She opened a shelf below him and took out an oven baking dish. Peter looked up at her towering upper body, her neck and face, as her dainty hands went about the task of preparing him. Her well dressed stomach was right in front of him.

"Well I guess you realise that I have somewhat mixed motives," he said.

"That doesn't make what you're doing for me any less impressive," she said, putting the dish down on the bench beside him, "I'm flattered by your feelings for me, and I think we're two kindred spirits as writers. If your opinion of my mouth has been the reason you agreed to let me eat you; then I'm very glad you find it beautiful."

"I'm glad I can make you happy like this," he said, "I guess it was very fortunate the day that the pavlova spilt onto my face."

"It was. If I hadn't licked you, I might not have known to this day how delicious you are."

She lifted him into the centre of the baking dish, and then picked it up in one hand, and walked over to the oven. She opened it, and leaned down to place the dish in the oven.

"I'll turn it on with a very low setting. It won't burn you, just warm you up a little. Your meat is the best there is, but all meat tastes better when it's cooked."

"Okay."

"I'll come and fetch you soon," she said, and closed the oven door.

The window was level with his position. So he watched her rise to her full standing position, walk around the kitchen, take some oranges to the table and squeeze a jug of orange juice. She wore a long neck-to-knees dress with short sleeves and a distinctive waist line, nice shoes with round fronts, and no openings for toes, which he never found fashionable anyway. She looked perfect just like that, a grand giantess, with her hair swaying a little as she moved, licking her lips at the thought of her next meal.

…And he was going to be that meal.

She walked out to the dining room with the jug and a glass.

Peter waited until Isabel returned.

She walked towards him, opened the oven, took the dish out, and picked him up and touched his face with the tip of her tongue.

"Hmm, that's nice, but could you be comfortably heated up just a little more? I want this to be absolutely perfect."

"It's a bit like being in a sauna, but not uncomfortable," he said.

"I'll sit on the stool and watch you warm up a little more. If it's beginning to be too hot, just wave your hands, and I'll get you out."

She put him back in the dish, and placed it into the oven.

She sat down on the stool and looked in at him

Peter marvelled at the grand elegance of Isabel’s giant body, and the way her dress hung over her knees, and the view of her legs beyond. He could never have outrun those legs if she had insisted on eating him without his permission and chased him through her giant garden. Peter waited until she opened the oven again, took out the dish, tasted him once more, and said, "That's perfect, Peter. I'm ready to serve you now."

She reached to a shelf above him and took a plate down, and placed him upon it. She walked into the dining room, put the plate on the table and sat down.

"Well here we are," she said, "I'd like to put you into my mouth, before you've cooled down much. This will be our last chance to talk. Is there anything else you'd like to say, before I commence?"

"Thank you for being my lovely friend, and best wishes for a nice dinner."

"I'm sure you'll be that," she said, "And thank you for being my dear little delicious friend. Alright, my sweet little admirer, I'm ready to eat you."

"Goodbye, lovely giant."

"Farewell, sweet young dinner."

She lifted him gently towards her mouth in her fingers, and then opened her hand and let him lie on the palm.

She put out her tongue and licked him for a minute or so, and then said, "You're the most luscious meal I've ever had. In you go then, little darling."

She opened her mouth wide, and placed him into it. She left her mouth open for a minute, while he looked out at her retracting hand, her lips and the dining room.

Then she slowly closed her mouth, and moved her tongue about, sliding him and rolling him around on it. She did this for several minutes.

Then she stopped, and her tongue did not move at all for a second.

"She's about to swallow me," he realised.

He had guessed correctly.

She slowly arched her tongue upwards, so that he slid into her throat. He stopped in the middle of her neck.

She waited a few seconds, and then he felt her gulping.

He slid down further and further and reached her stomach.

"Well that's it," he thought, "She's eaten me. She'll be back to her writing tomorrow."