Let Melisandre milk you

You feel the ancient power humming through her walls, squeezing and rippling along every inch of your shaft like living silk and flame. The witch’s eyes glow faintly, that crimson hue deepening as she rides you with deliberate, rolling thrusts that grind her soaked folds against your pelvis. Each downward plunge pulls a wet, obscene sound from her cum-filled cunt, your earlier seed already leaking out around your cock and slicking her thighs.

“By the old gods and the new,” you snarl, fingers digging bruises into the soft flare of her hips. You buck up harder, spearing deep enough that her full breasts bounce with every impact. “You’ll milk every drop from me, Melisandre. No more games. No more visions. Just this.”

She laughs, low and throaty, the sound vibrating straight through her core and into your cock. The candles flare brighter, shadows dancing like writhing bodies on the stone walls of the Lord Commander’s chambers. A sudden gust of unnatural heat washes over your skin, contrasting the icy chill that seems to radiate from your own throbbing length buried inside her.

“Yes, my king,” she purrs, leaning forward so her long auburn hair curtains around your face. Her nipples, hard as rubies, drag across your chest. “Take what is yours. Fill your red witch again. The Lord of Light demands it… and so do I.”

Her inner muscles clench with deliberate, rhythmic pulses - tight at the base, fluttering along the head, then rippling upward in waves that drag you closer to the edge. She’s not just fucking you; she’s worshipping your cock with her body, drawing your seed like a priestess performing some forbidden rite. You feel the pressure building fast, heavy and urgent in your balls.

You flip her suddenly, rolling on top without ever leaving her heat. Melisandre gasps as her back hits the furs, legs wrapping high around your waist. You pin her wrists above her head with one hand, the other gripping her thigh and spreading her wider. Then you drive into her with long, punishing strokes—deep, claiming, relentless. The wet slap of your hips against hers echoes off the walls.

“Fuck - Jon, yes!” Her voice cracks, the imperious Red Woman unraveling beneath you. Her cunt spasms wildly now, greedy and hot, sucking at your shaft as if trying to pull your very soul out through your cock. Flames burst higher in the hearth, casting her sweat-glistened skin in shifting gold and crimson.

You lean down, teeth grazing her throat, then biting just hard enough to mark her. “You wanted my seed for your fire god? Then beg for it properly.”

Her back arches clean off the bed, pressing her breasts against you as another orgasm rips through her. She cries out in a language you don’t know - High Valyrian mixed with something older, darker - and her walls clamp down like a velvet fist.

“Please… my Lord Snow… give it to me. Flood me. Breed your witch. Let me carry your winter fire.”

The words snap something primal inside you. You growl against her neck and slam deep one final time, burying yourself to the hilt as your release crashes over you. Thick, powerful jets of cum erupt straight against her womb, pulse after heavy pulse, filling her until you can feel her belly swell slightly with the sheer volume. Her cunt milks you through every spasm, drawing it all out, greedy and insatiable, until you’re shuddering and spent above her.

Even then she keeps rippling around you, slow and possessive, as if savoring every drop. Her glowing eyes flutter open, lips parted in a satisfied, almost reverent smile.

“You are not finished yet, Jon Snow,” she whispers, voice husky with promise. One hand slides down to where you’re still buried inside her, fingers tracing the messy mix of your combined fluids. “The night is long… and I have many more ways to draw the king’s seed from his cock.”

She squeezes around you again, already coaxing fresh blood back into your length, her magic and hunger far from sated.