As Harry stood in the bedroom, his divine senses taking in every detail of his aunt's figure, a devious plan began to form in his mind. Petunia, despite her cold exterior, possessed a body that would drive many men wild with desire - ample breasts, a curvaceous waist, and a round, inviting posterior. It was almost as if fate itself had gifted him with the perfect subject for his first experiment in seduction.
A wicked grin spread across his face as he imagined the look of utter desperation that would soon adorn Petunia's features. The way she would beg and plead for him to satisfy her carnal urges, only to be denied time and time again. It was a tantalizing prospect, one that filled him with an eager anticipation.
"I'll corrupt you, Aunt Petunia," he whispered to himself, his eyes glinting with mischief. "I'll make you my slave, body and soul. And when I finally decide to grant you release, you'll be so grateful, so utterly enthralled, that you'll do anything I command."
The thought of cuckolding Uncle Vernon added an extra layer of delight to his scheme. To see the man who had treated him with such disdain and disrespect, brought low by his own wife's infidelity, was a delicious irony. It would be a fitting revenge, one that Harry intended to savor every moment of.
For now, though, he would bide his time, gradually weaving his web of seduction and manipulation around Petunia. He would tease and tempt her, pushing her to the brink of madness with desire, all while maintaining a veneer of innocence and naivety.
As he followed his aunt downstairs, Harry couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement and anticipation. The next two years would be a fascinating study in the art of psychological warfare, as he slowly but surely corrupted the woman who had once been his nemesis.
And when he finally claimed his reward on his 17th birthday, the satisfaction would be all the sweeter for having waited. Petunia would be his, completely and utterly, a willing slave to his every whim. The mere thought of it sent a thrill of pleasure through him, and he knew that he would stop at nothing to achieve his goal.
Over the next few months, Harry set his plan into motion with subtle finesse. He would engage Petunia in conversations that gradually turned more and more suggestive, toying with her desires and testing her limits. He'd catch her in moments of private daydreams, her hands wandering to her breasts or her behind, and feign innocence when confronted.
The changes in Petunia were both fascinating and intoxicating to Harry. She grew increasingly flustered and distracted, unable to keep her mind focused on anything other than the desires he had so skillfully awakened within her.
One day, unable to bear the tension any longer, Petunia approached Harry, her voice trembling with a mixture of fear and desire. "Harry," she whispered, "I think I... I need you."
Harry's heart raced with excitement as he watched her eyes beg for his touch, her body quivering in anticipation. He knew that the time had come to deepen his seduction, to push her to the point of no return.
With a gentle smile, he took her hand, leading her to a secluded corner of the house where they wouldn't be interrupted. He looked into her eyes, his own filled with a powerful mixture of longing and malevolence.
"I can help you, Aunt Petunia," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "But you must trust me. You must listen to my every command, no matter how difficult it may be."
Petunia's gaze wavered, her desire for him clouding her judgment. "I'll do it," she whispered, her voice filled with a mixture of fear and hope. "Anything for you, Harry."
Harry's grin widened, his heart pounding with excitement. The game was finally reaching its climax, and he couldn't wait to see the fruits of his labor.
"I'll make you mine, Petunia," he said, his voice dripping with anticipation. "I'll corrupt you, body and soul. And you'll be so grateful, so utterly enthralled, that you'll do anything I command."
As he leaned closer, Petunia's heart raced with a mixture of fear and excitement. She had no idea what she was getting herself into, but she couldn't help but feel drawn to the dark, seductive power of her young nephew.
The stage was set, the tension palpable.
Harry began to manipulate Petunia's mind and emotions, using his divine powers to heighten her desire and suppress her inhibitions. He planted vivid, erotic dreams in her subconscious, each one more explicit than the last. Petunia found herself constantly fantasizing about Harry, her thoughts consumed by forbidden lust.
One night, as Petunia lay in bed beside Vernon, her body burned with an insatiable need. She slipped out of bed, careful not to wake her husband, and crept to Harry's room. With shaking hands, she pushed open the door and stepped inside.
"Harry," she breathed, her voice heavy with need. "Please, I can't take it anymore. I need you."
Harry sat up, his eyes gleaming with dark amusement. He had been expecting this moment, anticipating it with eager delight.
"You're mine now, Petunia," he purred, his voice dripping with seductive power. "Your body, your mind, your soul belongs to me. And I'm going to use you in ways you can't even imagine."
Petunia fell to her knees before him, her hands trembling as she reached for his small body. But Harry pulled away, laughing cruelly.
"Not yet, my sweet petunia," he teased. "First, you must prove your devotion. You must show me how much you want me."
And so began a torturous game of seduction and denial. Harry would tease and taunt Petunia, bringing her to the brink of ecstasy only to pull away at the last moment. He would command her to perform acts of humiliation and degradation, reveling in her submission.
Petunia became a slave to her desires, her every thought and action driven by her need for Harry. She neglected her duties, ignored her husband and son, and spent her days begging for Harry's attention.
Vernon, oblivious to the true cause of his wife's erratic behavior, grew increasingly frustrated. He would rage and yell, demanding that Petunia return to her proper place. But she was beyond his reach, lost in a haze of lust and obedience.
Year by year, Harry continued his cruel game, watching with sadistic pleasure as Petunia deteriorated before his eyes. Her once-meticulous housekeeping fell into disarray, her appearance became haggard and unkempt.
As the years passed, Harry's manipulation of Petunia deepened, consuming her very being. The once proud and proper woman was reduced to a desperate, pleading mess, wholly enslaved by the dark desires Harry had awakened within her.
Her body, though aging, remained voluptuous and ripe, a testament to Harry's subtle magical enhancements. Her breasts swelled fuller, her hips widened, and her skin maintained an unnatural youthfulness. She presented herself to Harry like a common whore, offering her body in any way he demanded.
One sultry evening, a week before Harry's 17th birthday, Petunia knelt before him in the dimly lit basement. Her eyes, once cold and judgmental, now glowed with feverish adoration as she nuzzled his lap, inhaling his divine scent.
"Oh, Master," she moaned, her voice thick with need. "I beg of you, please take me. Claim your Petunia, your loyal slave. I cannot endure another moment of this sweet torment."
Harry stroked her hair, his fingers tangling in her blonde locks as a cruel smirk played on his lips. "Soon, my pet," he purred. "On the morrow of my ascension into manhood, you shall finally receive the reward you so desperately crave."
He leaned in close, his breath hot against her ear. "But know this, Petunia. Once I claim you, your body will never belong to you again. You will be my plaything, my personal whore, to be used as I see fit. Your pleasure will only come at my whim. Do you understand?"
Petunia trembled, tears of gratitude streaming down her cheeks. "Yes, Master. I am yours utterly. My body, my mind, my very soul belongs to you. Use me as you wish."
Harry laughed darkly, savoring the moment. "Good girl."
On the eve of Harry's 17th birthday, the atmosphere within the Dursley household was palpable with tension. Petunia, her nerves frayed and her body aching with pent-up desire, could barely contain her excitement. She had waited for what felt like an eternity for this moment, her every waking thought consumed by the promise of finally being claimed by Harry.
As the clock struck midnight, Harry appeared in her bedroom doorway, a triumphant gleam in his eye. "Tonight, Petunia," he said, his voice low and husky. "Tonight, I fulfill my promise."
Without another word, he swept into the room, his divine presence filling the space. Petunia, trembling with anticipation, threw off her covers and rose from the bed, presenting herself to him like a sacrifice.
Harry took his time, savoring every moment. He caressed her body, tracing patterns on her skin that made her shiver with pleasure. He kissed her deeply, his tongue exploring her mouth with a mastery that left her breathless.
Petunia's hands trembled with anticipation as she undressed, her body flushing with a mix of excitement and embarrassment. She knew that today was the day she had been waiting for, the day that would finally bring an end to her years-long torment.
As she stood before Harry, completely bare, he took in the sight of her with a critical eye. "Beautiful," he murmured, his gaze roaming over the curves of her figure. "Truly beautiful."
He gestured for her to approach him, and Petunia hurried to comply, her heart racing with anticipation. "Take out my cock," he commanded, his voice firm and authoritative.
Petunia's hands fumbled slightly as she reached for Harry's underwear, her fingers brushing against the hard bulge within. She gasped softly as she freed his member, marveling at its size and girth.
"It's so big," she breathed, her voice barely audible. "How will you fit it inside me?"
Harry chuckled, his eyes glinting with amusement. "That's for me to worry about," he said. "Now, take it into your mouth. I want you to suck me until I'm nice and hard."
Petunia hesitated for a moment, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment. But then she nodded, bending down to take Harry's cock into her mouth. The taste of his skin was salty and masculine, and she found herself enjoying the sensation of his hardness against her tongue.
As she worked, Harry's hands found their way to her breasts, cupping them in his palms and kneading them gently. "Mmm, you have such wonderful tits," he murmured, his thumbs brushing over her nipples. "I'm going to enjoy playing with them later."
Petunia moaned softly, her body responding to Harry's touch. She could feel her own arousal growing, her pussy growing wet and needy. She knew that it wouldn't be long before Harry claimed her, and the thought sent a thrill of anticipation through her veins.
After a few moments, Harry pulled his cock out of Petunia's mouth, a string of saliva connecting them for a brief second. "Good girl," he praised, his voice filled with approval. "Now, I think it's time for the main event."