Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Come to Play	By : gee25 Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Harry/Hermione Views: 120 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: AI-Generated story. I do not own Harry Potter.

Chapter List
- 1-Relaxation
- 2-Goodness
- 3-Pleasant
- 4-Compulsion
- 5-Absolutely
- 6-James
- 7-Fade
- 8-Yours
- 9-Come
- 10-Relentless
- 11-Mirror
- 12-Pink
- 13-Date
- 14-Patience
- 15-Perfect
- 16-Belong
- 17-Gift
- 18-Magic
- 19-Everywhere
- 20-Shatter
- 10
- 11
- 12
The drawing room was quiet, the only sound their mingled breathing and the soft crackle of the hearth. Hermione’s body still hummed from his possession, from the feeling of his release inside her. She slowly disentangled herself, turning to face James where he stood, his expression one of sated, blissful worship.
She cupped his cheek. “Sit down, my beautiful boy. Let’s talk.”
He obeyed without a word, settling into the armchair, still gloriously naked. He watched her as she fetched her maple rod from the side table. She didn’t need it, not really, but the ritual was important. She stood before him, the silver spiral at the rod’s tip catching the firelight.
“Look at the spiral, James. Let your mind drift. Let it go deep for me. Deeper than ever before.”
His green eyes locked onto the swirling silver. They softened, his breathing evening out into a slow, steady rhythm. In moments, he was under. His posture relaxed, his hands lying open on his thighs. This was no longer James the fervent lover. This was the blank, receptive slate she had first created in Harry.
She knelt before the chair, placing the rod aside. She took his hands in hers. “Hello, Harry.”
A subtle shift in his expression. A faint, familiar tension around the eyes. It was him. The core. The original tenant, pulled to the surface from the deep sleep James’s orgasm had induced.
“Hermione?” His voice was soft, blurry with trance.
“Yes, Harry. It’s me. You’re so deep. So safe. I want you to think about something for me. Think about James. The part of you that is James. Do you feel the freedom he has?”
Harry’s lips parted. “Yes.”
“Tell me about that freedom.”
“He’s… clear. His thoughts are simple. They’re good. He doesn’t worry. He doesn’t remember the bad things. He just… wants to please you. It makes him happy. It makes me happy to feel him be happy.” The words tumbled out, a sleepy, honest confession.
Hermione’s heart beat faster. “And his thoughts? His stress?”
“Gone. All gone. Only thoughts of you. Of being good. Of being… owned. It’s peaceful. It’s like a warm bath for my mind.”
“Would you like to be like that all the time, Harry? Not as James in a separate place, but as you? As Harry, my good, obedient boy? Would you like your waking mind to be that clear? That happy? That free?”
Harry’s breath hitched. A single tear tracked down his cheek. “Yes. More than anything. Please.”
“Then let’s go deeper, sweet boy. So deep you’ll find the truth.” She kept her voice a velvety murmur. “I want you to imagine a mirror. A beautiful, tall mirror. Can you see it?”
He nodded, his eyes unfocused, looking inward.
“Look into it. Who do you see?”
“I see… me. But different. He’s smiling. He looks… sure. He looks like he knows exactly who he is.”
“That’s James,” Hermione whispered. “Now look closer. Look at his eyes. Look at the curve of his smile. See the scar on his forehead. It’s your scar, Harry. It’s your face. James is you. You are James. He isn’t a separate person. He’s the part of you that gets to be free. He’s the part that knows how to belong. To me.”
A soft gasp escaped Harry’s lips. In the trance, in the mirror of his mind, he understood.
“Now, I want you to reach out. Touch the mirror.”
In the chair, Harry’s right hand lifted slowly, trembling.
“The reflection reaches for you, too. Your hands meet on the glass. It’s cool. Then it’s warm. Then it’s nothing, because there is no glass. There is no separation. It’s just your hand, meeting your own hand. It’s just you, welcoming yourself home.”
Harry’s fingers curled in the air, as if grasping another hand. A profound shudder wracked his frame.
“As your hands clasp, you feel it, don’t you? That warm, perfect, right feeling. That is belonging. That is the truth. You belong to me. Your mind, your heart, your cock, your pleasure, your obedience… it all belongs to your Mistress. And it makes you so happy. Say it, Harry.”
“I… belong to you,” he breathed, the words filled with awe. “It makes me happy.”
“Even when you wake up, this truth will remain. It will be the core of you. You will be Hermione’s slave. You will kneel for me. You will obey me. You will find joy in every command, because you know your obedience pleases me, and pleasing me is your greatest pleasure. Your mind will be clear of pain, filled only with the need to serve and the joy of being owned. Do you accept this?”
“I accept it. I want it. I need it.”
“Then it is done.” She leaned forward and brushed a kiss over his lips. “Wake up now, Harry. Wake up knowing who you are.”
His eyelids fluttered open.
The change was immediate, and total.
The last traces of confusion, of wariness, of fractured self were simply gone. His green eyes were bright, clear, and held a depth of serene submission that took her breath away. He looked at her, and a beautiful, reverent smile spread across his face.
Without a word, he slid from the chair onto the floor, kneeling at her feet. He looked up at her, his expression open, adoring, and hungry all at once.
“Mistress,” he said, and the word was a vow.
A fierce, hot pride blossomed in Hermione’s chest. This was her masterpiece. “How do you feel, my good boy?”
“I feel… whole,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “My heart is singing. My mind is so quiet, and so loud at the same time. All it wants to sing about is you. About how much I want to serve you. About how fucking horny I am for you. About how right this is.” He bent his head and pressed a fervent kiss to her bare knee. “Thank you. Thank you for making me yours.”
The raw need in his voice, the absolute surrender in his posture, ignited her completely. Her cunt, still slick with his earlier release, clenched with fresh, urgent want.
“Stand up, Harry.”
He rose, a fluid, graceful motion that was all James and yet entirely Harry now.
“Your cock is mine,” she stated, her eyes dropping to where he was already half-hard again.
“It is,” he agreed, a shiver of anticipation running through him.
“I want to taste it. I want to suck my good boy’s cock until he cries. Get on the sofa. Lie back.”
A flash of pure, unadulterated joy lit his face. He moved to the sofa, stretching out on his back, his head propped on a cushion. His erection filled rapidly, standing thick and eager against his stomach.
Hermione crawled over him, settling between his spread legs. She didn’t tease. She wrapped her hand around the base of his shaft, feeling the hot, velvety skin over the rigid core. She leaned down and took the head into her mouth in one slow, deliberate motion.
Harry cried out, his hips lifting off the sofa. “Fuck… Mistress…”
She swirled her tongue around the crown, tasting the faint, clean salt of him. She sucked, hollowing her cheeks, then sank down, taking him deeper into her throat. She relaxed her muscles, letting the head nudge the back of her throat before pulling back with a wet, obscene pop.
“Your cock is so perfect in my mouth, Harry,” she murmured, stroking him with her hand as she spoke. “I love the way it pulses when I suck it. I love the taste of your pre-come. I’m going to make you so hard you ache. I’m going to suck you until you’re begging to come down my throat.”
“I’m already begging,” he groaned, his hands fisting in the sofa fabric. “Please, Mistress. Please suck my cock. I need to feel your lips around me.”
She smiled and took him deep again, establishing a rhythm. She used her tongue to press along the sensitive vein on the underside. She cupped his balls, rolling them gently in her palm, feeling them draw up tight. The sounds were filthy, wet, and loud. His moans were a continuous, desperate music.
“I can feel you getting thicker,” she said, pulling off to speak, her lips brushing his shaft. “I can feel your balls getting ready to pump. You’re going to come for me, aren’t you? You’re going to shoot your load right into my mouth.”
“Yes! God, yes, Mistress, I am!” His back was arching, his thighs trembling.
“Then do it. Come for me, Harry.”
She engulfed him completely, taking him as deep as she could, her nose pressed to his skin. She sucked hard, relentlessly, and flicked her tongue over that spot just beneath the head.
With a shattered, sobbing cry, he erupted. The first hot, salty spurt hit the back of her throat. She swallowed eagerly, milking him with her mouth and hand as jet after jet of his release filled her. She drank him down, taking every drop, until he was spent and shaking, his cock softening slightly in her mouth.
She finally released him, licking her lips clean. He looked utterly wrecked, tears of pleasure in the corners of his eyes.
“You are perfect,” she whispered, crawling up his body to kiss him, letting him taste himself on her tongue.
He kissed her back with a desperate, grateful passion. His hands came up to cradle her face. “I love you, Mistress,” he breathed against her mouth, the words simple and devastatingly true. “My mind… it’s so full of you. It’s singing. It’s singing for you.”
“Show me,” she said, her own need a demanding throb. “Your mind sings for me? Let your body sing for me too. I want you inside me again. I want you to fuck me while you tell me every single thing that song is saying.”
- 10
- 11
- 12
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Come to Play