<span style="font-weight: bold">Samantha Belweather</span><br/><br/>I smiled, lightly, as he said I was<span style="font-style: italic">distracting</span>him. I hoped so. He was supposed to find  a pretty girl (woman) rubbing her legs on his<span style="font-style: italic">intensely[/interesting - and I kept doing it.<br/><br/>“...to eat ‘that’?” He asked. It was good that he understood the stockboy on my plate was just [i]food</span>- and<span style="font-style: italic">better</span>that he was taking an interest in my clothing.<br/><br/>“Practice makes perfect,” I said with a half-shrug. “Why?” I asked, eyes twinkling. “Were you hoping I’d take it off?”<br/><br/><br/><br/><span style="font-weight: bold">Melanie</span><br/><br/>Oh God, Oh God, I was in a<span style="font-style: italic">stomach</span>,<span style="font-style: italic">Jessica’s</span>stomach, the little lesbo-dyke who thought she had a chance to be a Eta Beta Eta girl -<span style="font-style: italic">as if!</span><br/><br/>I couldn’t help it, my thoughts turned to all the pretty boys I’d eaten over the years, the pleasure with which I’d petted my belly as they’d digested so nicely… and now I was the one being petted, the one being<span style="font-style: italic">digested</span>. At least Jess wasn’t being<span style="font-style: italic">cruel</span>.<br/><br/>I’d been cruel.<br/><br/>Then an angel appeared, an angel in male form, who spoke calming, soothing words, who opened the<span style="font-style: italic">way out</span>.<br/><br/>I leapt for it, struggling over his descending body, clawing at the sphincter opening into Jess’s oesophagus, pulling my head through it as I trod<span style="font-style: italic">his</span>down into the acid pit of Jess’s stomach, fighting my way up with all my desperate will to escape that hellish place, hand over hand on the unfortunately slick rope he’d provided for me, my will to<span style="font-style: italic">live</span>driving my<span style="font-style: italic">desperation</span>.