Happily

"Stew is fine. As long as you haven't cooked any orphan boys into it." You gratefully take the bowl, the warmth seeping into your arms and up your body, sending a slight shiver up your spine. Having not eaten since entering the dungeon, you eagerly welcome her hospitality, even with the sarcasm thrown in.

"You know, if you hadn't been looking about 70 a day ago, I would say this is the most normal thing I've seen in this entire place. The dungeon of... Drakalak? Or something. Sorry. I've had a lot on my mind." You take a spoonful of soup, mind going back to her cock, and whether it feels just like the slime's pseudopenis felt.

The witch removes a pair of glasses from the cabinets before sitting down across from you. "Yes, well, it can be that kind of place, but it's certainly drawn more than its fair share of adventurers seeking wealth, vindication, or even the exact kind of devious pleasures that only its depths can provide." Despite the fact that you didn't answer, the witch still begins to milk her breasts into the two cups, quickly producing a steady flow.

"The Dungeons of Drath'nalak, as they're known locally, are named for their ruler, the greater demon Drath'nalak. As I mentioned, he was a collector of sorts, retrieving magical species such as the drider you met from all over the world, before his son, Gil'nalak, became angry at his father's general distrust of him, and so proved that distrust true." The two glasses finally full of opaque, white milk, she sets one in front of you before beginning to sip from her own, still not bothering to cover her breasts. "He released them, and most feel they owe him a debt, so they choose to stay within the dungeon and enact his will. Had his father not banished him, it's likely there would have been a great uprising, and even greater battle."