Reborn in Milfloria: The Only Man in a World of Seductive Queens-Chapter 61: Clamazon Heat

The Temple didn’t stand on the hill.

It posed.

Towering above the glistening Valley of Gush like a seductive librarian with a dark secret, the Temple of Tension shimmered in twilight. Its pillars were long and smooth, its rooftops arched like the back of someone hearing just the right whisper. Every inch of it screamed "please touch—but don’t finish."

Henry gulped.

He wasn’t even inside yet and he already felt... denied.

"This is the place," Vebrissima whispered, stepping beside him in a robe made entirely of whisper-thin sighs. "They say time slows within these walls. That for every breath you take, you must earn the next one with restraint."

"Restraint?" Henry muttered. "I barely made it past the Gush Caves without evaporating."

Prudencia handed him a flask. "Here. Sip of this. It’s called Premature No More."

Henry took a cautious sip. It tasted like mint, patience, and heartbreak.

Climaxa floated nearby, wrapped in a shawl woven from denial itself. "The Tension Twins are experts in edging diplomacy. One word, one eye flutter out of place... and you’ll be blue in the soul."

A door creaked open ahead.

It wasn’t dramatic. It was worse.

It creaked slowly. Like a tease. Like a moan caught between two hesitations.

Henry adjusted his enchanted towel, bracing himself for what lay inside.

The entrance hall was dimly lit with soft blue flames dancing along the walls. Every few feet stood statues of couples frozen mid-lust—hands hovering near each other but never touching. Lips parted, but never kissing. Cheeks clenched in perpetual almost.

Henry’s knees began trembling.

This was evil.

"Stay calm," Vebrissima warned. "Remember... this isn’t about finishing. This is about feeling. Deeply. Without release."

The further he walked, the more intense the pressure became. Every breath was laced with anticipation. Every sound was a not-yet. Even the air itself tasted... withheld.

At the far end of the hall, two figures stood waiting.

The Tension Twins.

Teasana—a towering, statuesque woman wrapped in seven layers of sheer silk, each one more unnecessary than the last. Her hair was tied in a bun so tight it gave Henry performance anxiety. Her eyes said "I will read your trauma like erotic poetry."

And then there was Edgezra—shorter, but built like temptation bottled up. Her entire outfit was one long scarf that never quite covered anything fully. Her lips formed a perpetual pout. She sighed constantly—each sigh feeling like it had been stolen from a very hot moment that never finished.

"Grand Thrusticator," Teasana greeted, her voice low and cruelly smooth. "We have awaited your... presence."

Edgezra moaned faintly. "You’re late. We hate that."

Henry stepped forward. "I got lost in the Gush. Time was... wet."

The twins stared.

"Do you know," Teasana whispered, "why you’re here?"

"To... flirt with repression?"

Edgezra bit her lip. "Close. You are here to pass the Trial of Tease and Truth."

Henry winced. "I knew it would involve truth."

They approached him slowly, like cats stalking a very aroused mouse. Teasana walked in circles around him, her finger grazing the edge of his towel—but never pulling. Edgezra sat on a chaise and crossed her legs slowly enough to cause existential thirst.

"You will sit in the Chamber of Unspoken Yearning," Teasana said. "And you will endure."

"Endure... what?"

Teasana leaned in close, her breath smelling of lavender and betrayal. "Conversation."

Henry’s face fell.

"Emotional?" he asked.

Edgezra whispered, "Worse. Romantic. Vulnerable. Deep."

Henry whimpered.

They guided him into a private chamber, lit only by a fireplace shaped like longing. On the floor was a single cushion, and opposite it, another one—both facing each other. Between them, a table with nothing but a single, glistening peach.

"Sit," Teasana commanded.

He obeyed.

The Trial began.

---

Five minutes in.

Teasana: "What does love mean to you?"

Henry: "Sitting on the floor while your thighs fall asleep because you don’t wanna stop cuddling."

Edgezra sighed. "Correct."

---

Fifteen minutes in.

Edgezra: "If your soul had a flavor...?"

Henry: "Probably peach syrup left in the sun too long."

Teasana: "Interesting. He’s self-aware."

---

Thirty-seven minutes in.

Teasana: "What’s the one thing you’ve never said during intimacy?"

Henry: "I like it when someone says ’good boy’ while pouring maple syrup on my chest."

Edgezra moaned. "Same."

---

Time dragged on. Hours passed in passionate eye contact, whispered secrets, and questions that went deeper than any thrust ever could.

Henry was sweating.

Panting.

He had answered truths about his childhood fears, his secret love of toe kisses, and his unresolved emotional craving to be the middle spoon.

And through it all, the peach remained untouched.

The peach was the final trial.

Edgezra walked over, picked it up, and gently placed it in Henry’s lap.

"This," she said, voice thick with restraint, "is the Fruit of Release. But you must not eat it until we say so."

Henry nodded slowly.

The girls sat across from him.

Time passed.

Seconds turned to minutes.

The peach glistened.

Henry began to twitch.

Climaxa peeked from the hallway. "How long’s he been peach-denied?"

"Three hours," Prudencia whispered.

Climaxa sipped. "Nice."

Finally, Edgezra leaned in.

"Eat."

Henry lunged.

Juice exploded.

A sacred moan echoed.

The peach was gone in two bites.

And the temple shuddered.

Light burst from every wall.

The statues kissed.

The flames turned pink.

And the Peach of Truth revealed a scroll hidden in its core.

Henry coughed. "Is that normal?"

Teasana wiped peach juice from her chest. "No. But you’re not normal."

Edgezra handed him the scroll. "This is the location of the missing men."

Henry stood, legs trembling.

Vebrissima caught him mid-sway. "You did it."

Prudencia high-fived him. "Still wearing the towel. Impressive."

Climaxa kissed his cheek. "You flirted with repression. And survived."

Henry looked at the scroll.

His eyes widened.

"Oh no..."

"What is it?" Vebrissima asked.

He looked up slowly.

"It’s in the Forbidden Wetlands."

They all gasped.

"Guarded by... the Clamazon Tribe."

Henry groaned. "Why can’t anything in this world just be normal?"

Teasana smirked. "Because normal... doesn’t squish."

Edgezra added, "And normal never moans back."

Henry stared into the distance.

The next leg of his journey would be deeper. Wetter. Wierder.

And the cheeks?

Would only grow stronger.

And so would the thighs. And the moans. And, unfortunately, the danger.

Henry stood there, scroll in hand, towel barely clinging to him like an emotionally fragile ex. Around him, the Temple of Tension pulsed with leftover glow. The peach juice still dripped from his fingers, sticky with destiny.

Vebrissima peered over his shoulder, reading the scroll. "The Forbidden Wetlands," she murmured. "Lush. Lethal. Unshaved since the Great Moistening."

Climaxa gasped. "No waxing? Since then?"

Prudencia frowned. "And the Clamazon Tribe. I thought they were just a legend."

"Oh, they’re real," Edgezra said, stretching with a moan that vibrated the candlelight. "They bathe in swamp nectar and arm themselves with thigh-mounted spears."

Teasana added, "And they don’t believe in subtlety. Or underwear."

Henry shivered. "That sounds... challenging."

"It’s worse than that," Vebrissima whispered. "They hunt men."

"Like... literally?"

"No. They hunt them emotionally first. With stories. With soft hands. With very complicated pillow talk that makes you question your worth."

Henry swayed slightly. "I’m not ready for that kind of character development."

Climaxa floated to his side, offering a moist towelette. "You’ll need to meditate tonight. Realign your lust aura."

"And exfoliate," Prudencia added. "Swamp acidity does weird things to your booty."

As the sun dipped below the horizon, the Temple’s moaning quieted, the flames dimmed, and the ground beneath them hummed with anticipation. Henry tucked the scroll into his hip satchel—the only pocket his enchanted towel provided—and inhaled deeply.

"We leave at dawn," he declared, channeling all the dignity a half-naked man in a peach-stained towel could muster.

Edgezra approached him slowly, brushing a kiss against his temple. "The Wetlands won’t go easy on you."

"I didn’t go easy on the Gush Caves," Henry replied, squinting like a tired anime protagonist.

Teasana stepped forward, handing him a parting gift—a small bottle labeled Edge Balm: For Emotional Chafing. "Apply when the ache becomes too much."

Henry pocketed it. "Thank you. For... edging me into emotional maturity."

They nodded solemnly.

And somewhere behind them, the peach statue winked.

The journey would continue.

And the thiccness?

It was only beginning.

The jungle ahead was wet with anticipation—literally. Vines glistened with dew that smelled vaguely like body oil and overripe strawberries. Strange birds called out in seductive rhythms: "Ooh~ ahh~ oooh~" like the moans of forgotten lovers echoing through the trees.

Henry tightened the knot on his towel, which was now enchanted to adjust to "battle-mode"—meaning it clung tighter around the cheeks and added subtle glute sparkles. He took one step forward, the squish beneath his foot sounding like a shy gasp.

Vebrissima walked beside him, now armed with a sacred parasol that doubled as a flirtation shield. "Stay alert. The Clamazon territory begins where the air smells like thighs."

Henry paused. "How is that a unit of measurement?"

"You’ll know when you feel it on your neck," Climaxa whispered from above, reclining on her floating cushion like a sensual sniper.

A gust of wind blew past.

Henry shivered.

There it was.

The unmistakable scent.

Warm.

Vanilla.

And slightly intimidating.

He looked ahead.

Past the vines, past the glowing flora, there was movement.

And moaning.

Low.

Throaty.

Predatory.

Prudencia unsheathed her dual leg-blades. "They know we’re coming."

Henry exhaled.

"Then let’s give them a reason to welcome us."

The jungle purred.