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."
