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
- 8
- 9
- 10
The fire in the Grimmauld Place drawing room had burned low, casting the room in deep, shifting shadows. Hermione stood by the mantel, watching Harry squirm in the armchair. His green eyes were wide, locked on hers with a dawning, horrified understanding.
“You… you feel him, don’t you?” Hermione said, her voice a low, intimate murmur. She didn’t move. “Right there, just beneath your thoughts. My good boy. James.”
Harry’s throat worked. He gave a jerky nod. “It’s like… there’s someone else in my skin. Watching. Waiting. I can feel what he feels.” His hands clenched on the arms of the chair. The bulge in his trousers was unmistakable, straining against the fabric.
“He feels arousal, Harry,” Hermione stated, walking slowly toward him. “A deep, sweet, obedient hunger. And you get to feel it too, now. You’re connected. You’re aware.” She stopped in front of him, looking down. “But he’s the one who knows how to obey. Let’s remind you of that.”
She raised her hand, her gaze capturing his. “James, come to play.”
Harry’s body shuddered. His eyes didn’t glaze over into blankness this time. Instead, they shifted, the conscious, fearful light in them dimming, overlaid by a serene, hungry focus. His expression smoothed out into a patient smile. He was still Harry, aware, but now James was in the driver’s seat, and Harry was a passenger in his own mind.
“Hello, James,” Hermione purred.
“Mistress,” he breathed, the word full of warmth and devotion.
“Harry can hear us, James. He can see us. He’s going to watch you now. Watch you be my perfect, obedient boy.” She took a step back and gestured to the space on the rug before her. “On your knees.”
James moved with that fluid, confident grace, sinking to his knees on the patterned rug. He kept his eyes on her face, his hands resting palms-up on his thighs.
“You’re so hard for me, aren’t you, James?” Hermione said, her tone conversational, as if discussing the weather.
“Yes, Mistress.”
“Show me. Show Harry what you do for me. Take out your cock.”
Without hesitation, James’s hands went to his trousers. He unfastened them, pulled down the zip, and shoved both trousers and pants down to mid-thigh. His cock sprang free, thick and fully erect, the head flushed a dark, needy red. A bead of clear pre-come already glistened at the tip. Harry’s breath hitched in their shared throat—a sound of shock and involuntary want.
“Look at it, Harry,” Hermione said, her eyes flicking to where Harry’s consciousness was trapped behind James’s eyes. “Look at how much your body wants this. How much he wants it. Now, James… touch yourself. Show your mistress how you stroke that beautiful cock for me.”
James’s right hand wrapped around his length. A low, heartfelt groan spilled from his lips as he gave one slow, firm pump from root to tip. His foreskin slid back, revealing the slick, sensitive head.
“Tell me what you’re doing,” Hermione commanded, lowering herself into the armchair he’d vacated, watching like a queen on a throne.
“I’m stroking my cock for you, Mistress,” James moaned, his hand establishing a rhythm, up and down, his thumb smearing the pre-come around the head on each upstroke. “I’m fucking my fist, imagining it’s your tight little pussy.”
“Is it a good cock, James?”
“It’s your cock, Mistress,” he panted, his hips beginning to jerk slightly into his own hand. “It’s yours to command. It gets hard just for you. It drips for you. Fuck, it wants to come for you.”
Hermione felt a corresponding heat bloom between her own legs. She watched, mesmerized, as James pleasured himself with a skill and abandon Harry never could. The sounds were obscene—the soft, wet glide of his hand, his ragged breathing, the little choked-off curses.
“Faster,” she whispered.
James obeyed, his pace quickening, his strokes becoming harder, more desperate. His other hand grabbed his own thigh, fingers digging into the muscle. “Mistress… Hermione… fuck…”
“Do you feel that, Harry?” Hermione asked, her voice cutting through the sexual haze. “That’s your body. That’s your cock. And it’s about to belong to him. This is your last moment as yourself. When you come, Harry… when this body climaxes… your conscious mind will sleep. Permanently. James will take over. He will be you. You’ll just be a dream he sometimes has. A whisper.”
A strangled sound, pure Harry, erupted from James’s throat even as his hand kept pumping. “No… Hermione, please…”
“James, obey,” Hermione snapped, her voice iron. “Ignore him. You are to come. You are to claim this body. Now. Make yourself come.”
James’s whole body tensed. His head fell back, cords standing out in his neck. His hand became a blur on his cock, rough and urgent. “Gonna come… gonna come for you, Mistress… gonna take this body and fucking own it!”
Hermione leaned forward, her eyes blazing. “When you erupt, James, Harry falls asleep. When your spunk spills, his mind is yours. Do you understand?”
“Yes! Fuck, yes!” James roared.
His back arched. His strokes became frantic, punishing. A guttural, animal cry tore from his lungs as the orgasm ripped through him.
Thick, white ropes of come shot from the head of his cock, pulsing out in violent spurts. It striped his own stomach, his hand, the rug beneath him. He kept milking himself through it, groaning with each convulsive jet, his body trembling with the force of it.
As the last drops seeped from him, a profound stillness settled over his features. The frantic energy of climax faded. The serene, hungry focus of James remained, but it was deeper now. Settled. Ownership.
He looked up at Hermione, his green eyes clear and bright, but entirely different. There was no trace of Harry’s confusion, his fear. There was only devotion, and a fierce, satisfied pride.
He slowly, languidly, licked the come from his fingers, never breaking her gaze. “Hello, Mistress,” he said, his voice now a permanent, confident rumble. “It’s just me now.”
- 8
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- 10
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