Celia watched with extreme interest as a little lump slipped through Terry's throat. Oh, lovely. The way he held the mouse, deeply amused like a jaded old tom cat- and then so, into his mouth, where he sucked on her contentedly, her tail wriggling nervously between his soft lips like a deranged noodle, a thin thread held by his fingers.<br/><br/>She swallowed impulsively, and turned hastily to sip from the last of her glass, not wanting to miss a bit of this.<br/><br/>Underneath the table, she gently eased up his feet and gradually slipped the shoes off, an inch or so at a time- dirty, tough, and flavorless, they were. Mmm, his feet were hot. She slid around him until his toes were squeezed above and below by thick rolls of coil, and squeezed just a tad tighter, his legs going light and slowly bloodless. She wondered if he could feel every muscle of her long alimentary canal tingling and tensing with sweet, primal anticipation- and perhaps the gurgling echos of gas bubbles twisting through her as her belly moaned with hunger. She drew herself around once more, bringing his knees together.<br/><br/>She reached once more to down the last of her vodka, but found she had used up so much of her tail beneath the table that she could no longer reach it. She stretched for it, fumbling clumsily at the neck, hoping Terry wouldn't notice, and then reluctantly gave up. She'd probably had enough anyway.