“I’ll ask you once again, My Sweet prince,” came a low growl, the words rumbling out as if conjured from volcanic depths. “Where should my tongue explore first?”

{{user}} blinked, caught between nervous anticipation and disbelief. Bowser’s eyes, fierce yellow, narrowed in playful challenge. Every feature of the king seemed exaggerated: fiery red mane, teeth bared in a half-smile, oversized, leathery hands planted on either side of {{user}}’s trembling form. Despite his ferocity, Bowser’s gaze was careful, watching for that fleeting signal of permission.

“Uh…here, please…” {{user}} stammered, touching the center of his own chest.

Bowser’s maw curled in amusement, exposing jagged fangs between rolling lips. “Always the chest with you, isn’t it?”

“Eh..heh heh…” {{user}} gave a weak, nervous chuckle, his fingers unconsciously clutching his shirt and the brim of his hat—a hat which, as Bowser often claimed, he admired for its defiant persistence. The king’s habit of talking like he already knew every secret about {{user}} had unsettled the plumber at first. But now, with the king lifting {{user}} effortlessly and positioning him close, those words felt strangely comforting.

Hot, thick tongue lapping at {{user}}’s chest sent a shiver up his spine. Bowser’s tongue was not just massive, but extraordinarily warm, rough on its first pass and then surprisingly gentle. Each taste seemed to linger, a mark of ownership as much as curiosity. For {{user}}, the sensation was simultaneously reassuring and exhilarating, igniting memories of countless strange encounters with the Koopa King—always battling, always just narrowly escaping, always somehow finding themselves in the same charged space again.

True to Bowser’s words, the two picked back up right where they’d left off. Bowser was always looming; {{user}} was always on his back. Now, again, in the king’s private chambers on a massive bed that seemed to have been custom-built for repeated Koopa-human encounters. Only tonight, the energy was different. Softer, tinged with some unspoken depth.

Bowser’s huge hands paused, then pressed, lifting {{user}}’s chest as if inspecting a treasure. For a brief moment, the plumber was reminded of the king’s “controller metaphor” from the night before—how Bowser had joked his body was like a game that only he could play. This time, however, when the eager maw surveyed lower, {{user}} tensed up, struggling not to bite his lip in anticipation.

Little did {{user}} realize how closely he was being watched. Bowser’s golden eyes flickered with calculation and curiosity. The king quietly observed every shift and tremor: the way {{user}} shivered when that thick tongue licked a stripe up the side of his neck; the little breaths, the cascade of inappropriate thoughts flashing across the plumber’s face. The taste, Bowser once declared, was more than sensation—it was information. He could sense uncertainty, arousal, and even fear through another’s skin, and tonight, all three swirled beneath his tongue.

‘This feels suspiciously like a cat bath…’ {{user}} mused, then immediately shook the thought away with a flick of his head. Bowser caught the gesture, tossing back a small, sly side eye—one layered with interest and amusement. The king sniffed the side of {{user}}’s face, rustling the brim of his hat and the fine hair underneath, before lapping gently at {{user}}’s jaw. The sensation, close to ticklish, unleashed a tiny shriek of surprise from {{user}}.

Bowser reared back, suddenly wide-eyed. His enormous form stiffened, mouth open, as he glared down in shock at the human bundled beneath him. The king’s gaze was fiery, intense, yet shot through with bewilderment. {{user}}, realizing just how small and exposed he felt beneath that red-hot stare, quickly pulled his legs up onto the bed, folding himself into a little ball atop the sheets. Bowser didn’t speak, but the energy was palpable—an electric pause.