Attend to the Red Witch

Sam could wait. The Red Witch was, you thought to yourself, truly a bitch. You dislike her intensely, but can't deny there is something about her.

Something indescribable that drew people in. She was magnetic, and enthralling. Charismatic and mysterious. And, as the hard-on taking shape in your breeches evidenced, incredibly attractive.

"Thank you Olly," you say, standing and strapping your belt about your waist, Longclaw dangling at your side, "I'll see Master Tarly a little later this afternoon. I'll see to the Red Witch," you turn his own chosen phrase for the Red Priest on Olly before softening it with a wink, "and be back soon. Feel free to excuse yourself and have some food in the canteen in the meantime."

The young boy leaves your chambers with you, and heads off in the opposite direction when you reach the courtyard.

The brothers of the watch nod and mumble "Lord Commander" as you pass them, making your way across the courtyard and up into the wooden heights of the inner keep, striding the walkways of the complex until you reach the guest quarters where the Red Witch and Lord Stannis' chambers reside.

You knock, and wait a few seconds before there is an imperious voice reply.

"Come."

Your semi-hard cock twitches as you enter Melisandre's chambers. She is pouring two glasses of Dornish red from an elaborate carafe and you admire her slender waistline and beautiful curves, and your semi-hard cock stiffens, pushing against your trousers awkwardly.

"Lord Snow." She begins, and continues as she turns around. Her hips sway mesmerisingly as she approaches you, proffering a glass of the wine. You notice a smirk on her face and you once again wonder whether the rumours of her ability to read a man's mind are in fact true. "I have need of you."

She sits down, and fixes you with a steady stare for a few seconds. You feel her sizing you up.

"What is it, my Lady?" Your father had taught you to be courteous at all times, and though you weren't sure really what this woman was, 'my Lady' felt like it could do no harm.

She took a sip of wine before continuing.

"The Great Enemy approaches." She pauses, and you feel her weighing up your response to that statement. She continues. "A darkness such that we have never seen will soon fall upon these lands and, save of their blackest hearts, we know nothing of them. Their weaknesses. Their strengths." Her accent is magical. You can see how men like Stannis have fallen prey to her mystical allure.

"With all due respect, my Lady, I have seen them. I have fought them, and I have lived. Ask of me what you would, and I will answer." She smiled, patronisingly at you. Like a mother appeasing a child.

She took another sip, and as she leaned back, your eyes darted down to her ample bosom squeezed within the confines of her dress. She set the glass down.

"That is not quite what I had in mind, though I appreciate your offer. What I wish to ask of you is somewhat more personal." She began to trace her cleavage absentmindedly with one hand, and you couldn't help but keep stealing looks. "In fighting them, in standing your ground, you have felt the touch of true evil, of true darkness. For the God of Light to fight back, I must see this evil too. I must feel it's taint."

The wine has begun to have an affect, and you feel a little light-headed after only a few sips. This is definitely going somewhere you had not imagined.

The Red Woman stood up, and leaned over the table slowly and deliberately. Her tits almost spilled from her dress as she pried the glass of wine from you. Her fingers were warm and smooth as silk.

Your glass in hand, she straightened.

"You may stay, or leave. Your assistance would be appreciated," she slowly moved the glass up to her lips and took a quick sip, "but I can make do by myself."

She shrugged, and her dress fell to the floor. The Red Lady stood before you naked, but for the ruby necklace nestled between her glorious, perfect tits. The contour of her body was divine. Full, birthing hips, ample breasts, hips that framed her athletic, young, toned figure.

Your cock was rock hard as you took in the sight of the foreign woman before you, naked as the day she was born. With a start, as you admired her plump, red, bush of hair about her cunnie, you noticed a red liquid dribbling down her torso, across her body to the floor. Looking up, you realise she is slowly pouring the Dornish read across her breasts. It dribbles down like blood across her frame. Underneath her breath she mumbles to herself. You can pick up syllables of a language you have never heard before, and the candles in the room flicker.

The hand not holding the slowly emptying glass of wine travels to her snatch, and she unceremoniously begins to circle her clit with her fingers. Each third circle, she penetrates her folds with her index finger, and for a split second, her mumbling grows louder as she involuntarily moans through it.

Looking up at her face. Her eyes beckon, but she makes no outward move to bring you closer.