She tells you her desires

“...It is also what I desire,” she says, cupping your chin with her thin fingers and pointing your face towards her own. You see a soft smile on her face. “I wish to nurture you, just like I do Robin.”

You’d heard rumors about the odd behaviour of Lady Arryn, about how she babied her eight year old son despite him being far past the age for such actions to be considered appropriate. Despite your nervous state, your eyes glance up and down her form, lingering for a moment on her breasts before shifting back to her face.

Your heart jumps in your throat as Lysa’s smile widens on her face and her eyes narrow, turning her expression from one of amusement to almost predatory.

“There is no reason at all to refuse,” Lady Arryn says softly. “Nobody would dare stand up to you if you accept, and I promise you all my love as a mother. You will be no less dear to me than Robin.”

“F-forgive me, Lady Arryn,” you stammer, blushing a deep shade of red. “As you say, I am not a noble, I am unsuitable to be your son-”

“And is Robin? No,” Lysa’s eyes harden as she squints at you as she laughs in a mocking tone. “Don’t feign ignorance! I have not raised my son to be a capable leader, and I fear it is far too late to fix my mistakes... I am not getting any younger, and remarrying is out of the question... so I cannot bear any heirs...”

Her hand on your chin moves smoothly to the nape of your neck, and she pulls you with surprising strength to her chest.

“But the people already believe me to be insane, and yet they remain loyal to me,” Lysa whispers as she smothers you with her fragrant, soft breasts. “I have been naive and foolish... but that is exactly why they may not question my decision to adopt you. Unlike Robin, I can groom you to be a proper successor.”

Anger, sorrow, desperation... you can hear a lot of things in Lysa’s voice as she tries to convince you.

“And I can sense that you’re special,” Lysa murmurs as she yanks her top down and reveals a large, pale breast. She pushes the soft nipple against your lips and proceeds to smother you until you open your mouth.

“Suckle,” she orders, and you finally obey. Her other hand rubs your belly as a warm trickle of milk leaks into your mouth.

“Indeed,” Lysa mutters as she caresses the nape of your neck. “You have a childish charm... if it is enough to rouse me from my stupidity, perhaps...”