldown—a quieter, softly lit corridor draped in shimmering silks and flower-scented mist. Each step he took was met with a gentle puff of warm air from the enchanted floor vents, like the castle itself was sighing with satisfaction.

Prudencia walked beside him, arms crossed, side-eyeing every flower vase that dared look too curvaceous. "You good, Squishlord?"

Henry staggered slightly. "My thighs are humming Gregorian chants."

She gave him a playful nudge. "Congratulations. You survived the bounce of a queen. Your pelvis didn’t shatter. That’s called character growth."

Climaxa twirled past them like a dancer in a daydream, snatching a rose from a floating vase and tucking it behind Henry’s ear. "You looked divine. Like a peach god ascending through the fruit aisle of destiny."

Henry blinked. "I felt like a peach cobbler that forgot it was in the oven."

Prudencia bit back a smile. "Just don’t get too cocky. You’re not a full diplomat yet."

He raised a brow. "I’m not?"

She snorted. "Not until you pass the final rite."

Henry paled. "There’s another one?!"

Climaxa grinned. "It’s called the Council of Moans."

"...Oh, no."

Prudencia nodded solemnly. "Twelve high priestesses. One bed. Zero shame."

Henry squeaked.

The bounce had only just begun.