Help! Get Me Out of My Sister's Chapter 352: ’Sexual Revelations.’

Was it possible?

That vision—that overwhelming, vivid vision—it wasn’t just a dream or a delusion.

It was real.

Florian had felt everything. The heat, the touch, the way his body had responded...even the pleasure had been so sharp, so overwhelming, that he’d arched into it like it was actually happening.

And as much as Florian wanted to dismiss it—to write it off as so twisted fantasy of the original Florian—it wasn’t.

It couldn’t be.

But how? Why? What happened?

It hadn’t felt like so passive mory either. It was as though he had relived it—inhabited a mont that wasn’t supposed to be his. And yet his body rembered it, responded to it, ached from it.

The pieces were disjointed, scattered—but slowly, they were beginning to co together.

Heinz had been drunk. In that vision, too. Slurring, flushed, and so desperately affectionate. Was that it? Did he only show that side of himself when intoxicated? Was that the truth of him?

Had he ever really loved the original Florian?

It was impossible to say. Heinz was different like this—his eyes glossy with wine, his speech slow, affectionate in a way that didn’t match his usual stoic, annoying, and kingly deanor.

Proof of that was currently crawling across the floor toward him, like a drunk cat with far too much strength and far too little sha.

"Floriannn..." Heinz drawled, his voice thick, lips tugged into a lazy pout. "Why aren’t you paying attention to ?"

Florian inched backward, heart pounding.

"Y-Your Majesty, please," he said, his voice cracking with nerves. "Can you just... relax? This...this isn’t like you at all."

He didn’t an to sound so panicked, but how could he not be? After seeing that—a full-blown, vivid mory of the original Florian and Heinz having sex—as if they were lovers. As if it was normal.

What made it worse—what made Florian’s skin crawl—was that the original Florian hadn’t seed the least bit surprised by the king’s actions. He hadn’t hesitated, hadn’t protested.

He’d accepted it. Welcod it.

Like it wasn’t the first ti.

’Why... why was he so used to it?’

None of it made sense.

’Nothing is making sense anymore.’

Then suddenly—

"Oh?" Heinz humd as if he’d discovered sothing of interest. Florian stiffened.

Heinz’s gaze had dropped lower—no longer focused on his face.

He was staring at Florian’s body.

No—at the bulge in his pants.

Florian’s blood ran cold.

Heinz stood up, swaying slightly, his long black hair falling forward, shadowing his expression. The unsteadiness in his steps did nothing to ease Florian’s anxiety as the king marched toward him and crouched down, re inches away.

’What’s he doing now?’ Florian thought, furrowing his brows, trying to shuffle backward on trembling limbs. "Your Majesty—Ah!"

He gasped as Heinz suddenly reached forward, gripping Florian’s knees, which had been clamped tightly together—desperately trying to hide the proof of his arousal.

With surprising strength, Heinz pried his legs apart.

Florian’s whole body jerked, stunned. He wanted to kick him. God, he wanted to—but Heinz was still the king.

"You’re hard," Heinz said plainly, as if making an objective observation about the weather.

Florian’s face exploded with heat.

"T-That’s... N-No—I’m—" His voice broke apart, stuttering in sheer embarrassnt. "I-It’s not what you think—!"

Words were slipping through his fingers, jumbled and useless. Everything was unraveling in his head. His thoughts, his control, his very sense of self.

And then Heinz licked his lips.

Hungrily.

His eyes were fixed—devouring—focused directly on the bulge in Florian’s pants.

"Let help you."

His voice dropped—low, rough, almost like a growl.

That was the mont Florian’s brain short-circuited.

He stopped moving.

He couldn’t speak.

He froze.

His mind blanked into static as Heinz leaned in, reading the silence as consent.

Without hesitation, Heinz swept Florian into his arms—bridal style. Florian’s body instinctively curled inward, shocked by the sudden motion.

"W-What... What are you—no, Your Majesty. This... I—" Florian flailed verbally, struggling to find sothing to say, sothing that would make sense of this madness.

But Heinz only smirked, carrying him with ease across the room. He walked straight to the enormous bed and gently laid Florian onto the silken sheets like he was sothing precious.

Florian’s heart thundered.

He wanted to move—but he couldn’t.

Then Heinz turned toward the door. With a flick of his fingers, it slamd shut—barred with glowing magic runes that shimred like blue fire across the wood.

Florian’s blood chilled.

A ward. A barrier.

Heinz was sealing them in.

The realization hit him like a tidal wave when the king turned back, climbing onto the bed, his body moving slowly—predatorily—until he hovered above Florian.

"Are you ready?" he asked, his voice rough and husky.

Finally—finally—Florian’s mind snapped back into clarity.

He raised his hand, pressed it to Heinz’s chest, and pushed.

It wasn’t hard—but it was enough.

"N-No, Your Majesty. I... I can’t do this with you."

"Why?" Heinz whispered, not offended, not deterred. He cupped Florian’s face again, his fingers tracing along his cheeks, his lips. The warmth of his touch was dizzying—wrong and yet terrifyingly gentle.

Florian’s body betrayed him, reacting with a soft shiver, his pants growing impossibly tighter.

"B-Because..."

’I’m straight. I’m not the real Florian. I’m straight. I’m not the real Florian.’

But the words wouldn’t leave his mouth. His tongue refused to cooperate.

And Heinz—Heinz watched him closely.

Then, with a sudden flick of his hand, Florian’s clothes ignited—not in fire, but in slow disintegration. Threads dissolving, lting away like smoke.

Florian’s eyes widened in horror.

"W-Wait! Your Majesty, really—!"

His body was cold. Exposed. He tried to cover himself, but—

Why did this feel familiar?

"You acted so different," Heinz murmured, leaning down so close that his breath ghosted along Florian’s ear, "when you were under the aphrodisiac."

’A-Aphrodisiac?’ Florian’s heart stopped.

’W-What does he an—?’

"You practically begged to touch you," Heinz whispered. "It was a sha you didn’t rember."

Florian’s stomach dropped. The nausea twisted with revelation.

’The dream I kept having... wasn’t a dream? That... that actually happened?!’

His eyes went wide in shock.

Heinz smirked knowingly. "It seems you do rember."

Then his hand slipped lower—trailing down Florian’s bare stomach to his thighs, fingers ghosting over sensitive skin.

Florian shivered.

"I put my fingers inside you," Heinz said casually, voice deepening, "and it went on all night... until you passed out. I had to stop myself from using... my own tool."

Images from that night—no, that mory—flooded his mind once more, vivid and haunting.

He had thought it was only a dream at first, a delusion conjured by his stressed and overstimulated mind, but it had co to him so often, so clearly, with every sensation intact, that he could no longer pretend it wasn’t real.

Every gasp, every graze of skin, every whispered word—it had etched itself into his consciousness like a curse.

’No... it really happened...’

Florian’s body trembled. His breath caught in his throat. His face was pale, but his ears burned red from a mix of sha, confusion, and sothing else—sothing far too dangerous to na.

"I-I’m..." his voice cracked, barely a whisper. He bowed his head, or at least tried to, but his limbs felt locked in place. "I’m so sorry..."

He didn’t even know what he was apologizing for. For forgetting? For reacting? For being shaless while under the aphrodisiac?

Heinz chuckled—a soft, low sound that sent shivers down Florian’s spine. The king leaned in, pressing a warm kiss to Florian’s neck.

Florian’s eyes snapped open, and his body betrayed him with a twitch from deep below.

’No, no, no, don’t...not now—’

"I willingly did it, Florian," Heinz murmured against his skin, his breath tickling the shell of his ear. His tone was smooth, deliberate. "And now... I’m still willingly doing this. But first..."

Florian flinched when he felt a single finger trail along the sensitive flesh of his inner thigh. It was featherlight, barely a touch, but its proximity to his already straining arousal was maddening.

Heinz’s eyes were half-lidded, watching every tiny reaction with dark delight.

"I need your permission," he whispered, voice dipped in velvet sin. "Let pleasure you, Florian. You still haven’t given a yes."

Florian’s breath hitched.

Oh.

Oh.

Oh.

Oh.