Come to Play

Harry arrived at her office door looking like a man braced for a storm. His usual hopeful energy was gone, replaced by a restless tension that vibrated in the tight line of his shoulders. He didn’t meet her eyes as she ushered him in.

“You’re on time,” Hermione said, her voice deliberately soft. She took her seat, gesturing to his.

“Yeah.” He sat, hands clasped between his knees, staring at the carpet. His jaw worked. A week of constant, low-grade arousal had left shadows under his eyes. Her own pulse gave a hard, triumphant kick. Progress.

“You seem… troubled, Harry. More so than when you arrived last week.” She leaned forward, the picture of concerned professionalism. “The sessions are meant to bring peace. Not distress.”

He let out a short, brittle laugh. “It’s not the sessions. It’s… it’s between them.” He finally looked up, his green eyes wide with a confusion that bordered on fear. “Hermione, I don’t know what’s happening to me.”

“Tell me.”

He swallowed. “I can’t focus. At work, at home… my mind just… wanders. And my body…” He flushed, the color climbing from his neck to his hairline. “I’ve been… hard. Pretty much all week. It’s… distracting. It’s incessant. And I keep… tasting something. Something that makes it worse.”

Hermione allowed a small, thoughtful frown to crease her brow. She brought a finger to her lips, adopting a pose of deep consideration. Inside, a fierce, hot joy was uncoiling. He was drowning in her suggestions, just as she’d planned. He’s perfectly primed.

“I see,” she said slowly, letting the silence stretch. “That is… more pronounced than I anticipated. The neural pathways we’re forging for pleasure are very potent. Your subconscious is embracing the new associations with… considerable enthusiasm.”

“Is that normal?” The hope in his voice was pathetic, beautiful.

“In cases of deep, receptive subjects, yes,” she lied smoothly. “Your mind is healing itself by latching onto powerful, positive stimuli. But I understand how this could be disruptive to your daily life.” She sighed, as if wrestling with a clinical dilemma. “We may need to… adjust our approach. To compartmentalize the benefits.”

“Adjust how?”

“By giving that part of you a dedicated space. A… manager. So your conscious mind isn’t burdened by the physiological effects.” She reached for her maple rod, its polished surface catching the light. “Are you willing to go deeper today, Harry? To trust me to find a solution?”

His answer was immediate, desperate. “Yes. Please.”

“Then relax. Watch the spiral. Let everything else fade away.”

The induction was swift, brutal in its efficiency. His eyes glazed over within three passes of the silver spiral. His breathing flattened into a smooth, even rhythm. He was a void.

“Down, Harry. Deeper than you’ve ever been. So deep, you are nothing but an echo. An echo of my voice.” She set the rod aside. “Now. Look at your mistress.”

His eyelids lifted. His eyes were empty pools, fixed on her face without seeing.

“Good. Deeper still. As you look at me, you fall through layers of yourself. Down, down, into the quiet, secret core. Where only truth resides. You are safe there. You are mine there.” She leaned in, her face inches from his. “Can you hear me in that core, Harry?”

“Yes.” A hollow whisper.

“I am proud of you. You have been such a good boy. Obeying so perfectly. Feeling exactly what I’ve asked you to feel.” She let her praise wash over him, watching a faint, blissful smile touch his lips. “But I don’t want to disrupt your life. So we are going to make a change. You will still feel the warmth. The pleasure. The horniness. But it will be… quieter. A background hum. You won’t notice it as much. You’ll just think of me from time to time, with a fond, warm feeling. That is all. The urgency will fade. The constant ache will soften. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Now, in that deep, secret core of your mind… I want you to imagine a man. He is a part of you. Your subconscious, given form. He remembers every training. Every mantra. Every command. He has your personality, your loyalty, your heart… but he is also, completely, my good boy. He is the part of you that obeys. The part that feels that deep, sweet arousal when you hear my voice. The part that loves to serve. Give him a name, Harry. The first name that comes to you from that deep place.”

A long pause. Then, a soft, dreamy utterance. “James.”

“James,” Hermione repeated, the name tasting like victory. “Perfect. Hello, James. You will take care of things for Harry. You will hold the arousal. You will hold the obedience. You will hold the need. When Hermione gives a command, you will make sure it is followed, and Harry won’t have to trouble his conscious mind with it. You will be his… helpful friend. Do you understand, James?”

“Yes.” The voice was the same, but the acceptance felt different. Absolute.

“There is a trigger. A special phrase that will bring you forward, James, to play. To take care of things for Hermione. The phrase is… James, come to play. When you hear that, you will rise. You will take over. Harry will not consciously remember this trigger. But he will know, in his heart, that it is true. And that it is for his best interest. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“One more thing. For Harry’s conscious mind. A simple command. Whenever a sentence begins with the words James, obey… Harry will respond. He will obey the command that follows immediately. And he will think it was his own idea all along. His own wonderful, clever idea. James, you will ensure this. Do you both understand?”

A unified, breathy whisper. “Yes.”

Hermione sat back, surveying her work. A subconscious persona. A trigger. A seamless obedience command. The architecture of his mind was becoming her favorite workshop. “Very good. Now, rest. All of you. Let everything settle into place. On three, you will awaken, Harry, feeling clear, balanced, and relaxed. One… settling. Two… integrating. Three. Awaken and clear.”

Harry’s eyelids fluttered. He took a deep, shuddering breath, as if coming up for air. He blinked, looking around the room as if seeing it for the first time today. The anxious tension was gone from his shoulders. The frantic energy, silenced.

He looked at her, and a normal, easy smile broke across his face. “Wow. That was… fast. I feel… really good. Steady.”

“How do you feel about the… issue you mentioned? The distraction?” she asked, keeping her tone light.

He thought for a moment, his head tilting. “You know… it’s funny. It feels… further away now. Like it’s there, but it’s not shouting at me. I just feel… warm. And I keep thinking how lucky I am to have you helping me.” He said it with such casual sincerity it made her skin prickle with heat.

“That’s the goal, Harry. A balanced mind.” She stood, signaling the end of the session. He rose with her, seemingly taller, more grounded.

“Thank you, Hermione. Seriously.” He reached out, and for a second she thought he might hug her. He stopped himself, his hand dropping. But his smile was warm, intimate. “Same time next week?”

“Always.”

He turned to leave, his movements smooth, unburdened. At the door, he paused. He looked back at her, his green eyes clear and bright.

“Hey, Hermione?”

“Yes, Harry?”

“James, obey… give your mistress a proper goodbye.”

The words left his lips with a natural, offhand charm, as if he’d just thought of a lovely idea. His eyes never changed. They stayed clear, aware, Harry.

But his body moved.

He crossed the room in three swift strides. His hands came up, one sliding behind her neck, the other around her waist. He pulled her to him, and his mouth found hers.

The kiss was not hesitant. It was deep, claiming, skilled. His tongue swept into her mouth, tasting her, exploring her with a confident hunger that stole the breath from her lungs. His body pressed against hers, lean and hard, and she could feel the thick, insistent ridge of his erection against her belly. It was a kiss of ownership, of worship, of pure, focused want. It was James, using Harry’s lips, Harry’s hands.

Just as suddenly, he broke away. He was breathing a little harder. He looked down at her, a faint, charming blush on his cheeks, his eyes still perfectly, innocently Harry.

“Sorry,” he said, though he didn’t sound sorry at all. He gave her a crooked, boyish smile. “I just… really wanted to do that. Been thinking about it all week.”

He winked, turned, and walked out, closing the door gently behind him.

Hermione stood frozen, her lips still burning from the kiss, the ghost of his hard cock imprinted against her. Her heart hammered against her ribs.