Madame Widow squeaks like a little mouse, like<span style="font-style: italic">prey</span>, even just from the slightest brush of my tail. It's going to be very, very difficult not to eat her when we're alone, or after sex, or<span style="font-style: italic">during</span>sex.<br/><br/>The room was small – Nyrwa and I were going to crowd it – and has the feeling of a lovers mouth. Plush red carpet, layers of diaphanous red drapes, the bed, long and lustrous, rolled out like an eager tongue. The scent of incense assaults the sensitivity of my nose, and, unwillingly, I give an adorable little sneeze. The room is... close, not just because of its size. The humidity is high, and the heat with it. A sheen of sweat covers my half-human body, but my snake half feels as comfortable here as basking in the sun.<br/><br/>I rub my neck, pulling back my hair and pinning it in place atop my head... then I let my fingertips trace my collarbone, down to the exposed lip of my cleavage, and begin to unknot the ties that hold my snakeskinleather jerkin in place. I sigh in relief, as each undone knot lets the weight of my chest pull the armor further apart, allowing air to flow, until there's a widening line of bare flesh, running from my throat down between my breasts, across my humanstomach and down to my snakebelly. Not coincidentally, exactly route a meal would take, if I were to swallow it whole.<br/><br/>{OOC: I'm going to assume there's no additional serving girls in the room besides Widow and Nyrwa – if there is I'll ask one of them to help remove my 'jacket'}