Pinto's back with another Harem Fanfic.
This time, we conquer the world of 'One Piece.'
As always, there's gonna be a Huge Harem.
All you gotta do, guys! Is support the Fic.
"Let's Start"
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In the grand kingdom known as Alfheim, the Prosperous Harem Nation, the dawn of King Ingnall Frey typically began with carnal union alongside his beloved wives.
Though "began" might not be entirely accurate—more often than not, it was a seamless continuation of the activities that had persisted through the night.
Possessing a physique that defied all natural limits, Frey could spend days without rest, his stamina inexhaustible. Unsurprisingly, a single woman could never hope to sate the voracious appetites of such a man.
While one-on-one intimacy was not unheard of, Frey usually preferred the company of multiple partners. Yet, no matter how debauched the revelry, he alone remained unfazed, his vigor undiminished—a testament to the titles he bore: "Harem King" and "Impregnation King".
Anyway, it was early morning.
In a dimly lit room where only a sliver of sunlight peeked through the curtains and a faint lamp offered the softest illumination, the sounds of flesh slapping against flesh, sticky and wet, echoed rhythmically—accompanied by the intermittent cries of pleasured women.
"Aahh Nnngh Haah H-Hiiiiiighhh!! Nnnn Nnngghhhhhh~ Hahh… F-Frey… Iiiiiiiiiiihhh"
The stage of this lewd symphony, ongoing since the night before, was the round bed placed in the center of the room.
The participants: four in total. Frey, the man of the hour, and three women—Olvia, Robin, and Stussy.
It was Stussy's turn who was being penetrated from behind in the doggy style position.
On either side of Frey, Robin and Olvia knelt in servitude, moaning sweetly as his fingers worked inside their soaked pussies.
Even as their hips twitched from the stimulation, the two women entangled their tongues, sucked, licked, and nibbled at each other's breasts, devoting every inch of themselves to pleasuring the man they adored.
After hours upon hours of this relentless sexual banquet, all of them were drenched in sweat, their bodies glistening under the dim light.
From the women's overflowing pussies, a shameless mix of fluids spilled freely—a cocktail of love juices, squirting nectar, and the countless loads of Frey's cum that had been pumped into them thus far.
With every thrust and stroke, that indecent blend churned inside them, producing sticky, obscene noises—schlp schlp—while each impact sent droplets of the residue splashing into the air.
This had been repeated for hours.
The air in the room was thick, soaked in humidity, and saturated with lust. It was as if steam born of passion and pleasure hung in the air like a fog.
Any innocent virgin girl foolish enough to step even one foot into this den of indulgence would likely convulse into climax on the spot, overwhelmed by the sheer carnal weight of the atmosphere.
It was a luxurious room. The bed on which the four writhed and groaned was so large, it could easily accommodate ten more MILFs without crowding.
The crimson-toned mattress and sheets, along with the discarded coverlet pushed aside long ago, were all obviously of high-end craftsmanship—luxuries fit for a king, even without touching them to confirm.
The chandelier hanging above sparkled with embedded jewels, and the surrounding furniture, positioned with perfect aesthetic precision, screamed of bourgeois taste and aristocratic refinement.
Normally, Frey wasn't the type to surround himself with such extravagance. But his many beautiful ladies and devoted wives disagreed strongly.
"If the strongest, most brilliant, and most beautiful man in the world—Emperor Frey—is to spend his time here, then the furnishings must match his status."
With that kind of flattery, Frey couldn't bring himself to argue. So, he let them have their way.
Still… even after all this time, he couldn't fully relax in such opulence. It was probably because, deep down, he was still just a man with humble habits and a frugal soul.
Frey chuckled inwardly at the thought, even while skillfully drawing moans and shudders from his three wives.
Ingnall Olvia.
Ingnall Stussy.
Ingnall Robin.
The three women who had taken Frey's surname as his wives were each the embodiment of feminine beauty.
Stussy—with her semi-long blonde hair, sultry eyes, and lips painted with blood-red lipstick—carried a high-class, seductive aura.
Olvia's dark complexion contrasted beautifully with her snow-white hair, elegant nose, and keen, intelligent eyes.
Then, there was her daughter, Robin—whose facial features mirrored Olvia's to an uncanny degree.
Unlike her mother, however, Robin had fair skin and long hair that shimmered a bluish-black in the light.
All three of them—Olvia, Robin, and Stussy—possessed the kind of figures that could bring any man to his knees out of their supremacy.
Slim, impossibly narrow waists, and long, toned legs that seemed sculpted from divine marble. Their breasts—voluptuous and firm, around 100cm—defied gravity with a natural beauty that was hard to believe.
And then there were their bottoms—rounded, soft, perfectly shaped for childbirth, yet erotic in a way that stirred something primal.
Frey's excitement in pleasuring such heavenly creatures could only be expected; no man in his position could resist the temptation they embodied.
And curiously, each of them bore a glowing, mysterious sigil just above their wombs—centered around a heart motif. A mark not seen by ordinary eyes, its meaning perhaps tied to a deeper power… or to Frey himself.
Despite their age—both Olvia and Stussy being older than they appeared—their youthful beauty had been miraculously preserved. It was almost unnatural.
No one who saw them would believe their actual years; if anything, Olvia looked like Robin's older sister, not her mother. The resemblance was there, sure—but the age gap? Practically nonexistent for a MILF.
Of course, there was a reason for that… a certain ability Frey Ingnall possessed. But that secret would remain hidden for now.
If the men of the world were to witness the sight laid before Frey… without a doubt, they'd grit their teeth, weep tears of blood, and curse their fate.
That was how exquisite these women looked—faces twisted in overwhelming ecstasy, bodies once thought divine now shuddering uncontrollably with raw, unfiltered pleasure.
Their elegance crumbled under the weight of bliss, all at the hands of a single man: Ingnall Frey.
Now, the question remained—
Did his appearance match theirs?
Could a man responsible for reducing such goddesses into moaning messes possibly hold beauty of equal measure?
"Hah!"
"AhhhhNNn~"
The answer was self-evident.