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My Life as a Teenage Voraphile [resurrected story] - Page 185 - Keith bumps into someone he knows - By NagaFood - Overview
The woman was seriously beautiful. Your thirteen years of experience have a hard time pegging her age, but it has to be seventeen or eighteen. A senior, on the cusp of college.

And a vore, obviously.

Only licenced vores dressed so whorishly. If you weren't, displaying that much tasty skin would be quite, quite unwise. The sort of mistake that got you fished out of the shallow end of the gene pool and devoured.

For the first time, you don't feel intimidated by the older vore's stunning beauty. She only looked so good, after all, because boys and unlicensed girls were both healthsome and nutritious. And their flesh always came to rest on hips and tits, not unsightfully around one's belly. Well, after they'd been completely digested anyway. So you strut past your elder sister-in-spirit, your very first meal submissively in tow behind you.

It's a surprise, then, when Keith collapses to his knees and wraps his arms around the other vore's mircoskirt-bared legs.

“Cynthia!” He shouts as he clings to her, “Save me! She's going to eat me!”

“Hey! I'm gracious enough to grant you a private devouring and this is how you repay me?” You say.

Cynthia just giggles. “Don't worry, kiddo,” she says. “I'm not going to keep you from your meal.”

Keith's eyes snap up to meet hers. “You're not!” He exclaims. “Cyn, I thought you liked me?”

“I do like you, idiot,” Cynthia replies, lightly flicking his forehead. “But we've been neighbours forever. If you were interested in me then you would've asked me out years ago.”

“I was intimidated,” Keith blurts. “You're incredibly beautiful. You go on lots of dates. And you come back from all of them with your belly bulging.”

“That's not true. I only eat the ones who're bad dates,” Cynthia stresses.

“So how many of your ex's are still breathing, hmm?” Keith asks.

“Well... none of them,” Cynthia admits. “They all pissed me off, eventually. And being angry makes me hungry.”

“So what the hell kind of life is that?” Keith snaps. “Living in perpetual fear of your hair-trigger temper?”

“The kind of life you're never going to know, 'cause you're about to be eaten by a little girl!” Cynthia snarls back.

Keith sags like a puppet with his strings cut, and lets out the cutest racking sob. “Dammit,” he whispers. “Dammit all hell anyway.”

“If you're done with my dinner,” you ask, “can I take him home and eat him now?”

“Sure thing, kid,” she replies, sighing softly.

You're leading Keith away – firmly by the hand, this time – when Cynthia's shout catches you.

“Wait,” she shouts. “Wait.” You can hear her heels clattering on the pavement as she trots to make up the short distance you've stretched out between you. “He's someone important to you, right? Otherwise you'd have eaten him on the spot?”

“My brother's best-friend,” you nod, and blush. “He'll... he's going to be my first.”

“Oh. One of those.” Cynthia replies. “That's quite an honour, Keith,” she addresses him. “Even if I did save you, you're probably going to end up in my belly anyway. And you won't be anything like as special a memory to me as you will be to her.”

“I. Do. Not. Want. To. Die.” Keith grinds out.

“Everybody dies, Keith,” Cynthia says. “Boys especially quickly. Still...” she muses. “Look,” she addresses you. “I don't mean to be mean or anything, but you don't really want to eat Keith.”

“I don't?” You reply. “Because it sure feels like-”

“I know.” Cynthia says. “But its perfectly natural for you to want your first meal that badly, whoever it may be. And I guess you've been waiting because you wanted it to be 'perfect,' haven't you?” Gingerly, you nod your agreement to that, too. “See, it's not Keith you really want to eat.” Cynthia says, taking him beneath her arm and drawing him away from you. “It's your brother.”

“I would never eat Paul!” You blurt. “I love my brother!”

“That's the infant talking,” Cynthia dismisses with a casual wave. “There's only two types of vores. Those who've eaten their brothers and those who've grown out of wanting to eat their brothers.” She thinks about this. “Three. Some vores don't have brothers. But you get the picture.”

“I... I...” you think about your brother. Yes, you love Paul. Love the warmth of his embrace, the leanness of his limbs, the way he smells when you hug him... a tasty kind of smell. “I want to eat my brother,” you admit in a kind of daze.

“There you go,” Cynthia smiles.

“But I can't eat Paul,” you realise. “What will mom and dad say?”

“Well, you should ask your mom first,” Cynthia says. “But what she'll probably say is 'enjoy your meal'”.

Something about the way she said that...

“Which kind of vore are you, Miss Cynthia?”

Cynthia breaks into a wicked grin. “I'm the kind who ate my brother,” she smiles at some pleasant memory. “Keith probably doesn't remember – he was only four – but the three of us used to play together. Hide-go-seek, on that occasion. I was seeking, and... quite hungry. Keith's lucky I found him first. In the larder, of all places. Though it turned out to be very appropriate. He was my first, too. And so tasty.”

“And you didn't get in trouble?” You ask.

“Oh, sure.” Cynthia replies. “Dad put me on the naughty step. Then mom came home and put him in her naughty tummy. She said she'd been getting bored with him anyway. After that, she'd bring back the cutest hunks of beefcake for us to eat. Till I was old enough to start attracting them myself, anyway. That was... nine years ago?” In spite of yourself, your just slightly turned on by that story. “So, do you want to eat Keith or not?”

“Huh?” You reply. “Didn't you just say I shouldn't eat Keith, or rather that it's Paul I really want to be eating?”

“Sure,” Cynthia says. “You're always going to remember your first as the first time you ate anything so delicious. But you're going to remember your second time as the time you really got the most out of that delicious thing you're eating. So it's fine to eat Keith as a kind of appetiser so you can properly enjoy Paul. Just know that that's what you're doing.”

“Besides,” Cynthia continues as Keith whimpers and struggles weakly against her grip on his collar. “Eating Keith will put Paul on notice that being his best-friend's not a jot of protection. Pretty soon, by the time you've finished digesting this one,” she ruffles Keith's hair, “he'll have marinated nicely in his own fear. That'll really bring out the flavour.”

“So, what's it to be?”
Choose
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