Reborn in Milfloria: The Only Man in a World of Seductive Queens-Chapter 56: Creamonition

Henry had faced a lot of things in Milforia.

Lust-cursed temples. Demon raccoons in panty vaults. Thigh-based transportation systems. But nothing—absolutely nothing—prepared him for what stood before him now:

The Chamber of the Council of Moans.

Twelve towering archways of shimmering silk framed a circular chamber, each glowing faintly in a different hue—from Cherry Red of Yearning to the Purple of Eternal Pillow Talk. At the center was a wide, low bed shaped like a flower in bloom, its petals velvety and somehow pulsing softly to an unseen beat.

Henry gulped.

Climaxa leaned close, her breath tickling his earlobe. "This is where diplomacy stops being verbal... and starts getting vocal."

Prudencia groaned beside him. "If you start yodeling halfway through, I’m leaving."

From behind each silk archway emerged a woman. No, a goddess. Twelve of them. Each high priestess more elegant, voluptuous, and terrifyingly downbad than the last. They moved like liquid temptation, their robes sheer, their eyes glinting like polished kinks.

"Grand Thrusticator," one purred, her voice dripping like honey on a warm biscuit. "Welcome to your final trial."

Henry took one step forward and immediately felt the bed suck him in—not metaphorically. Literally. The plush petals wrapped around his calves, pulling him down with slow, sensuous intent.

"Oh sweet thighs," he whimpered.

"The Council will now assess your worth," said the High Priestess of Oiled Discourse, sliding a palm across his chest. "Lie back. And let diplomacy... unfold."

Henry did.

Oh gods, he did.

The priestesses moved with synchrony. One massaged his arms with jasmine oil. Another placed a crown of soft feathers on his head. A third traced sacred symbols across his inner thighs using nothing but her warm breath and unholy focus.

"Feel anything?" whispered the Priestess of Whispered Agreements.

Henry tried to nod, but his head just sank deeper into a pillow that sighed, "You’re doing amazing, sweetie."

Prudencia sat off to the side in a throne of flat sarcasm. "This looks less like diplomacy and more like an overfunded kink spa."

Climaxa handed her a goblet of champagne. "It can be both."

The Priestess of Sacred Tempos stepped forward. Her hips began to sway, and with them, the entire chamber seemed to vibrate. Rhythmic pulses echoed from the floor, matching the slow bounce of her dance.

Henry’s body responded involuntarily. His hips rose. The priestesses gasped in unison.

"He is attuned!"

"The prophecy twerks within him!"

"THE BOUNCE!"

The ritual escalated. Every priestess took turns invoking a different sacred moan—The Breathless Sigh, The Low Growl of Anticipation, The Hiccup of Hidden Desires. Henry—sweating, glowing, delirious—matched each one with his own noises of spiritual overstimulation.

It was not pretty.

But it was powerful.

At the end, with a shimmer of divine glitter and three suspiciously loud pop noises, the ritual ended.

Henry lay in the center of the bed, wrapped in silks and dignity-fractures.

The Priestess of Panting Protocol stepped forward. "You have passed."

"Thrusticator no longer," Climaxa announced. "You are now... The Ambassador of Arousal."

Prudencia slow clapped. "May your thighs never cramp."

Henry looked up, dazed. "Can I get a juice box and maybe... six chiropractors?"

The Council bowed.

The kingdom rejoiced.

And somewhere, across the skies of Milforia, the clouds clapped politely.

The Bounce... had just evolved.

Henry staggered backward slightly, the velvet platform beneath him rippling like pudding after a passionate slap. His thighs, now ordained with the ancient rhythm of Rumporia, tingled with divine purpose—and dehydration. He looked down at his legs, now lightly glowing with Bounce Energy™, and whispered with reverent awe, "Are these... sacred quads now?"

"Yes," Climaxa said, swirling a glass of fermented nectar as she floated nearby on her hover-cushion. "Your glutes have become prophets. Your hips now speak fluent diplomacy."

Prudencia didn’t bother to hide her eye-roll. "He’s going to be insufferable for the next decade."

Henry turned to her, smiling like a blessed fool. "Prudy... I think my butt can see the future."

"Great. Tell it mine says you’re going to fall off that platform if you don’t sit your glowing cheeks down."

As he stepped down, the enchanted cushions of the platform sighed again—louder this time, almost... longingly. A few handmaidens bowed respectfully to his thighs. One whispered, "May your bounce remain juicy."

He nodded solemnly. "And may your cheeks clap in unity."

Just then, a new figure entered the hall.

She was tall. Dangerously tall. Her legs alone had their own zip code. Wrapped in a gown woven from moonlight and implication, her presence sucked the breath out of the room like a vacuum of seduction.

"Lady Squishandra," Queen Succulenta said, rising from her throne. "The High Priestess of Jiggleton herself."

Henry blinked. "Is that an actual title or—?"

"She invented the Sacred Bounce Pulse," Climaxa whispered.

"She once jiggled so powerfully, a volcano exploded," Prudencia added.

Squishandra bowed. "Grand Thrusticator. The vibrations of your bounce have reached our lands. The drought of Jiggleton worsens. Our cheeks grow dry and disheartened. We... require your services."

Henry, overwhelmed, tried not to panic. His thighs were still humming. His heart was doing backflips. His brain was leaking out through his ears in the form of steam.

"You want me to bounce... for the whole kingdom?"

Squishandra approached slowly, each footstep sounding like a soft squish. "Not alone. The Twelve Moaning Maidens will assist you."

Henry froze. Prudencia covered her face with both hands.

Climaxa grinned. "Oh ho ho... he’s going to faint again."

---

A few hours later...

Henry stood before the golden tub of Bounce Rejuvenation. It bubbled gently with oils, herbs, and suspiciously giggling foam. The Twelve Moaning Maidens, each representing a different region of Jiggleton—Valley of the Twerk, Fields of Thrust, Mount Spankmore—surrounded the bath like squishy guardians of destiny.

Climaxa read aloud from an ancient scroll: "To perform the Ritual of Global Juicening, the Grand Thrusticator must soak for precisely seven minutes while absorbing the energy of synchronized moaning."

"What happens if we moan out of sync?" one maiden asked.

"Earthquake," Climaxa replied.

Henry dipped a toe into the bath. It giggled. Loudly.

"Okay, I don’t know if I should be aroused or alarmed."

Succulenta stepped forward. "Both."

Prudencia groaned from the corner. "This is so dumb I think I’m getting a migraine through my kneecaps."

Henry lowered himself into the bath. The oils fizzed around him, releasing the scent of roses, cinnamon, and suspicious wet mischief.

The Twelve Maidens began humming. Then moaning. Each pitch layered upon the last, forming a rising harmony of suggestive chorus. The bath trembled.

Henry trembled.

One maiden leaned close and whispered, "Your bounce... is our salvation."

Henry whispered back, "I’m just a guy from Earth with above-average glutes."

Climaxa’s scroll glowed.

"The bounce has reached critical thicc."

Suddenly, the bath erupted in a splash of glitter and scented steam. Henry rose slowly from the center, glowing, soaked, and majestic like a peach god reborn.

"I... I feel everything."

"You are ready," Succulenta said. "To Jiggleton. To salvation. To cheeks unquenched."

Henry looked at Prudencia. "Will you come with me?"

She groaned. "Unfortunately. Somebody has to keep your glowing butt from triggering another bootyquake."

Henry smiled. "Then let’s ride."

Climaxa tossed him a towel.

"Dry off first, Archbishop. No one wants soggy salvation."

Henry didn’t know if he was standing on marble or marshmallow anymore. His thighs had taken on a consciousness of their own, flexing like they were giving a TED Talk on rhythm and recoil. The sacred nectar on his skin shimmered under the ambient glow of Rumporia’s moon chandeliers, which pulsed faintly with each of his pelvic tilts—like the kingdom itself was tracking his bounce progression.

Queen Succulenta, now reclining in a pool of giggling handmaidens and peach-scented fog, raised her golden goblet and toasted the ceiling.

"To the Grand Thrusticator," she declared, voice echoing with seductive reverence, "whose hips defy the laws of motion and modesty alike!"

Henry smiled weakly. "I’m just happy nothing dislocated this time."

Climaxa floated by, gently fanning herself with a lace thong that probably had a royal seal on it. "You’ve unlocked the next tier of sacred bounce. The one that causes mild earthquakes and involuntary confessions."

Prudencia, arms still crossed but now with one brow raised, muttered, "And yet somehow, you still can’t do your own laundry."

Henry turned toward her. "That’s because detergent doesn’t respect me."

A new handmaiden emerged from the fog. She was taller than the rest, with obsidian skin that shimmered like the surface of dark chocolate during a wet dream. Her voice was sultry, slow, and deep—like hot syrup poured over jazz.

"I am Vebrissima," she said, bowing slightly. "I’ve been sent to escort you to the next chamber. The Chamber... of Afterbounce."

Henry blinked. "That sounds... comforting."

"It’s not," Prudencia whispered. "Last time, a cushion tried to tongue-kiss me."

"I mean, it was consensual," Climaxa offered helpfully.

As they followed Vebrissima through the corridor, Henry noticed the walls subtly gyrated in sync with his steps. Paintings of legendary bouncers winked at him. A statue of the First Twerk Goddess gave him a slow clap. Literally—its stone hands moved.

Henry turned to Climaxa. "Is everything in this castle... alive?"

She nodded proudly. "Yes. Even the soap. Especially the soap."

Henry muttered, "Why does that make me nervous and weirdly excited?"

Vebrissima smiled. "Because, Grand Thrusticator, when you reach the Afterbounce Chamber... you’ll meet the Oracle of Jiggle."

Henry paused. "What’s she like?"

Prudencia sighed. "Let’s just say... don’t stare into her bellybutton. It’s a portal."

Henry blinked. "A portal to what?"

Climaxa giggled. "To understanding the true meaning... of downbad destiny."

And as the door ahead pulsed open like an inviting peach, Henry took a deep breath.

Ready.

Again.

For bounce.