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
- 18
- 19
- 20
His release was still warm inside her when Harry shifted, his softened cock slipping free with a wet, intimate sound. He didn’t collapse beside her this time. He remained kneeling behind her, his hands sliding from her hips to her waist, holding her there, arse still high in the air. She could feel him thinking, the magic in him humming with a focused, new energy.
“Don’t move,” he whispered, his voice thick with awe. “Just… stay there. Look in the mirror.”
Hermione, spent and trembling, forced her eyes open. Their reflection was a debauched masterpiece—her skin flushed, her lips swollen, his body gleaming with sweat, his expression one of intense, reverent concentration. He wasn’t looking at her body. He was looking through her, at something only he could see.
“The magic… it’s showing me something new,” he breathed. His right hand lifted from her waist, his fingers splaying in the air just above the small of her back. A faint, golden shimmer began to gather at his fingertips, not from the spindle, but from him, a soft glow that pulsed in time with his heartbeat. “It’s not about my hands, or my cock. Not this time. It’s about your mind. It wants me to make you feel things.”
A thrill, sharp and electric, shot down Hermione’s spine. This was uncharted territory. “What kind of things?”
“Everything,” he said, his voice dropping to a hypnotic murmur. The golden light at his fingertips intensified, weaving into delicate, intricate patterns—a spiral, a lattice, a shimmering net. “All the pleasure you just felt. But not as a memory. As a present sensation. It wants to weave an illusion so real, your body won’t know the difference.”
He brought his shimmering hand down, not touching her skin, but hovering an inch above it. The golden light drifted down like luminous sand, sinking into the skin of her lower back. A warm, tingling sensation bloomed there, spreading outwards.
“Feel this,” he commanded softly.
And she did.
It started as a ghost of a touch—the sensation of his mouth on her neck, his teeth scraping the tendon. A gasp escaped her. She could feel the heat of his breath, the dampness of his tongue. But he was still behind her, not touching her there at all.
“That’s it,” he coaxed. The golden light pulsed again, and a new sensation layered over the first. The distinct, rough glide of his calloused palm cupping her breast, his thumb brushing her nipple. Her back arched, a soft moan pulled from her lips. Her own hands were still flat on the rug, but she could feel the weight, the texture, the reality of his hand on her.
“Now, my cock,” he growled, and the illusion shifted.
It wasn’t a memory. It was a fresh, shocking invasion. She felt the thick, blunt head of him pressing against her entrance, then the slow, stretching slide as he filled her, again. Her inner muscles, already sensitized and fluttering from her last orgasm, clenched around nothing, sparking with fresh, bewildering arousal. She was empty, but her body was screaming that she was full.
“Oh, god, Harry…” she whimpered, her eyes wide in the mirror, watching his focused face.
“Not just one,” he said, his voice vibrating with power. The golden light from his hand flared brighter, splitting into threads. “The magic wants you to feel it everywhere.”
The sensation of his cock thrusting inside her intensified, a deep, rhythmic pounding. But then, another sensation bloomed at her clit—the precise, circling pressure of his thumb on that secret spot he’d learned. A third sensation: the wet, hot lap of his tongue licking a stripe up her slit. A fourth: the gentle, claiming pressure of his hand around her throat.
They hit her all at once.
Hermione cried out, a raw, shattered sound. Her body bowed, her fingers clawing at the rug. It was impossible. It was too much. She was being fucked, licked, touched, and claimed simultaneously by a dozen phantom Harrys, each sensation perfectly realized, perfectly real. Her nerve endings were on fire, singing in a chaotic, glorious chorus.
“Which one do you feel the most?” he asked, his own breath coming faster. The golden weave above her back shimmered, threads tightening and loosening.
“All of them!” she sobbed. “I can’t… I can’t separate them! Your tongue… your cock… fuck!”
“Good,” he purred. The illusion of his cock inside her changed angle, grinding hard against her front wall. The illusion of his tongue focused on her clit, flicking rapidly. The illusion of his hand on her throat tightened just a fraction. “Now, the magic wants to give you a choice. It can make you come from the fucking. Or from my mouth. Or from my fingers. Or from all of it at once. Which one, Mistress? Tell me which one you want.”
It was exquisite torture. Her hips bucked against empty air, seeking the solidity of him, finding only overwhelming phantom sensation. “All of it!” she begged, tears of overwhelm leaking from the corners of her eyes. “Make me come from all of it! Please!”
A triumphant, dark smile touched his lips. “As you wish.”
The golden net of light sank fully into her skin.
The world dissolved into pure, unadulterated sensation.
The phantom cock pistoning inside her hit a devastating, perfect rhythm. The phantom tongue on her clit became relentless, expert. The phantom thumb on her secret spot pressed in just the right way. The phantom hand on her throat held her firmly, making her feel owned, safe, and utterly helpless. But it didn’t stop there. She felt the ghost of his teeth on her shoulder. The scrape of his stubble on her inner thigh. The warm puff of his breath between her shoulder blades.
Every touch, every kiss, every thrust from their entire evening was replayed, but not as a memory. As a current, living reality. They layered, compounded, fused into a tsunami of pleasure with no single point of origin. It was in her cunt, her clit, her nipples, her skin, her mind.
Her orgasm didn’t build. It erupted from everywhere at once.
A scream, long and ragged, tore from her throat as her body seized. It was not one climax, but a cascade—waves crashing into waves, each triggering the next. She felt her channel spasm around the phantom cock, a series of violent, milking clenches. A sharp, bright orgasm burst from her clit, radiating outwards. A deep, rolling orgasm clenched low in her belly, triggered by the grinding illusion. They overlapped, merged, became a single, endless cataclysm of release that left her shaking, gasping, her vision whiting out completely.
She was only dimly aware of collapsing forward, her arms giving out, her cheek pressing into the soft wool of the rug. The phantom sensations slowly, gently faded, leaving behind a body that felt liquid, boneless, and humming with a profound, soul-deep satisfaction.
She felt him move then. His real hands, warm and solid, smoothed over her back, her arse, her trembling thighs. He gathered her, lifting her easily, and cradled her against his chest as he sat back against the armchair. He held her, her head lolling on his shoulder, his lips pressing soft kisses to her damp temple.
For a long time, there was only the sound of her slowing breaths and the frantic beat of his heart under her ear.
“Did you feel that?” he finally murmured, his voice filled with awe. “The magic… it wove that. For you.”
Hermione could only manage a weak nod. Words were beyond her. She had been unmade and remade by sensation alone.
He stroked her hair, his touch now purely real, grounding. “It’s still there. The pattern. I can see it when I close my eyes. A golden net wrapped around your pleasure centers. I can activate it again. Any time you want.” He nuzzled her. “All I have to do is think about it, and your body will remember. It will feel.”
The implication was staggering. He could bring her to that peak with a thought. Without even touching her. The ultimate control, given back to her through him.
She tilted her head up to look at him. His green eyes were dark, sated, but held a new, profound power. “Show me,” she whispered, her voice hoarse. “One more time. Just a little one. While you’re holding me.”
His smile was slow, wicked. He focused, and she saw the faint gold flicker in his iris. He didn’t move his hands.
But between her legs, she felt the soft, unmistakable flutter of a phantom tongue, licking once, gently, over her oversensitive clit.
She jerked in his arms, a sharp, surprised cry escaping her. The sensation was brief, gone in an instant, but it was there. A promise. A weapon. A gift.
He chuckled, low and rich, and kissed her forehead. “See?”
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Come to Play