Reborn in Milfloria: The Only Man in a World of Seductive Queens-Chapter 64: Key of Thirst

The path squelched like it had opinions. Every step Henry took was met with the sound of clingy pudding, and the faint whisper of something that sounded suspiciously like, "Yesss, walk on me daddy."

Henry blinked. "Did anyone else hear that?"

"The Wetlands are known to flirt," Vebrissima said without looking back. "Don’t give them attention. That’s how you get jungle-married."

Climaxa twirled mid-air, doing slow aerial spins like a magical stripper fairy. "The last time I winked at a moss patch, I ended up in a six-hour emotional relationship with a fern named Douglas."

"Did you break it off?" Henry asked.

Climaxa sipped from her peach flask. "I ghosted him. But I still feel rustled about it."

The path curved downward, coiling like a teasing snake made of lusty intentions. Ahead, framed by arching trees shaped like curvy dancers mid-twerk, stood a colossal stone gate.

It was carved with delicate detail—the twin curves of two celestial cheeks, rising high into the air like divine buns of destiny. Between them, at the gate’s center, a keyhole pulsed with a soft, inviting glow.

A sign above read: THE MOIST GATE — Only the Worthiest Thirst May Enter

Henry squinted. "I feel like I shouldn’t touch anything. But I really, really want to."

Prudencia stepped forward and examined the inscription. "It says one must ’prove the purity of their downbadness through acts of sincere thirst and uncorrupted simp energy.’"

"That sounds like a trap," Henry muttered.

Vebrissima flicked open her parasol. "Or foreplay. Often the same thing."

Climaxa floated toward the keyhole, trailing glitter. "The gate needs a key. Not a normal one. A moistkey."

Henry winced. "Of course it does."

Suddenly, the scroll Swellica had given him vibrated in his towel. He pulled it out.

The scroll glowed and unfolded itself midair, revealing an animated diagram of a ritual circle shaped like a heart in the middle of a very suggestive peach.

"To summon the Moistkey," Vebrissima read aloud, "the Chosen Moist must... oh no."

Henry leaned in. "What? What is it?"

Prudencia stared in disbelief. "You have to reenact your most downbad moment... while fully aware... in front of witnesses."

Henry went pale. "You mean... like the night I offered to pay someone’s rent just to see their feet?"

Climaxa gasped. "That was you?! I read that scrollpost on Lustagram!"

He groaned. "This is worse than any dungeon."

"No," Vebrissima said softly. "This is the dungeon."

---

They lit the ritual torches around the circle. The wind grew still. Even the vines stopped rustling, as if they knew something sacred was about to occur. The jungle watched in silence, dripping softly with curiosity.

Henry stepped into the circle, clutching his towel like it was both armor and shame blanket. He took a deep breath.

"Okay. My most downbad moment... was two years ago. I was on a lonely mountaintop. It was cold. I had just gotten rejected by a girl who said I gave off ’wet sock energy.’"

The flames flickered sympathetically.

"So I went to the Shrine of Scrolls and paid ten gold coins to subscribe to a mystic called Lady Peachula."

Prudencia leaned closer. "Was she... real?"

"Her feet were," Henry said darkly.

The torches flared.

"I wrote her fan poems. I drew... art. I tried to send her enchanted muffins shaped like hearts."

The ground trembled.

"And then... I offered her a dowry. My family heirloom. A holy belt buckle once worn by the Thigh Sage of Gush."

Everyone gasped.

"But she ghosted me. And used the muffin recipe to launch her OnlyScrolls bakery."

The wind moaned.

Then—a beam of light burst from the center of the ritual circle. The ground quivered. From the peach diagram, a small object rose slowly into the air.

It shimmered. It throbbed.

It was a moistkey.

Shaped exactly like a peach pit... but glistening with soft dew and tiny engraved hearts.

Henry reached out.

The moment he touched it, the Moist Gate groaned open. Loudly. Like a heavy breath exhaled after holding in a decade of repressed thirst.

The stone cheeks slowly parted.

A soft warm light spilled out from within.

The path beyond was lined with velvet petals and golden fog. It led upward, toward a glowing mountaintop and what looked like...

A city.

A crystal city of bathhouses, steamy towers, and floating islands shaped like luxurious thighs.

Climaxa whispered, "That’s... Gushgard. The last place the missing men were seen."

Prudencia frowned. "The capital of the Sisterhood of Endless Heat."

Henry clutched the key and towel together.

He took a step forward.

The jungle behind him gave a final moan.

He whispered, "Alright, cheeks. Let’s do this."

They crossed the gate.

The moistness had only just begun.

As Henry and the squad stepped through the parted cheeks of the Moist Gate, a gentle humidity welcomed them like a lover’s breath. The path ahead was paved with soft, squishy cobblestone hearts—each one releasing a breathy sigh when stepped on. The air shimmered with mist that smelled of peach wine, vanilla promise, and maybe the faint musk of poor decisions.

Henry adjusted his towel like a knight fixing his armor. "This is it. Gushgard."

Climaxa floated beside him, her wings fluttering like slow applause. "The capital of steam. The moistest city on the continent."

Vebrissima’s parasol twirled in awe. "Even my thighs are blushing."

The city glowed ahead—a gleaming metropolis sculpted entirely from smooth, wet quartz. Buildings pulsed gently with warm, ambient light. Towering fountains erupted in elegant spurts of sparkly nectar, and bridges curved like winks thrown across canals filled with milky steam. Everything shimmered with sensual elegance—like a kingdom built by goddesses who read too much fanfiction.

At the entrance stood a statue of a giant foot stepping onto a scroll.

Henry paused. "That’s... oddly personal."

"Symbol of dominance," Climaxa whispered. "And guilt."

They stepped through the main gate.

Almost immediately, they were surrounded.

Dozens of women stood at attention—each one a vision of impossible beauty. Tight robes, flowing silks, cleavage embroidered with ancient runes. Some stood atop floating platforms, others reclined on velvet-hovering couches that purred softly. They stared with curiosity, hunger, and something worse...

Recognition.

"Behold," one of them announced, her voice echoing like wet thunder, "the Thrusticator of the prophecy."

Henry blinked. "I—there’s a prophecy?"

A taller woman stepped forward. She was draped in a gown made of living fog, her lips shimmering with gloss that seemed to defy morality. Her name echoed without her even saying it:

Mistress Humida.

"The towel," she said, walking in slow, hypnotic circles around him. "The thighs. The aura of unresolved tension. It is him."

Henry cleared his throat. "Okay, hi. Just passing through. Maybe looking for some lost men. A little clarity. Perhaps a towel upgrade?"

Mistress Humida smiled. "All will be revealed. But first... tradition demands that you be rinsed."

"Rinsed?" he repeated.

Before anyone could answer, four hooded figures emerged with large, round loofahs made of enchanted sponge coral. They surrounded him.

"I—wait—I haven’t even eaten—"

SPLORSH.

The first loofah made contact.

A soft gasp escaped his mouth.

Warm scented foam exploded across his back.

The second loofah rubbed a figure-eight across his thighs. It purred.

The third whispered his zodiac sign.

The fourth just... vibed.

"Oh gods—why is this legal," Henry whimpered, knees wobbling like flirty pudding.

The crowd watched, respectfully thirsty.

Mistress Humida nodded. "He is clean. Now he may enter the Lower Baths."

Henry was dried with a snap of her fingers. The towel folded itself back around him with a sensual twirl, like a lover returning from a meaningful breakup.

Vebrissima coughed. "This place is aggressively sensual."

"I’ve already fallen in love with four benches," Prudencia whispered, glaring suspiciously at a particularly curvy loveseat.

Climaxa floated overhead, making slow notes in her journal. "Reminder: Do not drink from the moaning fountains. They induce spontaneous poetry."

They descended a spiral staircase made of polished marble buttocks. Each step jiggled slightly on contact.

At the base was the Lower Baths.

It was less a bathhouse and more an entire ecosystem of steam-based debauchery. Pools of liquid moonlight shimmered beneath glowing lanterns shaped like half-lidded eyes. Sultry music drifted from nowhere, and the air was thick with the scent of lavender and forbidden exes.

Men were everywhere.

Not many.

But enough.

Dozens of them, lounging in oversized tubs, their eyes glazed in blissful surrender. Some were being fed enchanted grapes. Others were just giggling softly while their feet were massaged by sentient bubbles.

Prudencia stepped forward. "Are these... the missing men?"

Henry frowned. "They don’t look kidnapped. They look like they signed a contract with good lighting."

A gentle cough.

A woman stepped forward, her robe barely hanging on by willpower and strategic stitching.

"I am Sister Sliporia. Welcome to the Sisterhood of Endless Heat."

Henry tilted his head. "Why are the men here? What happened to them?"

Sliporia gestured to the lounging pool. "They came seeking answers. And found release. We simply offer what the outside world denies—care, comfort, thighs that listen."

Climaxa floated closer to one of the pools. "You’re running a full-on pleasure cult."

"We call it a moisture sanctuary."

Prudencia stepped beside her. "Same thing."

Henry looked at the men. "Can they leave?"

"Of course," Sliporia smiled. "But why would they?"

Henry stepped toward a tub.

"Hey. You. Do you remember your name?"

One of the men blinked slowly. "Mmm. I was... Doug? I think? Or maybe Moistpher?"

Henry shook his head. "You were an accountant in East Gushville. You had a cat named Blender."

Doug blinked again.

Then... a tear rolled down his cheek.

"Blender..."

Sliporia narrowed her eyes.

Mistress Humida reappeared.

"You’re trying to awaken them. Stir their minds. Unclog their desires."

Henry stood tall, towel fluttering with righteousness.

"I will unclog every last man here."

The air went silent.

A single drop of steam hit the floor.

Humida sighed.

"So be it."

She waved her hand.

Every Sister of Endless Heat in the room turned.

Eyes locked on him.

Thighs tightened.

Steam rose.

"This is your trial," Humida whispered.

Henry glanced at his crew.

"Alright. One moistkey down. One prophecy awakened. Time to free some emotionally fragile booty."

He dropped into a squat.

The floor moaned.

Again.

The moistness had truly, irrevocably begun.