Because of lot of confusion I am saying this here: They are 17 years old at year one. Petunia looks like felletrix's petunia but less fat. Felletrix is an artist on Twitter.
Harry woke up with a start, his mind flooded with a chaotic mix of memories that didn't quite belong to him. The air in his cupboard felt stifling, charged with the strange, twisted reality he'd been thrust into. This world was different—a place where men were passive, their libidos dulled to a whisper, while women simmered with a constant, unfulfilled need. But Harry, his desires reignited by memories of his old world, felt something electric coursing through him, an insatiable hunger that refused to be tamed.
He pushed open the cupboard door, stepping out into the faint morning light of the kitchen. There was Petunia, hunched over the sink, washing dishes with a sort of frantic energy. Her house dress clung to her frame, hinting at the curve of her waist and the subtle sway of her breasts beneath the thin fabric. Harry's gaze lingered on her chest, captivated by the soft bounce of her breasts as she scrubbed. He could feel the heat rising in him, the stirring of a deeper hunger.
"Aunt Petunia," Harry said, his voice carrying a confident edge that was new and unmissable. Petunia didn't turn around, but her shoulders tensed slightly, betraying her awareness of him. She scrubbed harder, the sound of dishwater sloshing and ceramic clinking under her rough touch.
"What now?" she snapped, not bothering to mask her irritation. But there was something else there too—something tight and tense, like she was holding back more than just anger. Harry stepped closer, his chest brushing her back, the heat of his body radiating against hers.
"I've got a problem," Harry murmured, letting his breath tickle her ear. Petunia froze, her hands stilling in the soapy water. "I've got an erection," he said bluntly, his voice a dark whisper, each word deliberate and heavy with meaning. "And I don't know what to do about it."
Petunia turned slowly, her eyes flicking down to the bulge pressing against his trousers. Her cheeks flushed a faint pink, and her breath hitched. It was clear she hadn't expected this—hadn't expected him to be so direct, so bold. She glanced toward the hallway, making sure they were alone, before turning back to Harry with a look that was equal parts disbelief and intrigue.
Without a word, she reached down, grabbing the hem of her dress and yanking it up to her waist. The fabric rustled loudly, breaking the silence in the room, and Harry's eyes widened as he took in the sight of her bare thighs and the wet heat between them. Petunia wasn't just willing; she was already drenched, her arousal glistening in the morning light. "Do it quick," she panted, her voice edged with frustration and unspoken need. "Before you lose it."
Harry pulled down his trousers, his cock springing free—stiff, thick, and eager. Petunia's eyes lingered on him, her breath catching as she bent over the counter, her ass lifting high in a shameless display. Harry gripped her hips, feeling the soft give of her flesh beneath his fingers as he lined himself up, pressing the head of his cock against her wet entrance.
He pushed in slowly, feeling her tight heat envelop him, a slick, muffled squelch filling the air as he buried himself inch by inch. Petunia gasped, her fingers digging into the countertop as Harry began to move, each thrust sending a soft slap of skin reverberating through the kitchen. The wet sounds were rhythmic, messy—every movement producing a chorus of faint slurps and smacks that filled the room.
Harry's eyes flicked to her breasts, bouncing gently with every thrust, their soft weight jiggling under the thin fabric. The sight drove him on, his grip tightening as he picked up the pace, each thrust deeper, harder. Petunia's moans started low, breathy, growing louder as Harry's relentless rhythm pushed her further. The slap of his hips against her ass filled the air, each impact a quick, sharp *clap* that made Petunia's breath hitch with every stroke.
Her head fell forward, soft whimpers escaping her lips as Harry kept his steady rhythm, the sounds of their bodies moving together filling the room. "Ah… ah… ah…" she gasped, her voice breaking as Harry thrust faster, the wet, rhythmic slaps of their coupling punctuated by the faint, liquid noises of her arousal.
Harry watched the way her breasts swayed, captivated by the gentle jiggle each time he drove into her. He reached up, sliding his hands under her dress to grab them, feeling her nipples harden against his palms. Petunia moaned louder, her back arching as Harry kneaded her breasts, squeezing them in time with his thrusts. The sensation sent shocks of pleasure through her, her voice breaking into a series of soft, breathless cries.
"Ah, Harry… oh, God…" she whimpered, her body quaking as she edged closer to her climax. Harry's cock pistoned in and out, each stroke pulling wet, messy sounds from her body, the quick slap and squelch of their frantic rhythm driving them both to the brink. Petunia's breath hitched, her moans rising in pitch as she came suddenly, her pussy tightening around Harry, squeezing his cock with every pulse. She cried out, her voice loud and desperate as her orgasm crashed through her, the sounds of their bodies meeting drowning out everything else.
Harry pulled back, his cock still throbbing, glistening with their mixed fluids. Petunia slumped forward, panting, her cheeks flushed and her legs trembling. She looked back at Harry, eyes wide as she saw that he was still hard, still ready. "You're… you're still going?" she breathed, disbelief mingling with renewed hunger.
Harry grinned, stepping closer, his cock brushing against her thigh. "Not done yet," he growled, his voice dripping with the thrill of it. Petunia hesitated for only a second before letting him guide her to the kitchen table, climbing up and spreading her legs wide. She watched as Harry positioned himself, his cock sliding in with a slick, satisfying noise.
Harry thrust in deep, the table creaking beneath them as he pounded into her, his hands roaming her body. He squeezed her breasts, feeling their soft bounce with every movement, each touch drawing more desperate moans from her lips. The wet noises were back, louder now as Harry fucked her hard, each thrust a wet, rhythmic clap that echoed through the kitchen.
They didn't stop there. Harry lifted her off the table, carrying her to the wall where he pinned her, her legs wrapped around his waist. Petunia's moans filled the narrow space, her voice breathy and high as Harry slammed into her, the noise of their bodies meeting filling the air with a quick, rhythmic *smack smack smack*. Her breasts bounced against his chest, soft and warm, adding a new layer of sensation that spurred Harry on.
He flipped her around, bending her over the staircase railing, and took her from behind. Each thrust sent Petunia's breasts swaying, the slap of his hips against her ass creating a sharp, rhythmic beat that filled the stairwell. The wet noises were different now, each movement producing a slick, sloppy sound that drove Harry wild, every thrust met with a soft, breathy gasp from Petunia.
By the time they ended up in the living room, Petunia was a mess—flushed, sweaty, and gasping. Harry had her on her back on the sofa, her legs spread wide, her breasts bouncing freely as he took her again. The sounds of their frantic coupling filled the room, each thrust sending another soft slap, another wet, sticky noise echoing around them. Petunia's moans grew louder, more desperate, as Harry pounded into her, his hands grabbing her breasts, squeezing and teasing until she was crying out again, her voice hoarse and filled with ecstasy.
Just as she was nearing another climax, the front door creaked open, and Vernon's voice boomed from the hallway. Petunia shoved Harry away with a gasp, scrambling to cover herself, her heart racing as she tried to catch her breath. But Harry only smirked, his cock still throbbing, still hard, knowing this was only the beginning.
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