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Chapter - 151 Temple of Submission: The Noble Harvest. (R-18)
🕑 Added 2025-05-25 22:52:44 +0000 UTCBy the time he returned, the evening sun had vanished beyond the horizon. His villa glowed warmly with candlelight and perfume.
A crimson carpet stretched from the entrance to the throne room, flanked by rows of silent maids and two kneeling Cipher Pol operatives.
At the center—escorted on a silver leash—was a trembling beauty.
Lady Noelle of Varnis.
The youngest duchess of a now-defeated maritime kingdom.
Her people had rebelled after receiving false intelligence, their military defeated within days.
The cause?
A leaked naval route—provided by Stussy.
Noelle had been captured as the capital fell, personally delivered by a converted Commodore as tribute to Saint Lakeman.
She stood at the end of the carpet now, wrists bound in silver cuffs, ankles shackled with light chains.
Her gown had been reduced to a sheer violet slip that exposed her firm breasts, soft hips, and trembling thighs.
She was not gagged.
But she didn’t speak.
Her violet eyes—filled with pride and confusion—lifted to meet his.
Lakeman walked slowly down the carpet toward her.
Each step echoed like the ticking of her final countdown.
He stopped before her and raised her chin.
She flinched.
But didn’t pull away.
“You were a duchess,” he said softly. “Now you’re a gift.”
She swallowed.
“You destroyed my kingdom…”
She trembled in fear, jaw clenching as she asked:
“Will you… Take me now?”
He smiled at the defiance in her voice.
“No.”
He stepped aside.
“You will watch first.”
He entered his room, where Mirana knelt naked at the foot of his bed, Leveia lay on her stomach across silken sheets, and the Empress of the South Seas kissed Ayaka’s inner thighs while Robin and Lily prepared oils.
Lakeman sat.
“Bring her.”
Noelle was guided to a plush kneeling cushion before the bed.
Her eyes widened at the sight of the women—flushed, marked, glistening with proof of use.
“You will join them only when you beg for it,” he said.
He turned to Robin.
“Present yourself.”
Robin straddled his lap, facing him, breasts bouncing as she guided his cock inside her soaked pussy.
Slrk… schlp… squish…
She moaned.
“Ahhh… Master… your pet is ready…”
He gripped her hips and began to thrust upward.
Slap. Slap. Slap.
Her gasps filled the chamber.
Noelle watched, horrified and mesmerized.
Lakeman fucked Robin with slow, brutal rhythm—eyes fixed on the kneeling duchess.
Robin trembled, her thighs clenching around him.
“Your turn, Lily.”
Lily knelt behind him, kissing his back as she whispered his name.
Mirana approached Noelle and gently removed her cuffs.
“We all resisted,” she whispered. “But there is no escape. Only surrender.”
Noelle shook.
Lakeman gestured.
“Undress.”
She obeyed—slowly.
Clumsily.
Ashamed.
Her body was perfect. Young, untouched, delicate.
Her nipples stiffened in the cool air.
He pulled Robin off his cock and pointed.
“Crawl to me.”
Noelle did—on hands and knees—shaking.
He stood.
His cock still glistened.
He brushed it across her cheek.
Slrp.
Slrp.
She opened her mouth, took it in and sucked it.
“Please…”
And he claimed her.
He entered her tight virgin cunt with a single, forceful thrust.
Pah!
She screamed.
Her legs shook.
He pulled her onto his lap and bounced her up and down.
Squish.
Slap.
Squish.
“Master—ahhh—so full—!”
He bit her shoulder.
Licked her ear.
“You belong to me now.”
She nodded, sobbing in pleasure.
“Yes… yes… take me—use me—make me yours—!”
He filled her womb with cum.
Again.
And again.
Until she collapsed, whimpering on his chest.
Outside, Cipher Pol continued its silent conquest.
Inside, another noble soul surrendered her body to the god she once cursed.
The stars above Mariejois glittered like cold jewels, as if the heavens themselves were watching with breathless anticipation.
In the heart of the Celestial Dragon stronghold, while the Five Elders rested beneath veils of illusion and power, the blood of their lineage was being rewritten—not by war, not by revolution, but by the seeds and will of Lakeman.
Mirana Figarland—sister of the infamous Red-Haired Shanks, and daughter of the Captain of the Knights of God.
A legacy of iron discipline, celestial might, and buried rebellion.
Now she belonged wholly to Saint Lakeman.
Once defiant, now eager.
Once proud, now wet at his glance.
Her body bore his marks, her soul licked his boots, and her mission was simple:
“Bring me their bloodlines,” Lakeman had told her. “Let their sacred daughters learn who truly rules this world.”
And she did.
One by one, she seduced them with silken words, subtle threats, and whispers of forbidden power.
By the time she delivered them to his villa, they were already his in all but name.
Granddaughter of Elder Nusjuro.
A vision of ice and elegance.
Serica entered the grand chamber wearing a white ceremonial robe embroidered with silver serpents.
Her pale skin shimmered like snow under candlelight, her long white hair pinned into noble braids.
“I came only to understand your ambition,” she said flatly.
“No,” Lakeman replied, lounging on his throne. “You came to be corrected.”
Mirana bowed in silence behind Serica, a proud smile on her lips.
She was taken to the Moon Chamber—where silver mist swirled, and silk sheets shimmered like water.
Lakeman stripped her with a glance. She resisted only until his touch grazed her collarbone.
“You’ll remember this night as the one where you melted,” he whispered.
Then he dropped to his knees.
Slrp.
Schlk.
Slrrrp.
Her breath caught.
“M-Master—ahhh… no—don’t—!”
He slid his fingers inside her trembling cunt, slow and claiming.
When he entered her—one hard thrust into her virgin core—her pride cracked like thin ice.
“Ahnnn! I-I’m… yours… Master…!”
Second Flame: Saint Caldria Warcury
Daughter of the rosary-beaded Elder. She arrived armored, furious, radiant.
Her red hair flared like fire. She threw down her gauntlet at Lakeman’s feet.
“You’ll regret summoning me.”
“I summoned no one,” Lakeman said. “Mirana lured you. And your own heat brought you here.”
With a wave of his hand, her armor turned to smoke.
Naked. Glorious. Furious.
Perfect.
He grabbed her by the throat, not to choke, but to claim.
“You think you’re strong?”
He shoved her down onto all fours.
Pah!
Pah!
Pah!
He rammed into her pussy, drawing wild moans from her lips.
“Hahhh!—so rough—!”
She came from pain.
She came again from pleasure.
She then came from submission.
Third: Saint Vaelora Saturn
The scholar. The quiet one.
Daughter of the spectacled Elder.
Mirana delivered her blindfolded and gagged, wrists bound in satin.
She moaned at the slightest brush of Lakeman’s fingers.
Already leaking before he even touched her slit.
He took his time.
Unfolding her like a scroll.
Reading her like prophecy.
“You were written for me,” he murmured.
Squelch.
Slrk.
Glck.
Her cries were muffled as he fucked her mouth, then her soaked pussy, driving her to three orgasms before he even came.
“I’m your book,” she sobbed. “Please… write more inside me…”
Fourth Offering: Saint Isabel Jaygarcia
Dark-skinned and divine.
Daughter of the white-robed Elder.
She arrived naked.
By choice.
“I don’t need courtesies,” she said. “I need your leash.”
Lakeman obliged.
He chained her wrists.
Bent her over the ceremonial altar.
And fucked her till her voice broke.
“Yes… Master… more… harder… use me—!”
Her chains clinked in rhythm with the sound of slapping flesh.
The Morning After
They lay sprawled like a celestial constellation at his feet.
Mirana licked Serica’s thighs clean, her tongue obedient and teasing.
Stussy combed Caldria’s hair while whispering her next obedience protocols.
Shakky kissed Vaelora’s neck and guided her hand back to Lakeman’s cock for more worship.
Robin and Lily massaged his chest and shoulders, draped over his lap like silk.
Lakeman reclined in his bed, surrounded by daughters of the elite, daughters of power, daughters of silence.
Now slaves.
Now dripping.
Now his.
The Five Elders did not know.
But the legacy they had raised…
Now moaned, trembled, and served beneath the black eyes of the boy they dismissed.
……………………….
The year 1507 of the Sea Circle Calendar faded not with fireworks or fanfare, but in a hush—a silence filled with the sound of obedience blooming across the world like a disease cloaked in perfume and silk.
No one saw the world change.
But everything had.
From the shadows of kingdoms to the deepest vaults of Cipher Pol, from the trembling beds of royalty to the coded whisper networks of the Grand Line, a single presence now puppeteered it all.
And that presence was Saint Lakeman.
While nobles bickered and empires drifted in illusion, two immortal women—Stussy and Shakky—flew unseen across oceans, sky, and stone.
Blessed with eternal youth and divine essence, they no longer needed ships or borders.
They were Lakeman’s wings.
Each day of that year, they whispered into ears of queens.
They seduced princesses with dreams.
They rewrote the minds of ministers and military elites, turning proud leaders into loyal pawns.
By summer, intelligence networks of over two dozen nations ran their secrets through Cipher Pol’s Grove 0.
By fall, entire kingdoms collapsed not to war, but to whispered lies—fed directly by Stussy and Shakky, and all in Lakeman’s name.
“Master desires tribute,” Shakky would say.
“A daughter. A wife. Your throne.”
And they came.
One after another.
Dozens of noblewomen—queens, princesses, heirs, generals' daughters—arrived veiled, bound, and beautifully broken.
Some arrived fully obedient.
Others required nights of reeducation beneath his cock.
All were conquered.
All were his.
As the world bent under silent conquest, Lakeman himself changed.
No longer the child who once left Mariejois with a calm heart and unknown strength, he had become a living divinity.
On the eve of his thirteenth birthday in early 1508, his body radiated with unnatural perfection.
He stood tall—towering over grown men, with sleek muscle and aristocratic grace carved into every inch of his frame.
His platinum blond hair fell in wild, dark waves to his shoulders. His blood-red eyes shimmered with intelligence, cruelty, and charm, and his skin glowed like warm gold.
Just standing in the same room as him made lesser girls tremble and drip.
No longer just royalty.
He was temptation incarnate.
He was the center of gravity.
The feedback he received from the bound geniuses—Robin, Stussy, Rayleigh, Hancock, Bullet, Doflamingo, Law, Kizaru, Kuzan—flowed into him every moment.
Their training.
Their growth.
Their evolution.
Each whisper of strength echoed inside his system, raising his power like waves in an eternal tide.
By early 1508, he had long since left behind the Overlord Realm—that rare realm once reached by Rocks D. Xebec himself.
Now, his strength dwelled in an uncharted space, a territory beyond comprehension.
He called it—
“The Demigod Realm.”
His voice alone could crack stone.
His glare could silence admirals.
His aura, when released, bent time around him like a veil—a phenomenon he still hadn’t fully understood, but which came naturally to him now, due to the many time rules stored with him.
The Shadow of Imu
Despite everything—the endless conquest, the supreme power, the ownership of beauties and kingdoms—one thing kept Lakeman from claiming the world completely.
A name.
A presence.
Imu.
The invisible ruler of the World Government.
For eight hundred years, Imu had ruled the throne from the shadows—without face, without identity, yet absolute in reach.
Lakeman knew Imu watched.
Suspected.
Waited.
But he also knew that Imu had not moved.
Not even as Cipher Pol quietly collapsed into his hands.
Not even as kingdoms fell, and queens came crawling to his bed.
“If he isn’t stopping me,” Lakeman often mused aloud to Stussy as she cleaned his cock with her mouth,
“Then either he doesn’t yet see me as a threat… or he is waiting for something I don’t yet understand.”
His instincts told him that Imu’s strength was similar to his own, perhaps even of the same Demigod Realm.
But Lakeman didn’t fear.
He simply prepared.
“Confrontation is unnecessary. For now.”
“Let the world collapse slowly, in silence.”
“Let him see my shadow touch everything he thinks he owns.”
By mid-1508 of the Sea Circle Calendar, Lakeman’s villa in Mariejois had changed entirely.
What had once been a noble estate now resembled a divine harem-temple.
Each hallway lit by soft lanterns.
Each room filled with silk-draped beds, soft moans, and the scent of submission.
Dozens of women now lived within those walls—each a gift, each a conquest, each a symbol of his silent rise.
Noblewomen from North Blue, queens from the Grand Line, warrior princesses from the New World—all marked, trained, and fucked into worship.
He didn’t need to command them.
They offered themselves in competition.
Mirana managed the villa’s structure now, training new arrivals, guiding them into the ranks of Lakeman’s permanent loyalists.
Stussy and Shakky oversaw expansion and global intelligence.\
Robin, Lily, and the other originals served him nightly—devoted, elevated, radiant.
The world had not exploded.
No battles were fought.
No headlines had declared a god’s rise.
But beneath the stillness…
…he already owned everything.
And those who didn’t yet kneel—
They simply hadn’t met him.
Yet.
……………………………
The world stirred beneath banners and ceremonial horns.
It was the time again.
The once-every-four-years convergence.
The Reverie.
A global summit of kings, queens, and noble rulers from across the seas—each commanding lands allied to the World Government—gathering atop the Red Line to discuss the coming tides of politics, reform, warfare, and trade.
Yet this year… was different.
Unseen by all, the strings were already tied.
Not to the Five Elders.
Not to Imu.
But to the boy who watched from his villa balcony in Mariejois, sipping dark wine as he counted the number of queens who would soon kneel at his feet.
All across the Blue Seas, nations awakened.
From the snow-capped thrones of the North Blue to the tropical courts of the South, ships were being prepared—warships, escorted by battalions of elite Marines.
Each fleet bore the emblem of the World Government.
Each carried one or more rulers—kings in velvet, queens in gold, princesses in silks so sheer they might as well have arrived naked.
And within each convoy… a Cipher Pol agent was hidden.
Most kings now answered to Stussy and Shakky due to their changed loyalty toward Lakeman.
Alabasta
From the desert kingdom, King Nefertari Cobra, who had been healed under Lakeman’s silent arrangements, boarded a sleek warship with his young daughter Vivi, who held a parasol and asked about the capital in excitement, and Queen Titi, who is lakeman’s mother in law and his cum dump.
Unbeknownst to them, most of their guards had already fallen under Stussy’s influence, reporting directly to Grove 0.
“Master’s fiancée, Viivi. She’s young still,” the report read.
“But it will become a worthy addition in ten years.”
“Current focus: Queen Titi’s behavior.”
In the misty west, Queen Mave of Bourgeois boarded with her daughters—twins in their early twenties, known for their haughty pride and unclaimed virginity.
Their captain bowed low.
He didn’t know why.
But his dreams lately had been filled with red eyes and a whisper saying:
“All serve him.”
Far below, in the depths of the sea, the royal family of Fishman Island made preparations of their own.
Queen Otohime, gentle and resolute, gathered scrolls and plans for coexistence.
She didn’t know why she’d been approved this year—only that her request to attend had, mysteriously, passed without resistance.
In truth, Lakeman had personally ensured it.
From his memories of a past life, he knew the queen’s body was petite, soft, almost childlike in frame—but mature in spirit and elegance.
A woman of heart.
A woman too beautiful for the world’s cruelty.
He had plans for her.
And for her womb.
“Shirahoshi…” he whispered on the balcony, licking his lips.
His cock twitched beneath his robe.
Already fantasizing about the future princess of the sea.
As ships sailed from nation after nation, conversations began to circulate among the royals.
“Have you heard of him?”
“A Celestial Dragon now commands more than half of Cipher Pol… at thirteen.”
“They say entire kingdoms fall into silence when he desires their princesses and queens.”
“They say queens worship him.”
Among the escorts, many Marines lowered their heads when his name was spoken.
Others smiled.
Because they were already his.
Converted during rotation through Sabaody.
Rewritten.
Devoted.
They guarded the royals only to ensure their safe arrival to their new master.
Saint Lakeman watched them approach on a grand display in his intelligence hall—screens linked to encrypted Den Den Mushi stationed aboard each warship.
Stussy and Shakky stood at his sides.
Robin sat curled in his lap, feeding him slices of chilled fruit.
Lily massaged his feet while whispering names from the roster of approaching monarchs.
“This one’s ripe.”
“That one just lost her husband last year.”
“This princess is said to hate men. Shall we correct her, Master?”
Lakeman smiled.
“Yes. One by one. Slowly. Quietly.”
He stood.
The room hushed.
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