<span style="font-weight: bold">Samantha Belweather</span><br/><br/>Jules flushed, and it was really rather cute. I reached across the table and squeezed his hand. Beneath it, my calves continued to toy with his. “It’s sweet of you to worry,” I told him, “but this isn’t my first, or my hundred-and-first, meal with a messy sauce. I’ll be fine,” I continued, pulling my hand out of his grip and spinning my plate, so the stockboy faced me head-first, “watch, and I’ll show you,” I promised.<br/><br/>I gave the lightly-roasted stockboy’s cheek a couple of little pats, and some awareness, tinged with resignation, slipped back into his eyes. “You were a good boy,” I told him. “Now its time to fulfil your destiny,” which was of course my stomach.<br/><br/>Taking him by the scruff of the neck, I dragged him across the plate, lowering my mouth towards him. My lips were already beginning to gape, giving both he and Jules a fine view of the back of my throat, before I popped his head into the space, and began to swallow him down. I lifted his body, effortlessly, leaning forward so that any drips or dribbles hit the table, and stretched my lips around his shoulders with an<span style="font-style: italic">mmm</span>of pleasure. His chest was perfectly cooked to enhance his natural flavor, and the sauce was the ideal accompaniment. I could feel his lips moving behind my throat, begging and screaming or something, but I couldn’t make the words out, and barely cared anyway - not such a good boy, as it turned out.<br/><br/>I swallowed more, and the disturbance grew quieter as his head passed beneath my breastbone, the bulk of his torso pushing my breasts out on either side of it, greatly increasing their separation for a moment. Normally, I would’ve molested him a little, but I was on a date, and besides the restaurant had already seasoned him, and I wasn’t about to give any pleasure to a stockboy, and especially not one who’d decided to be troublesome. I gulped his hips and cock without ceremony or attention, and captured his ankles. Restrained as he was, there was little chance of flailing, but I didn’t want to embarrass myself, and besides, now his head had it the foul acidic pit of my tum, he finally had a<span style="font-style: italic">real</span>reason to fight.