Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Healer Potter's Perfect Wives	By : gee25 Category: Harry Potter AU/AR > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 369 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN HARRY POTTER. NOTE that this is MOSTLY AI GENERATED, with prompts from me.

Chapter List
- 5
- 6
- 7
Chapter 6 - True Vulnerability
The polished oak door to Harry’s consulting room whispered open, precisely on time. Daphne Greengrass stood on the threshold, her posture a perfect study in pure-blood elegance. A simple, expensive dress of emerald silk clung to her tall, curvaceous frame, and her long, dark hair fell over one shoulder in a carefully arranged cascade. Her expression was one of cool, intellectual curiosity, though a faint line of tension between her brows betrayed the stress she’d come to address.
“Mr. Potter,” she said, her voice a smooth, polished tone. “Thank you for seeing me on such short notice. Pansy Parkinson was… rather insistent I pay you a visit.”
“Daphne,” Harry replied, not rising from behind his desk. A faint, knowing smile touched his lips. “Please, come in. Pansy can be… persuasive when she believes in something.”
Daphne stepped inside, her sharp eyes taking a quick, appraising inventory of the room before settling back on him. “She spoke of clarity. Of a quiet mind. Frankly, it sounded too good to be true. My work with the Wizengamot sub-committees is a constant barrage of noise, competing agendas, and intellectual static. I find it increasingly difficult to… focus on what truly matters.”
“I understand completely,” Harry said, his voice dropping into that low, resonant register that seemed to vibrate in the very air. “The brightest minds often suffer the most from their own brilliance. The key isn’t to silence the mind, but to redirect its immense power. To give it a single, unifying purpose.” He gestured to the chair opposite him. “Sit. Let’s discuss how we can achieve that for you.”
As Daphne settled into the leather chair, her movements graceful and controlled, Harry didn’t reach for a pendulum or a potion. Instead, he leaned back, steepling his fingers. “Before we begin, I’d like to offer you a demonstration. A practical illustration of the peace and focus my methods can provide. It involves two of my… most dedicated clients. Would you be open to that?”
Intrigued, her skepticism warring with a deep, yearning need for the relief Pansy had promised, Daphne gave a single, elegant nod. “A demonstration would be… informative.”
“Excellent.” Harry’s smile widened slightly. He didn’t move, but his voice changed, taking on a subtle, commanding timbre that was not quite a shout but seemed to fill the room. “Hermione. Ginny. Join us. Assume your primary positions.”
A previously unnoticed door on the far wall slid open without a sound. Daphne’s breath caught in her throat.
Hermione and Ginny walked into the room. They moved with a serene, unnerving synchrony, their steps perfectly matched. Both were naked, their skin glowing in the firelight. Their eyes were clear and focused, but held a distant, placid quality, like still water. They did not look at Daphne. Their entire attention was fixed on Harry.
Without a word, they knelt on the rich Persian rug before his desk, sitting back on their heels, their hands resting palms-up on their thighs. The picture of perfect, silent submission.
Daphne stared, her carefully constructed composure cracking. “Granger? Weasley? What is… what is this?”
“This is clarity, Daphne,” Harry said softly, his gaze fixed on his two slaves. “This is the absolute peace that comes when the mind is freed from the burden of choice. When it is allowed to serve a singular, powerful will.” He kept his eyes on the kneeling women as he spoke to her. “Hermione. Show our guest the depth of your focus. The depth of your obedience.”
Hermione’s body responded instantly. A soft sigh escaped her lips as a flush spread across her chest. Her eyelids fluttered, but her focus never wavered from Harry. Between her legs, Daphne could see a slick, gleaming wetness beginning to gather. She was becoming aroused on command, without a single touch, her body responding directly to his voice.
“Ginny,” Harry continued, his tone conversational, as if discussing the weather. “Demonstrate your devotion. Show Daphne how completely you can feel my will.”
Ginny’s back arched, a silent gasp parting her lips. Her hands clenched on her thighs, her knuckles turning white. A fresh trickle of arousal escaped her, darkening the rug beneath her. A low, needy whimper built in her throat, but she held it back, her body trembling with the effort of her silent, public display.
Daphne’s own heart was hammering against her ribs. She should be horrified. She should get up and leave. But she couldn’t move. She was transfixed by the raw, potent display of control. The sight of two such powerful, brilliant women brought to this state of helpless, eager surrender was the most mesmerizing thing she had ever seen. A treacherous warmth began to pool low in her own belly, a shocking, unwelcome — yet undeniable — response.
“They feel nothing but what I allow them to feel,” Harry explained, his voice a hypnotic murmur beside her. “Their pleasure is a tool I wield. Their devotion, a resource I command. All the noise, the stress, the endless second-guessing… it’s all gone. Burned away in the purity of service. Isn’t it beautiful?”
Daphne could only nod, her mouth dry. Her gaze was locked on the two women, on the evidence of their arousal, on the utter peace on their faces amidst the physical torment.
Harry finally turned to look at her, his green eyes capturing hers. “This can be yours, Daphne. This peace. This certainty. All you have to do is want it. All you have to do is… choose to kneel.”
He rose from his chair and walked around the desk, coming to stand before his two slaves. He unbuckled his trousers, freeing his already hard, thick length. Ginny let out a shuddering breath at the sight; Hermione’s tongue darted out to wet her lips in unconscious anticipation.
“This is your purpose,” he said to them, though his words were for Daphne. “This is your focus.” He placed a hand on each of their heads. “Serve me.”
They moved as one. Hermione leaned forward, her mouth opening to take the head of his cock, her tongue swirling in a practiced, worshipful motion. Simultaneously, Ginny turned her head, her lips finding his balls, drawing one gently into the heat of her mouth, suckling softly.
Daphne watched, utterly paralyzed, as they pleasured him with a synchronicity that spoke of endless practice. The room was filled with the soft, wet sounds of their devotion, their quiet, eager moans. The air grew thick with the musk of sex and submission.
Harry’s head fell back slightly, a low groan of pleasure escaping him. His hands tightened in their hair, guiding their rhythm. He looked over at Daphne, his eyes blazing with possessive fire.
“This is the therapy I offer, Daphne,” he said, his voice rough with arousal. “This is the clarity. It’s waiting for you. It’s right here.”
He gently pulled Hermione’s head back, his cock glistening with her saliva. He held Daphne’s gaze, his expression one of fierce invitation.
“Would you like to try?”
*
The silence in the room was a physical weight, thick with the musk of sex and the erratic rhythm of Daphne’s breathing. Harry’s sudden withdrawal was a chasm opening at her feet. One moment, his cock was there, glistening and offered, a promise of that terrifying, mesmerising peace. The next, he had tucked himself back into his trousers, the buckle clicking shut with a sound of finality that echoed in the sudden void.
Hermione and Ginny remained on their knees, their heads bowed, their bodies still humming with unspoken need. They were statues in a gallery of submission, their purpose momentarily suspended.
Daphne could only stare, her mind scrambling to reconcile the intellectual, calculating woman she was with the raw, throbbing emptiness that now ached between her legs. The emerald silk of her dress felt like a cage against her suddenly oversensitive skin. Her mouth was dry.
“A demonstration is just a preview, Daphne,” Harry said, his voice once again that of the calm, clinical healer. He walked back behind his desk, a study in composed power. “It’s theory. The practical application… that requires a conscious, sober choice.”
He sat, steepling his fingers. His green eyes, intense and unblinking, held hers. “You came here seeking clarity. A remedy for the noise. You’ve seen the result of my work. You’ve felt its… appeal.” He didn’t need to gesture to the flush on her chest, the slight tremble in her hands she was fighting to control. He could see it. He could smell the sharp, sweet scent of her arousal cutting through her perfume. “The door is behind you. You are free to walk through it. Return to your committees, your agendas, your endless, circling thoughts.”
He paused, letting the dismal prospect of that future settle over her.
“Or,” he continued, the single word hanging in the air like a hook, “you can stay. You can experience that clarity for yourself. Not as an observer. As a participant. You can kneel where they kneel. You can learn the first, most important lesson: how to quiet the world by surrendering to a single voice.”
Daphne’s gaze flickered from his impossibly calm face to the two kneeling women. To Ginny, whose athletic form was sheened with a light sweat, and to Hermione, whose intelligent eyes were now pools of serene devotion. They had everything she’d ever wanted—position, power, respect—and they had willingly traded it for this. And they looked… complete.
The ache inside her intensified, a pulsing demand that overshadowed every logical objection. Her ambition, so long her driving force, narrowed to a single, desperate point: to feel what they felt. To know that peace.
She swallowed. The sound was loud in the quiet room. “What… what would it entail? This first lesson?”
A slow, predatory smile touched Harry’s lips. It was not a friendly expression. It was a promise of possession. “The removal of barriers. Both physical and psychological. It begins with trust. And honesty.” His eyes drifted down her body and back up, a deliberate, appraising look that made her skin prickle with heat. “The dress, for a start. It’s a shield. It has to go.”
Daphne’s breath faltered. She glanced at the door again. Freedom. Noise. Emptiness of a different, more familiar kind.
She looked back at Harry.
Her fingers, moving with a will that seemed separate from her racing mind, went to the delicate clasp at the side of her dress. The click of it opening was a tiny, decisive sound. She stood, her movements slightly stiff, and let the emerald silk whisper down her body to pool on the floor around her ankles. She stood before him in only a matching set of lace knickers and a sheer, demi-cup bra, her skin flushed and exposed.
“All of it, Daphne,” Harry said, his voice soft but immutable. “True openness requires true vulnerability.”
A tremor ran through her. This was the point of no return. She reached behind her back, her fingers fumbling with the bra clasp. It gave way. The flimsy garment joined the dress on the floor, revealing her full, pale breasts, their peaks already tight and sensitive in the cool air. She hooked her thumbs into the waistband of her knickers and pushed them down her thighs, stepping out of them with a grace she didn’t feel.
She was naked. Utterly. More exposed than she had ever been in her life. She fought the urge to cover herself, forcing her arms to remain at her sides. Her heart was a frantic drum against her ribs.
“Good,” Harry murmured, the approval in his voice sending an unexpected jolt straight to her core. “Very good. Now. Kneel. Between them.”
Her legs, feeling like they were made of sand, carried her forward. The Persian rug was soft against her knees. She settled back on her heels, mirroring the postures of Hermione and Ginny. Their warmth radiated against her sides. She could feel the slight tremors still running through Ginny’s frame.
“Close your eyes, Daphne,” Harry commanded, his voice dropping into that hypnotic register that seemed to vibrate in her very bones. “Focus on your breathing. In… and out. Let the world narrow to the sound of my voice.”
She obeyed. The darkness behind her eyelids was a relief. Her breathing began to slow, syncing with the rhythm he imposed.
“You feel the air on your skin. The weight of your own expectations. The constant pressure to perform, to be perfect. It’s a heavy burden, isn’t it? Doesn’t it feel good to imagine setting it down?”
A sigh, genuine and shuddering, escaped her. “Yes.”
“That feeling is the beginning of peace. The first step on a new path. Your mind is so powerful, Daphne. So eager for a true purpose.” He was moving; she could hear the soft sound of his footsteps circling them. “I’m going to give your body a new purpose, too. A simple one. A perfect one. When I say the word ‘bloom’, you will feel a wave of intense, shocking pleasure centered right here.”
His fingertips brushed her inner thigh, just an inch from her slick, naked folds. She jolted at the contact, a gasp catching in her throat.
“The word is ‘bloom’,” he repeated, his voice a low thrum. “Bloom.”
It was not a gentle wave. It was a detonation.
Daphne’s eyes flew open as a silent scream locked in her throat. Her back arched violently, her hands flying out to brace herself on the floor. The sensation was a white-hot brand against her clit, a sizzling, relentless current of pure ecstasy that obliterated every thought. It was pleasure so intense it crossed into pain, and the pain was itself a glorious relief. Her hips gave a frantic, involuntary jerk.
“Still.”
The pleasure vanished. The absence was a physical blow. A broken, whimpering cry was torn from her lips. Her body shook with the sudden, brutal deprivation, her core clenching around a devastating emptiness. She was panting, her vision swimming.
“You see?” Harry’s voice was calm, instructional. He was kneeling in front of her now. “My control. Your pleasure. It’s the ultimate clarity.”
He reached out and cupped her chin, forcing her glassy eyes to focus on his. “You have a brilliant mind, Daphne. It’s already analyzing, trying to understand the mechanism. But this…” He moved his other hand, his fingers sliding through her wetness, gathering her arousal. “…this, your body understands perfectly. It knows its new purpose. To obey. To feel. To bloom.”
He held his slick fingers before her eyes. “Now, Daphne. Your first act of service. Show me you understand the transaction. Clean my fingers. Taste your own devotion.”
The command was so intimate, so degrading, so utterly compelling. Her body was still screaming from the aftershocks of sensation and denial. Without hesitation, her need overriding a lifetime of propriety, she leaned forward and took his fingers into her mouth.
The taste of herself was musky and sweet. Her tongue swirled around his digits, cleaning them with a desperate, eager thoroughsey that shocked her even as she did it. A low moan vibrated in her throat. The act itself was a submission that sent a fresh wave of heat flooding through her.
Harry watched her, his eyes dark with triumph. “Good girl,” he purred, the praise vibrating through her like a second command.
He withdrew his fingers and leaned closer, his lips nearly brushing hers. His voice was a low, wicked promise.
“Now… let’s try that again. Bloom.”
- 5
- 6
- 7
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Healer Potter's Perfect Wives