“Thanks, Sandra,” you scold your friend. “Now I have to go get someone to eat from one of the vending machines. Watch my class for me,” you instruct as you pull free of the tease's embrace.
Her hand catches yours and pulls you back.
“Vending machine?” She whispers disappointedly. “Why, when you've got so many tasty man-snacks right here?” She thinks about this. “Little boy snacks, anyway,” she amends. “And you know they'll taste twice as good as the pre-packaged crap in the machines. Live a little, girlfriend,” she tempts.
And it is very tempting. You've been tempted.
Successfully, you realise. One of your students is leaving this library in your belly, and this school in the sewer-system if your digestive tract is its usual efficient self. He'll be nothing but shit long before dinnertime, when you'll have to fill the gap he'll leave with someone else.
You'll probably be skipping a proper lunch though. Just a sandwich or something to top him off, same as any boy or unlicensed girl might eat.
Unfortunately, none of them that's left is actually such a little shit he deserves to be turned into shit. Which means your meal will be hard to justify. You shrug. It's more about the paper-trail anyway. The head-of-year is vore, the headmistress is vore, half the governors are vore - and the other half are easily cowed meals-in-waiting. They'll understand that sometimes you've gotta eat a boy, not because he's been bad, not because he deserves it, but simply because you're hungry and he's tasty.
Hell, not even because you're hungry.
Vores are more than mechanical rule-enforcement systems. Sometimes you've just got to live - and take - life a little.
Jimmy, you decide. Sweet little Jimmy Sanders with the soft blonde curls. He's one of your best students, which is why you wouldn't have eaten him idly, but you're in a fey mood.
Now his bright future's nothing but crap.
Besides, his family's not vore, which means they'll be no pissed-off mother or sister who'd been just waiting for their little boy or brother to get a bit bigger before gulping him down. If there should happen to be trouble... you and Sandra, a girls' night out... the sewers could swish them all away so easily, if it came to it.
And once you come back with him bulging your belly being turned into shit, your students will no there's really no place to hide, no matter how well behaved or talented. A little random fear makes a reign of terror so much more effective.
Sandra's caught the line of your stare. “Him?” She asks, and giggles. “You go, girl. I'd almost be tempted myself if I weren't so full,” she says, pushing you gently towards your next meal.
Your students are very distracted from their work as you sashay towards Jimmy. The rolling of your ample, sexy hips is distracting them. That and the bulk of your breasts, pressing gently against the restraint of your blouse. “Jimmy,” you murmur in a voice dripping with honey, “I think we need to have a little chat about your progress. Why don't you come with me for a bit,” you instruct, smiling and resting your hand invitingly on his shoulder.
He's either too terrified or, given the cute little tent in his crotch, aroused to attempt a refusal. “Good luck,” Chris, one of his fellow male students, whispers as you lead him delicately to his death.
The library's one of your favourite spaces in the whole school. If you want a quick meal, hit the canteen. If you want a romantic setting to devour your date, use the library. There's a central area, of course, with the desks where your students are working, and each of the reference sections has its own little nest of research tables.
In the vore and sex-ed sections, those research nooks are filled with soft-cushions and blankets and bean-bags. Sometimes they're used for screwing, sometimes for voring, and sometimes both, one right after the other. Fuck 'em up and suck them down, ride 'em hard and shit them out soft.
You've done it to your dates often enough.
You're not sure what you're going to do to Jimmy yet. Turds don't file sexual harassment charges, after all.
You strut ahead of him, hoping he's revelling in the rolling of your ass. Because the next time he sees it, he'll be passing through as poo.
The vore and sexual-education sections are neighbours. Both dimly lit in autumn-tones, both study areas arranged with low desks and comfortable bean-bag chairs, so suitable for lounging.
So will it be left and straight to the vore, or right and have a little illicit fun before your meal?
