“Mr Davis?” Amy called. The thin, moderately handsome young man looked up from his desk. “Christine and I are here for our detention.”

“Well Ms. Phifer, I'm glad to see-”

“But we're not doing it,” Amy cut him off with an upraised hand. “I've decided that I'm going to devour you, instead,” she said, approaching his desk. “Then we'll go home and after awhile I'll crap you out my ass.”

“I see,” Mr Davis replied, pushing his office-chair back from his desk. Amy could hear one of its wheels squeaking. He was still smiling, though it seemed as if his face had pulled back from it somewhat, leaving it all alone in a predatory world. “In that case...” he trailed off – and erupted from his seat into a dead-sprint for the door.

'He doesn't want to be eaten at all!' Amy thought, instead of catching him as he blew past her.

The more experienced and predatory Christine snagged him before he could come close to escaping. She was shorter, lighter, female, and vore.

The last was the only part that mattered. Eugene Davis never had a chance.

Arms twisted up behind his back, where she casually goosed his butt, Christine presented her BFF with her first proper meal. “Grub's up,” she said cheerfully, pulling his head back and running her tongue along her captive teacher's neck for a taste-test. “Ugh,” she spat. “Four out of ten. No wonder you're still alive. Still,” she continued, “your first is always delicious, Amy. And you'll have a nice surprise when you get your lips on a really well-flavoured man.”

“You... you said he wanted to be eaten,” Amy whispered.

“Seems I was wrong,” Christine shrugged, and Eugene Davis yelped as the motion ground his shoulder-blades together. “So what? It won't make him taste any better.”

“I just want to know why, that's all,” Amy replied. “Why did he put us in detention if he didn't want you or me to eat him?”

“Oh get on with it so we can go home, Amy.” Christine protested. “He's a man. It doesn't matter two shits what he thinks, wants, planned or needs. The toilet-bowl won't care and neither should you.” She smiled and rolled her arms to twist Mr Davis's body enticingly before her BFF. “You won't regret it once it's done, I promise,” she said seductively. “Or I will,” she offers, jaw beginning to gape wide.

“Wait!” Mr Davis screamed as her lips eclipsed the light above his head. “Wait. I'll tell you,” he gasped. Then drew a racking, sobbing breath. “It was a Hikaru Genji plan. I wanted to make sure you weren't into vore, before I asked you to marry me. I didn't want to – don't want to – die,” he said, tears beginning to gleam in his eyes.

“You want to marry me?” Amy asked.

He nodded.

“And I suppose you've been pushing me away from voring things for awhile?” She continued, her tone light as she sashayed closer.

He nodded again.

“So, um, will you marry me?” He asked.

“Sure,” Amy replied, smiling happily.

Christine looked vaguely pole-axed. And didn't resist at all as her BFF – who she didn't understand at all – gently pulled their son-of-a-bitch teacher from her grasp and into her arms.

“In fact,” Amy said, “let's skip the ceremony and everything and jump straight to the becoming one.”

And popped his head into her mouth.

His scream was entirely muffled as Amy's tongue ran all over his face. Her knees trembled as it did so. She'd never known anything could taste like this. Masturbation? Hah! Genuine sex probably didn't feel this good. And he was only a four out of ten?

Mr Davis made a determined effort to attack her, flailing his fists into her body in a way both manly and useless. Casually, Amy snapped both his arm bones and slipped him a little deeper into her mouth.

His screaming made a really nice vibrato feeling against her distended throat.

But his shirt-collar didn't taste very nice at all. Not compared to his flesh, anyway. A pleading look at Christine took care of it. Mr Davis's clothes floated down as shredded rags, no match for a vore's strength.

They hadn't been very good quality anyway. Most men were eaten sufficiently swiftly that endurance wasn't a significant design consideration for their garments.

Amy set her hands on her teacher's hips, tilted her head back, and lifted his flailing legs above her. His broken arms weren't at all a barrier to sliding him down into her, and she was a little surprised to find that the width of his shoulders brushing the sides of her oesophagus.

That felt nice.

She'd read that some girls indulged in a little tongue-play with their food's manhood. But that plan he'd had for her had been an abomination. Brainwashing, basically, and trying to keep her from her true delicious vorish destiny.

He didn't deserve fellatio.

The struggles of his legs were as futile as she'd always dreamed her first man's would be. His feet wiggled delightfully as she vored them down, already caressing the head, torso and bulk of him squeezed tight into her belly. A belly newly and completely unused to distending to this degree.

Not that it felt bad. Quite the reverse.

“You go, girl!” Christine cheered as the last of their teacher disappeared into her BFF's gaping maw. “Hope you like it down there, you son-of-a-bitch,” she yelled at his stomach.

It bulged and lumped back. If there were words in Mr Davis's screaming, neither girl could make them out.

Not that they were bothered about trying hard, you understand.

Then the PA system blared: “Ms. Amy Phifer, if you would please come to the Guidance-Counsellor's office,” it said.

What do they do?