You knot your halter-neck top, then slide your hands down its straps to brush the sides of your breasts. Your thumbs flick your nipples, and they harden against the fabric. You're not wearing a brassiere, but then your breasts have the pertness of both youth and vorishness, and despite their comfortable size you don't need one.

Your hands slide lower, to the halterneck's hem. Besides a good slice of what mom would call your 'décolletage', it bares your midriff, and between that and your low-slung hipster jeans all your belly is displayed.

Presently its wearing a cute little pot beneath its flesh, the undigested remains – or rather, all that remains undigested – of your breakfast. He'd wriggled his was down your throat less than twelve hours ago, and on that basis it was a small bulge indeed, but he'd only been a little boy to begin with. A cute and tasty thing just out of kindergarten.

Not much education had gone to waste.

True, you don't normally go for younger men, but this little sugarplum had dangled himself right in front of you, far to sweet and tempting an offering not to pluck. Besides, his youth had rendered him practically genderless, to your eyes not a suitably edible boy but simply food.

He had been utterly delicious.

And the rosy, pleased glow he'd brought to your cheeks would stand you in very good stead for tonight's date.

The doorbell rings, and you hear Matthew answer it. Your date's early. Of course its impolite to keep a lady waiting, but a healthy sense of self-preservation probably has more to do with this early arrival.

You study yourself in the mirror, hand on hip, and wink coyly.

Devastatingly sexy, if you do say so yourself.

You pull on your trainer-type sandals, Velcro-fastening with contoured rubberised soles, and trot downstairs.

Both boys are very cute. College-freshmen, one groping his way towards tall dark and handsome, the other baby-faced with golden curls. Its a kind of competitive dinner-date. One of them gets to be the date, the other the dinner.

Yours at least.

The mix of lust and fear n their eyes stirs your loins and belly both.

They get the subtle message of your footwear: 'If you run, I run you down'. It isn't strictly necessary, of course. If they'd imagined that'd be an escape, they never would've shown tonight.

That they did demonstrates they're at least halfway smart.

You're a virgin, but you've done sexual things with your boytoys before. Your last boyfriend asked for a blowjob, and you thought 'what the hell', and gave it to him. You enjoyed it, and so did he. Right up until the point he discovered that a vore always swallows. It'd been a pain. Typically you take your boys from the top down or the bottom up. In the end, you had to snap him in two.

You'd thought boys screamed loudly when you ate them. Nothing compared to breaking one of them, though. You have some regrets. For one thing, you'd made yourself single again, and for another your soon-to-be-ex had passed out and not wriggled at all on his way down your throat.

And that hadn't been any fun at all.

Even though he had been delicious.

Now that these two cuties are on the menu though, your regrets have vanished like wisps in the wind.

“You two look good,” you smile at them. Then you lick your lips. The cute curly-haired blonde trembles. He surely gets the double-entendre. Tall-dark-and-handsome doesn't seem afraid, or not more so than he was a few seconds ago. He's either stupider than his friend or made of sterner stuff.

If you knew which, you might devour one of them right now.

“You too Colleen,” tall-dark-and-handsome replies, his eyes rolling you. You strike your sexy pose again for him, hand on cocked hip.

“Think you can handle me?” You tease lightly.

“No,” replies cute-and-curly. You grin at him. At least, your lips are parted and all your teeth are showing. He really is a smart one.

“Guy, right?” You ask, not at all embarrassed that you can't recall either of their names, even though they know yours.

“Kyle,” he replies, “and Giuseppe,” waving his hand towards his friend.

Who winces.

“Like the pizza?” You ask, and he nods regretfully. “Wow, your mom was a smart one,” you say as you stride up to them. “You do look good enough to eat. Was she vore?”

Giuseppe nods as he offers his arm, and you slip yours gleefully through it. It takes a jerk of his head to draw Kyle to your other side.

“Guess I'm a lucky girl to get you then,” you tell Giuseppe. “If you were my big brother, you wouldn't have gotten out of your teens alive.”

Matthew trembles and flees, and you giggle. Of course he's safe enough. You don't typically eat younger guys. But terrifying her brothers is every vore's prerogative. Which probably explains how well Giuseppe's hiding his fear.

“So boys,” you say as you tow them gently towards the door. “Where're you taking me out tonight?”