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
- 16
- 17
- 18
Hermione’s fingers traced the brittle edge of the parchment, her heart beating a frantic rhythm against her ribs. The article, hidden in a restricted subsection of the Black family library she’d been cataloging, was titled “Aphrodite’s Loom: The Art of Weaving Perfect Devotion.” It wasn’t a spell. It was a history. It spoke of an artefact, a small, ornate spindle of obsidian and gold, used by ancient priestesses to train their consorts. To weave obedience, skill, and sensual devotion directly into the soul. The perfect lover, crafted, not born.
The thought stole her breath. Harry was already so perfect, so beautifully hers. But this… this promised a masterpiece.
She found him later that evening, kneeling by the fireplace in her living room, silently waiting for her next command. She settled into her armchair, the parchment in her lap.
“Look at this,” she said, her voice carefully even.
He lifted his gaze, those green eyes clear and fixed on her. She held the page out. He took it, his fingers brushing hers, and began to read. She watched his face, saw the slight frown, the confusion, then the dawning, eerie recognition.
“This… this looks familiar,” he murmured, his voice low.
Hermione’s pulse jumped. “Familiar how?”
“The drawing. The spindle. I’ve seen it.” He looked up, his expression open, utterly trusting. “In my vault. At Gringotts. It was in a box of my parents’ things. I never knew what it was. It just looked… old.”
A hot, slick rush of pure want flooded Hermione’s core. It existed. And it was theirs. She kept her composure, a slow smile spreading on her lips. “Would you like to fetch it for me, Harry? Would you like to bring your Mistress a gift?”
The effect was instantaneous. His eyes lit with a fervent joy, his body straightening with purpose. “Yes. Please. Right now?”
“Tomorrow is fine,” she said, leaning forward to cup his cheek. “But the thought of you going to get it for me… it makes me so wet, Harry. Knowing you want to give me something that could make you even more mine.”
He nuzzled into her hand, a low groan escaping him. “I want to be everything for you. Anything. I’ll go first thing.”
“Good boy.”
The next day passed in a haze of anticipation. She canceled her appointments, her mind consumed by images of the spindle, of its potential. When Harry returned in the late afternoon, a small, velvet-lined casket in his hands, she was already undressed, waiting for him on the rug before the fire.
He entered the room and stopped, his eyes darkening at the sight of her—naked, her legs casually parted, one hand idly stroking her inner thigh. He was still in his Auror robes.
“You have it?” she asked, her voice a throaty whisper.
Wordlessly, he approached and knelt, placing the casket before her like an offering. He opened the lid.
There it lay. About six inches long, the shaft was polished black obsidian, cool and gleaming. Wrapped around it was a delicate, spiraling filament of pure gold, leading to a whorl of intricate, swirling patterns at the base. It hummed with a low, ancient magic, a vibration that she felt in her teeth, in her bones, in the suddenly aching hollow between her legs.
“It’s beautiful,” she breathed. She reached out and took it. The obsidian was shockingly cool, the gold warm. The moment her skin made contact, the hum intensified, syncing with the frantic beat of her heart.
She looked at Harry. He was staring at the spindle in her hand, transfixed, his lips slightly parted. His cock was a hard ridge straining against his trousers.
“Stand up,” she commanded. “Undress. Slowly. Let me watch.”
He obeyed, his fingers fumbling slightly with the fastenings of his robes, then his shirt, then his trousers and pants. Each new expanse of skin revealed—the firm plane of his chest, the trail of dark hair leading down, the thick, heavy length of his erection springing free—made her pussy clench with greedy need. Soon he stood before her, naked and magnificent.
“On your back,” she said, nodding to the rug beside her. “Right here.”
He lay down, his body a feast in the firelight. She straddled his thighs, not yet touching his cock, the cool obsidian of the spindle held lightly in her fingers. She could feel its magic reaching for him, a tendril of compulsion seeking a mind to weave into.
“Look at me, Harry. Only at me.”
His green eyes locked onto hers. She saw the trust, the love, the absolute surrender. It was the perfect foundation.
She began to move the spindle, turning it slowly in her fingers, letting the gold spiral catch the light. “Just watch the gold, sweet boy. Watch it twist and shine. Listen to my voice. You’re going to feel so good. You’re going to feel this magic sink into you, and it’s going to make you feel so open for me. So ready to learn.”
His gaze flickered to the spinning gold, then back to her eyes, then settled on the spindle. His breathing deepened.
“That’s it,” she crooned, rotating the spindle steadily. “Let your mind soften. Let go. You’re safe here with me. You’re mine. This magic is mine, and it’s going to make you better for me. It’s going to teach your body things you’ve never dreamed of. It’s going to make every nerve sing for my touch. You want that, don’t you? You want to be the perfect lover for your Mistress.”
“Yes,” he sighed, his body relaxing into the rug, his cock lying thick and full against his stomach. “Perfect for you. Teach me.”
The air grew thick, charged. The spindle’ hum became a audible thrum. A faint, golden light began to emanate from the spiral, casting dancing reflections on his skin, on her skin.
“It’s starting,” Hermione whispered, her own arousal a sharp, sweet ache. She shifted her hips, letting her wet folds brush against the base of his cock. He jerked, a gasp tearing from his lips. “Feel that? That’s the connection. My magic to yours. My desire to your body. It’s weaving into you, Harry. It’s mapping every inch of you, learning what makes you shake, what makes you beg.”
She lowered the spindle, bringing the glowing spiral closer to his skin, tracing it through the air just above his chest, down his abdomen. Where the light touched, his skin pebbled with goosebumps. A sheen of sweat broke out over his muscles.
“I can feel it,” he moaned, his head rolling back. “It’s… it’s like warm honey in my veins. In my cock. It’s making me so hard it hurts.”
“Tell me what it feels like,” she demanded, her free hand sliding down to circle his length, not stroking, just holding him. He was burning hot.
“It’s… a pulse. A deep, fucking pulse inside my balls. It’s spreading up my spine. It’s making everything sensitive. Your hand… just your hand holding me… it’s everything.” His hips bucked up into her loose grip.
Hermione brought the spinning spindle down, letting the glow wash over his rigid cock. He cried out, his whole body bowing off the rug. “Fuck! It’s… it’s learning that. It’s learning how my cock feels. It’s making the need sharper. Like a knife.”
“Good,” she purred, her own need becoming unbearable. She needed to feel this, to test it. She lifted herself up and positioned the head of his cock at her entrance. She kept the spindle moving, its light now bathing both their joined flesh. “It’s learning this, too. It’s learning how you feel inside me. Now, Harry. Fuck me. Fuck me and tell me what the magic is doing.”
She sank down onto him in one slow, devastating slide. He filled her utterly, stretching her, completing her. The moment he was fully sheathed, the golden light from the spindle flared, bright as a sun.
Harry screamed.
It wasn’t a scream of pain. It was a raw, shattered sound of overwhelming sensation. His hands flew to her hips, gripping her like a lifeline.
“It’s… it’s alive in me!” he sobbed, his hips beginning to piston upwards, driving himself deeper. “It’s in my cock… it’s feeling everything you are! How tight your pussy is… how hot… how wet… It’s mapping the grip of your cunt around my shaft and it’s sending it back into my brain and it’s more… it’s making me feel it ten times… I can feel every fucking ripple inside you, Hermione! I can feel your heartbeat around me!”
His words were a filthy, magical incantation. Hermione rode him, her own cries joining his, the spindle held aloft, weaving its ancient patterns over their frantic bodies. The pleasure was inhuman, amplified, a feedback loop of sensation. Each of his thrusts wasn’t just physical; it was charged with the artefact’s magic, hitting nerves she didn’t know she had.
“It’s learning!” she shrieked, bouncing on his cock, her breasts swaying. “It’s learning what makes us both feel good! It’s weaving us together! You’re mine!”
“Yours!” he roared, his grip bruising. “My cock is yours! My pleasure is yours! The magic says so… it’s telling me… this is for her… this fuck is for your Mistress… every thrust is a prayer to her cunt…”
The vulgar, devout litany pushed her to the edge. The coil snapped. Her orgasm ripped through her with the force of the magic itself, a convulsing, mind-wiping wave that made her see flashes of gold. She clenched around him, milking his length, and felt his own climax trigger.
The spindle pulsed, the light absorbing into their skin as he erupted inside her with a broken shout, his release hot and endless, the magic magnifying the intensity of his spurts until it felt like he was branding her from the inside. She collapsed forward onto his chest, the spindle falling from her limp fingers onto the rug beside them, its light now dim.
For long minutes, there was only the sound of their ragged breathing and the crackle of the fire. The magic settled, a warm, dormant hum under their skin.
Hermione finally lifted her head. Harry’s eyes were open, looking up at her, dazed and sated, but deeper somehow. A new understanding glowed within them.
She smiled, licking her lips. “How do you feel, my perfect lover?”
He blinked, his hands coming up to gently stroke her back. A slow, wicked smile spread across his face. “I feel… like I know exactly how to make you come with my tongue. And my fingers. And my cock. I feel like I know where to touch you… here,” he murmured, and one of his hands slid between their sweat-slicked bodies, his fingertips finding a specific, devastating spot just beside her clit.
A sharp, shocked cry of pleasure burst from her lips as he touched it, her oversensitive body jolting. He’d never found that spot before.
He chuckled, the sound low and possessive. “The magic taught me. It’s still in there, Mistress. Waiting. Ready to learn more. Ready to make me better.” His fingers began to circle that new, perfect spot, slow and expert. “Can I show you? Please? Let me show you what your gift can do.”
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Come to Play