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
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The air in her consulting room smelled of old books and anticipation. Harry arrived exactly at three, a hopeful energy about him that made Hermione’s pulse flutter. He looked more settled, the haunted look from weeks ago now a faint memory.
“You’re early,” she noted, gesturing to the chair.
“Couldn’t wait,” he said, the easy admission sending a curl of heat through her. He sat, his green eyes fixed on her with a trust that was almost physical. “I’ve been thinking about this all week.”
“Good thoughts, I hope.” Her smile was gentle, but inside she was a coiled spring. The rod in her hand felt heavier today, charged.
“The best. I feel… clearer. Lighter.”
“Then let’s make you feel even better.”
The ritual was familiar now. The lift of the rod. The silver spiral, pulsing softly in the lamplight. His eyes locked on instantly, his breathing slowing within seconds. He was so beautifully receptive. So hers.
“Down, Harry,” she murmured, her voice slipping into that velvet rhythm. “Deeper than last time. Let the spiral pull you under. Into that quiet, safe space. Where nothing exists but the sound of my voice.”
She watched the last flicker of awareness leave his face. His body went slack, perfectly pliant.
“Can you hear me?”
“Yes.” Flat. Empty. Perfect.
“You are in a deep, deep trance. You will remain until I say awaken and clear. You feel safe. You feel relaxed. You feel good. Now, Harry… I want you to open your eyes. Keep your body perfectly relaxed, but open your eyes and look at me.”
His eyelids lifted. His green eyes were glassy, unfocused, yet they found her face immediately. He stared through her, into her. A puppet with its strings pulled taut. The power of it was a warm, thick syrup in her veins.
“You see me,” she said, leaning forward slightly in her chair. Her voice dropped, intimate and firm. “You are still so deep. So wonderfully deep. And as you look at me, as you focus on my eyes, my face, my voice… you go even deeper. My eyes are an anchor. My voice is a command. And from this moment on, whenever you are in trance, and I say the words look at your mistress, your eyes will open easily. They will find me. Instantly. You will remain deep, but you will see me. You will look at your mistress. Do you understand?”
“Yes.” His lips barely moved.
“Good. Now, let’s talk about that good feeling. That warm, heavy pleasure you feel when you obey me. When you surrender to my voice. It’s going to get stronger, Harry. Much stronger. Every time you obey, a wave of that pleasure will wash through you. It will feel like a reward. A sweet, warm, perfect reward for being so good for me.”
A faint sigh escaped him. His expression softened further.
“And that feeling… it’s starting to change. Just a little. It’s becoming… warmer. More focused. A low, pleasant heat. Do you feel it? A gentle, aroused feeling. Just a hint. A promise.”
His brow furrowed for a fraction of a second, then smoothed out. His breathing hitched, just once.
“Yes,” he whispered.
“That’s it. And that feeling, that lovely, low arousal, is tied to my voice. As long as you hear me speaking, as long as you listen to your mistress, it will grow. Slowly. Steadily. It will build inside you, a warm, pooling heat that feels so good. And your subconscious mind, the part of you listening now, will keep this feeling from your conscious mind. It will be our little secret. So the feeling can grow without you questioning it. Without you stopping it. It just is. A natural, pleasant response to my voice. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
She let the silence stretch, watching his eyes, seeing the blank acceptance there. The programming was taking root. Obedience to pleasure. Pleasure to arousal. Her voice as the catalyst for it all.
“Now, close your eyes, Harry.”
His eyelids slid shut.
“I have one more gift for you. A way to… savor these sessions. When you go to bed tonight, and you think about our time together, you will remember how incredibly good you felt. The peace. The warmth. The pleasure. You’ll be surprised by the strength of the memory at first. It will feel so vivid. So real. And that memory will make you want to touch yourself. To stroke yourself, just to feel a little of that goodness again. You will do it. You’ll stroke your cock, Harry. You’ll think of how good my voice makes you feel, and you’ll touch yourself. But you will not let yourself orgasm. Not yet. You’ll just… reminisce. You’ll edge that feeling, keeping it alive, connecting the touch of your own hand to the sound of my voice. You will wake up tomorrow feeling even more eager for our next session. Do you understand?”
“Yes.” His voice was thicker now. A little rough.
“Excellent. This is all for you. For your healing. For your pleasure. You will remember none of these specific suggestions. Only that this was a profoundly satisfying session. That you feel deeply connected to the process. To me. You will feel a calm, happy anticipation for what comes next.”
She waited, letting the suggestions sink into the fertile soil of his mind.
“On the count of three, you will awaken, feeling clear and refreshed. One… coming up. Two… feeling so good. Three. Awaken and clear.”
Harry’s eyes opened. He blinked, focusing on her. A slow, drowsy smile spread across his face. He stretched his arms over his head, the fabric of his shirt pulling tight across his chest. Hermione’s mouth went dry.
“Merlin, Hermione,” he breathed, running a hand through his hair. “That was… intense. In a good way. I felt so… I don’t even have the words. Heavy. Good. Really good.”
“I’m glad,” she said, her voice steady despite the frantic beat of her heart. “You’re making wonderful progress.”
He stood, and for a moment, he swayed slightly on his feet. He braced a hand on the chair’s armrest. His eyes met hers, and something flickered in their green depths—a confusion, a dazed warmth. “I feel a bit… fuzzy. Warm. Is that normal?”
“Perfectly normal,” she assured him, rising from her own chair. “It’s just the deep relaxation. It lingers. It’s a sign you went to a very beneficial depth.”
“Right.” He shook his head slightly, as if to clear it, but the dazed look remained. He took a step toward her, then stopped. The space between them felt charged, thick with the unspoken suggestions now buried in his mind. “I just… thank you. I feel…”
He trailed off, his gaze dropping to her lips for a heartbeat before snapping back to her eyes. A faint flush colored his cheeks.
“You feel?” she prompted gently, taking a half-step closer. They were almost touching now.
“I feel like I need this,” he said, the words soft, almost confessional. “More than I realized.”
Her breath caught. This was new. This was the conditioning breaking the surface. “You can have it, Harry,” she whispered. “Whenever you need it.”
He nodded, his eyes still locked on hers. The air between them crackled. He was so close she could feel the heat radiating from his body. His hand twitched at his side, as if he wanted to reach for her.
“Next week?” he asked, his voice low.
“Next week,” she confirmed. A promise. A threat. “But Harry… if you need to feel that peace before then… just say the words to yourself. Time to unwind, Harry.”
His eyes widened a fraction, then glazed over slightly. The trigger, recognized at a subconscious level. The arousal she’d planted stirred, a phantom warmth behind his gaze. He shuddered, a full-body tremor that he clearly didn’t understand.
“Okay,” he breathed, taking a shaky step back. “I’ll… I’ll remember that.”
He turned and walked to the door, his movements less sure than when he’d entered. He paused at the threshold, looking back at her. That same dazed, warm, conflicted look was on his face.
Hermione just smiled, lifting her fingers in a slight wave.
The door clicked shut behind him.
She stood perfectly still in the center of the room, the silence roaring in her ears. She could still see the heat in his eyes. The confusion. The want that he couldn’t name. Tonight, he would go to bed. He would think of her voice. And his hand would slide beneath his sheets.
Her own skin felt too tight, too hot. She walked to her desk and picked up the maple rod. She didn’t trace a spiral. Instead, she pressed the cool, smooth tip against her own palm, imagining it was his skin. Imagining his breath hitching as she gave her next command.
Next week, she wouldn’t just use her voice.
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Come to Play