The day dragged on with the usual monotony, but Harry's mind was racing. Breakfast had been more than just another meal; it was a test of boundaries, a taste of the control he was slowly exerting over the household. Harry's fingers still tingled with the memory of Petunia's soft skin, her trembling breath, and the barely contained hunger in her eyes. The faint trace of magic he'd felt in those moments fueled him further, making him crave more—more power, more indulgence, more of everything this world had denied him before.
Vernon and Dudley were soon getting ready to head out for the afternoon, dressed in their ill-fitting clothes and stuffing their faces with the last bits of lunch. "We'll be back later," Vernon grunted, patting his fat wallet as he checked his keys. "Don't break anything while we're gone, boy," he barked at Harry, who simply nodded, pretending to be indifferent while hiding the satisfaction that simmered just beneath the surface.
Dudley waddled out behind Vernon, whining about something insignificant as they lumbered out the front door. As the door slammed shut, Harry felt the shift in the air. The house was quiet now, just him and Petunia. She was already fidgeting, her movements hurried and distracted as she cleaned up the mess Dudley had left behind. Harry could see the tension in her shoulders, the way her eyes kept darting towards him, expectant, needy.
Petunia turned to him, her face flushed with a mix of frustration and something darker. "Are they gone?" she asked, her voice low and breathy, as if she could barely keep her composure. Harry nodded, watching the way her chest rose and fell, her breathing quickening as the reality of their solitude settled in. She stepped closer, her movements hurried and desperate, and before Harry could even react, she grabbed his hand, pulling him toward her.
"Continue," Petunia demanded, her voice tinged with a desperate edge. She pressed up against him, her fingers clawing at his shirt, tugging him closer. There was no room for pretense anymore; she wanted him, and she didn't care how reckless it was. But Harry pulled back slightly, his expression shifting to one of amused control.
"Not here," Harry said, his voice calm but firm, relishing the way Petunia's need was laid bare. She blinked, confused, her brows knitting together in a mix of anger and impatience. "Inside the cupboard," he continued, nodding toward the small, dark space under the stairs. "That's where you'll get it."
Petunia's eyes widened, a flicker of irritation crossing her features. "What? Inside that filthy cupboard? Are you mad?" she hissed, her voice laced with disbelief. Harry just stared at her, unmoved, and Petunia could feel the pull of his insistence. He wasn't going to budge. Her face twisted with frustration, but she was too far gone to turn back now. She glanced nervously around the empty house, then at the small, cramped door of the cupboard where Harry spent his nights. It was humiliating, degrading even, but the fire that Harry had stoked in her was too much to ignore.
With a heavy sigh, Petunia nodded, her cheeks flushed with a mixture of anger and reluctant acceptance. She glanced toward the front door one last time, ensuring it was locked, and then, with a trembling hand, she pulled open the door to the cupboard. Harry smirked, stepping inside first, his eyes never leaving hers as she hesitated on the threshold. The space was tight, the air thick and musty, filled with the faint scent of old wood and dust.
Petunia squeezed in behind him, her back brushing against the rough wall as she tried to steady her breathing. The light was dim, filtering in weakly through the slats of the door, but it was enough for Harry to see the flicker of apprehension mixed with raw desire in Petunia's eyes. She was trembling, caught between the shame of the confined space and the overwhelming need that had driven her this far.
Harry reached out, his hand cupping her cheek, his thumb brushing over her flushed skin. "You really want it, don't you?" he whispered, his voice thick with a mix of mockery and allure. Petunia's breath hitched, her lips parting as she nodded, her pride shattered in the tight confines of the cupboard. She grabbed his shirt again, her fingers trembling as she pulled him closer, pressing her body against his, and Harry could feel the heat radiating from her, the frantic beat of her heart against his chest.
Harry's hand slid down, gripping her waist as he pressed her back against the wall. There was barely enough room to move, but that only heightened the intimacy of the moment. Petunia's breath was ragged, her hands wandering over Harry's chest, tugging at his clothes, desperate to feel him against her. Harry's other hand moved lower, hiking up her skirt, his fingers brushing against her bare thigh. The touch was light at first, teasing, but Petunia's soft gasp urged him on.
"Please," Petunia whispered, the word tumbling out before she could stop it. Harry's grin widened, and he pushed her skirt up higher, exposing the soft, vulnerable flesh beneath. His hand slipped between her legs, finding her already wet, her arousal undeniable. The sound of her soft, breathy whimper filled the cramped space as Harry's fingers traced the edge of her panties, teasing the slick heat just beneath.
Harry leaned in, his lips brushing her ear as he spoke. "This is what you want, isn't it?" he murmured, his voice a low, taunting whisper. Petunia nodded, her head falling back against the wall as Harry's fingers slid beneath the thin fabric, finding her soaked and trembling. He stroked her slowly, savoring the way her hips bucked against his touch, the faint, wet sounds that filled the tight space as his fingers moved in deliberate, teasing circles.
Petunia's moans were soft but urgent, each one a plea for more as Harry's touch became firmer, more insistent. He could feel her walls clenching around his fingers, the slick warmth of her arousal coating his hand as he pushed deeper. She was gasping now, her voice breaking into quiet, breathless cries that filled the cupboard with the unmistakable sound of her need. Harry's cock strained against his trousers, hard and aching as he watched her unravel, his fingers working her with a steady, relentless rhythm.
Petunia's hands clung to him, her fingers digging into his shoulders as she rocked against his hand, her movements frantic and desperate. She was lost in it, the shame and the thrill mingling in every shudder of her body. Harry's thumb brushed over her clit, rubbing in slow, deliberate circles that made her breath hitch, her moans growing louder despite the cramped quarters.
"Quiet," Harry whispered, a wicked grin spreading across his face as he watched her struggle to hold back. He pulled his fingers away, leaving her gasping and desperate, and Petunia's eyes snapped open, wide with disbelief and need. But before she could protest, Harry unzipped his trousers, his cock springing free, thick and ready. Petunia's eyes locked onto him, her breath catching at the sight, and she reached out, her fingers trembling as she wrapped around him.
Harry guided her down, positioning himself at her entrance, and with one firm thrust, he buried himself inside her, filling the tight space with the sudden, wet sound of their bodies connecting. Petunia gasped, her back arching as Harry drove into her, each thrust sending ripples of pleasure through her. The cupboard was filled with the rhythmic slap of skin against skin, every movement a muffled, intimate sound that only they could hear.
Harry's hands gripped her hips, pulling her closer with each thrust, the cramped space forcing them together in a tangle of limbs and frantic, desperate touches. Petunia's moans were breathy, broken, each one muffled against Harry's neck as he drove deeper, his cock sliding in and out with a slick, steady rhythm. The cupboard creaked softly with every movement, a quiet symphony of rustling fabric and the wet, intimate sounds of their forbidden act.
Petunia's walls clenched around him, her body tightening as she came, her cries stifled against Harry's shoulder. He kept thrusting, his pace unrelenting, riding out her climax as his own release built, each stroke driving him closer to the edge. Harry's breath hitched, his grip tightening as he buried himself deep one final time, spilling into her with a low, guttural groan.
They stayed like that for a moment, tangled together in the cramped, musty space, their breaths mingling in the dim light. Petunia was the first to pull back, her cheeks flushed, her eyes glazed with the aftermath of their reckless encounter. She adjusted her skirt shakily, the reality of what had just happened settling in, but there was no regret in her gaze—only the faint, lingering hunger for more.
Harry smirked, zipping himself back up, the thrill of power still buzzing in his veins. Petunia's desperation, her willingness to debase herself in the tiny cupboard, was a victory he savored. As they both stepped out, Harry couldn't help but feel a surge of satisfaction. He was in control.
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