<span style="font-weight: bold">Samantha Belweather</span><br/><br/>Jules quivered as I promised to kiss and threatened to kill him, and half-smirked as I reflected I’d rendered him<span style="font-style: italic">aroused</span>and<span style="font-style: italic">afraid</span>in a single breath. He really was too much fun to tease, I thought. I sat and let him push my chair in behind me, leaning back and smiling up at him, giving him a fine view down my cleavage<span style="font-style: italic">and</span>between my parted lips, tempting him with one route and toying at him like a cat with prey using the other.<br/><br/>The waiter handed Jules the wine list and the menu, and I watched with interest as his eyes widened at the prices. The waiter gave me my copy of the menu Jules held, then handed over the<span style="font-style: italic">other</span>menu. It was considerate of the restaurant to separate them, and I supposed kindness paid… lots of men doubtless didn’t like to be confronted with listings of live stockboys… Jules wouldn’t like to be confronted with the<span style="font-style: italic">price</span>for an organic free-range stockboy either, and that was the only kind YingYang carried, and they were far from the most expensive item available… still, it might not<span style="font-style: italic">always</span>be a bad deal, and certainly not if your life savings bought a hungry vore a meal that saved your life…<br/><br/>“Their Chinese dishes look very appetising,” Jules said, and I had to agree.<br/><br/>“I think I’ll start with the Tan-Jia’s broth,” I said, and saw his eyes flicker across his menu till he found it. Duck, carrot and lobster soup wasn’t cheap, but at least it was<span style="font-style: italic">on</span>his menu. “Followed by… I don’t know,” I said, “I can’t decide between the five-hour-five-spice pork belly and the Spicy Stockboy over Szechuan Peppercorn topped with crispy rice vermicelli noodles.” I paused, sliding the<span style="font-style: italic">vorish</span>menu over to him. “What do you think?” I asked. “Either way, can we share some light-fried-rice? I don’t want to feel<span style="font-style: italic">over</span>full at the end of the evening,” I continued, lightly brushing my palm across my (currently flat) belly, the trailing it up between my breasts to rest my chin against it as I<span style="font-style: italic">studied</span>him.”