Henry woke up face-first in cleavage.
Not just any cleavage—muscular cleavage, the kind that came with scars, protein powder, and war crimes.
"Rise, mortal snack," boomed a voice that sounded like a vibrator possessed by a demon.
He blinked.
Mistress Matronica stood over him in her absurd armor made of polished bedposts, chained bras, and what suspiciously looked like the headboard of a destroyed love hotel.
Her abs flexed.
Her thighs flexed.
His willpower did not flex.
Henry screamed. "Where am I?! Why am I tied up?! Why is the air so… moist?!"
"You've entered the heart of the Forbidden Faplands," Mistress Matronica growled. "The land where men are extinct… and women rule by lust."
"And you're tied up," said a nearby guard in nothing but battle heels and a loincloth made of expired condoms, "because you're too damn seductive."
Henry blinked. "Me? Seductive?? I cried during a shampoo commercial yesterday."
"Exactly," Matronica purred, licking her lips. "The world needs more sensitive himbos."
Then she climbed on top of him.
Back at the crash site of the War-Banana…
Seraphina was not okay.
Her thigh-high boots were covered in glitter from cosmic battle, her sword was still throbbing from the impact (yes, literally), and worst of all…
Henry was gone.
Again.
And this time, the bitch who took him was stacked like a Greek statue that got cursed with a fleshlight brain.
"I'm going to kill her," Seraphina muttered, pacing back and forth.
Moistessa, still dripping battle lube, gently wiped sparkly lube off Seraphina's cheek. "You okay, Queen?"
"I'm fine," Seraphina snapped. "Why would I not be fine? It's not like the guy I've protected, fed, trained, and occasionally dry-humped in my dreams just got snatched by a war dominatrix with abs like a sex dungeon wall."
Moistessa blinked. "So you do like him."
"I—I tolerate him," Seraphina muttered. "He's like a very dumb, very hot, very annoying puppy with a massive—"
"Massive what?" Thrustina asked, walking over with a blueprint for a lube-powered portal cannon.
Seraphina clenched her teeth. "Never mind. Load the war machine. We're invading the Faplands."
**
Meanwhile…
Henry was undergoing the Ritual of Male Submission.
Which, apparently, involved oil wrestling three Amazonian gym instructors while a choir of moaning nuns sang "WAP" in Latin.
Henry grunted as a bicep the size of his entire body locked around his waist. "Why is this part of the training?!"
Matronica purred from her throne. "If you survive, you may sit on my warthrone… or I may sit on you. Either way, we both win."
Henry shrieked as the third instructor—built like a truck and twice as fast—pile-drove him into a pile of vibrating yoga balls.
"Where are my pants?!" he cried.
"Destroyed," said one nun, fanning herself. "Your thighs sinned too hard."
Just then, the walls exploded.
Seraphina charged in, glowing with wrath and womanly fury, flanked by Moistessa and Thrustina riding a giant, glitter-covered strap-on tank.
"GET OFF MY MAN!" she howled.
Matronica stood up. "Excuse you. Your man?"
Seraphina stomped forward. "He's my emotional support idiot. He can't even boil water without setting a kitchen on fire. You think he can handle your thigh-locks? Please."
Henry, half-naked and dazed, waved weakly. "I once made cereal with ketchup."
Matronica narrowed her eyes. "He is perfect."
Seraphina snarled and pointed her sword. "You wanna fight me for him?"
Matronica cracked her knuckles. "Bitch, I was born for this."
They lunged.
And suddenly—
BATTLE OF THE THICC BEGINS.
Seraphina flipped, her royal thighs slicing through air like angry poetry.
Matronica blocked with a shield made of leather harnesses and regret.
They clashed, sparks flying, moans echoing, everything dripping for no logical reason.
Henry, still tied up, mumbled, "I think I just developed a thing for sword fights."
Moistessa leaned close. "Only now?"
Thrustina launched a bomb that exploded in fireworks shaped like boobs.
Chaos. Passion. Horny war.
And then—Seraphina disarmed Matronica.
Sword to throat.
Chest heaving.
Eyes glowing.
"Henry's not yours," she hissed. "He's mine."
Everyone froze.
Henry's heart stopped.
Wait.
She said it. Out loud.
Matronica slowly raised her hands. "Damn. I can respect that. You win this round, Queen Thighs."
She vanished into a puff of glitter and pheromones.
The chamber fell quiet.
Seraphina turned to Henry, cheeks flushed.
"You okay?" she muttered, cutting his ropes.
He fell into her arms. "You came for me…"
She glared. "Of course I did, dumbass. Who else is gonna make sure you don't die trying to eat expired lube?"
He smiled.
She looked away.
Then Henry asked, softly, "So… did you mean it? That I'm yours?"
Seraphina went silent.
Her cheeks turned crimson.
Then she slapped him. "Don't get cocky. You still made out with Moistessa last week."
Moistessa waved. "To be fair, I was possessed by a Lust Slime."
Henry groaned. "This world is trying to kill me with coochie."
Seraphina's lips twitched. A tiny smile.
"Get dressed, dummy," she said. "We're going home."
As they walked back to the war-banana, Henry glanced at her.
And for the first time, her hand brushed his.
She didn't pull away.
Neither did he.
**
Later, in the banana jet…
Thrustina was piloting with one foot while building a spanking machine.
Moistessa was applying lube like sunscreen.
Henry sat next to Seraphina, his head on her shoulder.
"…Sera?"
"…Yeah?"
"…Thanks for coming for me."
She didn't answer.
But she rested her hand on his thigh.
And squeezed it.
Just once.
Not because she was horny (okay, maybe a little), but because she meant it.
And somewhere deep inside that horny, chaotic mess of a world…
Henry was starting to realize:
He didn't just want boobs. He wanted her.
---