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
- 4
- 5
- 6
Hermione watched Harry’s chest rise and fall in the afterglow of his commanded release. The air was thick with the scent of sex and her own power. She let him float in that empty, peaceful space for a long moment, her gaze tracing the lines of his relaxed face. The work was done, the submissive truths buried deep.
But the session isn’t over, she thought, a new, slick heat gathering between her own thighs. It’s just beginning.
She leaned in, her voice dropping to that intimate, velvet murmur. “Harry. Listen to me. You are still so deep. So wonderfully obedient. You will stay deep. You will not move unless I command it. Nod if you understand.”
His head moved in a slow, dreamy nod against the headrest.
“Good. Now, I want you to open your eyes. Look at your mistress.”
His eyelids lifted. The green was still glassy, vacant, but fixed on her with absolute attention.
“You are going to stand up for me. Slowly. Keep your eyes on me. Stand.”
With a shuffling, uncoordinated movement, he pushed himself up from the chair. He stood before her, trousers and pants still bunched around his thighs, his softening cock glistening in the lamplight. He wavered slightly, but his gaze never left her face.
“Very good.” Hermione rose from her own chair. She stepped closer, until only a foot of charged space separated them. Her heart hammered against her ribs. “Now, Harry. I want you to kneel.”
No hesitation. His knees hit the plush carpet with a soft thud. He knelt before her, looking up, a perfect portrait of submission. The sight stole her breath.
“Perfect,” she breathed. She reached out, her fingers threading through his messy black hair. He leaned into the touch like a cat, a soft sigh escaping him. “You look so good like this. Where you belong.”
Her other hand went to the side zipper of her tailored skirt. The sound of it parting seemed obscenely loud. She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her skirt and her knickers and pushed them both down in one smooth motion, stepping out of them. She let the fabric pool on the floor beside his knees.
He was staring now, but not with comprehension. With blank, trance-deep reverence.
“You see how wet I am for you, Harry?” she whispered, guiding his head forward gently. “Look. All of this… it’s for you. Because you’re so good for me.”
Her curls were dark and soaked, glistening under the light. The scent of her own arousal, musky and sweet, filled the space between them. His nostrils flared.
“This is your new purpose right now,” she said, her voice firming into a command. “You are going to make me come with your mouth. You are going to lick my pussy, Harry. You are going to taste me, and you are going to love it. You are going to love the taste, the smell, the feeling of my thighs against your ears. You are going to worship me with your tongue until I tell you to stop. And while you do, that warm, good feeling will flood you. Pleasure for obeying. Pleasure for serving. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” he rasped, his voice thick with trance.
“Then do it.”
She didn’t need to guide him further. He surged forward, his hands coming up to grip her hips, his mouth finding her with an eager, desperate hunger.
The first hot swipe of his tongue over her clit made her knees buckle. “Fuck,” she hissed, her fingers tightening in his hair.
He was clumsy, over-eager, but he was obedient. He licked broad, wet strokes, his nose nudging against her, his tongue probing everywhere she’d shown him. The sensation was electric. His mouth was hot, so fucking hot, and the complete lack of technique was somehow more erotic than any skilled lover. This was pure, animal need, her need, channeled through his body.
“Yes, just like that,” she moaned, rocking her hips against his face. “Use your tongue flat, Harry. Lick my whole fucking cunt.”
He obeyed, lapping at her, coating his chin in her wetness. The sounds were filthy—wet, sucking, sloppy noises that echoed in the quiet room. Hermione threw her head back, her other hand braced on her desk. Her whole world narrowed to the insistent pressure of his mouth.
“You love this, don’t you?” she gasped. “You love the taste of my pussy on your tongue. Tell me you love it.”
He made a muffled, affirmative groan against her, the vibration making her cry out.
“Say it.”
He pulled back just enough, panting, his lips shining. “I love it,” he droned, the words blank but fervent. “I love the taste of your pussy.”
“Good boy. Now make me come. Fuck me with your tongue.”
He dove back in, his movements gaining a frantic, focused rhythm. He sucked her clit into his mouth, then speared his tongue inside her, fucking her with short, hard strokes. Hermione’s vision spotted. Pleasure coiled, tight and burning, deep in her gut.
“Right there, fuck, right there, don’t stop,” she chanted, her hips grinding against his face. She could feel his obedience like a physical force, his entire being focused on this one task. Her climax built, a terrifying wave. “You’re my good, obedient boy. This is all you want. This is all you need. To be on your knees, eating my cunt. Yes!”
The orgasm ripped through her, violent and blinding. Her thighs clamped around his head as she shuddered, a raw, guttural cry tearing from her throat. He kept licking, drinking her down, through the convulsions, until she was pushing him away, oversensitive and trembling.
He sat back on his heels, breathing heavily. His face was a glistening, wet mess. His eyes were still locked on her, blank and waiting.
Hermione’s legs felt like water. She leaned against the desk, catching her breath, a profound, shuddering satisfaction radiating from her core. She looked down at him, at the evidence of her control smeared across his features.
She reached down, cupping his cheek. “You did so well. So perfectly. Now, you will forget this. You will remember only a deep, relaxing trance. You will wake feeling incredibly good, but you will not know why. The taste in your mouth… you will like it. It will remind you of peace. Of obedience. Do you understand?”
“Yes.”
“Close your eyes. Sleep.”
His eyes closed. She guided him back to the chair, roughly pulling his trousers up for him. She cast a quick cleaning charm on them both, on the carpet, erasing the physical evidence. She slipped back into her skirt, the fabric cool against her sensitized skin.
She stood before him, composed once more. She picked up her maple rod, not to use it, but to have it in her hand. A prop. A symbol.
“On the count of three, Harry. Awaken. One… coming up, feeling so good. Two… so calm, so satisfied. Three. Awaken and clear.”
His eyes opened. He blinked, focusing on her. A slow, dazed smile spread across his face. He shifted in the chair, and his brow furrowed slightly. He swiped his tongue over his lips, a subconscious gesture.
“Wow,” he breathed, his voice husky. “That was… intense. I feel… really good. Like I’m… floating.” He shifted again, a faint blush creeping up his neck. He was hard again, the fabric of his trousers tented unmistakably. He seemed confused by it, but not alarmed. “I, um… I taste something. It’s… nice.”
Hermione smiled, a gentle, professional curve of her lips. “That’s just a side effect of the deep neural relaxation. It’s perfectly normal. It means you reached a very beneficial state.”
“Right.” He ran a hand through his hair, his cheeks flushed. He couldn’t meet her eyes for a second. “I just feel… incredible. Thank you, Hermione. This is… I don’t know what I’d do without these sessions.”
“You’re very welcome, Harry.” She walked him to the door. “Same time next week?”
“Absolutely.” He paused at the threshold, that dazed, warm look in his eyes. Then, almost imperceptibly, his lips moved. A silent whisper. I will do anything for Hermione.
He blushed a deep, vibrant red, as if he’d heard his own subconscious thought. He stammered a goodbye and practically fled into the hall.
Hermione closed the door softly, leaning her forehead against the cool wood. A slow, triumphant smile spread across her face.
*
The week that followed was a sweet, torturous hell for Harry.
At his desk in the Auror office, reviewing curse damage reports, the clean, herbal taste would ghost across his tongue. His cock would stiffen against his thigh. He’d shift, trying to focus, but his mind would snag on a memory that wasn’t a memory—a feeling of warmth, of weightlessness, of her voice—and he’d have to excuse himself to the loo.
Washing dishes at Grimmauld Place, the steam rising from the sink, he’d hear the echo of a whisper. Good boy. His hips would jerk against the counter’s edge. He’d find himself panting, his knuckles white on a plate.
Walking down Diagon Alley, the smell of baking bread from a café would somehow morph into something muskier, sweeter, a scent that made his mouth water and his blood pound south. He’d have to stop, leaning against a wall, until the dizzying wave of need passed.
He was constantly semi-hard, aching. He touched himself every night, chasing that phantom feeling of perfect goodness, but his own hand felt empty, useless. Only the memory of Hermione’s voice—the promise of her office, her chair, her eyes—gave the edge any relief. He was a live wire of unspecific, desperate arousal, and every path in his mind led back to her.
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