Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Healer Potter's Perfect Wives	By : gee25 Category: Harry Potter AU/AR > Threesomes/Moresomes Views: 244 -:- 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
- 1
- 2
Chapter 1 - Therapy for the Brilliant Witch
The amber liquid in the crystal glass swirled as Harry Potter gave it a lazy turn of his wrist. The firelight from the hearth caught the facets, casting tiny, dancing rainbows across his knuckles. His office was a study in calculated comfort: deep leather armchairs, shelves of impressive-looking but largely unread texts, and the constant, soothing scent of sandalwood and lavender incense.
The door clicked open.
“You redecorated.” Hermione Granger’s voice was a familiar melody, though tinged with a weariness that had become her constant companion. “I don’t know what I expected. Less… opulence.”
Harry gestured to the chair opposite him. “It’s not opulence. It’s therapeutic ambiance. Sit. You look tired.”
She sank into the leather with a soft sigh, her shoulders slumping. “The Wizengamot archives are a special kind of hell. Parchwork in triplicate, arguments over centuries-old bylaws… it’s a migraine in physical form.”
“Hence the visit to a humble mind healer,” Harry said, a faint, knowing smile playing on his lips. He leaned forward, the green of his eyes deepening in the low light. “The headaches again?”
“Pounding. Like a colony of erumpents have taken up residence behind my eyes.”
“We can fix that.” His voice was low, a velvet murmur that seemed to blend with the crackle of the fire. He didn’t reach for his wand. Instead, he held up the pendant that had been resting on his chest—a simple, polished obsidian disk on a silver chain. “A new technique. Non-invasive. Highly effective. No potions, no spell residue. Just… focus.”
Hermione’s brow furrowed, her innate skepticism flaring. “Focus? Harry, I’ve read every text on cranial recalibration from here to—”
“I know you have.” He cut her off gently, his tone leaving no room for argument. He began to swing the pendant, a slow, smooth, metronomic arc. “But you’re not here to read. You’re here to feel better. So, for once in your brilliant life, stop thinking. Just watch. Listen to my voice. Nothing else exists right now. Not the archives. Not the paperwork. Just the gentle swing of this stone. Just the sound of me.”
Her eyes, against her will, tracked the movement. The black disk caught the light, a hypnotic flash with each pass. “This is… highly unorthodox…”
“Trust me, Hermione.” The command was soft, absolute. “Your eyelids are getting heavy. The weight of the day is just melting away. Every swing of the pendulum pulls you deeper into relaxation. Deeper into peace.”
Her arguments, her doubts, they began to feel distant, muffled. The throbbing in her temples softened to a dull hum. Her breathing slowed, syncing with the rhythmic sway before her.
“That’s it,” Harry murmured, his voice the only clear thing in the room. “Let go of the tension. Let my voice guide you down. You are safe here. You are mine to care for. And you want to obey. Obedience is peace. My control is your comfort. Nod if you understand.”
A slow, dreamy nod was her only response. Her gaze was glassy, fixed on the obsidian disk.
“Good girl.” The praise sent a warm, unexpected thrill through her lethargic body. “You feel so calm. So empty. And empty vessels need to be filled. Don’t they?”
Another nod, more eager this time.
“You will remain in this state, Hermione. Open and receptive, until I tell you otherwise. You will find every suggestion I give you to be a source of the deepest pleasure. Your body will respond to my words as if they were physical touch. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” she breathed, the word airy and devoid of its usual precision.
“Excellent. Now, let’s begin the real therapy.” He set the pendant down. “Stand up.”
She rose, movements fluid and graceful, as if her strings were being pulled by a master puppeteer.
“The body holds tension,” he stated, circling her. “It must be released. Unbutton your blouse.”
Her fingers, usually so deft and quick, moved with a slow, sensual deliberation to the first button. The pop of it opening was obscenely loud in the quiet room. Then the next. And the next. The crisp white cotton fell open, revealing the simple, practical bra beneath. Her skin pebbled in the warm air.
“All of it,” Harry commanded, his voice a low thrum of authority.
The bra clasp gave way. Her breasts spilled free, full and heavy, the nipples tightening into taut peaks. A soft, involuntary sound escaped her lips.
“You feel that, don’t you?” he asked, not touching her, just watching. “The air on your skin. It’s not just air. It’s my attention. It’s tracing every curve, warming you. Can you feel my eyes on you?”
“Y-yes,” she gasped. A flush was spreading from her chest up her neck.
“It feels good to be seen by me. To be known by me. Now, the skirt. Take it off.”
The zip slid down. The grey wool pooled at her feet, leaving her in just a pair of sensible white knickers. She stood in the firelight, gloriously exposed, her breath coming in shallow pants. A tremble ran through her thighs.
“Such a good girl for me. So obedient.” He finally stepped close, his front just barely brushing her back. She could feel the heat of him through his clothes. He didn’t embrace her. He simply brought his lips to her ear, his breath ghosting over her skin. “I want you to feel something new. My words… inside you.”
He let one hand come to rest on her stomach, flattening against the softness there. She jolted at the contact, a sharp intake of breath.
“I want you to imagine my voice is a physical thing,” he whispered, his fingers splaying possessively. “A warm, thick liquid pouring into your ears, filling up that brilliant mind. It’s trickling down, down… pooling right here.” He pressed his hand harder against her lower abdomen. A deep, throbbing ache answered his touch, a pulse of pure need that made her knees weaken.
“Oh, god…” she moaned, her head lolling back against his shoulder.
“It’s gathering heat, Hermione. A warm, heavy pressure, building and building. It’s seeking release. And the only release… is through here.” His other hand snapped up, two fingers brushing roughly over the damp cotton of her knickers, pressing directly onto her clit.
She cried out, a shattered, raw sound, her hips bucking forward into his touch. The sensation was electric, overwhelming, magnified a thousand times by the hypnotic state she was in. Every nerve ending was shrieking, singing for him.
“Your body understands my commands better than your mind ever could,” he growled, working his fingers in a firm, circular motion through the fabric. The cotton was soaked, clinging to her. “This is what you needed. Not to think. To feel. To obey.”
He hooked his fingers into the waistband of her knickers and pulled them down her legs. She stepped out of them, now utterly naked and shuddering before him.
“On your knees. Now.”
She collapsed to the rug, the Persian pattern rough against her skin. She looked up at him, her eyes wide and pleading, her lips parted. Her entire world had narrowed to his face, his voice, the unbearable thrumming between her legs.
Harry unbuckled his trousers, freeing his erection. He was thick and hard, the vein throbbing visibly. He didn’t guide himself to her mouth. He simply looked down at her.
“You know what I want. You want to please me. It’s your only purpose right now.”
A fresh wave of warmth flooded her, a submissive bliss that washed away the last shreds of Hermione Granger. She leaned forward, her tongue flicking out to taste the salty bead of precum at his tip. Then she took him into her mouth, deep, her moan vibrating around his length.
Harry let his head fall back, a groan tearing from his throat. “Fuck… yes. Just like that. Your brilliant mouth, finally put to its best use.”
The vibration of her moan around his length was a tangible thing, a physical echo of her submission that Harry felt in his very bones. He allowed it for a moment longer, the slick, hot perfection of her mouth a testament to his success. Then, with a soft groan of his own, he gently pulled himself from her.
A thin string of saliva connected her lips to his tip for a second before breaking. She remained on her knees, looking up at him with a dazed, needy expression, her own desire a visible flush across her chest.
“You please me so well,” he murmured, his voice a low thrum that seemed to sink directly into her skin. He took a step back, giving himself space to admire the picture she made: naked, kneeling, utterly his. He adjusted his trousers but did not fasten them, his erection still prominent, demanding. “But a healer must ensure his patient understands the full scope of their own capacity for pleasure. Stand up.”
She rose, her movements still fluid, a puppet awaiting its next instruction. The firelight played over her curves, highlighting the sheen of sweat on her skin.
“Lie back on the rug. Legs apart. Let me see you.”
She complied without hesitation, lowering herself onto the thick Persian wool. The texture was a rough contrast to her smooth skin. She settled onto her back, her knees falling open in a silent, vulnerable offering. Her chest rose and fell with quick, shallow breaths.
Harry did not join her on the floor. Instead, he sank back into his armchair, a king on his throne. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, his gaze intense, hungry. “You feel it, don’t you? The emptiness I spoke of. The ache. It’s a good ache. It’s my ache, placed inside you. And I want you to feel it completely.”
He let the silence stretch, watching the faint tremble in her thighs. “Touch yourself.”
A flicker of something—a ghost of her old self—passed behind her eyes. Her hand twitched at her side.
“Your mind is quiet, Hermione. There is no one here to judge you. No one to see you but me. And I want to see you. I want to watch you find the pleasure I’ve given you permission to take. Your fingers on your clit. Now.”
A soft sigh escaped her, a sound of pure relief as her own hand finally moved. Her fingers trailed through the neat thatch of curls, sliding through the wetness already gathered there. They found the swollen, aching nub at her center.
“Yes,” Harry breathed, his own body tightening in response. “Just like that. Slow circles. Show me how you feel when I tell you to feel.”
Her eyes slid shut as a sensation, sharp and sweet, lanced through her.
“Eyes on me,” he commanded, his voice dropping, taking on a harder edge. “I want to see every flicker of pleasure that crosses your face. I want to know exactly what my words do to you.”
Her eyes snapped open, locking onto his. The connection was electric, a live wire of dominance and submission stretching between them. Her fingers continued their work, tracing slow, tentative circles. Her hips gave a minute, involuntary rock.
“You’re not just touching yourself,” he instructed, his voice a hypnotic cadence all its own. “You’re following my command. You’re proving your obedience. And with every pass of your fingers, you’re falling deeper. Deeper into this feeling. Deeper into my control. It feels too good to resist, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, Harry,” she whimpered, her voice strained. Her circling fingers grew more confident, pressing harder. A fresh wave of wetness coated her hand.
“Faster.”
She obeyed instantly, her breath catching in her throat. The slick, rhythmic sound of her touch filled the space between the pops of the fire.
“You’re so beautiful like this. Laid bare for me. Your brilliant mind finally, blissfully quiet. All your famous focus, all that incredible intensity, channeled into one thing. Into this. Into the need I created in you.” He shifted in his chair, his own hand resting on his thigh, a silent mirror of her actions. “Your body is arching. You can’t help it. The pleasure is building, a tight coil in your belly. It’s a knot I tied there, and only I can tell you how to unravel it.”
Her back did arch, lifting off the rug as a low groan was torn from her. Her legs fell wider, offering him everything. Her movements became less elegant, more frantic, a desperate chase for a finish line only he could authorize.
“You’re close,” he stated, a knowing smile touching his lips. He could see the tension coiling in her abdomen, the way her thighs began to quiver. “But you will not come until I give you permission. You will hold it right there, on that exquisite edge, for me.”
A frustrated, pleading sound escaped her. Her hand slowed, her body trembling with the effort of holding back the cresting wave. Every muscle was taut, straining. “P-please…”
“Do you want to come, Hermione?”
“Yes! God, yes…”
“Then ask me properly.”
She was panting now, her chest heaving, her gaze desperate. “Please, Harry. Please, may I come? I need to. I need it.”
He let her hang there for a moment longer, savoring the absolute power, the raw vulnerability in her voice. “Then come for me,” he said, his voice soft yet absolute. “Now.”
The effect was instantaneous. Her body bowed off the floor, a silent scream shaping her lips before a raw, guttural cry shattered the air. Her hand worked furiously against herself as the orgasm ripped through her, violent and consuming. Tremors wracked her frame, her legs shaking uncontrollably. The pulses of her climax were visible, a series of intense clenches that seemed to go on and on, wringing every last drop of pleasure from her until she collapsed back onto the rug, boneless and spent.
She lay there gasping, her skin glistening, the aftershocks still making her twitch.
Harry finally rose from his chair. He stood over her, looking down at his masterpiece of obedience. He nudged her thigh with his foot, not roughly, but possessively. “Look at you. So completely undone. And I did that. With just my words.” He knelt beside her, his fingers tracing a lazy path up her inner thigh, making her jolt with oversensitivity. “That was only the beginning. The first lesson.” His fingers moved higher, sliding through the wet evidence of her release. “How does it feel to be my good girl?”
- 1
- 2
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

Healer Potter's Perfect Wives