<span style="font-weight: bold">Roper</span><br/><br/>“I do,” the roper sighs softly, “although I do<span style="font-style: italic">not</span>surrender my pride as a predator. Your gift is... appreciated,” she continues, and you notice one tendril stretches out to wrap around the orc, beginning to draw her closer... “I'd appreciate it if you'd put your sword down,” she smiles, her tendrils continuing to massage the pretty dragonesses body.<br/><br/>Aviana is utterly certain that the roper can honestly be trusted in this regard.<br/><br/>“Mmm...” the roper hums, as Aviana touches her lips, then moans, as the dragonesses hands grope her breasts, claws scraping at her pseudonipples. “Anh!” She cries. “Do<span style="font-style: italic">that</span>,” she whimpers. “Do more of<span style="font-style: italic">that</span>. It makes my<span style="font-style: italic">tentacles</span>tingle... makes them so<span style="font-style: italic">slimy</span>and<span style="font-style: italic">sensitive</span>...” Gradually, the tentacles in question begin to wrap yet more stickily around Aviana, caressing and massaging.<br/><br/>“I'm going to put my<span style="font-style: italic">spores</span>into you,” the roper continues, wrapping her arm around Aviana's throat, pulling her close, into a deep, hot kiss, her tongue stretching<span style="font-style: italic">far</span>down the dragonesses throat, “and you're going to fertilise them,” she says when it breaks, “once you've had a good meal!” Her smirk tells you just which kind of meal she means, the live, wriggling, writhing kind – the kind that will make<span style="font-style: italic">good</span>fertiliser.<br/><br/>“But first,” she murmurs, as the orc draws close, “<span style="font-style: italic">I</span>need to eat something,” she continues, as the orc is gently drawn up towards her lips... “Ahhh...” she says, hungrily, lips gaping wide...