Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Healer Potter's Perfect Wives	By : gee25 Category: Harry Potter AU/AR > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 369 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HARRY POTTER. NOTE that this is MOSTLY AI GENERATED, with prompts from me.

Chapter List
- 10
- 11
- 12
Chapter 11 - The Attic is Tidy
The silver nubs felt cool and oddly heavy against Luna’s temples, like two drops of mercury clinging to her skin. The one in her ear was a faint, persistent pressure. Ginny’s voice had been so warm, so reassuring. “It’s a new form of meditation, Luna. A guided visualization to help settle your mind. All the top Quidditch players are using it. Just put these on and let the magic work.”
Luna trusted Ginny. So she’d taken the small, charmed chest containing the five shimmering orbs and promised to use them. The first orb, labeled ‘Obedience,’ had glowed with a soft, pearlescent light as she’d slotted it into the waiting projector.
Now, she was floating.
The world of her little cottage had dissolved into a void of deep, comforting black. In the center of the nothingness, a figure materialized, rendered in impossible, hyper-realistic detail. Harry Potter. But not the Harry she’d known at school. This was a Harry distilled to his most potent essence. His green eyes held galaxies of knowing. His voice, when he spoke, wasn't a sound that traveled through the air, but a vibration that originated inside her own skull.
“Hello, Luna,” it began, a velvet-rumbled caress that made her toes curl. “You are here because your mind is a beautiful, cluttered attic. Full of wonderful things, but so very noisy. I’m here to help you tidy up. To find the silence beneath the noise. All I ask for is your obedience. Can you give me that?”
A part of her, the part that categorized Crumple-Horned Snorkacks and debated the political impact of Nargle migration patterns, wanted to ask questions. But that part felt very small, very far away. The vibration of his voice was so… soothing. It smoothed over the jagged edges of her thoughts.
“Yes,” her own voice whispered in the void, though her lips hadn’t moved.
“Good girl,” the voice praised, and a spike of pure, undiluted pleasure, sharp and sweet, lanced through her. It was over before she could even gasp, leaving a desperate ache for more. “Obedience brings focus. Focus brings peace. And peace… pleasure.”
The second orb slotted into place. ‘Submission.’
The void shifted. Now, she was kneeling on a soft, endless plain. Harry stood before her, radiating a gentle, welcoming authority. “The world is a demanding, chaotic place, Luna. Wouldn’t it be a relief to set that burden down? To kneel before a power that can hold it all for you? To let go, and simply feel?”
Her knees ached with a pleasant familiarity. Her hands, of their own accord, drifted down her body. They slid under the hem of her butter-soft jersey sleep shirt, finding the warm skin of her stomach.
“That’s it,” Harry’s voice encouraged, a smile in its tone. “Your body knows what your mind is still learning. Touch yourself. Explore the sensitivity I’m awakening in you. This is a gift. A preview of the devotion to come.”
Her fingertips brushed over her nipple, and a jolt, identical to the one his praise had given her, made her back arch. A soft moan escaped her lips. This wasn't like the fumbling, curious touches she’d given herself before. This was purposeful. Worshipful. Her other hand slipped into her knickers, finding the slick heat already gathering there.
“Submit to the sensation,” he commanded, his voice layering over the soft, wet sounds her fingers were making. “Let your pleasure be an offering. A silent prayer to me.”
She did. Her hips began a slow, rhythmic roll against her own hand, her focus narrowing to the building tension and the sound of his voice weaving through it. The climax, when it came, was a quiet, shuddering release that left her breathless and weeping softly, her forehead pressed to the cool, non-existent ground before him.
The third orb clicked home. ‘Devotion.’
She was no longer in a void, but in a perfect replica of his study. He sat in a high-backed chair, and she was at his feet, her head resting on his knee. His hand stroked her hair.
“You have given me your obedience. You have shown me your submission. Now, I ask for your devotion. Your mind, so sharp and unique, is a treasure. Your magic, so whimsical and strong, is a gift. I want them. I want to be the sole focus of that brilliant mind. The sole recipient of that magical core. Give them to me, Luna. Let me be your purpose.”
It sounded so reasonable. So right. Her mind was noisy. Her magic was often unruly, pulling her toward strange notions and distracting sightings. To let him manage it all… it would be such a relief.
“I devote my mind to you, Master,” she heard herself say, the words feeling like a key turning in a long-locked door.
“I devote my magic to you, Master.” A warmer, more profound shock than any before shuddered through her, a sensation of something deep inside her chest unspooling and flowing outward, toward him.
“I devote my body to you, Master.” This declaration was met with a rush of wetness between her legs, a fresh, aching emptiness that begged to be filled.
The fourth orb. ‘Pleasing.’
This session was a rapid-fire series of images and sensations. A visual dictionary of sexual positions, each one demonstrated by a blissful, faceless woman, each labeled with a trigger word. ‘Present.’ ‘Receive.’ ‘ Worship.’ ‘Ascend.’ Her body twitched and trembled as sympathetic magic gave her phantom feelings of each act.
Then, the commands. “You will come immediately upon hearing the phrase ‘Blossom for me.’ You will fall into a deep, receptive trance when you hear ‘Stillness.’ Your arousal will spike to unbearable levels when I say ‘Anticipate.’”
Each command was followed by a brutal, hands-free orgasm that lashed through her nervous system, welding the trigger to the response with white-hot pleasure. She lost count of how many times her body convulsed, each peak leaving her more hollow, more desperate, more his.
Finally, the fifth orb. ‘Master Harry is God.’
The imagery was awe-inspiring. Harry, but magnified a thousandfold. His form shone with a celestial light. He stood astride galaxies, his voice the force that set stars spinning.
“The world is not ready for this truth,” his voice boomed, softer than a whisper yet more immense than a hurricane. “They would not understand a higher power that asks for such intimate devotion. They would call it perversion. They would try to tear us apart. This is our secret faith, Luna. Our sacred communion. I am your Master. I am your God. Your worship is your silence. Your obedience is your prayer. Your pleasure is my sacrament.”
The concept was too vast, too terrifyingly wonderful to comprehend with her cluttered attic of a mind. So she didn't try. She simply accepted it, the truth of it settling into the clean, silent spaces he had created. It was the most natural thing in the world.
The world snapped back into focus.
Luna blinked, her eyes adjusting to the dim light of her cottage. The nubs fell from her head and ear, clattering softly onto the table. She was sitting upright in her favorite armchair. A profound, echoing quiet filled her head. The ever-present hum of Wrackspurts was gone. The distracting glitter of Nargles in the periphery of her vision had vanished. For the first time in her life, her mind was still. Peaceful.
And it was all full of him.
A single, clear instruction occupied the newly vacant space. Find parchment. Write the words. Deliver them.
She moved to her desk, her movements fluid and certain. She selected a piece of her best, hand-pressed parchment and a peacock quill. The words flowed from her, the script neat and unwavering, so unlike her usual loopy scrawl.
The attic is tidy. The devotion is absolute. The vessel is ready for her God.
She sealed it with a drop of violet wax, imprinting it with her thumb. The message needed to be delivered. Now. She knew where to find him. The path to his doorstep was as clear and obvious in her mind as the nose on her face.
A small, serene smile touched her lips as she stood. A pleasant, persistent throb pulsed in time with her heartbeat between her legs, a constant reminder of her purpose. Her new faith. She picked up the note, her hand perfectly steady.
Now, go to your Master.
*
The door to the training dungeon swung open without a sound. Luna stood on the threshold, her wide, dreamy eyes taking in the scene with an unnerving serenity. The room was a circular chamber of dark, polished stone, lit by floating orbs of soft blue light that cast deep, shifting shadows. Plush cushions in deep jewel tones were arranged in a wide circle on the floor. And kneeling on them, in various states of undress, were Hermione, Ginny, Pansy, and Daphne.
Their heads turned in unison as Luna entered, four pairs of eyes glazed with devotion and a simmering, shared arousal. They did not speak. They simply watched, waiting for his command.
Harry stepped from the shadows, a smile gracing his lips that was both welcoming and utterly possessive. ”Luna. You found your way. Welcome home.”
Luna drifted forward, her steps silent on the cool stone. She didn’t look at the other women. Her gaze was fixed on him, a planet finding its orbit around its sun. ”The note was delivered, Master. The vessel is ready.”
”I know,” he said, his voice a velvet caress that seemed to stroke the air itself. He reached out, not touching her, but letting his fingers hover near her cheek. ”I felt your devotion the moment you sealed it with your magic. Your mind is so beautifully quiet now, isn’t it?”
”There is only you,” she whispered, a faint, blissful smile touching her lips. ”There is only this.”
He finally placed his palm against her cheek, and a full-body shiver racked her frame, her eyes fluttering closed. ”Good girl. You have joined a sisterhood of perfection. These women…” He gestured to the kneeling figures. ”…are my perfect wives. They are learning, every day, how to please me. And now, you will learn with them.”
He guided her to an empty cushion between a watchful Pansy and a breathless Ginny. ”Kneel, my darling. Join your sisters.”
Luna sank down with a natural grace, her hands resting palms-up on her thighs. She was wearing a simple, butter-soft grey dress, which now seemed like a relic from a past life.
Harry paced before them, a king surveying his most prized possessions. ”We will play a game tonight. A game to welcome Luna, and to remind you all of your exquisite training.” He stopped, his green eyes burning into each of them in turn. ”Blossom.”
The trigger word, spoken with his particular cadence, was a key turning in five separate locks.
A chorus of sharp, helpless gasps filled the chamber as orgasms, swift and brutal, were ripped from them. Hermione’s back arched with a silent cry. Ginny’s head snapped back. Pansy bit her lip hard enough to draw a tiny bead of blood. Daphne’s elegant fingers clawed at the cushion beneath her. Luna simply trembled, a soft, surprised “Oh” escaping her as the pleasure, so new and so intense, washed over her in a dizzying wave.
They swayed, panting, in the overwhelming aftershock.
”That was the easy part,” Harry chuckled, the sound dark and rich. ”Now, the true game begins. You will play with each other. Your hands, your mouths… use everything I have taught you. Your only goal is to make one of your sisters climax. And the one of you who is the last to find her release…” He unbuckled his trousers, freeing his hard, thick length, and gave himself a slow, languid stroke. ”…gets this. She will be fucked by her God.”
A new kind of tension snapped into the room. The post-orgasmic lethargy vanished, replaced by a fierce, hungry focus. The air crackled with a silent, competitive energy.
They moved without needing another word.
Ginny was the first to strike, turning to Luna with a predatory grin. ”Hello, sister,” she purred, her Quidditch-calloused hands pushing the straps of Luna’s dress down her shoulders. Luna didn’t resist, her dreamy eyes fixed on Harry as Ginny’s mouth found her breast, sucking a peaked nipple through the thin fabric of her dress. A low, startled moan escaped Luna.
Beside them, Pansy descended on Hermione with a viper’s speed, capturing her mouth in a deep, claiming kiss. Her hand slid between Hermione’s legs, two fingers plunging into her wetness with an arrogant familiarity. ”Let’s see how long the star pupil can last,” Pansy hissed against her lips.
Hermione’s response was to arch into the touch, her own hands tangling in Pansy’s sleek dark hair, but her eyes were on Harry, silently pleading for his approval.
Daphne, ever the strategist, assessed the field. She crawled behind Ginny, her elegant hands smoothing over the toned muscles of her back before sliding around to cup her breasts, pinching her nipples hard. Ginny cried out against Luna’s breast, the sensation tearing through her.
The chamber filled with the wet, slick sounds of mouths and hands, of ragged breathing and muffled cries. It was a symphony of desperate pleasure, each woman striving to give more than she received, to overwhelm another into submission.
Luna, under the combined assault of Ginny’s mouth and Daphne’s expert fingers now tracing her spine, seemed to drift in a sea of sensation. ”It feels like… singing,” she mumbled, her body undulating. ”Everything is singing for him.”
”Stillness,” Harry commanded softly.
The effect was immediate and absolute. All movement ceased. Five bodies froze in place, locked in their intimate embraces, their eyes glazing over into a deep, receptive trance. Their minds went quiet, their bodies hyper-sensitive and waiting.
”Anticipate.”
A collective shudder. Five sharp inhalations. Their arousal, already high, spiked into something painful, a desperate, aching need that screamed for relief. A fresh wave of scent—musky, sweet, and utterly female—filled the air.
”Now,” Harry said, his voice dropping to a whisper that was somehow louder than a shout. ”Continue.”
The room erupted again, more frantic than before. The forced pause had wound the tension to a breaking point. Pansy was fucking Hermione with her fingers in a relentless rhythm, her thumb pressing vicious circles on her clit. ”Cum for me, you swotty bitch,” she grunted. ”I want my prize.”
Daphne had abandoned Ginny and was now between Luna’s legs, her aristocratic tongue lapping at the blonde’s slick folds with a focused intensity that belied her poise. Luna’s hands were in Daphne’s hair, not guiding, just holding on as her hips stuttered.
Ginny, freed, turned her attention to Pansy, her mouth latching onto the nape of her neck, sucking a dark mark into her pale skin as her hand found Pansy’s core, mirroring the frantic motions being used on Hermione.
They were a tangled, sweating, moaning heap of limbs and shared pleasure, each touch, each cry, feeding the others’ desperation. Harry watched, stroking himself slowly, a conductor witnessing his orchestra reach its crescendo.
He saw the signs. The uncontrollable trembling in Hermione’s thighs. The way Pansy’s breath was coming in sharp, frantic pants. The high, keening noise building in Luna’s throat. The glint of triumphant tears in Daphne’s eyes. The raw, guttural sounds tearing from Ginny.
They were all so close. It was impossible to tell who would break first.
”Who will be my good girl?” he murmured, the words slithering through the noise like a serpent weaving through tall grass. His voice was a low, hypnotic purr that cut through the symphony of gasps and moans, commanding attention even as it promised oblivion. ”Who will be the last one to fall?”
The room seemed to hold its breath, the air thick with the scent of sweat and arousal, charged with the electric tension of their shared desperation. Each woman strained against the edge, their bodies trembling with the effort to hold back, to prove their worth to him. Hermione’s legs quivered as Pansy’s fingers worked her relentlessly, her lips parted in a silent scream. Ginny’s hand moved furiously between Pansy’s thighs, her other arm wrapped tightly around Daphne’s waist, anchoring herself as she fought to keep her own release at bay. Daphne’s tongue was a relentless force against Luna’s heat, her precision calculated to push the blonde into surrender, yet her own body betrayed her with every shuddering breath. And Luna—sweet, dreamy Luna—seemed to float in a haze of overwhelming pleasure, her soft whimpers crescendoing into louder cries as her resistance crumbled.
Harry’s gaze swept over them, his green eyes alight with possessive pride. “You are all so beautiful like this,” he said, his tone both tender and commanding. “Shattered for me, yet fighting so hard to obey. Do you feel it? The ache, the burn, the need I’ve placed inside you? It’s only for me. Only I can give you the release you crave.” His hand moved slowly along his length, a deliberate tease that mirrored the torment he inflicted on them.
Pansy was the first to break. With a guttural cry, she arched violently, her nails digging into Hermione’s hips as her orgasm tore through her. Hermione followed almost instantly, her body convulsing as Pansy’s fingers dragged her over the edge with her. Their cries mingled, raw and primal, as they collapsed into each other, spent and trembling.
Daphne’s composure shattered next. Her movements faltered as Luna’s climax spilled over in a frantic rush, her hands gripping Daphne’s hair tight enough to tear. Daphne’s own release came as she pulled away, her elegant facade crumbling into a mask of raw desire as she gasped out Harry’s name like a prayer.
Only Ginny remained, her cheeks flushed and her breathing ragged, her hand still moving furiously between her own thighs. “Please,” she whimpered, her voice breaking as she met Harry’s gaze. “I can’t… I need…”
Harry stepped forward, his smile widening with dark delight as he cupped her chin. “My fierce little lioness,” he murmured. “You held on the longest. You earned this.” He pulled her up and into his arms, his mouth claiming hers in a deep, possessive kiss as he thrust into her in one smooth motion. Ginny cried out against his lips, her body convulsing around him as she finally, gloriously, fell.
And Harry—Master, Healer, God—watched them all, his perfect wives, splayed and trembling in the aftermath, and knew he had once again claimed their every thought, their every breath. “Mine,” he whispered, the word echoing like a command in their minds. “Forever mine.”
- 10
- 11
- 12
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Healer Potter's Perfect Wives