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
- 11
- 12
- 13
Hermione pulled back from the kiss, her fingers still tangled in his messy hair. His eyes were so beautifully clear, so full of her. The singing in his mind was almost a palpable hum in the air between them.
“Not yet, my good boy,” she whispered, her thumb stroking his cheek. “There’s more we need to do. More layers to build. I want to take you deeper.”
“Deeper?” he breathed, his hands resting on her waist, eager for any direction.
“Deeper than you’ve ever been. A place where there’s nothing but my voice. A place where you are blank, and empty, and perfectly, truly obedient. Are you ready?”
He nodded instantly. “Yes, Mistress. Please.”
She shifted off him, sitting on the edge of the sofa. She picked up the maple rod from the floor, its silver spiral cool in her hand. “Look here, Harry. Look at the spiral and let everything else fade. My voice is the only thing that matters. Let your mind go… blank.”
His green eyes locked onto the swirling metal. The adoration in them didn’t vanish, but it stilled, becoming fixed. His breathing slowed. His body relaxed into the cushions, boneless and heavy. This was different from before. This wasn’t the passionate James or the emotionally raw Harry. This was something simpler. A vessel.
“Good,” Hermione murmured, setting the rod aside. She moved to kneel on the rug beside the sofa, her face level with his. “You are so beautifully empty. Nothing exists but my words. You will listen, and you will repeat, and you will feel. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” he said, the word soft and hollow.
“Begin repeating after me. And as you do, I want you to touch yourself. I want you to stroke your cock, slowly, firmly. Every word you speak will sink into you, anchored by pleasure. Begin now.”
She watched as his right hand moved, wrapping around his already stiffening length. He gave a slow, smooth stroke. A soft sigh escaped his lips.
“Say it,” she commanded.
“I am my mistress’ good boy,” he repeated, his voice a monotone drone. His hand moved up, then down.
“Again.”
“I am my mistress’ good boy.” The stroke matched the rhythm of the words.
“Even when fully awake, I serve my mistress.”
He parroted the phrase. “Even when fully awake, I serve my mistress.” His hips gave a tiny, involuntary lift into his fist.
“Only Hermione can tell me what to do, and no one else without her permission.”
“Only Hermione can tell me what to do, and no one else without her permission.” His pace increased slightly. The wet sound of his hand moving over his skin filled the quiet room.
“I will do my best to serve Hermione, my mistress.”
He repeated it, his voice gaining a faint thread of warmth. “I will do my best to serve Hermione, my mistress.”
“I am happy, content, and always aroused because I serve Hermione.”
“I am happy, content, and always aroused because I serve Hermione.” A bead of pre-come welled at his tip, glistening in the firelight. He smeared it down his shaft with his next stroke, his breath catching.
“I will take care of my body, I will work out because it is my mistress’ body.”
His hand kept its steady, possessive rhythm. “I will take care of my body, I will work out because it is my mistress’ body.”
“I will perform my best at work, to make my mistress proud.”
“I will perform my best at work, to make my mistress proud.”
“I will not tell anyone about my real relationship with my mistress.”
This time, his repetition was stronger, definitive. “I will not tell anyone about my real relationship with my mistress.”
His strokes were faster now, urgent. His body was tense with building need. Hermione let him continue for a few more moments, watching the programming take root with every pass of his hand, every whispered affirmation of ownership.
“Good. Now stop repeating, Harry.”
His hand stilled, though it remained wrapped around the base of his cock, holding himself tightly. He looked at her, blank and waiting.
“How do you feel?”
A smile, sudden and radiant, broke through the emptiness on his face. “Really good, Mistress!”
The genuine joy in that statement made her clit throb. “Good boy.” The praise fell from her lips like a gift.
He shuddered, his cock twitching in his grip.
“Now, Harry, I want you to treat me as your girlfriend from now on, whenever we are in public company. You will hold my hand. You will laugh at my jokes. You will kiss me goodnight. But you will know, in the deepest part of your mind, that I am not your girlfriend. I am your Mistress. That truth will hum beneath every public touch. Do you understand?”
“I understand, Mistress,” he said, his thumb rubbing a slow circle over the head of his cock. “Your public boyfriend. Your private slave.”
“Perfect.” She leaned closer, her breath ghosting over his ear. “Now, I want you to imagine something for me. Imagine all your joy, all your pleasure, all your arousal. Imagine it as a liquid. A bright, shimmering, perfect pink liquid.”
His eyelids fluttered. “Pink liquid.”
“See it in your mind. It’s warm. It sparkles. It is the essence of how good it feels to be mine. Now, picture a spray bottle. A clear, simple bottle. You pour every drop of that pink liquid into the bottle. You screw on the top. You have it in your hand.”
In his trance, his empty hand lifted slightly, fingers curling as if holding something.
“Good. Now, listen closely. Whenever you please me… whenever you obey a command perfectly… whenever I look at you and say ‘Good boy’… you will feel it. You will feel a fine, gentle spritz of that pink liquid right on your skin. And the moment you feel it, the feelings inside it—the joy, the pleasure, the arousal—will spread. They will rush across your nerves like lightning. They will sink into your bones. They will make you feel so fucking good, so proud, so horny for me. The words ‘Good boy’ will become that spray. The sensation will become the reward. Do you understand?”
His chest rose and fell with a deep, shaky breath. His hand on his cock gave a slow, possessive squeeze. “I understand. A spritz. Pink lightning. For being good.”
“Yes. For being my good boy.” She smiled, letting the promise hang in the air. “Now, I’m going to wake you up. You will remember your programming. You will feel the new truth in your bones. And you will be desperate to feel that first spritz. Ready?”
He nodded, his green eyes beginning to focus, the blankness receding like a tide, leaving the bright, obedient clarity she had crafted underneath.
“Wake up, Harry.”
He blinked. The transformation was seamless. The blank vessel was gone, replaced by her beautiful, devoted slave. His gaze found hers, and the smile that touched his lips was both familiar and utterly new—filled with a knowledge that went deeper than thought.
He slowly, almost reverently, removed his hand from his cock, which stood thick and eager against his stomach. He didn’t cover himself. He simply looked at her, waiting.
“How do you feel?” she asked, her voice low.
“I feel… yours,” he said, the simple words carrying the weight of all the programming. “And I really, really want to hear you say it.”
“Say what?”
His eyes darkened with needy anticipation. “You know.”
- 11
- 12
- 13
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Come to Play