The Food Critic
 
 
Sandra tapped the counter anxiously with her fingers, always throwing glances towards the door. The wait felt like an eternity.
 
"He might not even come today, Sandra," She thought aloud. "You've got to relax, girl!"
 
But it was easier said than done, after all, it wasn't every day that such a prestigious food critic decided to visit her restaurant!
 
For Sandra owned a steakhouse called Prime Cuts, the most popular and lucrative in the whole city, perhaps in the state, but all the money she had already made from it wouldn't matter at all if things went wrong today. Michael Dalby, the world-famous food critic, had decided to visit the establishment and had announced that today would be the day he would do so.
 
Now, Michael Dalby was known for being hard to please, even by the standarts of the average food critic. In fact, his appearance meant the complete ruin of 80% of the establishments he visit, which earned him the nickname "Gourmet Grim Reaper" alongside a very infamous reputation in the world of restaurant owners.
 
So basically, Sandra had good reason to be afraid. Prime Cuts was well liked and well respected in the region, but the owner every little shortcoming of the place, and was now torturing herself with infinite possible scenarios where the critic could find some fault in food that was enjoyed by most people.
 
"Nervous, Sandra?" A feminine voice interrupted the other woman's agonies while a soft hand was placed on her shoulder.
 
"Oh, it's you, Michele," Sandra discovered once she turned around. "Yes, I'd be lying if I said I wasn't worried. This could very well mean our ruin, ya know?"
 
"It's all going to be alright, trust me," Michele winked to her boss. "If there's anybody who can touch the stone heart of a food critic, it's us. Those critics are all virgins, after all."
 
"I'm counting on you, girls."
 
Sandra was a more mature woman, quite shapely and didn't appear to be in her 40s, but Michele made her look unappealing in comparison. She was a brunette and one of the waitresses of Prime Cuts, and as such, wore a sort of revealing uniform consisting of a red flannel shirt tied to expose her flat belly and with a large cleavage that allowed a good part of her gigantic breasts to overflow out of it, plus miniscule white shorts that guaranteed that her large butt was always getting smacked by clients. She didn't mind that behavior though, for her looks also meant huge tips that sometimes, by the end of the month, would exceed her actual salary by a considerable amount.
 
This money was usually placed inside her panties or cleavage, which, if the rumors about Michele having been a stripper before working as a waitress were true, was something she was very used to, and in truth, quite pleased with.
 
But if the tasty meat the place served and meaty babe who served it in the first place weren't enough, Michele had a coworker of equal voluptuousness in the form of Nina. Now, Nina was a blonde and every bit as busty as her brunette partner, if not more, but the women were somewhat different personalitywise. Of course, both were very playful and friendly, with happy-go-lucky attitudes, but while Michele was flirty and at times downright dirty, Nina was much sweeter. She wasn't the type to bite her lip and wink when she had her rump smacked during work, instead blushing until her white skin was as red as a tomato. She usually went to work with a crucifix around her neck.
 
Finally though, the door opened and Sandra's heart almost skipped a beat. A man was approaching her, and although he looked commonplace enough, his unreadable poker face told the owner all she needed to know.
 
"Welcome! You must be Michael Dalby, the food critic, correct?" She said, trying not to betray her nervousness through her voice. She had never actually seen him, and although this man was as normal as they come, something about him filled Sandra with dread.
 
The man seemed to ponder his words for a bit, his expression still serious, if not necessarily hostile.
 
"Yes, I am the critic. I believe we had an appoitment, miss...?"
 
"Sandra, name's Sandra," The woman answered, quite humbly.
 
"Oh, I do apologize, it's hard to remember names in a profession like mine. I've been to so many restaurants already..."
 
"I understand, hmm, sir," The woman wasn't so sure how to address this figure. He appeared to be the serious type, so politeness was probably the way to go. "Would you like to choose a table?"
 
"Naturaly. Let me see...that one will do." Having said that, the food critic sat down and picked up the menu, laying it aside surprisingly quickly.
 
"Anything to your pleasing?" Sandra asked, already feeling the sweat forming itself on her forehead.
 
"Just bring me what you consider to be your best dish. Be sure to bring some beer alongside it though."
 
"Certainly, certainly," Sandra hurried away, slightly puzzled that the critic would ask for beer when the beverage was bought by the restaurant instead of produced there, but mayhaps he always liked to drink something while partaking of his meal.
 
Soon, Michele was carrying a mug of cold beer and a steaming, fragant piece of meat toward's Michael Dalby's table. She winked at her boss as she passed her by, as if saying "Don't worry, I'll take care of him."
 
"Here you go, sir~" The waitress said with enthusiasm, putting the large mug on the table first, then placing the plate with the meat with carelessness enough to allow some of the greasiness and sauce of the food to fall on her cleavage, positively drenching her breasts with the substances. "Oh, shuck, it'll be hell to clean this shirt..."
 
While Michele sighed, the critic eyed her unblinkingly. He had been doing so since she came with his food, walking with a hypnotic swaying of the hips, but now that she was covered in salty, flavourful sauce, Michael couldn't help but salivate. He grabbed her by the wrist, pulling the waitress towards him with surprising violence.
 
"I believe I can...help you with this," He said almost weakly, as if trying to control himself while in a great passion, and although Michele was confused at first, it all became clear as day once the critic's head descended on her cleavage, in a hungry sort of "motorboating". The man was, quite shamelessly, licking and sucking on those meaty orbs with hunger not unlike that of a wolf, cleaning the brunette's chest area of the grease and sauce and coating it in warm saliva instead.
 
"Oh, that tickles!" Michele could only giggle as the man went on with his purpose and although surprised at first, she was enjoying it. Perhaps this would lead to her and the critic getting more "intimate", and if this meant the success of the restaurant, the wouldn't really mind.
 
But the man, once he had got a taste of the brunette's boobs, would never stop there. So, opening his mouth wide and placing his hand on the back of Michele's head, the critic forced it down his gullet, shocking the waitress. She took some time to process what was happening, but once she did, she instantly began to protest.
 
Sandra had gasped at the sudden turnabout, covering her mouth in sheer horror as the food critic hungrily shoved more and more of her worthy waitress down his wet gullet. He now nearing her waist, and he didn't lose any time pulling Michele's shorts down, exposing her thong-covered ass, which he promptly smacked. Once he actually reached the waist though, his tongue could finally start exploring the nether regions of his prey's body.
 
Raising his head, Michael allowed Michele to descend further down his throat, his cheeks expanding to contain her meaty rump. Grabbing her thighs, he shoved her legs down until only boot-covered foots remained outside and his belly had already expanded considerably. Removing said boots and allowing them to fall on the floor, the food critic swallowed the brunette's dainty feet, finishing his meal with a loud and somewhat dramatic GULP!
 
His stomach obscenely bloated, Michael Dalby placed his hands on the somewhat hairy belly escaping from under his clothes and sighed noisily. "That hit the spot!" Then, clearing his throat. "I mean, this meal was quite satisfactory."
 
Sandra just stared at him with utter repulsion. He had gobbled up her employee like so much meat, alive and all! While the owner of the steakhouse tried to cope with the horror of the situation, Michael took a generous gulp of his mug, before belching loudly and heartily, forcing Sandra to cover her nose to protect herself from the noxious air.
 
"Cold beer always makes it better," The bloated critic sighed happily, nonchalantly picking his teeth and removing strands of hair from between them.
 
Sandra was about to scream at him to release the waitress at once, that an evil thought held her tongue. This Dalby guy had completely ignored the meat brought to him, going straight to Michele. Furthermore, he appeared to be exceedingly satisfied with his human meal, more so than he probably would have been with any traditional food. Sandra hated herself for it, but she had made a tough decision.
 
"I'm sorry Michele, I really am," She thought, then said, putting on the best nervous smile she could muster in this situation. "I'm glad to hear that, sir. I believe she was to your liking?"
 
"Well, she was quite meaty," The critic said casually, drumming his fingers on top of his engorged belly while Michele's screams came out of it half-muffled by a stomach's gross cacophony. "I all the food you serve here is of similar quality, it's no wonder you've been seeing some success here."
 
"T-Thank you, sir..."
 
"Still, I'd like to eat more to be perfectly sure. Now, I believe I saw another waitress here. With blonde hair, if I'm not mistaken."
 
Sandra froze. How the hell this man wasn't satisfied already with a woman the size of Michele filling his gut?! What did he want with Nina?! The owner was about to tell the critic that he was, in fact, mistaken when the blonde waitress arrived beside her.
 
"Excuse me," She said sweetly. "Can I be of any service?"
 
Then, a look at the man with his grotesquely bloated belly told Nina the entire story. She looked at the critic's lecherous, hungry expression as he stared at her and licked his lips, then she looked at Sandra who had a downcast, apologetic and even ashamed expression on her face.
 
"I...I see," Nina said, a bit desolate.
 
"Nina...I'm sorry..." Sandra answered weakly, avoiding her employee's eyes.
 
The blonde waitress approached the sitting critic with all the grace of a martyr, and he put his arm around her waist, dragging Nina closer.
 
"Might I interest you in a delicious filet mignon, sir?"
 
"Oh, I've seen a dish much more to my liking already~" Was the critic's reply. Welp, at least she tried. Michael removed her boots and placed her feet on his mouth. They were even more delicate than Michele's, but he didn't lose much time with then, swallowing Nina's legs further and further.
 
The man soon was reaching her pillowy thighs, which were quite delectable, and after them, it came the time to engulf her cute butt. The torso was a slow but steady job, although the breasts took considerable time due to both their impressive size and mind-blasting flavour. They were indeed larger than Michele's, and even without sauce didn't lose much in the taste departament to the brunette's greasy, sauce-soaked mamaries.
 
But all good things came to an end, and Michael had to proceed with his feast. By now, Nina was hyperventilating. She had sacrificed her life willingly enough for the sake of the restaurant but it was starting to down on her that this wasn't perhaps the best of ideas. She was young and full goals, none of which included stewing inside a food critic's gut.
 
"Oh...oh no...no..." Were Nina's last words before her head was gulped down, representing the last step of her devouring.
 
Sandra watched with complete disgust as Michael's hiddeous gut doubled in size, without nonetheless appearing to suffer any intense strain from the two large, adult women inside it. The food critic's belt had given up the ghost when Nina finished descending into the pit that was the man's stomach, and, as a result, he felt much more comfortable.
 
Not without some effort, Michael Dalby raised his gut and placed it on the table for support, barely leaving enough space for the mug of beer and knocking the plate of (now cold) steak into the floor. Sandra was forced to face that white, hairy surface of a prison that contained her two waitresses, staring down a seemingly bottomless nevel while noises that wouldn't be out of place in hell emanated from that belly.
 
"Blonde wasn't bad either, BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUURP!" A thunderous belch of satisfaction escaped the critic's mouth, showering Sandra with droplets of saliva and making his gut tighten around the two waitresses as so much air left their prison. "Heh, good on the way down AND the way up."
 
The owner of Prime Cuts could do nothing except stare with dismay at the imprint of her employees' bodies inside the prison of flesh, their butts and fat tits clearly visible from outside after the crude burp, the women barely able to move around.
 
"You wouldn't happen to have any other waitress? Maybe a cute cook?" Michael asked, hopeful.
 
"No...not really." Sandra answered, joyless upon realizing that she had lost all of her waitresses.
 
"Oh, that's a shame. It usually isn't very good to run out of food when a critic visits, you know. But I'll try to be reasonable on my review."
 
"You better be, you sonovabitch," Sandra thought, bitting her lower lip to avoid actually speaking her mind. "Two women are going to be sacrificed for your shitty review, so you better not say any crap about us!"
 
Meanwhile, Dalby had been chugging down more beer. He belched again, this time rather gelatinously. Sandra stared in disapproval.
 
"You don't mind if I stay here a little, right? Hard to move with this heavy gut and all that."
 
Sandra just nodded, and Michael seemed to relax to the point of actually drowzing off, although his belly was still as active as ever. The owner wondered if this was a heaven-sent opportunity to free her waitresses, but on second thought she figured it was too little, to late and that Michele and Nina were done for. All she could hope was that their ends would not be in vain.
 
And speaking of their ends, when one of the cries started to die down, Sandra was sure that Michele was becoming soup. A long wail she recognized as Nina's confirmed her suspicions. Soon, some of the stomach bulges started losing shape and Michael woke up, rather groggily, and leaned slightly to the side, releasing a thunderous:
 
PFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFT!
 
Sandra covered her nose while Nina sobbed. Poor girl, eaten and forced to swim in a mix of acids and a meaty stew of human origin while her devourer shamelessly farted out her coworker! Her boss tried not to think to much about it.
 
Soon though, the critic's entire belly began to shrink as Michele was pumped further down his intestines and Nina was obliterated by his gastric chamber. A meaty belch expelled ruined shirts and a necklace now greasy from the human soup it had been imerged in.
 
Michael Dalby finally got up, lazy and bloated, rubbing his own belly, so smaller yet still so large.
 
"I think I've seen enough of your establishment. The last thing I'd like to do would be looking at your restrooms."
 
"Straight ahead, then turn left," Sandra said, lifelessly and the critic slowly waddled on his way. From the loud fart that came not long after, it was clear that he didn't intend to just look at the restrooms.
 
Another fart, then a splash, and Sandra's heart ached. Those awful sounds continued for an indefinite amount of time that for Sandra appeared as long as the wait for the critic had been. If only she had known the consequences of it earlier that day, when she was so anxious!
 
Soon though, there was a sigh and the critic reappeared with a round potbelly of much smaller size, making his way for the door.
 
"I hope you enjoyed your visit to Prime Cuts, sir...!" Sandra tried.
 
"Meh, had better. By the way, you'll need a plumber." And with that, Michael Dalby left the restaurant.
 
Sandra sank at a chair, devastated. Two waitresses gone, and the critic looked far from impressed! But her phone rang with the sound of a notification, and the restaurant owner picked it up from her jeans' pocket. She had a new message.
 
She jumped out of the chair when she saw who it was from. Why, it was from Michael Dalby, the food critic! He had sent a message that he wasn't going to be able to keep his appointment that day due to health issues, food poisoning or something like that.
 
"If the critic couldn't come..." Sandra thought aloud. "Then WHO the hell was that guy...?!"
 
 
...
 
Crazy Pete played with his soft potbelly as he walked through the streets. That had been a funny situation he had found himself in, that's for sure!
 
The vagrant had only wandered inside the steakhouse to ask if they could spare some food for a poor devil who had nothing to eat but, what lucky turn, that woman had mistaken him for a food critic! Being more well dressed than one would expect from one in his position in life certainly helped. He was surprised at first, but decided to play along, just to see what he could get out of it.
 
And what he got was a most pleasurable two course meal of what were indeed Prime Cuts of meat, infinitely better than any scrap that would have been given to him had his appeal for food reached sympathetic ears.
 
A much fatter and happier man, the vagrant wondered if he'd ever have the luck to swindle a meal out of someone with his quick thinking again. Boy, he hoped he'd have.