The long legs of adulthood mean you easily outrun your class to the library, even without breaking from a dignified walk. Hopefully, you scan the room for some tasty morsel left from a previous teacher's group to spare you the dilemma of whether to devour one of your own.

Alas, there isn't one.

Although there is a jacket draped over one of the chairs, and a satchel besides it. You wander over to study the papers spread across the desk. Sixth-form work, of a sort. University applications and brochures, open to the page with the universities' voring statistics. None are below seventy-percent, but it's the lowest ones among them that are highlighted.

You giggle softly. They're never going to have to worry about it.

“Hey,” you call. “I've got a class in here. You need to go somewhere else, I'm afraid.”

Indeed they do. Into your belly, for instance.

Your next meal doesn't materialise.

“I'm a teacher,” you snap, “and if you don't come out right now I'm going to put you in dinner detention.”

For boys and unlicensed girls, its a most effective threat. Of course, this unlucky student doesn't know you've already decided to devour him.

“Sorry, Katie. Didn't know you'd be feeling peckish,” Sandra says as she steps out of her office. The school librarian's a beautiful woman, as lippy, hippy and titty as only a vore can be, with a sleek and slim belly when its not bulging with soon-to-be-extinguished life. Sandra tosses her shoulder-length brunette hair, and steps out from behind her desk.

Right now, her belly has the most beautiful and hunger-inducing bulge you can imagine. It's recent, of course. You can see the boy's outlined hands wriggling and thumping within.

He's making quite a racket for someone in a librarian.

“Mmm,” Sandra purrs, rubbing her distended flesh. “Its funny, but as soon as they're inside me, I don't mind them being noisy at all any-more.”

“I know what you mean,” you agree. “Wriggling in their chairs, hate it; wriggling in my belly, love it,” you shrug. “Just one of those things, I guess.”

“And I'll bet the one often leads to the other,” Sandra teases back. You smile, and blush just a little. She knows you like to eat your students, and cares not a jot. “Your class?” She asks as they begin to troop in.

Your eyes are already devouring their tasty little forms, delicious snacks in uniform wrappings, like some brand-name stock-company's implied guarantee of quality. Sandra's belly and breasts press against your back, and you can feel her meal's fighting against your spine. She burps over your ear, and you can taste him too. He tasted good, you realise.

Not that you'd doubted it even for a moment.

Her hand caresses your own tum through your silk blouse. “Fill me, Katie,” she whispers, “fill me, I'm hungry.”

On cue, your stomach growls its response.

You aren't going to make it through to lunch, you realise. You need to break your fast now. But how? Every one of your students looks delicious, even the vore-licensed girls, though you surely aren't going to eat one of them. At least, not in public.

All your boys have been annoyingly well behaved today. No-one cares about the downing of a few students – whether as punishment or not - but you've already had more than a few over the year. Arriving at graduation day with a class wilfully made up of nothing but vorish girls might lead the head, the governors and the school-board to wonder why they've been paying you to have an extended buffet lunch.

There's always the stock-vending machines, of course. But the flavour of some shrink-wrapped boy won't be half as good as one of your free-range morsels.

“Feed me,” Sandra murmurs again. She's very seductive, with your stomach again rumbling under her rubbing. You double-date pretty regularly, and most often you wind up in each-other's bed with the boys in your bellies. Your belly which, right now, doesn't care whether it gets student or stock.

So long as it get him quickly.

So do you...