Reborn in Milfloria: The Only Man in a World of Seductive Queens-Chapter 37: Scrolls and Moans

The path to the Labia Library was not a straight road, nor was it paved with logic or modesty. Instead, it twisted and curled like a lover’s finger beckoning in the dark, flanked on either side by suggestive flora that moaned in the wind and vines that reached out to gently caress passersby.

Henry walked stiffly—not from injury, but from sensory overload. The group had barely left the Temple of Climax and already the scenery had taken a turn for the absurdly erotic. Rose-tipped lilies sighed when brushed. Bushes giggled. A tree whispered "Daddy?" as he passed.

"This forest is unwell," Henry muttered, adjusting his waistband.

Moistessa leaned in, her breath hot. "It’s not a forest, darling. It’s the Flustering Thicket. It’s sentient and single."

Yvette nodded seriously. "Just don’t make direct eye contact with the tulip-shaped ones. They imprint."

Henry made the mistake of looking. A periwinkle bloom gasped. "Are you my first?"

"NOPE," Henry squeaked, ducking behind Domina, who was busy glaring at a squirrel in fishnet gloves.

---

The Labia Library rose from the mist like an invitation wrapped in scandal. Its structure shimmered with pearlescent marble, but not the kind that screamed wealth instead, it softly moaned luxury. The domes glistened, each shaped suspiciously like... well, labial architecture. Twin spires curled inward like aroused question marks.

A sign outside read: Welcome to the Labia Library: Where Knowledge Gets You Wet.

Seraphina rolled her eyes. "This place has zero chill."

Domina grinned. "Perfect."

They ascended velvet steps that pulsed faintly with warmth. With each step, Henry swore he heard affirmations:

> "Yes, king."

> "Slay."

> "Ooh, step on me."

The massive double doors slid open with a breathy shhhlick, revealing an atrium lined with shelves that stretched toward the heavens.A subtle pulse of warmth radiated from the walls, as if the library itself was alive, breathing slow, sultry sighs. Henry felt caught between awe and mild panic — was this place flirting? Scrolls, tomes, and forbidden books nestled in alcoves like blushing secrets. Candles floated midair, their flames licking the air with teasing flickers.

A librarian glided forward.

She was tall, cloaked in translucent robes that somehow managed to both reveal everything and nothing. Her eyes sparkled with erotic wisdom, and she wore glasses that balanced on the bridge of her nose like they had signed a non-disclosure agreement.

"Welcome," she said, her voice a sultry whisper dipped in aged wine. "I am Dewra, Head Librarian and Guardian of the Dewy Index."

Henry blinked. "Is this an actual academic institution or a boudoir on Adderall?"

"Both," Dewra replied smoothly. "Now what brings you to the Labia Library? Looking for ancient secrets? Forbidden positions? The Original Kama Sutra Draft annotated by bored monks?"

Yvette stepped forward, always the voice of reason. "We’re searching for knowledge about the Sisterhood of Endless Heat. We need to know where they’ve taken the men."

Dewra’s expression shifted. She sighed, a long, mournful sound that caused three books to fall open of their own volition.

"That knowledge lies within the Restricted Section."

Henry perked up. "Oh, like in Harry Potter?"

"No, darling," Dewra said with a knowing smile. "Here, ’restricted’ means the books may try to seduce you. You don’t read them so much as negotiate intimacy."

Domina cracked her knuckles. "Sounds like my kind of literature."

---

Dewra guided them deeper into the library. Along the way, they passed:

A moaning encyclopedia that begged to be perused.

A scroll that kept rolling itself up every time someone tried to read it.

A pop-up book of Interdimensional Foreplay that triggered a five-minute slow-motion wind tunnel scene.

Henry swatted a levitating bookmark away from his crotch. "This place is pervy and academically rigorous. I’m conflicted."

Moistessa giggled. "That’s the point."

They arrived at a pair of heart-shaped saloon doors. A sign read:

> Restricted Section — Enter With Enthusiasm.

"Only the brave may pass," Dewra intoned. "Or the very, very curious."

Seraphina, never one to hesitate, shoved the doors open.

Inside, it was... quiet.

Almost too quiet.

Shelves hummed softly. Scrolls shifted like bodies under silk sheets. An orb floated in the center of the room, glowing softly.

Henry approached it slowly. "What is that?"

Dewra whispered, her voice suddenly reverent. "The Orb of Ooh. It contains whispers of the truth you seek. But it only reveals to those who dare... to open their hearts."

Yvette narrowed her eyes. "That sounds like a scam."

Henry placed his hand on the orb. It pulsed under his palm.

> "Do you consent to enlightenment?"

A little box appeared in the air: [YES] [NO] [WHAT’S THE SAFE WORD?]

He clicked YES.

Suddenly, the room burst with light. Illusions flickered to life: ancient battles between sensual scholars and the Sisterhood. Temples burning with aphrodisiacs. Men running for their lives some back into the enemy camp for reasons best left unexplored.

A vision formed of a floating citadel, shrouded in steam and guarded by beautiful, oiled warriors.

"That’s it," Henry breathed. "The Fortress of Foreplay."

Dewra nodded. "That is where the Sisterhood has taken them. And it lies beyond the Sea of Simps."

Moistessa went pale. "That place is crawling with hopeless romantics. We could get overwhelmed by unsolicited poetry."

Domina cracked her whip. "We’ll go prepared."

Dewra handed them a map sealed with a kiss mark and a feather quill made from the plume of a Hypno-Peacock. "This will guide you. But beware... the Fortress is not easily reached. Only the truly balanced—those with lust and love in harmony—can pass."

Seraphina raised an eyebrow. "So we need to keep Henry emotionally stable."

The group went quiet.

Henry scowled. "Wow. Thanks. Real confidence boost."

Moistessa placed a comforting hand on Henry’s shoulder. "Hey, don’t take it personally. Emotional stability is just... not your strong suit."

Henry looked genuinely wounded. "I’m emotionally stable. I cried when that one crab got cooked alive in that documentary."

Domina raised an eyebrow. "Wasn’t that a cooking show?"

"His name was Clawrence," Henry whispered dramatically. "He had a story."

Seraphina sighed and stepped between them. "Look, we’re all exhausted and overly stimulated by horny books and whispering doors. Let’s just cool off and figure out how to cross the Sea of Simps without drowning in declarations of eternal love."

Yvette, ever tactical, pulled out a notebook from her utility garter. "We’ll need provisions. Mental defenses. Possibly decoy love letters to throw them off."

Domina nodded. "And something to jam their metaphors. Those bastards speak entirely in poetry."

Dewra overheard from the doorway, gliding forward like a seductive swan. "You’ll need a Shield of Realism," she said solemnly. "It deflects flowery declarations and compliments so sweet they give you cavities."

She handed Henry a small silver amulet in the shape of a middle finger. "This will protect you from the worst of it."

Henry blinked. "You’re just giving me the magical equivalent of ’nah, I’m good’?"

"Exactly."

Dewra turned to the rest of the group. "Before you go, there’s one last thing." She gestured toward a tall podium at the end of the Restricted Section, where a heavy leather-bound book rested beneath a glowing crystal.

"That is the Codex of Contradiction," Dewra said. "It’s a legendary volume, rumored to hold truths that conflict yet coexist. The Sisterhood fears it."

Moistessa’s eyes sparkled. "Forbidden contradictions? I’m listening."

"Like how someone can be dominant but want to be held," Dewra explained. "Or how desire and vulnerability often walk hand in hand."

Yvette’s gaze sharpened. "So it’s a book that teaches you how to weaponize emotional complexity."

Henry looked confused. "Wait, isn’t that just being in your twenties?"

Dewra chuckled. "Touché."

They gathered around the Codex. The book shimmered as they opened it, flipping through pages filled with shimmering ink and shifting diagrams. Symbols danced like shadows of truths not yet fully understood.

Henry’s hand hovered over a page, one with a quote that glowed gently:

> "He who loves must risk breaking, and she who commands must learn to kneel—if only for a moment."

He looked at Seraphina.

She avoided his gaze.

Yvette cleared her throat. "We need rest. Tomorrow we set out."

But Henry lingered. One hand still resting lightly on the page, as if it might vanish if he let go.

---

That night, they stayed in the library’s guest chambers—lavish suites scented with lavender, each equipped with consent-activated beds and pillow menus.

Henry lay awake, staring at the ceiling, which was somehow playing a slow reel of sensual interpretive dance.

Seraphina knocked on the adjoining door. "You up?"

"The ceiling just asked me to cuddle. I’m very awake."

She entered, dressed casually in a silk robe and war boots.

"I’m worried," she admitted. "This next part... it’s not just fighting. It’s feeling. We need you, Henry. Not just the pervy jokes. The heart too."

Henry swallowed. "I know. I’m trying. I really am."

She sat beside him. The silence stretched.

Then she smirked. "Still thinking about the Orb of Ooh asking for consent?"

"A little, yeah."

"You clicked ’Yes’ way too fast."

Henry grinned. "I’m an adventurer. Consent is my kink."

They laughed. Softly. And for once, the moaning furniture didn’t interrupt.

---

To Be Continued...