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 BIG FEATURE AT ST CAT'S

   by Some Sort of Dog





   WARNING: This warning is slightly different every time, but it always
says more or less the same thing.  This story features schoolgirls with
large breasts.  If you don't want to read about such things, you know what
to do.  If you are a minor, wherever you live, read no further.  It is
probably against the law for you to read this material.

   Although our young heroines are no more pure and virginal than any other
human beings in their position, they are not depicted here as having sexual
relations with adults.  Such a prospect, indeed, would fill them with
horror and disgust.  The story is a fantasy.  Some fantastic things may
well happen, but NOBODY gets raped, killed, or explodes.  You want that,
there's plenty of such crudity available elsewhere.  Go find it.



   AUTHOR'S NOTE: Many of the characters in this story have appeared
before. Although it is not strictly necessary, it might help if readers are
already familiar with the other stories in the series.  Details are given
at the end of this story.









   BIG FEATURE AT ST CAT'S

   by Some Sort of Dog









   Part I









   Chapter 1:- They're Back - The Biggest Breasts In The World



   Smegs held up the Biggest Breasts in the World against her chest. 
"These are tremendous, the most realistic I've seen," she sighed.  Even
deflated, they were impressive.  "How did she keep them on, glue?"

   Victoria nodded.  "Glue round the edges, and on the bits that go up to
the shoulders, Miss.  It's special glue, that doesn't have a smell. 
Shaynette gave me some, and told us where we can get more."

   Moggie rubbed the soft latex between her fingers, then sat behind her
desk with her fingers clasped together behind her head.  "When did
Shaynette give you these, Victoria?"

   The Third Form girl looked unhappy.  "Last month, Miss Thunderbolt. 
When we caught Shaynette at the studio.  She showed me how to put them on,
and all about the glue and everything."

   "So you didn't bring them straight to a teacher.  Why not?"

   "I wanted to try them myself, Miss," Victoria admitted in a tiny voice.
To see what it was like to have such big breasts.  I only tried them
properly once.  It wasn't very nice, Miss."

   I felt like telling her I told you so.  I was getting fed up with
Victoria coming to me, out of character, asking why I didn't write her a
bigger pair of boobs, bigger than her young sister's, bigger even than her
young cousin's.  She had promised to get even, and I confess, I was still
apprehensive about what she might do.

   "It might have been better if you had brought them to us straight away,
Toria," scolded Smegs.  "We could have exposed Shaynette and her buddies at
the studio.  Nice little story, and credit for St Cat's.  It's too late
now, the story's dead meat."

   She was right enough, Smut Newspapers had found another story, about a
bonk-crazed housewife who had taken on all comers in her street in a
memorable night of rumpy-pumpy sex romps.  They were finding more new
comers willing to confess every day.

   "What did they feel like to wear, Toria?" I asked her, as gently as I
could.

   She brightened a little.  "Not too heavy, Miss, but they get in the way.
Well, you'd know about that, Miss." She smiled.  I couldn't remember when
I'd last seen Toria smiling.  "Shaynette was stronger than me, Miss, she
was all muscle.  No tits, though!  She was flat as anything."

   Moggie gently laid the latex creation on her desk.  "Well, as Miss
Mountains says, it would have been better if you had told us sooner,
Victoria.  But it's over, now.  There's nothing we can do.  I think we
ought to have a black museum, then we can keep the Biggest Breasts in the
World in there as our major exhibit.  Still," she grinned at Victoria,
"how's your little sister?  No ill effects from the prowler incident?"

   "She's fine, Miss.  And she says she's loving the self-defence classes
with Rumiko."

   "Good!  I come by the dojo now and again, just to watch.  So do Miss
Mountains and Miss Gruntworthy, I know.  It's good to watch the girls
learning new skills."

   Smegs and I nodded eagerly.  We agreed, as I was sure Moggie did, that
the sight of busty young girls wearing gi was a remarkably arousing one,
for some reason.  I could watch them for hours and I inevitably felt
uncontrollably horny afterwards.  Jeremy had noticed it, and any time he
saw me heading in the direction of the old girl-tuna cannery - now the
Self-Defence Training Centre - he warmed the engine of the Jaguar in
anticipation of a couple of hours of quickie sex on the back seat.  Her was
rarely disappointed, and to be perfectly honest, nor was I.

   "Well, if there's nothing else," Moggie raised her eyebrows at Smegs and
me, "that will be all, Victoria.  Thank you.  Megan, a moment, if you will
..."

   Dismissed, I followed Victoria out through Miss Labia's outer office -
where the headmistress's secretary was plucking her bikini line with
tweezers - and into the corridor.

   "I'll walk down with you, Toria."

   "Oh, all right, Miss." We walked in silence for a while.  "Miss?"

   "Yes, Toria?"

   "I'm sorry, Miss.  About always asking for bigger tits and threatening
you and everything.  Now I've tried wearing the Biggest Breasts in the
World, I'm not so sure.  Maybe a few inches bigger, to make me as big as
Pansy's, but ..."

   "I'm sure they will grow a bit more, yet.  Your mother is much bigger
than you still.  They'll grow on their own.  How's Sex going?"

   She looked up at me in surprise.  "Oh, Sex classes!  It's great having
them ever day!  I like Mondays, Basic Wanking.  And Tuesdays is brilliant,
Applied Orgasms.  I tried a G-Spot Jobbie this week, and actually did a
squirter!  But Vibrator Work, on Wednesdays, yuck!"

   "What's wrong with it?  That's Miss Mountains isn't it?"

   "All we've done so far is learn how to change batteries.  Thursdays are
getting better, Giving and Receiving Pleasure; and Friday, Loving
Relationships, Ooooh!  They're brilliant, as well!"

   "Yes, they are, aren't they!"

   "Miss?"

   We had stopped outside her classroom door.  "You know I asked about
bigger boobs, Miss?  No, I'm not asking again.  And I won't ask again. 
It's just ...  I was wondering about a boyfriend, Miss.  Just a little
one?"

   "You want a boyfriend?  You want me to write you a boyfriend?"

   "I'm big enough to have one, Miss.  How old were you when you ...?"

   "Fourteen.  You know that.  You did "Fourth Form at St Cat's" for your
end-of-term test, didn't you?"

   "I got 98 percent, Miss!  Try me."

   "Who owned Jeremy's Jaguar?"

   "Easy-peasy.  Mr Rawlings.  Camshaft bearings, whatever they are."

   "Right.  What time did I get out of bed on the night Virginia's breasts
grew?"

   "12.34!"

   "Jeez!  You've learned it by heart.  Where did you manage to lose two
marks?"

   "Virginia O'Hara's dad's car.  I said a 2CV, it should have been a Rover
Metro."

   "Unlucky.  I'd never have known.  Who set the questions?"

   "You did, Miss.  Anyway, Miss.  You were fourteen, and you were dead
innocent, Miss.  I'm younger, but I've had far more experience, I'm more
grown-up, and I've got infinitely bigger boobs, so why can't I have a
boyfriend?"

   You see?  How can you argue with logic like that?



   **********

   "Another staff meeting?  Do we have to?"

   "Fraid so," said Smegs.  "There's a lot to discuss.  Moggie and I had a
chat about it yesterday.  And we need you in on the decisions.  Moggie
speaks very highly of your talents, you know."

   I didn't know whether to swell with pride or blush prettily.  In the
end, I did both at the same time.  It's harder than it sounds.

   "What are we discussing?"

   "Future strategy: international students, the curriculum, the school
choir, new projects ..."

   "Gosh!  We're still pressing on with international students, then?  I
thought Moggie had been scared off by the last three."

   "Not so bad, now Shaynette's out of it.  There's just Isabella, who's
getting fatter every week, and Demi, who's getting hairier, and smellier."

   "Not smellier, since I gave her a scrub in the showers.  She's quite
pure now.  And her body hair is amazingly soft when it's washed.  It's like
stroking a cat.  I don't know about Isabella, though, she's getting
enormous.  It's almost as though someone's encouraging her to feed.  Not
that she needs much encouragement."

   "I can't imagine who would do that to the girl, or why.  Have you
stroked Demi at all, then?"

   "A little." I found myself going bright red.  "After her shower, I
helped dry her off with the hair dryer.  She is a hugely affectionate girl.
I suppose she wanted to show her appreciation." I was getting wet just
remembering it.

   "Good to see you doing your bit for Anglo-French relations, Shan," said
Smegs seriously.  "Perhaps we can find you another hairy little European
girl."

   "I'm not fussy, you know.  A smooth-shaven American would do, plump
little mound, rounded bottom, puffy nipples, and cute little innie navel
..."

   "I think I got all that," nodded Smegs, putting away her pencil and
closing her diary.  "Anyway, between now and the meeting, think about the
curriculum, see if you think Sex once a day is enough for the girls, think
about the school choir, everything, okay?"



   **********

   So I thought about it a lot.  Jeremy helped me think about the Frequency
of Sex, which was a great deal of fun.  We were really getting quite good
at it by now.  Jeremy had installed a double bed in the caretaker's shed,
and we spent our free time in there, keeping the back of the Jag for
special occasions.  Of course, I missed Orson's sweet talk.  Jeremy was
less inclined to tell me during a bout of sex that my breasts were the most
gigantic he had ever buried his head between, or that my pussy was arguably
the largest in the world as we knew it.

   But then, I knew that Jeremy had once had his head between Baps's
breasts, which were so much bigger than mine it just wasn't true.  So had
Orson, for that matter.

   Anyway.  Just because I was getting it regularly and often, that didn't
mean there was any reason to become obsessed with sex.  I had decided, in
view of my headmistress's high opinion of me, to throw all my energies into
my work, my vocation, my teaching.

   It was with those high ideals that I strode briskly into Miss Labia's
outer office the next day.  The secretary wasn't plucking her bikini line,
so I assumed that her pubic hair was now as neat and tidy as the ladies of
her Church Ladies' Circle would wish to see it.  She was rouging her
nipples, which I found quite fascinating.  "Go right in, they're expecting
you," she drawled without even looking up.

   "Ah, Shan," Moggie smiled.  "Take a seat ...  no, don't let me stop you
...  I'll just read these letters." It was kind of Moggie to allow Smegs
and me a few seconds to greet each other.  I hadn't seen her since
breakfast, and she slipped her tongue into my mouth as soon as I came into
the office.

   "Golly!" I breathed, "have you been missing me, darling?"

   We finished our tender love-making and turned to Moggie with just the
occasional gentle caress or two.

   "Is that better, now?" enquired Moggie.

   "Yes, thank you, Miss," we chanted in unison.

   "Good.  Now then.  Let's get straight down to it.  International
students!"

   We sat up straight and gazed at her in open admiration.  She sounded so
*commanding*.

   "Despite the minor problems with the first batch, I think we can take in
some more foreign girls.  We will have to be a little more careful with our
vetting, especially the problems of identification, but I do think we can
write to another small batch.  No more than three girls at this early
stage, until we get into the routine, but three girls would bring in ..."
she tapped a few keys on her calculator "...  hmmm!  As much as that? 
Excellent!"

   "We'll look after that for you, headmistress," said Smegs efficiently,
and I stroked her soft, velvety, creamy upper thigh in helpless adulation.
Without knowing or caring about the outcome, I embarked on an orgasm.

   "Thank you, Megan.  Now, Chauntaille, your First Formers have done an
excellent job on the measuring of the new girls.  I have had splendid
reports from the Information Superhighway about the service you provided."
I completed my orgasm and did my trick of swelling with pride and blushing
prettily.  "How do you do that, Shan?" asked Moggie.  "It looks extremely
difficult."

   "Oh, you just concentrate on swelling with pride, Miss.  The blushing
takes care of itself."

   "I'll try it later.  Now, following on from that, the school choir, the
St Cat's Chorus, is going on tour.  I will be accompanying them, with Miss
Rhys ap Llewelyn Owen as choirmistress.  We have entered a competition in
Newcastle ..."

   "...  On-Tyne, Miss?"

   "Naturally!  So we will do a few concerts on the way, to get warmed up,
as it were.  The organisers of the contest have asked us for full details
of the choir.  I can't imagine *what* they want to know about them, so I
propose to use my initiative and provide details of each individual girl.
You know the sort of thing: age, height, weight, hair colour, measurements,
virginity status, sexual inclination if any.  I intend to leave it all to
you.  I suppose you could say if the girl is a tenor or a bass or whatever.
Do a summary as well: average age, average height, average weight, average
hair colour, average measurements ...  the lot.  Okay?  No problems?  We
leave on Monday, so you will need to act quickly and do a bit of planning
so that the girls don't miss any classes.  Your team could go round the
classes and measure them in situ, as it were.  I'll let you get on with it,
then."

   "Thank you, Miss," I was filled with pride and ambition.  Smegs winked
at me and I slipped a few fingers beneath her bottom on the seat, searching
for the cleft of her behind.  She wriggled happily and placed her tongue so
far into my ear it almost came out of the other side.

   "God, you young ones," sighed Moggie.  "Let me get on and finish, then
you can go to bed if you like.  You really are the randiest couple of girls
I ever saw." She started talking faster.  "We need to reintroduce English
into the curriculum.  I'm sorry about it, but it's out of my hands.  Any
ideas?"

   "How about Smut, Miss?"

   "Smut, Chauntaille?"

   "Smut writing.  Short Smut stories, longer Smut stories.  Smutty poems.
Then there's Smut literature, Smut appreciation ..."

   "Sounds great!  Work it out and let me have the details.  Any ideas,
Megan?"

   "Shan's put her finger on it as usual," she squeaked.  I wiggled my
finger about, and Smegs moaned sharply in confirmation.  I certainly had!
Smegs went on, her voice unsteady.  "We could extend it to cover Filth,
Miss!"

   "I don't think Filth is such a good idea, Megan.  Smut is usually so
much better written.  The standard of English, spelling, grammar.  Filth
tends to be so repetitive, don't you think, Shan?"

   "I've never read any, Miss," I lied, not wanting to be too disloyal to
my friend.

   "That's decided, then.  We'll stick with Smut.  One more thing.  New
projects.  How's Giganto going, Megan?"

   "It's recovering, Miss.  The Shaynette business was a nasty hiccup; we
dropped Jayne, one of our top five girls, when Shaynette came in.  Now
Shaynette's gone, Jayne refuses to come back.  She says she'll do it, so
long as we'll let her get pregnant."

   "Jayne Thweape?  Pregnant?  Why?"

   "She read somewhere about a woman whose breasts became enormous during
pregnancy, and she wants to try it for herself."

   "How big are her breasts now, Megan?"

   Megan indicated with both hands, failed, then tried again using the
waste paper basket as a guide.  It wasn't big enough, so she added a couple
of cushions.

   "Is that one of them, or both?"

   "That's each."

   "Hmmm.  Can't imagine why.  Those things must be well into three figures
already.  Well, it's her decision, how old is she?"

   "Seventeen, Miss."

   "Okay, let her go for it.  She's in the St Cat's Chorus.  There might be
an opportunity to get her banged up next week, on tour, but it's one more
worry we could do without.  Let's see if we can impregnate her before we
leave.  Can you spare Jeremy, Shan?"

   I spread my hands, feeling a lump in my throat, but loyalty to St Cat's
overcame my deeper feelings for my lover.

   "It's only for a few nights, Shan," sympathised Moggie, tenderly.

   "I'll look after you, darling," purred Smegs.

   "Oh, I suppose so, in that case." We teachers must be prepared to make
sacrifices for the kids in our care.









   Chapter 2:- Disharmony In The Choir



   I took the newly-formed Junior Statistics Group to see a rehearsal of
the St Cat's Chorus.  It would give them more of a feel for the task in
hand.

   We sat in the shadows and watched the thirty girls in their familiar
horse-shoe formation on the stage.  Miss Rhys ap Llewelyn Owen stood in
front of them with her baton raised.  At the signal, thirty chests inflated
impressively, thirty pure little faces were thrust eagerly forward into the
spotlight.  Then thirty mouths opened wide enough to inhale the biggest
manhood imaginable, and the sweetest of sounds flowed from the depths of
thirty deep throats.

   The girls of the newly-formed Junior Statistics Group sighed at the
sheer beauty of it all.  As the youthful voices soared, I felt a familiar
wetness in my knickers, and knew I shared it with the Junior Statistics
Group.  And when the song had ended, I knew I shared it with the entire St
Cat's Chorus as well.  Ah, the wonder of choral singing, for making the
hairs rise on the back of the neck, and to set the juices flowing.  Even if
you are tone-deaf.

   I led the newly-formed Junior Statistics Group girls out of the hall and
back to the lab, where they sat silently, still thunderstruck by the whole
thing.

   "Are we ready for this task, then, girls?"

   "Yes, Miss, we're all right behind you," asserted Suzanne, as spokesgirl
for the group.

   "Right.  I have a little list.  We will measure them all tomorrow
morning.  We use the table-top method.  It is more time-consuming, but it
is far more accurate.  Any questions?"

   "What about the betting, Miss?" That was Pansy.

   "Betting?  What betting?"

   "We did it on the new girls, Miss, in a small way.  We said we'd try and
do it properly next time.  And this is the next time.  We publish a list of
ranges of average bust size for the choir.  You know, Miss?  Spread
betting. 30" to 32", 32" to 34", 34" to 36" ...  and so on like that, and
people bet on their choice.  We work out the odds and with our specialised
knowledge, we can't lose, Miss.  It's candy from a baby, Miss!"

   "I don't really know, Pansy.  It doesn't sound the sort of thing we
ought to be encouraging in a school."

   "Miss Thunderbolt thinks it's a great idea, Miss.  She won twenty quid
on Shaynette, Miss!"

   "Did she, though?  Okay, I suppose it can do no harm.  Who's in charge?"

   "I am," said Shona promptly.  "I've printed all the stationery already,
Miss." She showed me the forms, which showed spreads from 30 inches right
up to 80.

   "That ought to cover it, Shona!  Okay, you may start selling tickets."

   "Oh, good, Miss.  We've taken a hundred and thirty-seven pounds already.
You're the only member of staff who hasn't bought one."

   "I don't think it's very ethical for me to enter, being part of the
measuring team."

   The girls looked at me with wrinkled noses, shaking their heads in
disbelief.

   "If you say so, Miss." Shona started putting the tickets back into their
envelope.

   "How's fifty-four to fifty-six inches looking, Shona," I asked her.

   "We can give you Elevens, since it's you, Miss," said Shona instantly.

   "Sounds fair enough," and I handed her a crisp fiver.



   **********

   Some of my readers are no doubt gagging to know how thirty schoolgirls
could possibly have an average bust measurement of between fifty-four and
fifty-six inches.  How could a teacher at that school, knowing all of those
thirty girls personally, have been so stupid as to place a bet on their
average bust measurement being as large as that.

   Rather than confuse my readers with facts and figures, I have borrowed
the officially approved list of the names of the girls in the choir - from
Anstiss, Marianne to Zyldavrian, Cornetta - from the Junior Statistics
Group, and have shown all the relevant details in a separate appendix to
this story.  Those of you who are into computers will perhaps know what I
mean if I call it something like <bigapp-c.txt> - whatever that means.



   **********

   All the punters underestimated the bust size of the choir.  A
combination of circumstances, including misleadingly chubby Juniors,
surprisingly pendulous Middles and mountainously-endowed Seniors, all
measured by the table-top method - which called for the girls to dangle
their breasts over the edge of a table to be measured - resulted in an
average bust measurement of fifty-five and a half inches, which was very
satisfying, for me especially.

   We sent off the details of the choir to the contest organisers.  They
did send a fax in reply querying the average measurements, but I supposed
that they were using a different measuring method from us.  A few hours
later, another fax arrived, listing the average measurements of all the
other choirs in the contest, and St Cat's was in the lead by a clear
nineteen inches.  We couldn't lose!

   Monday morning came round, to my joy.  I would be getting Jeremy back.
He hadn't had the best of luck in his attempts at impregnating the girl
Thweape, despite her curiously intense love-making style.  She was all
action between the sheets of the double bed in the caretaker's shed, and
the noise she made was beginning to embarrass the entire school.  As soon
as any of the girls heard la Thweape's fervent cries of "Oh, stick it in
me, lover," or "c'mon, big boy, fill me up with your pulsating immensity,"
they blushed deeply and shuffled their feet.

   It had the same effect on Jeremy, in the form of instant detumescence.
"It's a pity," he confided to me, during a brief lull in their mating
ritual, "Jayne's a great-looking girl, with tits to die for, but as soon as
she starts yelling, my pulsating immensity turns into a limp chipolata." I
hoped it was only temporary.

   We all waved goodbye as the choir set off in their bus, its windows
festooned with ribbons and banners, the girls in their shortest skirts and
most uplifting bras.  Every one of us had a lump in our throats as we waved
goodbye to them.

   Later, when Moggie called from their hotel, she explained that there had
been a little trouble with the police on the motorway.  But once the girls
had been persuaded to remove from the rear window of the bus the life-size
nude poster featuring the young Countess Langsdorf - the biggest-breasted
girl in the choir - the rest of the journey went without a hitch.

   "I must dash," said Moggie over the phone, "I've got a heavy date."

   "But what about the girls," I asked her.

   "They can make their own arrangements," she cackled.  "It may seem
harsh, but it's for their own good.  In fact, I've seen half a dozen of
them with boys already, so there's no need to worry unduly on their
account."

   "I hope they don't have any trouble," I said.

   "The ones I saw weren't having any trouble at all," giggled Moggie,
"there were a couple of the Junior girls who were after a bunch of young
boys, but I don't think they'll get anywhere with them, they've got their
parents with them.  Daft bitches, but they'll learn.  Do them good!  Apart
from that, three of the Middles have pulled waiters, for sure.  And Miss
Rhys ap Llewelyn Owen seems to have disappeared.  I'll tell you more in the
morning!  Oooh!  Pablo!  You cheeky thing!  Must go, Chauntaille! 
Byeee-ulpp!"

   And she was gone.



   **********

   Moggie was partly right in her prediction of the choir's success on its
first night away from St Cat's.  Aside from her own liaison with Pablo, the
wine waiter - which fell flat when Pablo's boyfriend arrived to collect him
from the foyer at ten-thirty - there were some positive aspects to report.

   Four Junior girls claimed a result with two of the young boys, who
escaped or were abducted from parental care long enough to ensure the loss
of six virginities, presumably permanently.

   The Middle girls failed to pull anything worth writing home about, and
retired to one room which boasted a mini-bar.  A grand orgy erupted, which
was described by all who took part as "incredible".

   The Seniors - who would normally be expected to carry the flag of St
Cat's - had mixed success, although all of them were back in the hotel in
time for breakfast, and those who chose to entertain friends in their hotel
rooms pronounced themselves well satisfied.

   The greatest surprise came when Miss Rhys ap Llewelyn Owen staggered
into the foyer at nine am, her clothing in disarray, her eyes glazed,
reeking of sex, and looking - as she was described by the Juniors - shagged
to an absolute frazzle.  She slumped down at a table with a cup of black
coffee, muttering ancient Druidic oaths.  The only words of English anyone
could coax out of her were "never again", which seemed rather a drastic
solution.

   The whole choir even made it on to their bus and were safely out of town
before the police arrived at the hotel to investigate complaints of young
women allegedly causing a public nuisance by removing articles of clothing
in the street.

   Needless to say, the choir's progress report did not come from Moggie,
who was not available for comment the following morning.  The news was
conveyed to me at second hand by Victoria, who was not best pleased.

   "It's not good enough, Miss," she whined.  "I can sing!" She trilled a
few notes, and girls passing us in the corridor stared at her in alarm. 
"Why couldn't you let *me* be in the St Cat's Chorus?  I could have been
one of those four who pulled the lads.  I wouldn't have settled for losing
my cherry in two minutes!  I'd have given those boys a night to remember
for the rest of their lives."

   "Toria, listen!" She curled her lip.  "Don't you want *your* first time
to be worth remembering for the rest of your life?" Toria still looked
scornful.  "Well, don't you?"

   "I suppose so, Miss," she mumbled.

   "If I have anything to do with it, then you will." The girl brightened a
little.  "But you might have to wait a little while, that's all."



   **********

   Next morning, there was a call for me from Moggie.  Strange, normally
she would have spoken to Smegs.

   "Chauntaille?  We did our first concert last night, at Stoke-on-Trent.
It went off all right, although one of the girls got herself laid
afterwards and nearly missed the bus to the hotel."

   "Oh, no, that's terrible!"

   "Yes, it could have been.  Another one of the Juniors, I'm afraid. 
We've only got two virgin Juniors left now.  Plenty of Middles and Seniors
who are still intact, but we are running short of Juniors."

   "That's terrible, Miss.  Which two have survived so far?"

   "The youngest Elphinstone girl, and Lim-Bim-Xuoyung Ng."

   "But they're the two Juniors with the biggest tits!"

   "Yes, I know.  Anyway, the Juniors have got this sort of scoreboard they
keep waving around on the bus, and it upsets the older ones who haven't
managed to get laid yet.  I'm afraid some of them might do something
regrettable if it goes on much longer."

   "You mean ...?"

   "Yes!"

   "Oh, dear!"

   "Anyway, the reason I asked for you, we have discovered a number of
empty spray bottles under the seats of the bus.  The girls all look blank
and deny all knowledge, but somebody must know something.  Trouble is, I
don't know what was in the bottles, love, fuck or tits.  They all smell the
same.  Nor do we know if there are any more still unused.  It might explain
some of the Uncontrollable Horniness we've been afflicted with."

   "It might, certainly."

   "But you know what this stuff is like.  If there's any tit-spray going
the rounds, it could cause real problems.  We don't want any girls busting
their blouses on stage.  Especially on Friday at the contest.  It's on
television."

   "Gosh, Miss.  Is it?"

   "Yes.  BBC2, of course.  Minority appeal, huge-breasted schoolgirl
choirs.  Anyway.  Have a word with your Sexual Chemistry girls, see if they
know anything.  I suspect someone may have been trying to increase a few
bust measurements for some reason."

   "That's possible, but I can't think why anyone would want to do such a
thing."

   "Who won the betting on the average bust size?"

   "I did!"

   "I see.  Not very ethical, Chauntaille!"

   "I know.  That's why I guessed a ridiculously high number, hoping not to
win.  Nobody else got near it but me.  Whoever would have thought it would
have been fifty-five and a half?  It was all those Lower Sixth girls, vast
danglers, all of them.  With the table top method, there wasn't one of them
less than eighty-five inches!  The key to the whole table top method," I
explained, "is to make sure they dangle freely for at least five minutes.
They can stretch at least three inches under their own weight during that
time."

   "It could end up a sight more than that, if someone starts spraying
tit-juice around this bloody bus.  Do check it out, Shan, there's a love."

   "All right.  Where are you performing tonight?"

   "A boys' school in Huddersfield."

   "I see.  You'd better break a leg, then."

   "I'll call tomorrow and tell you how we got on ..."



   **********

   I hope Moggie didn't suspect *me* of trying to increase the average bust
measurement of the choir to suit my own ends.  If I had, I would have
staked a lot more than a fiver at eleven to one.

   But it wasn't nice to be under suspicion.  The fact remained, though,
*someone* had smuggled some Sexual Chemistry on to the choir's bus, for
whatever reason.  And that someone was probably a Junior girl.  It was a
sickening thought.  I confronted them.

   "Do I have to punish all of you for the indiscretions of one girl?  Own
up now and you will get off lightly.  If not, the entire class will be in
detention for an hour every night from tonight onwards.  You have a
choice." And I turned on my heel and stalked out of the classroom, spoiling
the effect slightly by losing my balance and bumping my right tit against
the door frame.









   Chapter 3:- Shan Flies In



   "I don't know how Moggie expects me to get on with the Giganto Project,"
Smegs complained.  "She says 'go ahead', but she's taken two of the most
important members away with her to the harmony screwfest in Newcastle."

   "Can't the others get on with it without the Countess and the Thweape
girl?"

   "Not a lot they can do.  The Countess is the biggest girl in the school
- it's official - and Thweape is still trying to get pregnant.  In fact, if
she'd shown any sort of initiative, she'd have become pregnant back in
October, so we'd be able to watch her breasts growing before our eyes, now.
Even assuming she's successful, it's going to be Easter before she starts
getting bigger.  Lousy planning."

   "Isn't there something else they can do instead?  How about their
mothers?"

   "What about their mothers?"

   "Do they take after them in the most important ways?  Take the biggest
girls in the school and study their mothers.  Comparative photographs, how
big they were when they were the same age as their daughters are now, the
usual stuff."

   "You're forgetting one thing, Shan.  The Lower Sixth are a special case.
They grew huge because of boob-juice.  In fact, the whole of St Cat's is a
special case.  Can you point to any of our larger-breasted girls and put
your hand on your heart ..."

   "I can't put my hand on my heart, Smegs, you know that ..."

   "...  and say, 'this girl is all-natural'?  I wouldn't like to swear to
any of them.  Can you hold up your hand and say that?"

   I held up my fingers.  Actually, what I did was, I took my fingers out
of Smegs's moist and dewy cooze and held them up.  "Oooh, look," I pointed
out to her, "your juice is making a sort of bubble between my fingers, like
a window!" I peered at her through it.  It burst.

   "Shan, try to concentrate, please!"

   "There's young Suzanne, and Pansy, and Toria, for starters.  I know for
a fact, they are one hundred per cent natural." I ticked them off on my
fingers.  "That's three.  Poo!  My fingers don't half stink!"

   I wiped them on Smegs's panties, which were lying on the table.  A few
of the girls who were sitting near us in the school restaurant got up and
moved to a more distant table.

   "So, you've thought of three!"

   "There are more.  The Elphinstone girls ..."

   "All right, I'll grant you those."

   "There's Vulva Morgenstern ..."

   "Forty-eight?  You call that big?"

   "At any other school in the country, it would be, yes.  Here, she's just
average.  Then there's young Lim-Bim-Xuoyung Ng.  She's vast!"

   "I don't trust her, she's probably been injected with special substances
by the authorities."

   "All you have to do is ask her for a picture of her mother, and any
sisters, or aunties.  Same with the other girls.  Call it 'Gigantomastia
Down the Ages'.  There, I even thought of a title for you!"

   We slowly got up from the table.  Smegs climbed into her knickers and
pulled them right up tight with a little gasp.  We threaded our way between
the tables, thronged with girls stuffing themselves with vast quantities of
fattening food.  They took little notice of us, despite the fact that Smegs
was naked apart from her knickers.

   "Will you be dressing before we go outside," I asked her, "I brought
your clothes."

   "Not worth it, we'll make a dash for it." So we did, arriving in a rush
at the entrance to the main Voluptua Valentine Building.  I brushed the
raindrops off her breasts, using the long silky blonde hair of a passing
Fourth Former.

   "Thank you, Jeannine."

   "S'all right, Miss.  For you, any time!"

   "Have you noticed, Shan?  The girls seem to treat you with a new
respect. You are the most popular of the teaching staff.  You could have
any one of these girls as your concubine, at the merest snap of your
fingers!"

   I inspected my fingers.  They still wouldn't snap, they were too
slippery with Smegs's lubricant.  Still, it was an intriguing concept.

   "Gosh!  Do you really think so?  Ooops, not this one, though.  Look,
it's young Toria!"

   "Give me my clothes," demanded Smegs, "I'll see you in the staff room."

   Toria wheeled to a halt, effectively pinning me against the wall.

   "Miss?"

   "Yes, Toria?"

   "You know I said I wished I'd been in the choir?  Well, I don't really,
not any more.  But I do want to be part of the Lower Sixth Gigantomastia
Down the Ages Project."

   "How did you know about that?"

   She ignored the question.  "I want the researchers to look into my
parents, grandparents and great-grandparents," she said.

   "And your sister, and your cousin?"

   "No, not them, they're irrelevant."

   "They're bigger than you.  In fact, if I wanted to, I could introduce a
scene where they get measured for simply gigantic new bras."

   Victoria went pale.  "You wouldn't, Miss!"

   "Well, no, I wouldn't.  There's no need to.  Now they're wearing
ScatBras, their bras automatically compensate for their constant and steady
growth."

   "For their WHAT?"

   "Their constant and steady growth!  They've been getting slowly bigger
ever since the Holidays.  You mean you haven't noticed?"

   She was fleeing down the corridor in tears.  Her bottom was wondrously
shaped, and her breasts bounced quite superbly as she ran.  I could have
described other aspects of Toria's undoubted beauty, but you can overdo
these things.



   **********

   Moggie didn't call until the morning after the Huddersfield Concert. 
"How'd it go?" I asked her.

   "As a demonstration of choral singing by a girls' choir, it was
exemplary.  As an orgy, it left something to be desired."

   "You didn't get any of the action, then?"

   "I didn't say that," she muttered huffily.  "In fact, since you bring up
the subject, I did take supper with Mr Anschluss, the boys' school Music
Master.

   "Supper, eh?  Sounds promising."

   "So don't go jumping to conclusions, that's all.  Unfortunately, we seem
to have suffered some losses."

   "Girls?"

   "Virginities.  Young Elphinstone, Yvonne.  And her two sisters ..."

   "Oh, no...!"

   "And nine others.  We have been asked not to visit again.  Apparently
the boys are in a state of uprising."

   "I'm not surprised.  Most boys would be with that lot hanging around
them."

   "And that's not all.  There have been some expansions!"

   "Oh, shit, no.  This will upset all our statistics.  Not to mention the
averages.  All bets will be null and void.  I will have to hand back my
winnings ..."

   "Chauntaille!"

   "Yes, Miss?"

   "The averages are not important.  Nor are the winnings.  What is
important is the question of brassieres and school blouses.  Do you have a
pencil?"

   "A pen, yes.  Will that do?"

   "At a pinch, yes.  I am going to need someone to fly up to Newcastle
this afternoon, with five new brassieres in the right sizes, plus five
blouses.  It is vital that we have these girls dressed and adequately
supported in time for the contest tomorrow night.  You'd better come
yourself.  I'm not sure I can trust anyone else with this.  Now, note down
these details ..."



   **********

   "You're a genius, Shan!  A bloody genius!" Smegs was jumping up and down
in a most disturbing manner, clutching a little pile of photographs.

   "Thank you, Smegs.  What are those?  Naughty pictures?"

   "Not naughty.  These are photographs of girls' families."

   "Already?"

   "They all had pictures of their mothers.  One or two even had family
groups showing the older generations.  I had them all copied by the
Pornography Centre.  We may have the makings of a worthwhile project.  This
could put St Cat's on the map in the area of Genealogical Gigantomastia
Research."

   "Is there one?  A map of the area of what you said?"

   What are you on about, Shan?  Do you want to look at these photos or
not? Aren't you interested in huge-breasted women or something?"

   "Sorry, Smegs.  I was preoccupied.  Moggie wants me to fly up to
Newcastle today with a bunch of bras and blouses.  They've had some
expansions in the choir.  Here's the list."

   "This will affect the averages, won't it," said Smegs, eagerly.  "You
will have to hand back your winnings."

   "I don't see why.  I guessed higher than anyone.  This is going to
increase the average."

   "Wrong.  Read the law.  All bets are null and void.  Stakes must be
returned, less tax, to the investors."

   "Bollocks to that!  I've spent it."

   "Foul and abusive language won't help matters, Chauntaille!"

   "Fuck off!" I said, and made a haughty exit, bruising my left breast on
the corner of the desk as I swept from the room.  That's the trouble with
having tits right down there.



   **********

   I never did see all those pictures of the girls' mothers and sisters and
grandmothers.  I would have to be specially nice to Smegs when I got back
from up North.  Meanwhile, there was my jet-setting trip on a plane. 
Teaching is so romantic.  I never dreamed it would be like this.

   "You should have been booked to fly Club Class," shrilled the hostess. I
still call them air hostesses, despite what the grammar checker thinks they
ought to be called.  She spoke in a particularly piercing voice, which made
everyone look at us.

   "I can't get in there," I pointed out to her again.  "It's wide enough,
sideways - just - but there's not enough room in front of the seat."

   "It's not the airline's fault if you have a problem."

   "I don't have a problem, it's your seats."

   "As I already told you, you ought to have been booked ..."

   "Is there a space on the booking form that asks 'do you have a ten-foot
bust'?"

   The hostess blushed.  Golly!  I never thought I would see such a thing.
She disappeared in the direction of the sharp end, and came back with a
young man in the advanced stages of homosexuality.

   "I wonder if you would you like to walk this way, madam," he asked, and
demonstrated the way he wondered if I would like to walk.  I tried, but
didn't have the hips for it.  He led the way to a well-appointed cabin full
of suits with supercilious expressions and expensive pigskin briefcases. 
"Your seat, madam!"

   There seemed to be enough room for my breasts, although one of them did
rather flop into the lap of the passenger next to me.  He apologised
charmingly and helped me lift it over the arm-rest into my lap.  Then he
picked up his briefcase from the floor where I had sent it flying.

   "I'm so sorry, there's not much room in these things, is there?"

   "It must be a problem," he smiled, and I felt my loins turn to warm
water.

   "They can be.  It can be, yes!"

   But then, we started to move, backwards.  I looked out of the window to
confirm this, and must have looked worried.  The nice man grinned.  "Do you
fly this way often?"

   As opposed to what?  Forwards?  Flapping my wings?  Breathing deeply and
drifting on the wind?  What sort of a chat-up line was that?

   "It's my first time," I croaked, clutching at the arm-rest and grabbing
his arm by mistake.  His expression changed to acute pain.  "Oops, sorry!"
I stroked his arm with my hand, then realised what I was doing and jerked
away.  The plane was going the right way now, and making more noise.

   "No need to be nervous.  We'll soon be there.  Hold my hand if it makes
you feel better." He stopped, embarrassed.  "Ah!"

   "What's the matter?" I asked him.

   "Your seat-belt.  You have to belt up.  How ...?"

   "It's under here somewhere ..."

   "Perhaps the cabin staff would ..."

   "No, I can manage, excuse me.  May I rest this on here for a moment?" I
tried balancing my breast on the arm-rest but it fell off into his lap
again.

   "You can leave it here until you've done up your belt.  It's all right,
it will be quite safe here.  It's no trouble at all ..."

   "Thank you.  I'll have it back now.  Golly!  I swear it's getting
bigger. Thanks!  What must you think of me?"

   "My pleasure.  Are you going up North on business, or pleasure?"

   "Business.  Sort of, anyway.  I teach.  Some of the girls from my school
are performing in a choir contest tomorrow.  I'm taking them some ... 
replacement costumes."

   "Talk about coincidence!  I'm going to the same place.  No, honestly! 
I'm in television, well, on the fringes of it,really.  I'm producing a film
of the contest.  The contest is live on television, but the film is more of
an in-depth thing; you know, the choirs themselves, the singers - the
people behind the choirs!" The last bit he said with such deep inner
meaning I blushed prettily.

   "I'm only a dogsbody.  Nothing to do with the singing.  When it comes to
singing, I'm flat as a pancake."

   "I can't believe that."

   The aircraft surged forward with an exhilarating burst of acceleration.
"Wheeee!" I cried, then clutched at his hand as we tilted back in our seats
and roared vertically upwards like a high speed lift.  "My ears are going
funny!" And he smiled at me.  Gosh!  Bloody hellfire!

   When the light came on in the sign telling us it was all right to take
our seat-belts off, I did mine, then found his hand again, and he just
looked at me as he squeezed my fingers.  The sodding air-hostess came round
with drinks and stuff and she looked at us holding hands and sneered, as if
to suggest I was a brazen hussy with no morals.  Up yours, I mouthed at
her, and she looked suitably shocked.  I bet she was knobbing the pilot.

   "What's your name," he said, when she'd gone.

   "Chauntaille.  Shan for short."

   "Nice.  French?"

   "I beg your pardon?"

   "Your name.  French?"

   "An old family name, apparently.  What's yours?"

   "Villiers.  Villiers Strongitharm."

   "Gosh!"

   Well, it turned out he was even staying at the same hotel as myself and
the rest of the St Cat's party, so we would probably see more of each
other. But we were on our way down; and the aircraft was making horrible
moaning noises as bits of the wings rebuilt themselves outside the window,
and it kept going thump, thump, thump, and the ground came up to meet us at
hundreds of miles an hour; before he got around to asking what I was doing
for dinner.  And afterwards?  He didn't ask about afterwards, and nor did
I, but I was certainly thinking it.  I suppose Villiers was, too.

   I hoped so, anyway.









   Part II









   Chapter 4:- The Growing Girls Of The Fourth Form



   "I'll see you later, when I get back to the hotel," called Villiers, as
he closed the cab door.  I saw him waving from the curb as the driver
pulled away into the traffic.  Golly!  Fancy meeting an absolute dish like
him on the plane.  Just wait 'til I tell Moggie.

   But when I saw her, the moment wasn't right.  She seemed preoccupied,
somehow.  "Did you get all the sizes I asked you for?" she said as the lift
door slid shut.  I nodded in confirmation as the floor pushed up against my
feet.  The door opened again, and we stepped out.  "Here we are.  You're
down the end of this passage.  Dump your gear, then come along to 412 with
the bras and blouses.  I'll give the first of the girls a call to come to
my room."

   "They grew suddenly last night, all five of them." Moggie paced up and
down, the way she does when she's going through one of her crises.  "Daisy
Buttermilk called me in the middle of the night, she said she and her
room-mate were ill.  But when I went along to their room, I saw straight
away what it was.  The other three called me in the morning.  They're
sharing a room, too, and they didn't dare come down to breakfast."

   "They're all Fourth Form Girls?"

   "Yes.  All five of them.  There are six Fourth Formers in the party, and
five are affected.  The only one who hasn't grown is the middle of the
three Ephinstone girls, Xanthe.  She was easily the biggest in the class
anyway.  She's ranked number six now!"

   "Wow!  The others are as big as that?"

   "You've got the list of bra sizes I asked for?"

   "I know, but it's hard to visualise.  You mean they're *all* bigger than
Xanthe?"

   "You wait until you see them.  I felt like weeping when I saw them
trying to get into their school blouses.  They are immense.  Whoever made
up that batch of boob-juice certainly didn't skimp." There was a quiet
knock on the door.  "Come in, Daisy!"

   The door opened and a short girl came in, shrouded in a capacious
dressing gown.  "I brought Steph with me, is that all right?  Hi, Miss,"
she said to me.

   A taller girl followed Daisy into the room, also wrapped in a dressing
gown.

   "I managed to borrow dressing gowns for all of them from the hotel.  No
questions asked.  Even so ..."

   I could see what she meant.  The dressing gowns were an extremely large
size.  Daisy's was probably meant to be a shortie length man's size, but it
came down to her ankles.  Where it was wrapped around her bust, it was
gaping under the pressure of its contents.  Stephanie Thundersley's was the
same, although it was as well she was considerably taller than Daisy,
otherwise the full-length garment would have tripped her up.  I consulted
my list.  By a coincidence, the two girls had originally had the same
measurements, although Steph was five feet ten, and Daisy was a foot
shorter.

   "You first, Daisy," said Moggie, and the stocky little girl opened her
dressing gown and dropped it on the bed.  I gulped.  I could see what
Moggie had meant by immense.  It was probably the ideal word.  Daisy's
breasts swelled out magnificently from her rib-cage, with a tight cleavage
between them.  They protruded to the sides far wider than her arms, and
more than a foot in front of her.

   "I hope you brought a long tape, Shan," said Moggie.  I had, although
there was strictly no need to measure the victims, provided we could find a
ScatBra to fit them.  A quick swish round with the tape, though, confirmed
that Daisy was at least seventy-five inches, without using the table top
method.  Meanwhile, Stephanie, in response to a signal from Moggie, also
stripped off her dressing gown and stood waiting.

   "Try this," I said to Daisy, handing her a SBMMLMCW2 from my bag. 
"Let's have a look at you, Steph." She was rather more pendulous than
Daisy, more like I used to be, I thought, although I had never remotely
approached her size in the Fourth Form.  Her breasts swung heavily around
her crotch, hiding her knickers.  No way of measuring those things, I
thought, and fished out a SBSMLMCW6 for her.

   Moggie helped them with the adjustment process, and in a few minutes,
both girls stood up straight and admired each other with big grins on their
faces.  "That feels lovely, Miss," said Stephanie.  "It really holds me up.
I could hardly walk with them hanging right down there."

   "Here!" I handed them a blouse each.  Despite their radically different
shape, the two were now the same size.  In seconds, they were buttoning
their blouses, beaming at each other.

   "Long ties," I dug into my bag, "one each.  You'll look marvellous."

   "Daisy's in the front row, Steph's at the back," said Moggie.  "We'll
have to make adjustments to the positions when the whole choir is together
in the hall tomorrow.  Okay, girls.  Go and get yourselves ready for
dinner. We'll see you downstairs at seven." The girls went out, chattering.

   "It's a funny thing," I mused, as Moggie called the other three girls
and put the phone down.  "They always seem really over the moon once they
get their ScatBras on.  It always seems to make them happy, somehow.  Never
fails!"

   "I don't know about the next three.  Those two were the easy ones."

   I scanned my list again.  "Vulva Morgenstern, she's got a tremendous
figure, like an exotic dancer.  Charlotte Chubb, a big girl.  But
Anna-Maria?  Surely not?"

   "You'll see!" Moggie shook her head.  "Anna-Maria Oxberry isn't the way
you remember her.  Try not to stare at them, Shan!"

   Fat chance of that!  The door opened, and three heavily-muffled figures
came in.  Vulva had been one of the candidates for Smegs's study group
which was doing the 'Gigantomastia Down The Ages' project.  As she threw
her dressing gown behind her, I could see she was going to have to drop out
of the project altogether, which wasn't going to please Smegs in the
slightest.  Vulva's breasts, formerly a massive gravity-defying forty-eight
inches, were still defying gravity, but it was becoming a losing battle. 
The tape suggested a SBSMLLCW4.

   Another victory for the Scatbra!  Vulva had hers adjusted, up and
running within seconds, and she pranced around the bedroom while I was
fitting Charlotte.

   Charlotte was another SM body-band girl, but her breasts were smaller
than any of the others so far.  "A SBSMMSCW1 seems to be indicated," I told
her, and left her struggling with the velcro as I turned my attention to
Anna-Maria.  She sat on the bed, not taking off her dressing gown.

   "Come on, Anna-Maria," Moggie urged her gently.

   The girl shook her head.  "Don't want to, Miss."

   I managed to catch Vulva's eye, and inclined my head toward the door. 
She nodded.

   "C'mon, Char," she said.  "Let's go and get ready for din-dins.  See ya
later, Annie!" They went out, clutching their dressing gowns and long ties.

   Moggie looked at me and shrugged.  "Would you like *me* to leave,
Anna-Maria?" she said.

   "No, stay, Miss Thunderbolt.  I'll ...  take my ..." Quickly, before she
could change her mind, Anna-Maria shrugged her shoulders out of the
dressing gown, although she still sat, a hunched figure, on the bed. 
Moggie and I waited patiently.  At last, with a huge effort, the girl stood
up.  Oh shit, I thought, this is ridiculous.

   Anna-Maria used to have a most unusual figure.  Her vital statistics
were an eye-stopping 26-26-26.  Her flat chest was offset by her tubby
little tummy and her almost non-existent bottom and hips.  Now, standing
uncertainly in the hotel bedroom, she still had the tubby little waist. 
She did seem to have filled out slightly below the waist, although it
wasn't very easy to see.  I sat down suddenly, sweating.

   "Turn round the other way, please, Annie," I suggested, "I just want to
look at you from the back."

   She turned round ponderously.  That's better, I thought.  Anything was
better rather than staring at those gigantic tits.  It also gave me a view
of her bottom, which had filled out a little.  It was more rounded than I'd
noticed before, although to tell the truth, I had never before seen
Anna-Maria without her clothes.  Nor, for that matter, had I ever really
wished to.

   Even from this angle I couldn't escape from the girl's breasts.  They
were visible on both sides of her body, from the point where they swelled
out from her rib-cage, down to the point where they rested on her stomach,
level with her hips.  I glanced at Moggie, she was staring, too, although
from her vantage point, she had a profile view of Anna-Maria.

   "They've grown some more, Shan," Moggie quavered, in a far-away voice.
"The bra size I gave you will be wrong.  There's no way it would fit her
now."

   I rummaged in the bag and came up with the biggest bra I had brought
with me.  I don't know why I had brought it; Moggie hadn't suggested that
any of the girls had even approached this outrageous size.  Even so, it was
going to be a tight fit.  It was a SBSMXLCW6, one of the rare black ones.
Standing up, I approached Anna-Maria from behind.  She jumped when I
touched her shoulder.

   "Try this one, Annie," I said, gently.  "Bend forward.  Careful!" She
took a few tottering off-balance paces across the room before I snared her
in the gigantic bra cups.  "That's the way.  Arms through there, and
there." I raised the straps over her shoulders, and fastened the long row
of hooks at the back.  "Now straighten up!" It took an effort, but she
stood upright.  "Now, you have to squeeze them.  Like this."

   I demonstrated on my own breasts, and she went scarlet in shame.  "I
can't do that, Miss.  Not that!"

   "It's the only way to adjust it, Annie.  Just squeeze them.  One at a
time." Stupid.  As if she could hold more than one at a time in her hands!
"Shall I do it for you?  It's just this once, for the first fitting.  After
that it will always adjust itself."

   She was still blushing deeply, and tears came into her eyes.  "Oh, Miss!
What has happened?  Look at them!"

   "C'mon." I put an arm round her shoulder and sat her down on the bed,
sitting beside her.  "We need you to sing tomorrow.  No..." She had started
to protest that she couldn't possibly appear in public looking like this.
"You are a vital part of the St Cat's Chorus, Annie!  Your friends need you
up there with them.  A lot of them are big, too."

   "Not as big as me," she sobbed.  Which was perfectly true.  Anna-Maria
was impossible, there was no other word for it.  Well, there was another
word; several, in fact, but they didn't do her justice.  She was the
biggest-breasted girl in her class, Vulva Morgenstern or no Vulva
Morgenstern.  She posed a threat to the hyperdeveloped girls of the Lower
Sixths.  "I can't do it, Miss.  I'm scared.  I can't even walk with these
things.  Make them go away!"

   "If I could make them go away, Annie, I would probably have made my own
go away before now, many times.  They are a pain in the arse.  Sometimes.
At others, I feel as if I've been blessed like no other woman on earth. 
Whatever else huge tits do for you, Annie, they get you all mixed up.  But,
right now, you've got them.  Maybe they can take them away, when you're
older, but it would be dangerous to try it now.  All you can do is to make
the most of them, enjoy them, swear at them when they get in your way, and
right now ...  squeeze them so your bra will fit.  Go on, go for it!"

   Her hands came up to her chest.  She was still crying.  She paused, her
hands cupped over her left breast, the nearer one to me.  She looked at me,
her palms still not quite touching herself.  I nodded, and slowly she began
to squeeze the gossamer-soft material of the bra cup.  "It feels horrible,
Miss.  It tickles.  It creaks, Miss!"

   "Carry on.  It's only the ScatBra adjusting itself." She carried on. 
Her sobs had stopped.  "Now, squeeze your other one." She looked at me
again with a funny expression, and transferred her attention to her right
breast.  "There," I said at last.  "Now, take my hand, and stand up."

   I helped Anna-Maria to her feet, and immediately picked up a new blouse
for her.  "Put this on.  Didn't you bring a skirt in with you?"

   "It's too small, Miss.  Too tight round the bottom."

   "Never mind, we'll find you another.  How's the bra feel?"

   "It's a lot more comfortable now, thanks, Miss.  It ...  they don't bump
together like they did before."

   "You'll get used to them, Annie.  Here's your new tie.  Now, let's go
and see one of the other girls about a spare skirt, shall we?"

   I turned and looked at Moggie and we grinned at each other, as
Anna-Maria slipped her dressing gown over her shoulders and we went out
into the passageway.  "Feel okay?" I asked.

   "They feel good now, Miss.  Is ...  is that how it feels, when a boy ...
well, when a boy touches you, Miss?"

   "When a boy touches you, Annie, it feels MILES better than that!"

   "Gosh, Miss.  The other girls were right, then."

   "Annie.  The other girls know nothing.  Absolutely nothing!"

   She gave me a scared little lopsided grin.  "You know what made me feel
funny, though, Miss?  It was when you said 'squeeze your other one'!  Not
*the* other one.  YOUR other one.  I thought, they're *mine*, these things,
nobody else's.  All mine."

   "Here's your room, isn't it.  Let's see if Vulva has a skirt to fit you,
she's got more clothes than anyone else in the whole of St Cat's!" We
paused at the door.  "Ready, Annie?"

   "Ready, Miss!" She smiled bravely.









   Chapter 5:- Big News From St Cat's



   "Wow!" I slumped into a chair in Moggie's room.  "Well, I think we got
away with it, just."

   "How's Anna-Maria taking it?"

   "She was trying on one of Vulva's skirts.  It fitted within an inch or
so.  The others kept dropping into the room just to see her.  They can't
believe it."

   "I'm not sure I can, either.  It was good thinking, bringing that big
black bra, Shan, you did really well."

   I blushed prettily.

   "Miss Rhys ap Llewelyn Owen is getting the girls together tonight for a
morale-boosting chat.  I thought we'd be able to go out for a meal.  Just
the two of us, although you never know who we might bump into..." she
stopped.  She'd seen my face.  "Oh!"

   "I've got a date.  I'm sorry, I didn't think.  He's someone I met on the
plane." I don't often feel sorry for Moggie, but I did now.  She looked so
crestfallen, I even thought for a second about calling Villiers and telling
him something had come up.  Only for a second, but it's the thought that
counts.

   "Oh, well.  It would have been nice.  Some other time, then."

   "I am really sorry, Miss.  In fact, I'd better go and have a shower and
get ready.  Got to look my best." I got up and made for the door.

   "Okay, off you go, girl.  Enjoy yourself.  Have a lovely evening."



   **********

   "You look wonderful, Shan!" Villiers looked at me, shaking his head in
what I could only assume was disbelief.

   I had put on my posh frock.  I had meant it for the contest the
following night, but it would have to do for tonight as well.  It showed a
bit too much cleavage, really, so I wore my little jacket over the top. 
Even so, there must have been a couple of feet of breast showing at the
neckline.  People in the hotel foyer were staring at me.  I'm used to that
being stared at now but, even so, I don't normally appear in public showing
quite as much tit as this.

   "Where are we going?"

   "You fancy Italian?  I know this little place, I thought you might
prefer somewhere quiet..."

   "Thanks, I would.  People do tend to stare rather ..."

   "If you catch me staring, just snap your fingers, and I'll try to
remember my manners.  Here's the taxi." And he helped me into the black
cab, then climbed in after me.  My left breast became squashed between our
bodies, and I had to heave it out of the way.  "Sorry!" We both said it.

   "Not your fault!  It happens all the time."



   **********

   I've never been short of appetite, not for food, nor anything else.  We
ate until we both felt stuffed, then slumped across the table, gazing into
each other's eyes and sipping our coffee.

   "Were those your girls in the hotel?  Blazers with big badges on the
pockets?"

   "That sounds like them.  Except for one thing that you didn't mention,
since you were being ultra-polite."

   "Ah, you mean their ...?"

   "Yes, their ...!"

   "It's weird.  I saw them in the lobby, and I'd never seen so many girls
so ...  well-developed.  Some of those older ones I saw were simply
enormous!  And then there's the old girl, the headmistress?  And there's
you, of course!  What's the story, Shan?"

   I placed my hand on his across the table.  "I don't know if you'd
believe it if I told you.  If I said that some of those girls are entirely
natural, would you believe me?"

   "If you say so, Shan."

   "And some of us aren't."

   "Some of *us*?  You mean, they're ...  *you're* enhanced in some way? 
Silicone?  Saline?  Why?"

   "Not implants, dear.  And not really intentional in some cases.  Mine,
for instance, were the result of an accident in the lab.  It was in the
papers a few years ago, although not the results.  The papers don't print
that sort of detail; those in the know just snigger about it amongst
themselves." Villiers nodded.  "I was fourteen.  Moggie was involved as
well, that's the headmistress.  It all started with that one accident.  A
long story, I'll tell you one day."

   It felt good, saying that, 'one day'!  "Since then, we've had some other
chemically enhanced, or contaminated girls.  Look, you won't tell anyone,
will you?  We had some girls grow last night.  Five of the Fourth Formers
grew."

   "Grew?  Come on, Shan!  Girls don't grow overnight."

   "Ours do.  They did."

   "You mean, they started developing overnight, and suddenly they needed
to wear a bra ...?  I could believe that, just about."

   "One did.  Started, that is.  The other four were already far bigger
than average already.  They're enormous now.  And the one who started off
with no boobs at all is the biggest of the five!"

   "I don't know about bra sizes and stuff.  D cups and stuff.  How big are
you talking about?  What do you call big, huge, enormous?"

   "You can forget D cups and stuff at St Cat's!  I'm a 120-inch bust." He
gasped.  "Another of the big girls in the Sixth Form is the same size. 
There are a good few in the nineties.  Anna-Maria, the undeveloped one who
grew last night, she's well over eighty inches now!"

   "Hold it!  Overnight?  I'm sorry, Shan.  I can't believe that.  I can
hardly believe *you*; and *you're* sitting there across the table and I can
see down your cleavage almost to your knees.  But then you tell me a
schoolgirl has grown from nothing to eighty inches overnight?  Can you
blame me if I can't take it all in?"

   "I think you're doing quite well to take in any of it at all.  Would you
believe the school has developed its own design of bra?  Self-adjusting, in
a whole range of sizes.  We're the real thing, Villiers.  Why should we
bother to fake such a thing anyway?  What possible reason could there be?"

   "Sorry.  It's such a lot to take in, that's all.  I ought to believe it.
I had one of your breasts land in my lap on a plane.  I've felt it.  It
felt real enough!"

   "I'm real, Villiers.  We all are.  So's the ScatBra.  But I can't show
you in here." Was that a subtle enough hint, I wondered.

   Apparently it was.  He signalled for the bill.  Five minutes later, we
were in a cab, squashed together in the back, swishing back through the wet
streets to the hotel.

   "It's only half-past ten.  Would you like to come up for a cup of
coffee," I asked him.

   "Coffee keeps you awake," he said.

   "Hot chocolate, then, if you want to sleep."

   We didn't want to sleep.  Neither of us.

   Well, Villiers had to believe my breasts after that night.  He had to
believe a few more of my other memorable size statistics, as well.  He was
a super lover, once he got used to the sheer scale of everything.  I don't
like to compare lovers, though.  They're all different, and all wonderful,
in their way.  Or maybe I've just been lucky in my selection.



   **********

   Sorry about that.  The equivalent of a row of little dots ...

   I called Smegs in the morning.  I knew she'd be grumpy, she always was
just after getting out of bed.

   "What are you so happy about, you just been laid or something?"

   "Smegs, how did you guess?"

   "Not ...?"

   "No-one you know.  I met him on the plane."

   "You didn't join the Seven-Mile High Club?  You are getting worse, Shan!
This is the nineteen-nineties.  You can't go sleeping with every Tom, Dick
and Harry."

   "Wrong on all three.  His name's Villiers Strongitharm."

   "Bloody Hell!"

   "And he's fantastic.  Anyway, how's things?"

   "So-so.  You've only been away one night.  The old place isn't about to
grind to a halt.  Although we did have a bit of an accident in the lab."

   "An accident ...?  Oh, no, Smegs!  What's happened?"

   "A girl has grown a bit.  Nothing terrible.  I mean, she's pretty big,
but she's all right.  I've seen worse.  And she's taking it well.  She's
quite pleased with them, in fact.  All thing considered.  Most girls
wouldn't want quite such big ones as that, but she seems very well adjusted
to the idea.  Mind you, she says her mother's going to kill her ..."

   "Smegs.  Who is it?"

   "She's probably exaggerating.  Mothers rarely kill their own daughters
just because they've grown big tits.  Well, enormous tits.  No, make that
gigantic tits!"

   "Who, Smegs?"

   "Actually, not gigantic, either.  What comes next after gigantic?"

   "Colossal?  Who is it, Megan!"

   "Colossal, that's a good word.  It reminds you of her straddling the
waters.  In fact, how about immense?  Or gargantuan?  Is that bigger than
colossal?"

   "I suppose it would be, yes."

   "Make her gargantuan, then.  Or maybe Brobdingnagian."

   "WHO IS IT, MEGAN?"

   "OOoooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo"

   You know how in films, whenever the line goes dead, people always rattle
the receiver and shout 'Hello, hello?' into the mouthpiece?  I always
thought how stupid that was.  So why did I do it myself?



   **********

   I didn't call Smegs back, because the phone rang again.  It was
Villiers, calling from his room.

   "Hello, you," he said, and I felt my spleen do several somersaults.

   "Oh, hello.  Long time no see ..."

   "Darling.  I have to go to the concert hall immediately after breakfast.
Do you want to come with me?"

   "That would be lovely, thank you.  What time, nine o' clock?"

   "In the lobby.  Bye!"

   I uttered a sort of howl like a lone wolf.  Why couldn't he come in here
and service my steaming loins for me, instead of phoning from forty yards
away?  And I'd been ever such a good girl ever since I had kissed him
bye-bye and sent him off to his room.  I had showered and dried my hair and
only wanked once.  Well, now it was twice.

   Moggie waved to me as I wandered into the dining room for breakfast. 
Here and there were ordinary hotel guests, and as I came in, I saw them
nudging each other as if to say 'look, there's another one'.  The St Cat's
girls were at two large tables in the centre of the room, wolfing porridge,
eggs and bacon in a bedlam atmosphere.

   "Morning, Miss," several of them greeted me, with knowing glances.  What
did they know about last night, I wondered.  Had I made as much noise as
that?  I know, I do tend to scream and howl a bit, but surely they hadn't
been able to hear me, had they?

   Moggie was sitting alone.  She patted the seat next to her and I sat
down with a glass of whole orange juice.  "Is that all you're having?" she
said.

   I looked at her laden plate: scrambled eggs on toast with tomatoes and
mushrooms, bacon, sausages, black pudding, beans and hash browns.  "I think
so," I said.  "I'll have some toast later."

   "You need to eat, keep your strength up.  You must have used up a lot of
energy last night."

   "Must I?"

   Moggie paused with her fork halfway to her mouth and grinned, "Do what?
We could hear you all over the hotel.  It was really embarrassing.  The
girls were making excuses to go past your door and listen.  I had to speak
sharply to them.  So, his name's Villiers, is it?  Unusual!"

   I looked around the spacious dining room.  People looked away guiltily
and hurriedly as they caught my eye.  One or two were giggling.  Some of
the St Cat's girls were staring at me, but with a sort of school pride.  As
they finished their meal and got up from the table to leave the room, each
of them in turn seemed to take a huge breath and move past the startled
watchers like a ship under full sail.

   "I spoke to Megan this morning," I said.

   "Oh, how's she getting on?"

   "They've had an accident in the lab.  Another girl has grown."

   "Another.  Which one?  How big?"

   "I don't know.  She didn't want to break it to me, and she took so long
getting around to it, we were cut off.  But huge.  No, not huge.  Gigantic?
No, not that either."

   "Colossal?"

   "Gargantuan.  Or even Brobdingnagian."

   "That's big, Shan!"

   "I know.  I wish she'd told me who it was.

   "I'll call her later.  She'll have to tell me.  I'll threaten her with
something.  Anyway, you on for a quick troll round the shops this morning?"

   "Oh, I'm sorry!  I promised Villiers I'd go with him to the concert hall
after breakfast.  I'm helping him work out a few shots."

   "Oh!"

   "I'm sorry, Miss!" I stood up.  "Is *that* the time?  I've got to have a
shit and get cleaned up before nine!"

   "I see." Moggie pushed away her toast and marmalade.  "You'd better
rush, then, dear.  Go and have your ...  go and get ready.  See you
lunchtime at the hall?"

   "See you then.  Must dash ...!"

   I almost left it too late.  I nearly did it in the lift, hopping around
and trying not to fart in case I had a major accident.  And my key nearly
wouldn't work when I shoved it in the door.  I sat down just in time.  Must
have been something I'd eaten the night before.

   The chambermaid came to do the room when I was on my way out again.  I
felt a bit sorry for her, but I suppose they get used to that sort of
thing. You must do if you clean lavatories for a living.









   Chapter 6:- The St Cat's Chorus



   "What time are the choir coming down to the hall," asked Villiers in the
cab.

   I took my face out of his groin and said, "in half an hour or so.  Miss
Rhys ap Llewelyn Owen is bringing them down to see about their positions on
the stage.  With the five girls growing, we'll need to move one or two of
them around, to stop us looking lopsided.  Will it be too blatant if we put
our biggest girls in the middle, at the front, do you think?"

   "I haven't seen them all, but I would think you'd have to.  Shan, are
you listening?"

   "It's all right, I can hear every word from down here."

   Villiers shuddered.  "Wow, do that again!  Yessss!"

   "You mean, that ...?"

   "Yes, that.  The choir will look more symmetrical with your biggest
breasts in the middle.  The tallest girls will still be at the back.  That
might be a problem, if you have any big-breasted girls who happen to be
tall as well.  But your Miss Rhys ap Llewelyn Owen will be able to sort
that out this morning.  Ooooh!  Oooh!  Ah!  CHAUNTAILLE!"

   "Villiers!  Glp.  Mnglpmnph!"

   I knew I'd get my appetite back after a while.  I sucked him clean and
put everything away.  A casual observer getting into the cab now would
hardly notice anything unusual.  We kissed deeply and enthusiastically for
the rest of the journey.  The cab had been stationary for several minutes
when we came up for air.

   "Gosh, we're here already," I said.

   Villiers paid the driver, who drove off to tell his mates all about his
latest experience.  "Why-aye, man, tits oot here!  And down here!  Biggest
pair I've ever seen in me life.  Foockin' incredible.  And she's sucked
this blurke off.  At nine o' clock in the mornin'!  Swallered the lot, too,
norra drop on me back seat."

   The trouble was, I'd got the screaming hots, now.  We went into the
hall, and up in the balcony, with Villiers looking for camera angles and me
looking for somewhere to get myself thoroughly porked.  I'm a pretty
determined girl when I'm horny, and I had to have my way with him.  It was
half-past nine, so I'd lasted nearly half an hour since inhaling his dick
in the cab.

   "C'mon, we've got to go somewhere, or I'll BURST!" I said, trying not to
sound too eager.  I literally dragged him out, down the stairs, out of the
front doors and into a passing taxi.

   "St James's Park!" shouted Villiers, and we set off, weaving through the
traffic.  Within twenty yards, I was slithering down his greasy pole until
I bottomed out with a soft thump.  Within another hundred yards I was
coming, every bit as loud as last night.  We arrived at our destination,
and Villiers gave the driver further instructions.  With perfect timing, my
lover reached a noisy climax at exactly the same moment as I did; not for
the first time, nor even the fourth.

   There was a brief delay while we adjusted our dress before leaving the
cab.

   "D'yer want us to hang on for yer here, in case yer want us again?" said
the driver.  I wondered what had been the odds against getting the same
taxi twice in the same morning.  Villiers gave the man a fiver.

   "Keep the change," he said.

   The driver held the note up to the light.  "It was worth every penny,
was it, pal?  Shit, man, I was thinkin' of paying YOU!"



   **********

   "They're here, look.  That's our girls on the stage now."

   They were.  In their familiar shallow horseshoe formation, the St Cat's
Chorus was arranged on the stage in front of the open-mouthed stares of
everyone in the hall; the members of the other choirs, the television
technicians, the production assistants with their clip-boards and the
innumerable hangers-on.  Miss Rhys ap Llewelyn Owen was moving girls
around, pushing them here, pulling them there.

   At one point, she seemed to have them arranged to her liking, when Daisy
Buttermilk complained loudly from the front row that it was no use.

   "It's no use, Miss Owen.  I can't sing with Stephanie standing behind
me. Look!"

   Miss Rhys ap Llewelyn Owen looked.  Stephanie's exaggerated breasts
rested one on each of Daisy's shoulders, squashed against her ears.  The
poor girl couldn't hear a word anyone in the choir was singing.  Miss Rhys
ap Llewelyn Owen had to move half the choir before she found a girl with
small enough breasts to stand behind Daisy.  By the time she'd finished and
told the choir to remember their new positions, the hall was hushed into an
awestruck silence.

   The girls filed off, wobbling and bouncing, to be replaced by a mixed
choir from a school in Essex.

   "I wonder where my camera crew has got to," fretted Villiers.  "I was
due to meet them at ten."

   "You remember what we were doing at ten, darling," I reminded him,
fondly.  I was getting soaked again, just recalling it myself.



   **********

   Villiers's camera crew was at that moment in the wings, viewing the St
Cat's Chorus at close quarters.  Resourceful lads; Martin, the cameraman,
and Bob, the sound recordist, had decided, in the absence of Villiers, to
go backstage and check out one or two angles for themselves.

   "Will you get a load of these kids," Martin marvelled, dribbling
slightly.

   Everywhere they looked, the crew seemed to be engulfed in a sea of tit.
The girls were dressed in crisp white blouses, their extra-length school
ties jutting horizontally in front of them.  In their position on the
stage, the choir gave an impression of massive uniformity.  It was only in
the wings, with the girls milling around independently, that Martin and Bob
realised that the girls were neither superhuman beings, nor giantesses,
they were mostly less than five feet three or four.  Viewed thus, from
above, the impression of all that jutting breast was even more impressive.
You couldn't see the floor.

   "Hello," husked one of the girls to Martin, her eyes big and round, like
pools of blue water shining out of a halo of rich dark hair.  "Are you from
television?"

   Martin's knees melted.  So did Bob's, and she hadn't even spoken to him.
The blue-eyed girl was joined by another, with green eyes.  The camera crew
were concentrating hard on the girls' eyes.  It was the only way to remain
sane.

   "What was the question again?" blurted Martin vaguely.

   Blue-eyes laughed musically.  "Watch my lips, sir" she purred, and both
men did.  Her lips were full and soft, slightly moist.  Her tongue peeped
out between them for an instant, then disappeared from view again.  "Are
you from television?"

   "Not to do with tonight's broadcast, no," said Bob, "we're doing a
programme for later in the year.  Interviews with the choirs, the
individual members, that sort of thing."

   "He's sound, I'm camera," said Martin, and the two girls gazed at them
in fascination.

   "What are your names?" Green-eyes had dark red hair that gleamed twenty
different colours in the lights filtering through from the stage.  "I'm
Gudrun, and this is Pubella."

   "What lovely names," said Martin, and he introduced himself and Bob.

   "Is there anywhere quieter we could talk?" murmured blue-eyed Pubella.
"There's something we wanted to ask you."

   "Sure, let's go over there, that door leads to the dressing rooms, I
believe." Martin led the way, and the others followed, the two girls
grinning at one another in excitement.  It was quieter once they had gone
through the door and closed it behind them.

   "Gosh, let's all go in here," gasped Gudrun, opening a dressing room
door.  They were in a cluttered room with light bulbs all round the
dressing table mirror.  She sat down and looked at herself, appearing
pleased at what she saw.

   "You know I asked about television," twittered Pubella, her hands behind
her back like a little girl.  She rotated the top half of herself slightly
from side to side.  The innocent effect was only slightly marred by the
fact that she had an eighty-five inch bust.  "We were wondering if you
could help us do something.  A little project?"

   Martin and Bob stared at the girl.  Now that there was a little more
space, they were able to obtain the full effect of the girls' appearance.
Apart from their vast breasts, both girls were almost absurdly slim. 
Pubella's breasts were slightly the larger of the two, and her waist and
hips were a couple of inches smaller, but the difference was quite
immaterial.

   "You're not listening again, are you?" Gudrun had turned round in her
chair and looked up at the two men.  At some stage, she had loosened her
tie and undone a couple of buttons of her blouse.  Acres of creamy cleavage
peeped out of the gap.  She stood up and moved to Pubella's side. 
"Concentrate, boys.  Make them concentrate, Pubes!"

   "Do as Goodie says," said Pubes, silkily, and Martin and Bob felt the
girls' breasts pressing against them both at the same time.  A nice trick
if you can do it, as they were standing three feet apart.

   "How old are you," asked Martin hoarsely, in a desperate voice.

   "Sixteen!  It's all right!" Goodie looked up into his eyes.  She wasn't
quite as tall as Pubes.  "We're in the Lower Sixth at St Cat's."

   "And we've got this project." Pubella's eyes gleamed.  "We want to make
a little film."

   "About girls' breasts getting bigger," elaborated Goodie.  She rubbed
her nipples against Bob's stomach, or slightly lower down.

   "Oh, my God!" groaned Bob.  "Am I hearing this?"

   "You certainly are!" Goodie loosened her tie still further and her long
nails toyed with another button.  "Look," she whispered, and ran her nails
down into the yawning gulf between her breasts.  They looked.  "They're
sooooo big, aren't they!"

   "Yes!"

   "And Pubie's are even bigger than mine.  And she's ever so much slimmer.
I get jealous just watching her undress every night.  But some of the
younger girls grew the other night.  And they're nearly as big as us now."

   "And that gave us an idea for our film," said Pubella.  "We could
actually follow a girl around at school, every morning for a month, or
something, and keep a constant record of her breasts getting bigger ..."

   "...  and bigger ..."

   "...  and bigger ...!"

   "But ...!"

   Bob found the words that had just escaped Martin.  "But girls' breasts
don't get bigger every day for a month.  How are we going to show that? 
The special effects would cost a fortune."

   "No special effects.  We provide the girl.  And we can guarantee she'll
grow, can't we, Pubes?"

   "Oooh, yes, no problem, she'll grow, all right!"

   "She will?" Martin had regained his powers of speech.  "You can
guarantee it?"

   "How big?" Bob was of a practical nature.

   "That's hard to say," said Goodie, regretfully.  "Sometimes it's
difficult to know when they're going to stop.  Look at us.  Seven feet
round!"

   "One of our girls, the one in the middle of the front row, she's ten
feet.  She might even be more, but the teacher did the measurements, and I
think the teacher didn't want the Countess to be bigger than her!"

   "She's a Countess?  A real live Countess?"

   "Of course!" snorted Gudrun.  "Why shouldn't she be?"

   "Oh, no reason", said Bob.

   "Will you help us, then.  Please?" Gudrun released another button and
the top of a lurid yellow bra cup peeped into view.

   "When can we start?" said Martin.

   The girls were suddenly all business.  From the depths of her clothing,
Pubella produced a thick wad of typed papers.  They were slightly crumpled
and had come from somewhere extremely warm.

   "Sign there," she said, "and down there!"

   Martin and Bob did as they were told.

   "Excellent," said Pubella, reaching her arms around Martin's neck and
squashing her gigantic breasts against his stomach.  The same thing was
happening to Bob.

   "There!" Gudrun sighed in satisfaction.  "Sealed with a kiss.  Here, in
case we don't see much more of each other later today, here's our phone
number.  St Cat's Academy for the Performing Arts."



   **********

   We spotted the four of them emerging from the dressing room corridor as
soon as we came backstage.

   Villiers called over to the crew.  "Martin!  Hi, over here!" he waved
over the heads of the crowd, which was now made up of St Cat's girls and a
sprinkling of curious singers from a boys' school somewhere.  Liaisons were
being formed as the confident and ever-lustful girls of St Cat's made their
selections and homed in.  Spectacular breasts were being aimed at helpless
victims.  They were falling like flies.

   Martin and Bob made their way over, trailing the busty Sixth Formers in
their wake.

   "Hi, Villiers," said Martin.  "Must have missed you earlier on, looked
for you all over.  We've been taking a look backstage.  A couple of the
girls have been helping us." He turned to them.  "Goodie and Pubes," he
said, indicating them with a finger in turn.

   "Hi, Miss, hello Mr Villiers," the girls twittered a little, seeing my
lover in full close-up for the first time.  In their turn, Martin and Bob
were trying not to stare at me.

   "Sorry, Shan, these are my crew, two total reprobates, Martin and Bob!
Chauntaille teaches at St Cat's."

   We all shook hands.  I wondered what evil plot the Sixth Form girls had
been hatching with the camera crew.  They were fast workers, these two
girls.

   The film-makers went into a huddle and I drifted away to mingle with the
choir.  They seemed in high spirits, although Miss Rhys ap Llewelyn Owen,
when I found her, seemed worried.  I asked her what was the matter.

   "It's the television people.  I think our girls are a bit much for them,
you know?  I heard them talking about angles to 'soften the impact' they
were calling it.  No close-ups unless it's just faces.  No profile shots,
no low angle stuff, nothing from above ..."

   "That doesn't leave a lot, does it?"

   "Not really.  But they can't show a blank screen while we're singing. 
They'll have to show something.  And wherever they point their cameras,
there'll be girls' boosoms!"

   That's how she said the word, 'boosoms'.  I'd never heard it said like
that before.  It sounded rude.  Then the word 'rude' made me think of
love-making again.  I caught Villiers's eye across the room and my liver
went walkabout.  A shag was becoming a matter of some immediacy.  It had
been nearly two hours.  If we didn't do it soon, it was going to be midday,
and the crew was going to be shooting all afternoon, doing talking heads
and in-depth interviews of singers and choral directors.  Would there be a
chance at lunchtime?  We could do it in a taxi again, perhaps.  It was
quite exhilarating last time.  We might even get the same taxi driver.  It
would make his day for sure.

   I made my apologies to Miss Rhys ap Llewelyn Owen and edged away across
the room.  I don't like crowds, they collide with my breasts all the time,
but as I moved in the direction of Villiers, the crush melted away ahead of
me like the parting of the waters.  Spotty-faced boys, gawping at the
cultured, polished and vast-breasted St Cat's girls, looked at me in my
enormous shirt, looked away, then back again as I swayed past them.

   Respectful voices wished me a good morning and called me 'Miss', I
greeted all the girls by name, and they giggled at each other, basking in
the glory reflected from my glowing, pulsating feminity.

   "Is that your teacher?"

   Time and again I heard boys whispering that question to the girls.

   "That's Miss Gruntworthy," I heard the reply.  "She's brilliant!"

   "Hi, Shan," smiled Villiers.  "Ready for a spot of lunch?"

   Gudrun and Pubella were still attached to the camera crew, and they
looked anxiously at me.  "Ready any time, Villiers.  I'd just like a quick
word with these two ..." and before anyone could object, I bore them away
to the side of the room.

   "What are you two plotting between you?" I demanded.  The two girls went
red.

   "Just a project we wanted some help with," squeaked Pubella.  "We were
asking Martin and Bob for some tips on making a film.  They've offered to
help in their spare time."

   "What's the film about?"

   "It's for a project, Miss."

   "You already told me that.  What's it about?"

   "Just the school, Miss.  Like a day in the life of a typical student at
St Cat's, that's all." Pubella tried to look innocent, not easy with her
eyes.

   "I'll be keeping an eye on you two.  Are you staying here for lunch with
the choir?"

   "Yes, Miss.  Martin and Bob are coming as well.  You can be alone with
Mr Villiers, Miss." Gudrun smirked cheekily at me.  I was so relieved and -
for that matter - horny, I grinned back.

   "Enjoy your lunch, Miss," said Pubella.









   Part III









   Chapter 7:- Big Performance



   "Who were those two girls?" Villiers handed me one of the last two
sandwiches and took the other one himself.  We were sitting on a park bench
in the wintry sunshine.  Seagulls swooped around our heads like the big
scene from "The Birds".

   "Both in the Lower Sixths," I spluttered through a mouthful of Bacon,
Lettuce and Tomato.  "They all grew at the same time a few years ago, in
the Juniors.  Those two were in the Junior Drama Group, if I recall. 
Pubella Stravinsky, she's the bigger, slimmer one; Gudrun Axelschaft is the
one with the reddish hair.  That's not her proper colour, she had it done
by the hairdresser."

   "They certainly made an impression on the crew."

   "All St Cat's girls make an impression on people.  It's the way they
ooze confidence!"

   "Is that what you keep oozing all the time, Shan, confidence?"

   "No, that's mostly love-juice," I drooled, oozing a few more gallons.  I
finished my sandwich and wriggled on to Villiers's lap.

   "We can't do it here," he gasped, horror-struck.  "Out in the open!"

   "Why not?  Where I come from, they do it on the village green.  And
nobody seems to take any notice."

   "But this is Newcastle-upon-Tyne, not ...  wherever."

   "Fillamore Deepleigh.  I'm not wearing any knickers, Villiers.  You
could slip straight into me.  I'm so big it would be like a funnel, you
could hardly miss."

   "Chauntaille!"

   "Oooh, I love it when you call me that.  It's my being-a-naughty-girl
name!  It feels like I'm being chastised.  Or spanked."

   "Oh, no, you're not into spanking as well as all this other stuff, are
you?"

   "A little bit," I admitted, blushing.  "I didn't even know until a
couple of weeks ago, then one of the girls in the Third Form gave me a
really good spanking, and I found I quite enjoyed it.  I fully deserved it.
I was a dreadfully naughty girl."

   "Bloody Hell, Shan, you are totally beyond redemption."

   "I hope so, darling!"

   We almost did it there and then, but a little old lady came up and sat
on the bench next to Villiers, and insisted on holding a conversation. 
They're so friendly in the North East.

   I was still game to carry on, but Villiers didn't seem to be able to
sustain himself.  I whispered in his ear that I would slide off his lap and
leave him fully exposed, and he wilted even further and slipped out anyway,
but I stayed where I was until the clock struck one, and the old dear got
into a tizzy and rushed off.

   "I believe you would have climbed off and left me with my prick waving
in the breeze, you horrible little girl!"

   "And have you arrested?  I need you around for later, darling, not
locked up in jail.  C'mon then.  Nobody's watching, I'll get off and you
can put yourself away." So I did.  "Hey!" I pointed up at a lamp post
across the footpath.  "Isn't that one of those security television cameras
up there...?"

   He nearly did himself a serious injury with his zipper.  Which would
have served me right, I suppose.



   **********

   I joined Moggie in the audience.  "They look fantastic, don't they?" The
St Cat's Chorus were arrayed in their horseshoe formation, breasts aimed
inwards.  They presented a solid unbroken wall of titty as we looked at
them from the front row.  The auditorium, crammed with members of the other
choirs, was hushed as our brave girls took a deep breath and opened their
mouths wide for the first note.

   At least half a dozen blouse buttons were rolling across the stage in
the silence, but it takes more than that to divert a St Cat's girl.  Their
voices mingled sweetly and soared to the very rafters of the concert hall.
I couldn't tell you what they were singing, I'm tone-deaf as a ...  what is
it?  Not a post, or a stone?  I am tone deaf.  But even to my tin ear, it
sounded wonderful.  It brought tingles to the short hairs on the back of my
neck.  I came, liberally.

   "Did you come just then?" Moggie accused me.

   "A little bit," I confessed, ashamed.

   "Try to keep it a little quieter, the judges could hardly hear the girls
singing."

   Was I as loud as that?  I looked around at the audience, many of whom
were staring straight at me.  My cheeks were on fire as I faced the front
again.  At last, the song came to an end, and the applause was deafening.

   "We'll walk it if the applause is anything to go by," whispered Moggie.
Just then, Martin and Bob crept past in front of our feet, filming the
audience reaction.  I gave it some extra loud clapping and leaned forward
to reveal another nine inches of cleavage.

   That was the first round over, and the preliminary results were
announced.  St Cat's had gone into the finals, the last four choirs.  The
girls shrieked and wet themselves in ecstasy.  Now St Cat's was into the
evening's entertainment: the live contest in front of the television
cameras.

   The girls gathered round Miss Rhys ap Llewelyn Owen in one corner of the
auditorium.  Three further groups could be seen in other parts of the hall,
all receiving last-minute briefings.  There was a boy's choir; another
girls' choir, strangely and depressingly flat-chested girls in brown
gymslips; and a mixed choir who were our chief rivals.

   I could see Villiers with the brown gymslip girls, doing an interview
with the teacher in charge.  Martin was hunched behind the tripod with his
massive camera.  Bob, holding in one hand a microphone on a long pole,
twiddled the controls of the recorder with his other hand; lost in a world
of his own inside his headphones.

   Miss Rhys ap Llewelyn Owen was into her speech.  "Forget Mountebank
High, they are nothing.  Forget Our Lady of Macclesfield.  They suck!  What
do they do?"

   "They SUCK, Miss Rhys ap Llewelyn Owen!" The other choirs stared.

   "The only ones we have to worry about are Sir Geoffrey Boycott's Grammar
School.  Mixed choirs have so much more fullness, roundness ..."

   "We're fuller and rounder than them, Miss," shouted a voice, probably
Pubella's, and the rest of the girls laughed.  Nervously, perhaps, but we
were the only choir doing any laughing.  The other choirs looked in our
direction in undiluted envy.

   "Now, then," Miss Rhys ap Llewelyn Owen was winding up for her big
ending, "here's what I want you to do.  While you're performing, remember
our trick of choosing a member of the audience and singing to him, or her?
This time, choose one of the judges.  Sing to himmm.  Make love to himmmm.
Or her, if you're that way inclined.  Make them cummmmm!"

   "Oh, Miss!" Shocked voices gasped and girls nudged each other.  "Ooooh,
MISS!"



   **********

   Our turn came to be interviewed.  I felt my insides turn to jelly as
Villiers smiled at me.  Then he was interviewing Miss Rhys ap Llewelyn
Owen, whose Welsh accent became even more lyrical as she described the work
of the choir, the hours of practice they put in every single day, the
abstension from the pleasures of the flesh.

   "We'll probably cut that piece out," Villiers confided as Miss Rhys ap
Llewelyn Owen went back to the girls and Martin aimed the lens at Moggie.

   "A bit lower and wider, I think, Mar, make sure it's a half-length
shot." Martin ended up on his knees peering into the viewfinder.  Moggie
must have looked really impressive from that angle, even with only an
eighty inch bust.  She had to lean forward so the camera could see past it
to her face.

   Villiers even interviewed me.  "What is your favourite piece from the
choir's repertoire?" he asked.

   They all sounded the same to me.  I dredged the brain cells for the
title of a piece of music, any piece of music.  "God Save The Queen," I
offered, hopefully.  There was a sniggering noise, followed by stifled
splutters.

   "Cut it!"

   "Sorry," snorted Bob, tears running down his face.  "My fault.  Go again
when you're ready, Villy."



   **********

   The time was approaching.  I slipped into an empty dressing room, and
with a little help from Villiers, changed into my posh frock for the
evening.  Even backstage, you could feel the tension in the building. 
Perhaps, a thought occurred to me, I had a career awaiting me on the stage,
in entertainment.  Not a singing role, maybe, but something more suited to
a serious and singularly attractive girl with truly mountainous breasts.

   The hall was buzzing.  Every seat was filled, with brightly-hued school
dresses, smart blazers, eager faces.  With the choirs eliminated in the
afternoon session, the organisers had a captive audience, and after a huge
meal, an enthusiastic one.  St Cat's were third in the running order.  Our
chief rivals were to follow us.  I found the girls at their pre-contest
briefing.

   "Third is the best spot.  Late enough to be remembered, but not last. 
They'll always mark the last ones down to compensate for having just heard
them." Good thinking, Miss Rhys ap Llewelyn Owen, I'd never have thought of
that.

   "Please, Miss, I don't feel very well, Miss!"

   "Nor do I, Miss.  I feel sort of tingly, like butterflies in my chest."

   "It's nerves, Daisy.  Same with you, Vulva.  Once you start singing,
you'll be all right.  Everyone else feel fine?"

   "I'm a bit the same, Miss," put in Stephanie.

   "So am I, Miss," added Charlotte.

   "Me too, Miss." That was Anna-Maria, but you've already worked that out
for yourselves, haven't you?

   "You'll knock 'em dead, St Cat's!  Let's give them Hell!"



   **********

   "They were lousy, Shan, weren't they?" Moggie was asking me?  Me?  The
second choir - the brown gymslips - had just filed off the stage to polite
clapping and well modulated hurrahs.

   "They didn't *look* very inspiring," I said.  She looked at me
strangely. "Here's our lot."

   St Cat's took the stage in a welter of tumultuous applause from every
boy in the hall.  It went on for several minutes, with Miss Rhys ap
Llewelyn Owen trying to make herself heard by tapping her baton on the
rostrum.  Whistles and catcalls echoed round the auditorium, while Martin
filmed everything in sight and boys' school teachers sternly scanned their
classes for the culprits.  At last, with the boys exhausted, the cheering
died away.

   I don't know what effect St Cat's Chorus had on the judges, but they
certainly made *me* come.  Or even cummmmm!  The first two songs were
received with rapture from the boy cheer-leaders.  The slightly nervous and
preoccupied expressions on the faces of five of the Fourth Form girls were
even starting to wear off, as Miss Rhys ap Llewelyn Owen raised her baton
and led the girls into the third song.

   "Oh, my God, Shan!  Look!" Moggie pointed at Charlotte in the front row.

   Simultaneously, I pointed at Stephanie and whispered, "Oh, my God,
Moggie, Look!"

   Then Moggie pointed at Vulva.

   And I pointed at Daisy.

   And we both pointed at Anna-Maria.  As did every red-blooded young male
in the audience, and every red-blooded girl as well.  Anna-Maria's huge
black ScatBra was adjusting itself.  We could all see that quite plainly
as, with a great rending noise, her blouse split down the side seams, both
sides at exactly the same moment.  The vast, glistening black bra cups
swelled out to the sides, forcing Anna-Maria's arms out sideways.  Her
neighbours reacted by pushing the busty Fourth Former's arms back where
they had come from.  Her breasts reacted predictably and with great force,
and the girls on each side of Anna-Maria staggered half a pace sideways
away from her.

   The girls to the sides of them gave a lurch, and the movement spread
like a ripple outward along the entire front row, until it reached both
ends of the line, and the smallest of the girls, who were sent flying
sideways, disappearing into the wings.  I was reminded of one of those
executive toys with the metal balls hanging in a row on bits of fine wire.
I bought one for Daddy a couple of Christmasses ago.  He quite liked it, I
think.

   "My God!" Moggie buried her face in her hands.  I didn't.  I wasn't
going to miss a second of this.

   Charlotte and Stephanie, Daisy and Vulva were expanding, too.  Their
magnificent globes swelled almost visibly.  If you looked away, then back
at them, they were noticeably bigger.  During a sudden hush in the singing,
a button popped off Vulva's blouse and rolled to a halt at Miss Rhys ap
Llewelyn Owen's feet.  She managed to ignore it, but by then a second
button, and a third, were rolling around the stage, and Vulva's mighty
cleavage was suddenly visible in the chasm at the front of her blouse. 
Similar things were happening to the other three girls, and the
neighbouring members of the choir were casting horrified little glances
into the Fourth Formers' expanding frontages.

   I hesitated to turn my attention back to Anna-Maria for fear of what I
might see.  The ScatBra was doing its job magnificently, despite projecting
a foot on each side of the girl's chest.  A sudden movement caught my eye
and I looked back at Charlotte.  Her bra had become snagged on something.
The stupid girl hadn't adjusted the cups properly.  There was an upheaval
beneath her overcrowded bodice.  Both breasts fell out of the bottom of the
cups, and their plummeting weight instantly yanked her blouse out of the
waist of her skirt.  Floppp!  Both breasts were dangling down by her
crotch. What pretty areolae, I observed with delight.  Such a delicate
pink. So large.

   Still, Miss Rhys ap Llewelyn Owen kept on conducting, and the girls sang
on, like the band on the Titanic, their eyes bravely fixed straight ahead,
each on her selected judge.  The judges, too, tried to look the girls
squarely between the eyes.  They failed.

   In the television control room, hair was being torn out by the roots.

   "Give me a wide shot of the entire hall!  Camera Four, get off that
bloody cow and give me a shot of the conductor!"

   But there wasn't a camera in the building that wasn't focused on the
bursting breasts of one or more of the five growing Fourth Formers.  In
desperation, an exterior shot of the building appeared on puzzled viewers'
screens, followed by shots of the Tyne bridge, the river, Alan Shearer and
a weather map of the British Isles.  The BBC switchboard was jammed with
calls demanding to know what was going on and why weren't they showing
pictures of those lovely, innocent girls in the St Cat's Chorus?

   The song came to an end.  Despite the upheaval around the centre of the
front row, it was a relatively local disturbance.  The sudden ejection of
the two outermost girls on the front row had gone almost unnoticed.  The
two girls most directly affected, the victims themselves, were at that
moment sitting in the wings, sobbing almost inconsolably.  Almost, but not
quite.  In fact, they were receiving intensive counselling from male
members of the Sir Geoffrey Boycott Grammar School, and were showing signs
of a miraculous recovery.

   But at least half of the choir hadn't any idea what had happened to the
Fourth Form girls.  They were too busy trying to make the judges cummmmm.
They had certainly made themselves cummmmm.  The choir was seized with an
hysterical massed Uncontrollable Horniness.

   As Miss Rhys ap Llewelyn Owen lowered her baton and turned to the
audience to receive the applause, the girls broke ranks and surged toward
the judges' desk at the centre of the front row.  By some quirk of fate -
some triumph of Natural Selection - with the girls left to choose their own
sex-object from among the judging panel, no judge had remained unselected.
They disappeared beneath a spring tide of surging breast flesh.  Blouses
were ripping under the strain.  Loud moans rent the air, mingling with the
screams of the audience, now aroused to the verge of ejaculation.

   One boy, seeing before him a vision of loveliness from his wildest and
wettest dreams, rose from his seat and careered on winged feet down the
aisle to the stage where Anna-Maria stood alone, her blouse in trailing
shreds, her black bra now big enough to contain a couple of soccer balls in
each cup.  Poor, wretched lad, he flung himself upon the weeping
Anna-Maria, pouring kisses into her cleavage, before he and his love were
engulfed beneath something like a hundred lusty male-voices with recently
but irrevocably descended testicles.  As fast as their teachers pulled one
off the pile, more joined in.

   Judges were starting to appear from beneath their own melee.  One woman
judge saw a glimmer of daylight and set off up the aisle in the direction
of safety, dressed only in bra and panties.  She was hounded by four St
Cat's girls in full cry, the sickening shades of their ScatBras gleaming
palely in the dimmed house-lights.

   Another judge staggered sideways from the throng and subsided to the
floor, where three Junior girls fought each other savagely for the
privilege of turning him over and sitting on his face.

   A third, palpably unconscious, was carried furtively away by five girls,
holding his arms, legs and anything else conveniently to hand.

   A fourth, still miraculously with his wits about him, had managed to get
his manhood out of his trousers, but despite his efforts, lunging wildly in
all directions, he couldn't find a hole that stayed still long enough to
shove it in.  It ended up in Vulva Morgenstern's cleavage, wedged tight. 
As good a place as any, he thought, losing consciousness with a deep sigh.

   The final judge stood up at last, shedding young girls like a wet dog
shaking herself.  Relative peace returned.  The St Cat's Chorus, gradually
realising the enormity of what it had just done, was retiring to its former
horseshoe formation.  Most of the girls had lost several items of clothing.
Three or four of the Lower Sixth Formers were totally and magnificently
naked.  Miss Rhys ap Llewelyn Owen picked herself up and stood shakily
before them.  She tapped with her baton for attention.

   And the St Cat's Chorus took a bow.









   Chapter 8:- The Great Escape



   "I think we'd better get out of here," shouted Moggie.  "Get Miss Rhys
ap Llewelyn Owen to bring the girls."

   "Sounds like a good plan," I agreed.

   "What an absolute bloody disaster!" Villiers approached, charmingly
tousled and distraught-looking.  "We can never finish the film now.  Not
for the Beeb, anyway," he added in an undertone.

   "Let's go!" I grabbed his arm and headed for the emergency exit. 
Discarded judges littered the aisles.  I swear I saw a number of used
condoms on the carpet, which seemed to suggest a certain amount of forward
planning on the part of the boys in the audience.  St Cat's girls would
never carry such disgusting things, especially on to the stage at a choir
contest.  Would they?

   "Hang on ..." I had spotted Miss Rhys ap Llewelyn Owen, looking dazed.
"Moggie says to get the girls out of here.  Better get them back to the
hotel.  We'll see you there." She nodded blankly at me.  "Shit," I yelled.
"Where are their knickers?"

   "The sack is in the first dressing room, left hand side," mumbled Miss
Rhys ap Llewelyn Owen, discovering her lucidity.

   "I promised Smegs I'd be responsible for bringing it back to her.  I'll
get it.  Get the girls to meet me with their panties out the back in two
minutes." And I rushed off, with a confused Villiers in tow.

   "What's in there," he asked as I lugged the black plastic rubbish bag on
to my shoulder.  It was appallingly heavy.

   "I'm taking it back to St Cat's.  Just got to get the last of them. 
Hang on ..." The choir were milling around by the entrance to the stage in
various stages of undress.  "Right, St Cat's!  Throw your knickers in the
sack.  Come on!"

   There was some dissent, and a couple of girls argued, quite reasonably,
that they had lost their knickers.  Most of them stepped out of them,
though, and tossed them into the sack.  I estimated it at twenty one pairs.
Only nine pairs lost.  "Thank you girls.  See you later.  Well done!"

   Thanks, Miss.  We did all right, didn't we, Miss?"

   "You were wonderful.  It made me wet just watching you."

   "Ooooh, MISS!"

   The sack weighed a ton now.  I joined Villiers by the emergency doors.

   We found a taxi immediately.

   "Oh no, not you two again." The same taxi driver.  Is there only one
taxi in Newcastle?  "It took me half an hour to clean me back seat this
morning, after your bloody woman had dribbled all over it!"

   "We won't be doing anything tonight," I promised him, and we set off. 
We did manage a quick snog, and I sucked Villiers off, but our hearts
weren't in it, we could tell.  And back at the hotel, the foyer was full of
familiar suitcases.

   "You've been checked out," the management unctiously assured us. 
"You'll find your cases over there.  All the St Cat's Academy for the
Performing Arts party is checked out.  I'm sorry, we're full up tonight, no
room."

   At least, I still had a plane ticket, and so did Villiers.  Half an hour
later, we were in front of the departures desk, trying to talk our way on
to the next London flight.  At least, I thought, I could be back home at St
Cat's by midnight, or so.  Villiers was still horribly quiet.  It must have
been a shock, his film being sabotaged by one of St Cat's instant orgies.

   "Never mind, darling," I comforted him as the plane swung on to the
runway and accelerated like an electric train.  I rested my head on his
shoulder, and he slowly relaxed.

   "I suppose we'll come through.  The money would have been welcome, but
money can't buy happiness!"

   "Nor love, either." The seat belts light went off and we kissed, our
ears popping.  "Hey, you know what I always wanted to do?"

   "Shan, no!  Not in the toilet!"

   "Come on, darling!  I'm busting for a wee anyway.  Come on, you can
watch me do a piss, and hold my hand." I dragged him out of his seat.  I
half suspect it was the offer to let him watch me pissing that decided it.

   There seemed to be quite a few passengers with strained expressions
outside the toilet when we finally came out.  You'd think they'd have had
the commonsense to go before we took off.  Honestly, some people.

   "What's that smell?" Villiers was looking round as we settled in our
seats again.  The plane was already starting to descend.  Had we really
been as long as that in the toilet?  Villiers was still sniffing around
like a dog.  "I can still smell something." He looked under the seat. 
"It's that sack of yours.  What have you got in there?"

   "Sack?  Oh, *that* sack!"

   "That sack.  What's in it, Shan?"

   "Nothing."

   "Nothing?  It weighs a ton, and it stinks.  It ain't nothing."

   It did smell a bit, I had to admit.  The girls of St Cat's had excelled
themselves with five days' worth of panties for the export market.  I bent
down to try and tie the top of the bag more securely, but with tits like
mine, I couldn't even see what I was doing, let alone find the neck of the
sack and tie a knot in it.

   "Oh, shit!" One of my breasts had fallen out of its cup.

   "Shan.  Not here, darling.  Put them away."

   "It's not *them*, it's only one.  And I can't, not on my own, without
taking my posh frock off."

   "You can't?  Here, let me help."

   "Just a sec.  While it's out, let me tie this sack.  Aaargh!  You were
right, darling.  It *was* 'them'.  They're both out now." At least, I
managed to tie the neck of the sack and sat back in my seat, one naked
breast flopping into Villiers's lap, the other one hanging over the
opposite arm of the seat.

   "Fasten your seat belt, please, madam," said the girl in the smart
uniform.  She stopped in her tracks, her mouth open.

   "You left your mouth open," I told her, and like a well-trained cabin
crew, she closed it.

   "Here," urged Villiers again.  I looked and found him offering me my
right breast in both hands.  Or as much as he could hold in both hands.  I
helped him with it, and between us we got it almost tucked away.

   "Come on, make yourself useful," I told the air hostess.  It took the
three of us, and we were all puffing and panting by the time my right
breast was back in captivity.  The second one followed with rather less
trouble.  I thanked the woman.  "Your mouth's open again," I informed her.



   **********

   "You'd better come to my flat, darling.  You can't get back to St Cat's
tonight on your own.  You can have the bed, I'll sleep on the couch."

   "All right, darling.  And thank you.  I was beginning to get worried
about the trains.  May I make a phone call when we get home?"

   And I did.

   "I only just came in from the pub," rambled Smegs, in a slurred tone. 
"Go' boyfriend with me!  Somewhere.  Oh, shit!  Gone.  I had him when we
came out of the pub.  Life's a bitch, Shan!" She sobbed embarrassingly into
the phone.

   "Don't cry, Smegs, please.  Look, I'll be home tomorrow morning,
sometime.  I don't know about the choir.  They were slung out of the hotel,
so they may have to come home on the overnight bus."

   "Slung out?  What they done, had an orgy?"

   She thought that was a great joke, of course.  You do after several
pints.

   "Yes.  They raped all the judges.  They got horny on the stage.  You
remember the five who grew?  They grew some more.  They're enormous now. 
Or vast.  Not Brobdingnagian yet, although one of them is pretty
monstrous."

   "Great, Shan.  But I'm not in th' mood for stories tonight.  I was down
the pub and they wouldn't have BBC2 on the telly, so I missed it.  Did we
win?"

   "Nobody won, Smegs.  I told you.  St Cat's ravished all the judges and
the whole thing broke up in confusion.  It was a 'kin nightmare.  We had to
come home a day early."

   Even when she's pissed out of her head, she doesn't miss a lot, our
Smegs.

   "You came home.  Where's home, darling?  Where are WE calling from?"

   "Villiers's flat.  I'll explain when I see you.  Tomorrow, okay?  Night,
then ..."

   And as I put the phone down, I remembered I hadn't asked her about the
girl who had grown at St Cat's.



   **********

   "Bedtime, then," Villiers suggested, and I thought that sounded like a
good idea.  He led the way into the bedroom.  A most serviceable little
bedroom.  And I certainly felt like being serviced.

   The posh frock came off and my breasts came into view for the second
time in the last ninety minutes.  I unhooked the ScatBra and lowered them
to the bed while I took my panties off.  Villiers looked confused.

   "What's the matter, darling?" I swayed closer to him.

   He pulled a pair of almost white panties from his pocket.  "I picked
these up off the floor in the plane.  You mean they aren't yours?"

   "No, I just took mine off." I showed them to him.  "Let's see those."

   They were still damp.  Soaked through.  Type 'A' and 'B' stains.  I
sniffed them cautiously, and tears sprang unbidden to my eyes.

   "At a guess, Third Form," I hazarded.  "They must have fallen out of the
sack."

   "You mean ...?"

   "I'm afraid so.  I can explain.  I'd rather not, but I can explain."

   "It would be interesting, darling.  Why you should find it necessary to
carry half a ton of soaking wet schoolgirls' knickers from Newcastle to
Windsor."

   "Oooh, Villiers!  I love it when you talk dirty!  I'll tell you about
the panties between our third and fourth fucks, okay?"



   **********

   The opportunity did arise to tell Villiers about the contents of the
sack.  The hiatus between our third and fourth couplings arrived
surprisingly early, at around four in the morning, and although the messy
details of the panties story could well have put me off sex for several
minutes, it served only to arouse Villiers.  It must be my gift for
story-telling.

   He even offered to take me back to St Cat's!

   "You don't want to go messing around on trains for half the day,
carrying that sack as well as your suitcase.  I'm not doing anything on a
Saturday morning.  I'll run you down there.  You'll have to navigate,
though."

   I supposed I could always maintain that the only way I knew to get to St
Cat's was to go through Fillamore Deepleigh first, and that's the way we
went.

   "Oooh, look," I cried in sudden surprise, "Fillamore Deepleigh!  I live
here!"

   We stopped off briefly at home.  Daddy was out, but Mother made a cup of
tea, drooling over Villiers in a disgraceful fashion.  "What a nice young
man," she whispered to me as we left.  I suppose she called the Reverend
Boyes-Wrecktham to find out if the church was available for a wedding on
the first Saturday in May.

   We missed Baps as well; she was out, collecting milk money, although
Cassie answered the door, beaming at us.

   "Shan!  Hi.  Baps is collecting money around the villages somewhere,
she'll be really pissed off to have missed you." Even I was staggered at
Cassie's appearance.  Her jeans were skin-tight, with bare feet protruding
from them, the toe-nails painted day-glo pink.  Higher up, she wore a
remarkably large T-shirt, with 'Baps's ALL-GIRL Dairy' across the chest. 
Actually, it wasn't across the chest, as Cassie's chest was rather lower
down than most.  "Like the shirt?" she breathed in deeply and stretched it
a few more feet.  "All the girls have them.  Specially made, of course!"

   "Of course!"

   Villiers didn't breathe again until we were driving away up the hill out
of Fillamore Deepleigh.

   "Who the bloody hell was SHE?"

   "That's young Cassie.  She's nice, isn't she?"

   "But ...  what is this all about?  She must be as big as you!"

   "Bigger, if anything, darling!  And she's no age at all!  She's another
victim of chemically-induced breast growth.  She gives milk, too."

   "MILK?"

   Strange how, when people first discover that girls give milk, they
always say it in capital letters, like that.  It now occurred to me that
Villiers didn't know about the milk side of things, about the old St Cat's
Dairy, and Baps's All-Girl Dairy either.  "Her girls provide all the milk
for a five mile radius around Fillamore Deepleigh," I explained, although I
don't know if he really took it in.

   "They drink milk from humans?  From girls?"

   "Of course.  It's sweeter, and needs less sugar.  It's what you had in
your tea."

   It was a fairly quiet drive back to St Cat's after that, although
Villiers brightened noticeably when we rolled down the gravel drive and
pulled to a halt in front of the imposing entrance.  What had caused
Villiers's noticeable brightening was the fact that it was a sunny Saturday
morning, and St Cat's was busy with casually-dressed schoolgirls.

   As ever, casually-dressed St Cat's girls are a memorable and arousing
spectacle.  And for a big-tit fan, as Villiers was clearly in danger of
becoming, a sunny Saturday morning is an excellent time to see them.

   He might just have worked that out for himself before we departed that
morning.  But still, ulterior motive or not, I was grateful to him for
driving me down here.

   "Come to my room and meet my very bestest friend!"

   We walked through the broad corridor of the Voluptua Valentine Memorial
building, passing groups of girls who looked up at me shyly yet with
somehow knowing glances.

   It's weird," whispered Villiers out of the corner of his mouth.  "It's
almost as if they KNOW we've fucking been continuously for the past two
days!"

   "Is that all it is, darling?  It seems like months." I caressed his arm,
and a passing trio of almost painfully, staggeringly beautiful Fifth
Formers giggled at us.

   "Hello, Miss," one of them called, and the others squealed as if she had
come out with the most incredible witticism.  St Cat's girls, I realised
for probably the first time, were most extraordinarily attractive.  Not
just their figures - although even the non-enhanced ones did seem strangely
well-developed - but their faces as well.  They seemed to have such huge
round eyes.

   Even Rumiko's eyes were huge and round.  I saw an expression of pure,
unalloyed lust cross Villiers's face, and turned to see what had caught his
eye.  Rumiko had emerged from the corridor leading to the Dawkes Memorial
dormitory block, followed by a jiggling, jogging group of girls dressed in
gi.  It was a sight calculated to moisten the loins.  They waved to me and
loped on, looking disgustingly fit and filling the baggy top halves of
their costumes with their disturbingly large breasts.

   "Who were THEY?"

   "The Japanese girl was Rumiko.  She's our martial arts instructor,
although she's only in the Fourth Form herself.  She seems to have
recruited some new students, too."

   "Even she's got huge breasts.  I thought Japanese girls were all
supposed to be petite and dainty."

   "Rumiko *is* petite and dainty.  She just happens to have enormous tits
as well.  Here we are.  Up these stairs." We went up to the staff
accommodation, where it was much quieter.  The sound of girls' voices
carried faintly to us from below.  The only sounds now were the usual
Saturday morning noises of staff members in their beds, snoring drunkenly
or making love.

   I knocked on Smegs's door.  "Come in!" came a muffled croak.

   Perhaps we shouldn't have taken her at her word.  She told us to come in
automatically, without thinking, certainly without expecting me to have my
boyfriend with me.  The curtains were still drawn, so the first sight that
Villiers had of Smegs was perhaps less shocking than it might have been. 
But I made the mistake of opening the curtains and letting the sunlight
flood in.

   "Fuckin' hell, Shan!" came a cry from the bed.

   I had the advantage of knowing Smegs's preferred sleeping position. 
Just maybe it would have been better if she had not been alone in her bed;
a lover would have hidden some of the more intimate detail with his or her
body.  As it was, Smegs's rear view was exposed, in fact, artistically
spotlighted by a shaft of sunshine.  It was too late to try covering her
up. Villiers was already gaping in shock at the stunning sight.

   "Sorry, she always sleeps on her knees and elbows like that, I forgot
how awful it looks the first time you see it."

   "Who are you talking to ...?" Smegs turned her head and opened one eye.
With her usual mental agility, she realised that it was too late to prevent
Villiers seeing so far inside her he could tell what she'd had for supper,
so she rolled gently on to her side, then sat on the edge of the bed,
rubbing her eyes, then embarking on an extensive programme of scratching
her verdant armpits.  "Hello," she said, blinking and squinting at
Villiers. "HELLO!" That came as she reassessed the target.  Her eyes
widened, and she transferred her right hand to the more urgent duty of
scratching her crotch.

   "This is my friend, Villiers.  Villiers, this is Megan."

   Smegs extended her hand.  It was only when she had clasped Villiers's
hand that she realised - in fact, they both realised - that it might have
been better to have wiped it first.

   "Sorry!" She rectified her omission, wiping her fingers on the bedsheet,
and sniffing them before deciding it would be impolite to offer him her
hand again.  "Call me Smegs, everybody else does.  It's short for smegma,
apparently." She sniffed her fingers again as if even she couldn't quite
believe it.  "Jeezus!" Her eyes were watering.  "Oh!  Take a seat," she
said, remembering her manners.  "I'll get dressed."

   I dropped on to the bed, still warm and damp from my bestest friend's
body, leaving Villiers the armchair.  He removed a few items of EXTREMELY
intimate soiled girlwear before sitting down, then tried without success
not to watch as Smegs stood up, still scratching herself, and found a
crumpled T-shirt to cover her jutting spherical breasts.  I was reminded,
as ever, of a girl smuggling soccer balls.

   "What have you got in the sack?" Like a child on Christmas morning, she
untied its neck and peered into the dank interior.  A wave of
unpleasantness probably wafted out of the sack, but in our present
surroundings it was scarcely noticeable.  "Mm, nice!" She plucked one or
two pairs out and rubbed them between her fingers.  "Good batch, Shan. 
They all here?"

   "A few pairs missing from last night, but as far as I know, that's the
whole week's output."

   "A whole week!" She dived her arm to the bottom of the sack, like a
veterinary surgeon examining a cow, and came up with something crumpled and
festering.  "Perhaps you're right," she said, seeing Villiers and I both
holding handkerchiefs over our noses.  With regret, she twisted the neck of
the sack shut and dumped it in the corner.

   She looked up brightly, changing the subject.  "Well?  Did we win?" She
honestly didn't know, or didn't remember what I had told her last night.  I
gave her the whole story again, not just the recorded highlights.  Villiers
helped with some of the more outrageous things I had conveniently
forgotten.

   "When are they coming home, then, today?"

   "Dunno.  They were slung out of the hotel.  Half of the choir had lost
their clothes, or most of their clothes.  None of them had knickers on..."

   Smegs tutted crossly.  "A waste of good juices.  I'll have a word with
Miss Rhys ap Llewelyn Owen about that when I see her.  The last thing I
said before they left was 'never let them forget their knickers'!  And what
does she do?"

   "It's not her fault, Smegs.  She was under a lot of stress.  All the
girls were getting serious action and nobody fancied her at all.  Moggie,
too.  I think she's gone through the entire week without getting laid once.
Even I began to feel sorry for her once or twice."

   "If you were feeling sorry for Moggie, you were obviously getting plenty
yourself," she grinned, and Villiers looked hotly embarrassed.

   I threw something at Smegs.  I don't know what it was, in fact, I
shudder to think.  It was cold and wet, and it missed her by a foot and
slapped against the wall.  "We had some trouble with girls growing, too,
Smegs.  Five of them in the Fourth Form."

   "That's why she sent for you with the emergency bras.  You mean they
grew some more?"

   "At the concert, on the stage.  Four of them had boobs already, but
Anna-Maria didn't, and now she's got..."

   "Anna-Maria Oxberry?  She's flat as a plank."

   "Not any more, she's not!  She was the biggest of the five even before
the choir contest.  Then on stage, they started growing and growing.  She
got wider and wider, and her arms got forced out to the sides.  I was
watching her, and her arms got to about here ..." I demonstrated "...  and
the girls on either side shoved them back down again.  They never stopped
singing, but you could tell, it was a surprise when Annie started trying to
push them away, as they thought."

   "What happened then?" Smegs was on her hands and knees trying to
retrieve her knickers from under her bed.  She grinned wickedly over her
shoulder at me.  The slut was showing her entire rear end to Villiers, who
had closed his eyes.  See one, you've seen them all, I supposed, although
the sight of all that glistening pinkness was having its customary effect
on my loins.

   "Her arms bounced off her tits and went whang!  Back up again, and the
girls each side sort of fell over and knocked into the girls on each side
of them and they bounced into the next and so on.  And the little kids on
the outside of the choir went flying into the wings.  We never saw them
again."

   "What, not at all?" She was climbing into her knickers and I was seized
with a desire to help her.  She has the most creamy thighs, have I told you
before?  And the softest fur!  She pulled them up, ensuring as usual that
they partially disappeared into various orifices.  She made a quick check,
front and back, then sniffed her fingers, more tentatively this time.  I
continued with an effort, clutching my groin with barely suppressed lust
for her.

   "No, we found them later, crying their little eyes out.  But by then,
all five of the ones with the growth problem were ballooning away, and
Annie was in the middle of the stage with her blouse hanging off her like a
bunch of old rags.  But then the song finished ..."

   "What were they singing?"

   "Christ knows, they all sound the same to me.  It wasn't God Save the
Queen."

   "No, it wouldn't be ..."

   "...  and they had all been told to concentrate on one judge and sing to
that one, and make them cummmmm!"

   "Who told them that?"

   "Miss Rhys ap Llewelyn Owen.  But they took it literally, the way girls
do.  They weren't sure if the judges were coming or not, so they went to
make absolutely certain.  And all hell broke loose."

   "So how big are they now?" Always practical, our Smegs.

   "We'll have to get the newly-formed St Cat's Junior Statistics Group to
measure them on Monday, but considering Anna-Maria was something like
eighty-five inches on Thursday night, I hate to think how huge she is now!"

   "Shit.  Not another one bigger than me!" Smegs said through gritted
teeth.

   "Five of them bigger than you.  Even Stephanie Thundersley was five feet
round, and she was the smallest by miles.  Still, all this talk is going to
make Villiers think we're obsessed with numbers." It was certainly
upsetting Smegs.  I had remembered the question I needed to ask Smegs. 
"There was something you didn't tell me.  Who was the girl here who had the
problem in the lab?"

   She stepped into a pair of jeans.  With deepest regret, I watched her
thighs disappear from view.  She wriggled her hips extravagantly and raised
a leg in an attempt to get comfortable around the crotch.  Unable to help
myself, I approached her and smoothed the soft stone-washed denim down the
yielding flesh of her upper thighs.  Villiers watched us open-mouthed as
our tongues met briefly.  No more than a few minutes passed, the only sound
being the gentle lapping of our open mouths.

   Smegs remembered the question.  I had completely forgotten it.  "Oh,
her. Nothing to worry about.  Sister's keeping an eye on her over in the
sick-bay."

   "The sick-bay!  What's the matter with her?"

   "Nothing really.  A slight mobility problem.  I've ordered a wheelbarrow
for her, but it won't arrive until Monday.  And her wider bed should be
here by then, and she can move back into the dorm.  Provided the builders
have widened the doors.  Everything's under control.  Leave it to old
Smegsy!"

   "Megan!  This is terrible!  A wheelbarrow?  A wider bed?  Wider doors?
How big is she?  And WHO?"

   "Oh, shit.  You were going to have to find out some time.  It's Shona!"

   "Shona?  Her Mum will kill her!"

   "That's funny.  That's just what she said.  Anyway, you know when your
newly-formed St Cat's Junior Statistics Group measured all the choir and
the Countess came to 118 inches?"

   "Yes, what's that got to do with it?"

   "There was some talk, just the girls, it was nothing.  Anyway, some of
the girls reckoned she was really bigger than that, but ...  it was just
some of the girls saying this ...  you told them to make sure to keep her
bust below ten feet, so you'd still be the biggest in the school.  Not me,
just a few of the girls."

   "That's ridiculous!  As if I would ..."

   "...  anyway, it doesn't matter any more!"

   "...  how could they even think it matters to me who is the biggest in
the whole sch ...  what doesn't matter any more.  What do you mean?"

   "The Countess isn't biggest.  And nor are you.  Shona is!  No contest,
Shan!  You are out of the frame."

   It had to happen sometime, I supposed.  The way this lot were getting
bigger and bigger, it was only a matter of time before one of them grew a
bigger set than mine.  Or all of them grew a bigger set than mine!

   "Anyway.  She asked for you, Shan.  She said, 'could you ask Miss
Gruntworthy to come and see me when she gets back.  Please.' I said, sure,
and it seemed to make her happy."

   "You said it was an accident.  What happened?"

   "Dunno.  Mouse or something.  She fell in a tank of stuff."

   "Why?  Why was there a tank of stuff in there at all?  Who was in charge
of the class?"

   "Clarrie, actually.  We were short with you up North, so I sent for Sir
Roger, but he was indisposed.  Clarrie came over by courier, they delivered
her in a crate in the back of a van.  Davie came, too, unfortunately.  He
was in the lab, chatting up Suzanne and Pansy, and Pansy tried to sit on
his face for some reason, and Suzanne was trying to drag her off, so
Clarrie waddled over to keep order, and meanwhile Shona was getting chased
by a mouse, and she fell in a tank.  She grew straight away.  She's giving
a bit of milk, too, so perhaps her breasts won't be quite as big when the
milk stops."

   "Her Mum will kill her this time, for sure!"

   "We haven't told her Mum yet.  I think that's why she was asking for
you. She wanted you to break the news to her Mum!"









   Part IV









   Chapter 10:- An Even Bigger Shona



   "We'd better say bye-bye, then.  Thanks for the ride and everything. 
I'm sorry about the film job.  The whole thing's been an absolute
nightmare. And thanks ...  for having me!  And so many times."

   "Shan ...  you're a wonderful girl.  Thanks for everything.  Can I, may
I call you?"

   "Of course.  I'd love that!" I leaned in at the window of his car and we
kissed.  Not easy, I couldn't get very close to him with my boobs squashing
against the door.  We clung desperately to the bits of each other we could
reach.

   "I'll call you tonight.  At bedtime."

   "Oh, darling!" I came copiously.

   The car drove off, quite slowly, down the drive, and I turned round and
started walking wetly in the direction of the sick-bay.  I passed girls,
who looked at me; sideways, not with their usual knowing glances.  I think
they'd witnessed our tearful farewell scene.

   The sister met me at the door.  "Hello, Miss Gruntworthy, Shona's been
expecting you.  She's through there..."

   Shona looked quite bright and cheerful.  She was usually a slightly
serious-looking girl.  Plain bloody miserable, even.  But she grinned as I
went into the room.  It was as well she did.  Shona was, in a few words, a
disturbing sight.  Even, as she was, under the bed covers, with the duvet
pulled up to her chin.

   "Oh, hi, Miss!  I hoped you'd be back today.  Did we win?"

   "Hi, Shona.  Not exactly.  Didn't you see it on television?"

   "Oooh, yes, but it got as far as St Cat's singing, then it got sort of
cut off.  We recorded it." I watched her out of the corner of my eye as she
picked up a remote control and aimed it at the screen, thrusting it
forward, the way people do.  A familiar scene appeared, with the St Cat's
Chorus in their horseshoe formation on the stage.  It was a wide shot, so
there wasn't too much detail of individual singers, but then there was a
closer shot of two or three of the girls, and the camera panned across the
front row.

   "There's Belinda," she said, indicating a fellow First Former, "and
Katie.  But who's that one there?  It looks like Annie from the Fourths,
but she's different ..."

   "Yes, she grew a bit.  So did some of the others," I admitted, as other
enlarged Fourth Formers appeared on the screen.  We watched as the choir
went through its first two songs.

   "Isn't it beautiful singing, Miss!"

   "Oh?  Oh, yes!  I'm sure it is." I was sure it was.

   On it went, the show.  Then I began to realise that the camera was
looking straight at Anna-Maria.  And zooming slowly in.  Anna-Maria was
getting bigger on the screen just as she had in real life.  The scene cut
away to another view, from the side, at a high angle.  That one started to
zoom in as well.  Again, the scene changed, to a portable camera below
eye-level, the girls looking out over the top of the camera.  I could see
the lust in their eyes as they tried to make the judges cummmmm. 
Meanwhile, the cameraman had spotted a movement in one girl's blouse.  He
had been slowly moving past the girl - I saw now that it was Vulva
Morgenstern - then he did a double-take and twitched back to concentrate on
Vulva's chest.  Again, the view changed back to the original wide shot. 
Which was beginning to zoom in on Anna-Maria.

   A picture of the outside of the hall appeared, then quite a pretty shot
of the Tyne Bridge.

   "That's Alan Shearer, isn't it, Miss?  Was he there, too?"

   "Looks like him.  I suppose he must have been."

   Mr Shearer was followed, inexplicably, by a weather map of the British
Isles.  And although there were occasional pictures of the stage after
that, the show never quite got back into its measured stride, somehow.

   "And that was it," said Shona.  "It went off.  What did happen, Miss?"

   "It's a long story, Shona!"

   "That's all right, Miss.  I've got *stacks* of time!" She snuggled
happily down in the bed and waited.  So I told her the story.  I was
getting quite good at it by now.  Shona listened, spellbound.  At last, in
a hushed, thrilled voice, she breathed, "oh, that was marvellous, Miss!  I
wish I could have been there to see them all.  I wish I could *sing*,
Miss!"

   "It wasn't much fun at the time, Shona.  And those girls who grew are
probably feeling a bit uncomfortable.  As you must be."

   "Are they as big as me, Miss?"

   "I haven't really seen how big you are yet, Shona."

   She said nothing, but grinned at me, then whipped the duvet off herself
and threw it down so that she was completely uncovered.  Almost completely;
she was wearing only panties.

   If there's one thing you never quite get used to at St Cat's, it's the
sight of newly-grown girls.  Strange, really, with so many girls getting
bigger all the time, for whatever reason, you'd imagine it would be such a
commonplace experience.  'Huh, only another twenty inches, girl?  Feh!' I'm
not altogether sure what 'feh' means, but Vulva Morgenstern uses it quite a
lot, and it seems to suit most occasions.  Except this one.  Whatever was
the right word, it certainly was NOT 'feh'.

   Shona was ...!  Sorry, there wasn't a word for it.  We've used them all
up, including Brobdingnagian.  Mind you, lying there, I was reminded of
Gulliver surrounded by those tiny Lilliputian figures, tying him down with
dozens of ropes no thicker than a human hair.

   I had remembered Shona as a very big girl.  Whenever there had been
boob-juice flying around, Shona seemed to get herself squarely in the way.
And at Christmas, she had indulged in some pretty conspicuous over-eating.
Then with the decision to enlarge the new girls, Shona, stark naked in the
headmistress's office, had taken a burst of boob juice plumb between her
already mountainous breasts.

   Now, those breasts lay on each side of her body, almost falling off the
side of the bed.  The sister had pushed the bed hard against the wall on
one side, but on the other, Shona's right breast was teetering on the
brink. If it fell over the edge, it was going to hurt.  She noticed the
direction of my glance.

   "It fell off the bed last night, Miss.  It nearly dragged me out with
it. Sister woke up and came in and put a chair beside the bed to hold me
in."

   They must have reached down to her knees as she lay there, and the left
one, on the same side as the wall, was sort of piled up so it was about
twice as high as Shona's chest.  The right one had more room, and spread
out more, so it didn't stick up quite so high.  I was sitting down by her
feet, and the nipples were uncomfortably close to me.  I could have reached
out and touched one.  Or grabbed it in the palm of my hand.  It was
surrounded by an areola the size of a plate.  You hear about them being
like dinner plates.  Shona's weren't that big, but they were as big as ...
saucepan lids.  That's right.  Saucepan lids!  With thick brown handles.

   "Yours are the biggest tits I've ever seen in my life, Shona," I
whispered.  I had chosen my words carefully.

   She blushed prettily.

   "I'm sorry, Miss."

   "Sorry?  What for?"

   "For being bigger than you, Miss.  For being the biggest in the whole
school, Miss!"

   "Oh, Shona, my little darling!" Not the happiest choice of adjective,
but it would do for now.  I stood up and went to the top of her bed, and
stroked her soft hair.  Tears appeared in her eyes.  Shona had been brave
long enough.  Her bravery had just about run out.  She clutched at my hand
with a plump little paw.

   "Oh, Miss.  Will they always be this big?"

   "It's up to you, darling.  When you're older, they'll be able to make
them smaller.  Meanwhile, you'll have your wheelbarrow, and you'll be able
to get around just fine."

   "My Mum'll kill me, Miss!"

   "No she won't, Shona.  She loves you.  And so do we.  All of us love
you."

   "No, it's about the wheelbarrow, Miss.  Dad's got one, but he keeps it
down the allotment.  If I go home, I can't take my own barrow with me on
the train, and Dad won't let me have his."

   "Perhaps they'll have one next door they can lend you." Was this bizarre
conversation really taking place?

   "Perhaps, Miss." She was quiet for a minute.  I began to wonder if she
had fallen asleep.  "Miss?"

   "Shona?"

   "Do you really all love me, Miss?"

   I bent and kissed her eyes, one at a time, tasting the salt water, and
stroked her hair again.  This time, she did fall asleep.

   Of course, I thought, as I walked back to my room, I could only kiss her
eyes one at a time, unless her eyes were extraordinarily close together or
I had an unusually large pair of lips.  As opposed to labia, if you see
what I mean.  I thought of labia and began to hurry.  My bestest friend
would be ready for me.



   **********

   But I didn't get as far as my room, nor Smegs's room, more's the pity.
As I crossed the campus, the sun went behind a cloud, and slanting rain
began to fall.  I can't run, it goes without saying, I fact, I can't even
walk very fast, so I was soaked by the time I reached the shelter of the
main building.

   There was a bus outside, and a tatty collection of vast-breasted
schoolgirls were getting off it.  The St Cat's Chorus was back from its
partially successful tour.  Moggie was looking haggard.  She is quite
elderly, I suppose.  She must be all of thirty-five or forty by now.  And
was that Miss Rhys ap Llewelyn Owen being led away by two men in white
coats?

   The choir itself stood around in the rain, looking hopeless, waiting for
the driver to unload their bags.  Most of them were still dressed in the
remnants of their uniforms.  Those who had been left naked or partially
clothed had dipped into their baggage to make themselves more or less
decent.  They looked as if they hadn't slept for days.  I was filled with
compassion for them.

   "Come on, don't stand around in the rain catching pneumonia, you idle
slags, get your arses indoors." I smacked a plump bottom or two to get them
moving, and like a herd of cows - very much like a herd of cows - they
began to move up the steps of the Voluptua Valentine Memorial Building. 
Moggie joined the others, looking a dejected and beaten woman.  That must
have been the effect of a week without sex.

   Once indoors, they hung together in a sad bunch, and other girls,
passing them, looked at them as if they were lepers, keeping their
distance, while staring at the newly-enlarged Fourth Formers with wide eyed
incredulity.

   So, for that matter, was I.  The last I had seen of them was when they
had just come off the stage, and there had been little opportunity to study
the enlargees at close quarters.  Now, though, I was able to see the full
glory of their development.  Stephanie was still smaller than some of her
fellow classmates, but her danglers were still quite impressive, hanging
loose inside her T-shirt.  The last time I had seen them, they had just
escaped from under her bra and were trying to get away at ground level.

   Charlotte had obviously lost all her clothes somewhere along the way,
and had been outfitted by other girls who matched her more or less closely
in size.  Her skirt was only a couple of sizes too tight and too short, and
her shirt was intended for a hulking lumberjack.  A hulking lumberjack
without the job-threatening handicap of a pair of sandbags tied to his
chest might have looked reasonably dapper in it, but not Charlotte.  She
had tied the ends of the shirt together beneath her tits, which I thought
certainly created an interesting effect, but she hardly cut an elegant
figure.

   The diminutive but chunky Daisy had found a night-dress from somewhere,
possibly one of the larger-boned members of the choir, like Sam
Smith-Smythe.  It hung down to her ankles like a shroud, apart from the two
big round bits at the front which made Daisy resemble a balloon-smuggler.

   I had always thought of Vulva Morgenstern as a sexy little bitch.  Or
rather, a sexy big bitch.  She was an even bigger bitch now, and every bit
as sexy.  She had come out of her adventure relatively unscathed.  Somehow,
despite adding something like a whole yard to the circumference of her
bust, her blouse seemed to fit perfectly, without a crease.  I made a
mental note to ask her how she managed it.  Must have been because her
Daddy was in schmutter.

   And of course, in line with my policy of keeping the best until last,
there was the incredible Anna-Maria.  From a flat-chested, more or less
cylindrical girl less than a week ago, she had grown on Wednesday night to
the size of an exotic dancer with pretty strong grounds for a lawsuit
against her plastic surgeon.  During the course of the choir's
closely-targeted erotic singing, which led to Uncontrollable Horniness, she
had expanded again.  For the first time ever, I saw a ScatBra damaged
beyond economical repair.  Anna-Maria had hung it round her neck, a
stretched and ripped tangle of black fabric and velcro.  Her blouse was one
of the Countess Langsdorf's spare ones, and it was too tight for
Anna-Maria. Another one bigger than me!  I was beginning to feel like
Smegs.

   Let me put that another way, I was beginning to feel the way I imagined
Smegs must occasionally feel.  On the other hand, too, I was beginning very
much to feel like Smegs!  Casting a furtive glance around, I edged away. 
As soon as I reached the staircase leading up to the staff accommodation, I
lumbered as fast as circumstances would allow up to my bestest friend's
bedroom, and knocked with trembling hands.

   "Come in!"

   "Smegs!" I blundered into the room, "I've missed you so MUCH!"

   "Shan!  DARLING!"

   I don't know if she ever called me that before, but it was all the
encouragement I needed.  Smegs was already showered, clean and naked apart
from a sprinkling of talcum powder.  She half reclined on her bed with one
knee raised just a little; her thighs slightly parted in anticipation.

   The only thing to spoil the scene was that she was rummaging through the
sack of knickers, making instant decisions and sorting them into the usual
fourteen separate piles.  She patted the bed next to her.  "Get undressed,
then you can help me finish these off.  What are yours today?  The usual
'B' with just a touch of 'A' and the merest hint of 'C'?"

   "Oh, Smegs!  You know how that sort of thing makes me feel ill."

   "Well, it's *your* panties we're talking about.  The answer is in your
hands.  Or more accurately ..." she snaked a hand up my skirt "...in MINE!"

   It was time for one of those rows of little dots...









   Chapter 11:- A Very Nice Wheelbarrow



   The rest of the weekend passed with the shadow of the choir contest
debacle hanging over the school like a pall.  Newspaper reporters descended
on St Cat's on the Saturday afternoon, having traced the bus company which
had provided the choir's transport home from Newcastle.

   My hoped-for afternoon with Smegs was disrupted by uproar beneath the
bedroom window.  I put up with the noise for a few minutes; then crawled
off my bitterly complaining friend with a sound like a rubber-booted foot
being extracted from deep mud; and peered out of the curtains.

   "Smegs, get up, quick, look at this lot!"

   She did, pulling curly hairs from her mouth, and joined me at the
window. "Fuckin' hell," she ejaculated.  "Who are they?"

   "The world's press, if I'm not mistaken.  Better get dressed."

   "Oh, Shan, no!  I've been simply days without you!"

   "Come on, we can carry on later." We clung to each other by the window,
naked, until I saw several fat white telephoto lenses aimed in our
direction.  "I think we just made tomorrow's 'Sunday Smut'," I said.

   "Shit, and just look at my hair," shrieked Smegs.

   We dressed quickly and made our way down to the paved area surrounded on
four sides by weathered brickwork almost six years old which we were trying
to get used to calling the quad, rather than the playground.  The choir,
inadequately dressed for the season of the year, were posed on the steps
leading down to the ornamental fountain, turned off to save money.  Cameras
whined and clicked at them, and hoarse voices yelled for attention.

   "This way, girls!"

   "Over here, Annie!"

   They had identified Anna-Maria as the chief attraction and arranged the
less abundantly endowed girls around her.  With true St Cat's spirit, they
all pointed their impressive cleavages into the lenses and adopted cheesy
grins.  I had never seen such a disgusting collection of absolutely
disgraceful teen sluts, and I felt a genuine surge of pride in the old
school.

   "Look, lads!  Teachers!" The cry went up, and half a dozen photographers
detached themselves from the group and came streaming over to us like a
plague of rats.  "This way, lovey!"

   "You stand at the back, lanky!  You with the knockers, bend down in
front!"

   I could tell Smegs wasn't too pleased, but I told her it would be better
not to make an unpleasant scene, and we posed prettily in the doorway,
before the lads led us over to the girls from the choir.

   "Gather round yer teachers, girls!" The choir formed a loose scrum
around us: Anna-Maria kneeling in the centre with her boobs resting on the
ground on either side of her knees.  At last, after a few more pose
changes, the group broke up, with one or two of the girls making private
arrangements, presumably for prints to send home to mother.

   "You'd better get dressed, girls," I shouted.  In their bras and panties
the choir was ill-equipped for outdoor work on a chill January day. 
Unsightly goosebumps were visible on bare thighs, girls were clutching each
other for warmth and nipples were big enough to hang your coat on.

   "No press inside the school buildings, please, gentlemen," I shouted in
an authoritative manner.  "The girls' privacy must be respected.  Thank
you." And we all streamed inside, to be greeted by a fusillade of
flashguns. The cameras were there before us.

   At moments like this, Smegs is so masterful.  As she grabbed the nearest
of the photographers by the collar and the seat of his pants and ejected
him out of the door and down the steps, I felt a deep love for her.  She
came back for another, and got rid of him as well, by which time I was a
spent force.

   "Take me, Smegs, my darling," I pleaded.  But she continued until she
had dealt with the last cameraman.  She returned, dusting her hands
together.

   "Why aren't they coming back in?  What did you do to them?"

   "Trade secret," she said, touching the side of her nose.  And I
literally dragged her up the stairs into her bedroom.



   **********

   Needless to say, we were on all the front pages.  Moggie dropped a pile
of newsprint on the table at breakfast.

   "Clean sweep," she said.  "Even the 'Telegraph'!"

   We spread the papers out.  The 'Smut' was probably the best, with its
colour spread in the centre pages, which had necessitated dropping the
planned-for feature on 'Just-Sixteen - Lisa Lay-tex - Smut's Stunna With
200-Inch Gazongas'.

   It was just as well, Lisa's expansive charms weren't even a patch on
mine, let alone Anna-Maria's.  There was another picture tucked away in
Page Seventeen.

   "Who's this?" I asked Moggie.  It showed a fairly well-endowed young
woman bending over and presenting her private parts to the camera, while
hoisting her skirt up to her waist.  The innermost core of the woman's
being was covered by a black rectangle, but it didn't fool me.

   "I know that pussy," I said, and saw Smegs trying to slide down in her
chair out of sight beneath the table.

   "Megan!" said Moggie.  "What is the meaning of this?" She read the
caption, her glasses perched on the end of her nose.  "'Teachers were never
like this in our day!  Steaming stunna Megan Mountains is Deputy Head at St
Catherine's High School for Girls, but she is second to none when it comes
to giving HEAD to her students, nor (see page 21) to other teachers on the
staff of the exclusive private school in rural Southern England...'"

   With numbed fingers, I turned to page 21.  There, in surprising clarity,
were Smegs and I looking out of a window, absolutely naked and clutching
each other in a decidedly affectionate embrace.  A black rectangle covered
Smegs's crotch, and another - considerably larger - obscured mine.

   "I'll see you both in my office first thing tomorrow morning," gritted
Moggie, and she stormed out, leaving us to gather up the papers before they
could corrupt the minds of the girls.



   **********

   We presented ourselves outside Moggie's office the next morning.  Miss
Rotten Labia told us to go straight in, we were expected.

   "Did you stick an exercise book down your knickers?" Smegs asked me. 
"She might be in a spanking mood."

   "Gosh, do you think so?"

   "I don't know what you two think you have to giggle about," said Moggie
sternly, fixing us with a grim stare.  We stopped laughing, although every
time I caught sight of Smegs's face, I started again.  Moggie stood up with
her arms akimbo.  "If you behave like schoolgirls, you will be punished
like schoolgirls!"

   To my delight, she took a whippy cane out of her top drawer and tested
it on the palm of her hand.  I began to squirm in anticipation.  "You will
report to me here every evening this week for an hour, and you will write
out one *thousand* times, 'I must not giggle in Miss Thunderbolt's
office'."

   "Oh, MISS," we both whined in chorus.

   "TWO thousand.  Starting tonight!"

   We sat glumly looking at her, our thighs touching warmly.  I was
becoming randy again.

   "Now," said Moggie, brightly.  "Let's get down to business.  She was a
different woman all of a sudden.  "The choir performed admirably last week,
although we had a couple of unfortunate occurrences.  I mean, of course,
the enlargement of five of the Fourth Formers, and the regrettable orgy at
the choir contest.  The two may not be entirely unconnected.  Chauntaille,
you will look into this, with the aid of your First Form Sexual Chemistry
Group."

   "What about the measurements of the enlarged choir members, Miss?"

   "That will naturally take precedence.  Try to get it over quickly,
please.  What method will you be using?"

   "That's the task of the newly-formed St Cat's Junior Statistics Group,
and ultimately, their decision, Miss!" I was being pompous and huffy.  "One
assumes they will use the table top method.  It is the industry standard
for bust measurement throughout British schools."

   "That's as may be.  You may need a taller table, that's all.  I'm only
warning you." She turned her attention to Smegs.  "Megan!" Smegs sat up and
looked at her.  "What progress on the Giganto Project?"

   "Well, none, Miss.  A lot of the Lower Sixths were away with the choir,
including the Countess."

   "That needn't have stopped you.  You're slacking, falling down on the
job.  If you can't handle it, I can demote you and promote Chauntaille to
Deputy Head.  You don't want that, do you?"

   "No, Miss."

   "Well you know what to do, then, don't you!  Right then.  Run along!  I
can't sit here all day talking to you."

   "Both of us, Miss?"

   "Of course, both of you.  Do I have to spell everything out in words of
one syllable?"

   We stood up to leave, but stopped when Moggie let out a shriek.

   "What's this bill here?  Widening fire exits and interior doors?  And
this one, double beds?  And a WHEELBARROW?"

   "For Shona, Miss.  We needed to widen the doors to the First Form
dormitory and certain of the doors between there and the classrooms.  She
needs a double bed to accommodate her breasts and a wheelbarrow to carry
them around with her."

   "Have you seen the COST of these things?  THAT much for a bed?"

   "They were essential.  If the Health and Efficiency inspector came round
and found that one of our girls couldn't get through the doors, he would
close us down and you would go to jail."

   "I'm not saying you shouldn't have done it.  But did you get alternative
quotes for all these things.  Was this the cheapest wheelbarrow you could
find?"

   "Not the cheapest, Miss.  I asked for a barrow capable of carrying 150
pounds.  If Shona was wheeling her breasts around and one of them fell out,
her parents could sue St Cat's for every penny they ..."

   "All RIGHT!  Haven't you any work to do?  Get out!  OUT!"

   Smegs hadn't told Moggie everything, quite.  The bill for a double bed
was rather expensive.  But not as expensive as two double beds would have
been.  By ordering two, Smegs had obtained a nice discount.  And later,
when the new beds were delivered, one would be placed in the First Form
dormitory for Shona.  The other would go in Smegs's room.  For us!

   Well, having spent almost the entire weekend in Smegs's bed, we had
decided to save a lot of unnecessary creeping about between rooms in the
middle of the night.  It was Smegs who suggested it, of course.  She can be
so forceful, so decisive, and yet, somehow, so tender.



   **********

   It was a lovely wheelbarrow.  It had a nice fat inflatable wheel, rubber
hand-grips on the handles and no unnecessary sharp edges.  Smegs and I
proudly wheeled it down to the sick-bay for Shona to practise loading
herself into it.

   Shona was sitting on the edge of the bed in her nightdress, which wasn't
a nightie as such, since it couldn't cover her breasts.  Instead, it was
like a slip or skirt, pulled up under her boobs.  After all, it was warm in
the sick bay, and she slept on her back with her breasts by her sides.

   "Help me up, please, Miss," she said, offering me her hand.  She gave
Smegs the other one, and stood up unsteadily.  "That's better.  Once I'm
stood up, I can balance." We processed slowly to the doorway.

   "Well, there she is, Sho, what do you think?" I said.

   Her face lit up.  "Oooh, it's a lovely one, Miss.  Thanks ever so much."
She turned to Smegs and beamed at her.  "Can I try it out, Miss?"

   "Of course," said Smegs.  "It's your barrow."

   "You can get your name painted on the side if you like," I told her, and
she gasped in delight.  "But you'd better try loading yourself into it. 
Put one of them in, and keep it to one side, then load the other one on top
of it."

   She struggled to get both arms beneath her right one, and lifted the
wobbling great thing in front of her while Smegs and I watched.  We wanted
to help, but she had to learn to do this thing on her own.

   Suddenly, with a soft metallic clang, she flopped into the barrow.  "Ow!
It's fuckin' COLD!  Ooops, sorry, Miss!"

   "Perhaps you could line it with a blanket or something," suggested
Smegs.

   "It needs *something*, Miss.  Look at my nipple!"

   We did.  It was sticking out like the cap of one of those thick ink
markers you can get, you know the sort of thing?  We've got one we use for
putting the addresses on parcels.

   Shona, meanwhile, had piled her left breast on to the barrow, where it
settled with a soft, silent squish.

   "Here we go, then," said Shona, picking up the handles.  "Oooh!  Oh,
no!" She set the barrow down with a bump.  "I nearly fell over." She tried
again, then took a cautious step forward.  Then another.  It was like
baby's first steps.  We should have had a video camera.  But Shona was
moving steadily now, and we set off after her down the path away from the
sick bay toward the quadrangle.

   She was up to a brisk, wobbling walk, and we had to hurry to keep up as
she reached the end of the path and headed for the centre of the quad, and
the fountain, still turned off to save money.  In fact, a notice on the
school notice board seized the moral high ground for Moggie by claiming
that turning off the fountain was saving the entire planet.  Bullshit, in
my humble opinion.

   Turned off the water may well have been, but the pool was still partly
full of murky water, and Shona was well on course for disaster.  We caught
her with difficulty.  Smegs get there first, with her long legs and less
tit to carry, and grabbed Shona's pudgy left arm.  All she could do was
swing her off course to the left.

   From classroom windows all around the quadrangle, horrified girls stared
out at the sight of a massively topless girl in a diaphanous waist-slip,
pushing two huge pink things along in a wheelbarrow.  She was being barely
restrained by a tall busty woman grabbing her left arm - and a shorter,
much bustier woman just about to fall on her front, but saving herself by
catching hold of the elastic of the girl's filmy garment.

   It didn't stop Shona completely.  It couldn't, at the speed she had
worked up to.  But it slowed her down, and Smegs brought her head round
like an obese runaway horse.  They stopped, panting and snorting, and
looked back at me.  I was sitting on my fortunately well-padded bottom,
still holding the remains of Shona's nightie.

   Shona was realising, perhaps for the first time, that she was stark
naked in the centre of St Cat's, with her tits in a wheelbarrow, under the
eyes of several dozen of her schoolmates.

   But it was a very nice wheelbarrow.

   "It's harder than it looks," she told Smegs.  "It might take a few days
to get used to it."









   Chapter 12:- Give Me The Twelve Footer



   Shona's was such a lovely wheelbarrow, it was only a matter of time
before everybody wanted one.  Well, not everybody, but all those girls
whose breasts showed a tendency to dangle to wheelbarrow-level started
bleating about human rights.

   "I want one of those wheelbarrows like Shona's," said Anna-Maria.  She
had waylaid me in one of the school corridors shortly after Shona's first
driving lesson had almost ended in disaster.  "Why shouldn't I have one? 
Mine are nearly as big as hers."

   "Yours are quite a bit smaller than Shona's," I told her, "and they're
far more firm than hers.  If you put them in a barrow, you would have to
bend down to push it around.  All you need is a bigger bra, and you're
being measured for that this morning, aren't you?"

   "Yes, Miss," she said in a subdued voice.  "But I'm much bigger than the
Countess, and *she's* got a wheelbarrow."

   "She's WHAT?"

   "I saw it.  The van from the hardware store delivered it.  It's dark
chocolate brown with purple polyester lining and it's got her family crest
on the sides.  It's parked outside the Lower Sixth's classroom if you don't
believe me."

   It was, too, surrounded by a little crowd of admiring girls.  The body
of the machine must have had at least fourteen coats of superior enamel
paint, rubbed down between each coat for that ultra deep showroom shine. 
The elaborate Lansdorf crest was emblazoned on the side panels.  The rim of
the barrow was trimmed with simulated ermine, and my fingers sank into the
plush velvet cushions at the bottom.  As Anna-Maria had mentioned, the
inside of the container was lined with a silk-like material.

   "Nice, isn't it, Miss?" Victoria was by my side, admiring the gleaming
vehicle.

   "Very nice, Toria." I looked at her closely.  "You're looking quite
full-breasted today, aren't you?"

   She blushed prettily.  "Yes, Miss.  All natural, too!" She looked down
at her chest and cupped her full breasts with both hands.  We began to
stroll slowly in the direction of the classrooms.  "I'm as big as Pansy
again, now, Miss."

   "They jiggle beautifully, Toria, yet they're so plump and full.  Like
melons."

   "Melons, Miss?  I've never heard of breasts being likened to melons
before.  I suppose they are, when you come to think of it.  Anyway, thanks,
Miss!"

   "What for?"

   "For these.  They're just what I wanted!"

   "They're none of my doing.  They're natural, as you said."

   "I know.  And thank you!" She placed a hot little kiss on my cheek, then
wobbled off up the corridor, leaving me standing there.  Other girls stared
at her as she went jiggling by.  She really was so extraordinarily
beautiful, and now she had these amazingly wobbly well-developed tits!  A
bunch of Toria's classmates appeared.

   "Toria's got lovely big tits now, Miss!" They all looked at me,
bright-eyed.

   "Yes, she has, hasn't she."

   "Could we have some, too, Miss, please?  Let Toria still have the
biggest in the class, but boost us up a bit.  Please, Miss!  Just six
inches or so?"

   "It's nothing to do with me.  I'm not Mother Nature.  Toria comes from a
large-breasted family.  It's only natural she should have such big ones.  I
didn't do it to her!"

   "We know you didn't, Miss.  But could you let *us* get bigger, Miss. 
The Thirds are getting left behind.  We are witnessing the erosion of
proper differentials."

   Ah, a bunch of militant agitators.  If they didn't get what they wanted,
now, they would be forced to take industrial action.  Unwillingly, of
course.  Withdrawing their co-operation.  Picketing the bra assembly area.
Withholding their panties.  No, not that, surely.  They wouldn't dare!



   **********

   I told Smegs about the rebellious Third Form, but she seemed to have
something else on her mind.

   "It's the Lower Sixth Form's project to replace Giganto," she
complained. "Some of them want to make a film."

   "Oh, I heard about that idea.  Those two biggish girls, what are their
names?  Gudrun and Pubella.  Sexy little bitches were chatting up the film
crew up at Newcastle last week.  Well, I've heard worse ideas than making a
film.  Why not?"

   "It's their choice of subject.  Pubella came to me with an outline of
the script.  She wants it to be a study of the psychological effects on a
schoolgirl of the sudden development of a very large pair of breasts."

   "Well, okay?  It's a subject of interest to every mother in the country.
Every Mum's worst nightmare, I should think.  What's the problem?"

   "They want to enlarge a girl to do it.  They want to use the First Form
Sexual Chemistry Group's boob juice to enlarge a girl over a period of
three days while they're shooting the film.  They'd got it all worked out.
First day, she's completely flat, then she gets little apples, then
oranges, grapefruit.  Melons, watermelons, pumpkins and bean bags."

   "No refrigerators?"

   "Of course not!  Fridges are oblong, with square corners."

   "I was thinking we'd need a refrigerator for keeping all this fruit
fresh more than anything else."

   Smegs was suffering from total sense of humour failure today.  "I think
it sucks," she said.

   "Oh, I don't know.  Who had they thought of having as their star?  We
are desperately short of flat chested girls these days."

   "Dunno.  Some junior, I suppose.  Someone dispensable.  I'm going to
tell Moggie I don't agree with the idea."

   I reckoned Smegs just didn't want yet another girl around the school
with bigger ones than her.  I thought, under the circumstances, this wasn't
quite the right time to tell her where I was just going.  She wouldn't
appreciate learning that I was going to supervise the measuring of the
newly-enlarged members of the choir.



   **********

   We'd decided to do it down in the bra manufacturing facility.  They had
the equipment down there: the long-legged table for extra large girls to
dangle over the edge of, the fifteen and twenty-foot tapes, and best of
all, Flaps and Clit.  Or Clit and Flaps.

   "Hi, Miss Gruntwurvy.  Long time no see!" Clit is always glad to see me.
I was overjoyed to see her, too, especially naked, as she was.

   "Still problems with the air-conditioning, I see!"

   "They fixed it, din' they, Flaps, but we still prefer working naked. 
It's what you get used to.  Oi!  What are you doin'?"

   "I'm just a bit horny, sorry!" Regretfully I stood up and plucked a
stray pubic hair from my tongue.

   "Your Miss Mountains slung you out, then?" Flaps seemed to know about
Smegs and me.  Well, who didn't?

   "No, she's a bit grotty today.  Probably her time of the month."

   "Never mind, sweetheart, come 'ere.  We got ten minutes before the girls
are due..."

   They were very sweet.  Between them, they laid me out on my back on the
table and went to work without a word, each knowing her role with no need
to discuss tactics.  Clit took my top half, laying my tits up each side of
my ears and giving my nipples a good sucking.  Meanwhile, Flaps was busy
down below.  For the first time, I noticed that the ceiling was one
enormous mirror.  I was able to watch Flaps at work, and excellent
entertainment it was, too.

   It was like one of those out-of-body experiences, where you float above
yourself attached only by a slender silver cord.  Not that I ever had one
of those, but I could imagine what it would be like.  Gazing upwards, I
could see the two splendidly naked seamstresses lapping away at my
erogenous zones, and I thought, yes, teaching has its compensations.

   At last, the two young women brought their ministrations to a close. 
Flaps was wiping her hands, face and breasts on a large white towel.  There
was a prolonged banging on the door.

   "Here they are," said Flaps, and Clit opened the door wide.

   "You had finished, hadn't you?" said a voice and Vulva Morgenstern came
in, followed by the other four girls of the Fourth Form.  "Hi, Miss!  We
heard you from across the quad, so we gave you a few minutes to finish your
climax.  How was it, Miss?"

   "Excellent, Vulva, thank you very much.  You're most kind."

   "Oh, good.  We're all here.  Isn't this exciting!"

   "A new ScatBra is always an exciting event," said Clit, sounding like a
television commercial.  "You can all get undressed.  As you can tell, it's
quite warm in here." She was right, I hadn't even felt the need to get
dressed again myself.

   "Did you see the St Cat's Junior Statistics Group on your way over here,
girls?"

   "You mean the newly-formed St Cat's Junior Statistics Group, Miss?  Yes,
Miss.  That Suzanne Woods said they were just coming, Miss.  Fat cow."

   "Good.  Now, you've all worn a ScatBra before.  All happy about the
adjustments?  And the fitting procedure?" Clit cocked her head on one side
and the five girls nodded happily.  "Right, you first." She took Charlotte
by the arm and sat her on the table.  "You haven't been measured like this
before, have you?" Charlotte shook her head and both Clit and Flaps gave
her a helping hand.

   "Let your boobs dangle over the edge, down there, that's right.  Just
lie on your tummy..."

   "Yeugh!  It's all wet.  There's a puddle on here!"

   "Oh, sorry," I said, grabbing a towel and darting forward.  "That was
me. I leaked a bit."

   "Where?" Vulva Morgenstern shoved me out of the way and dipped her
finger in the pool.  She raised it to her lips, eyes closed, and smiled as
she slid her finger into her mouth.  "Gosh, Miss, was that all yours? 
You're REALLY wet, aren't you!"

   "So people say, Vulva."

   "Oooh, yes, Miss.  And tasty, too.  I can see why Miss Mountains loves
lapping at your cu..."

   "Thank you, Vulva!"

   Regrettably, the other three girls had gathered round the table, dipping
fingers into the moisture and tasting it with expressions of delight.

   "Oooh, it's so sweet!"

   "It's like slippery yet it's not slimy."

   "It's a lovely taste, Miss!"

   I put the towel down.  The puddle was all gone.  Meanwhile, Flaps had
run her tape over Charlotte in all directions.  I wished the St Cat's
Junior Statistics Group, newly-formed or not, had been here to witness a
true expert at work.  "All finished!" Flaps slung the tape around her neck
and took Charlotte's fingertips in her hand.  The girl swung her legs to
the floor and stood with her breasts swinging like big soft pendulums on
her stomach.

   "They've stretched, look!" She pointed to her nipples.  "They're lower
down than they were a minute ago."

   "That's why we let you dangle for a couple of minutes before we measure
you, to let them stretch to their full length," said Clit.  "Here's your
bra".

   "Sorry about the colours," said Flaps, handing Charlotte two
vomit-yellow bras.  "You're up to sixty-six inches.  What were you before?"

   "I dunno." She looked at me.

   "About sixty."

   "Gosh!  Six inches, Miss?"

   "Very well done, Charlotte!"

   "Who's the next one," Clit rubbed her hands together and Stephanie took
a pace forward.  Stephanie was very pendulous when she had first grown. 
Now, her breasts gently grazed her thighs.  She held them to stop them
swinging as she clambered on to the table with some difficulty.  "You've
got a fat little arsehole, darling," cried Clit with a certain familiarity
and a smack on Stephanie's bottom.

   "Ouch!" She dangled herself over the table, and Flaps knelt down to stop
them swinging.

   "Sorry we're late, Miss," it was Suzanne, with her head round the door.

   "Come in, quickly, all of you." Three girls came in, looking around them
at all these naked bodies.  "You missed the first one, but she was quite
little.  Right, dive in, watch Flaps with the tape.  Ask any questions you
want to, Clit and Flaps will try to give you the answers."

   "Do we need to undress, Miss," said Pansy, "only I haven't changed my
knick..."

   "No, that's all right, Pansy.  Be sure to put them in the basket
tonight, without fail, all right?"

   "Oooh, yes, Miss.  Miss Mountains will love them, they're really
crunchy..."

   "Thank you, Pansy.  I really do not want to know about your crunchy
panties.  Now, Anastasia, gather round where you can see.  Gosh, *you've*
grown!"

   Anastasia blushed prettily.

   "I think she got too close to the mixing bucket again, Miss," said
Suzanne.

   "We keep telling her, Miss," sighed Pansy.

   Meanwhile, Flaps had finished with Stephanie.

   "Right, fatso, down you get.  Eighty-eight, thank you."

   "Eighty-eight?  That's nearly twenty inches!"

   "We gave her a good dangle.  You probably didn't stretch her properly
when you did her.  Next one.  You, Daisy?"

   Little Daisy blushed as she scrambled on to the table, helped gently by
Clit.  Hello!  Did I detect signs of more than just friendship here?  Flaps
was looking at Daisy with a sour expression, and occasional daggers in the
direction of Clit.  Gosh!  A bit of intrigue at St Cat's.  A bit of lesbian
rumpy-pumpy behind the bike sheds.  No law against it, of course.  In this
country, lesbians do not officially exist.  Which is a bit hard on those of
us who enjoy a spot of the old ...

   "When you're QUITE ready!" Flaps was glaring at Clit, who had paused
with her hand gently caressing Daisy's plump buttocks.  Daisy was squirming
softly on her stomach, no doubt leaving a puddle for the others to taste.
She parted her thighs slightly and moaned a soft moan.

   "If you'd rather we all came back in ten minutes, Clit," I suggested,
kindly.

   "Sorry, Miss Gruntwurvy, I came over all funny for a minute." She
removed her hand with a final twitch, and Daisy's thighs snapped together
with an audible squelch.

   "You can get down," grated Flaps harshly, and Daisy slid off the table.
As I had suspected, there was evidence left behind and Vulva helped
herself. She winked at me and shook her head, screwing up her nose and
wiping her finger on her buttock.  "She's ninety-two inches", said Flaps
without further comment.  "Now, Vulva!" Her voice softened noticeably. 
"Your turn, my sweetness!"

   "Cow!" muttered Clit under her breath.

   They're all at it!  So young Vulva Morgenstern was seeing Flaps in her
spare time.  These girls needed more homework to occupy their minds.  I
would see Moggie about it.  Several minutes passed while Vulva and Flaps
wrestled on the table top and the girls looked the other way and talked
among themselves.  Finally, after a polite cough from Clit, the two lovers
broke off their entanglement and Vulva hung her breasts over the edge of
the table.

   Flaps busied herself with the tape.  "That's two-hundred and ninety
inches," she said proudly.

   "Excuse ME!" Clit whipped her own tape from round her neck and encircled
Vulva's dangling massiveness.  "She's eighty-two.  If that!"

   "I beg your pardon!" Flaps wrapped her tape around the girl again. 
"There.  One hundred and forty!"

   "You've got it round the table leg.  Admit it, your fancy bit hasn't
grown as much as some of the others!"

   "She has, too.  And she's not my fancy bit."

   "So who was snogging her for ten minutes when you got her on the table?"

   "I was not snogging her.  Our tits got caught up with each other, that's
all."

   "And your tongues?"

   "Fuck off, you slimy cow."

   "Oh, yeah, why don't you get personal, bum-face?"

   "Hairy-arse!"

   "Kipper-breath!"

   "Ladies, please!"

   "You stay out of this, shorthorn," Flaps told me rudely.  The girls made
an ugly noise at this insult to their teacher.  The First Form members of
the newly-formed St Cat's Junior Statistics Group clapped their hands
together in anticipation of a fight.

   "Ladies!  We were measuring Vulva.  If you aren't going to get on with
the job, my girls will do it for you.  We have classes to attend."

   The two seamstresses snarled at one another, but got on with the
measuring in silence.  They finally agreed that Vulva had reached
eighty-five inches.  The girl climbed off the table, disappointment showing
in every wobble of her breasts.

   "Your turn, Anna-Maria," I said, taking charge.  "Are you sure you've
stopped growing?"

   "I think so, Miss.  I was a bit bigger yesterday morning, but today I
seem to be the same as yesterday."

   "Get up on the table, then.  Help her please,Vulva.  Not like THAT!"

   "Ouch, Miss.  She pulled my nipple."

   "Sorry, Miss, I thought it was her hand." I glared at Vulva and she
subsided slowly.  "Sorry, Annie", she murmured.

   Anna-Maria's breasts were still stretching, and the seamstresses were
busily measuring everything else they could find in the meantime.  They
still weren't speaking to each other, but the threat of violence had
passed. Occasionally, their fingers brushed each other and their eyes met.

   Finally, at an unspoken signal, they draped the tape around Anna-Maria's
vast, bloated circumference.  It was too short.

   "Give me the twelve-footer!" Clit passed it over.

   "There," said Flaps at last, "agreed?"

   "Yep!"

   "One hundred and forty inches!"

   A great sigh went up from eleven throats.  That was all of us.

   "We've nothing that size, Miss Gruntwurvy," said Clit.  "She'll need a
custom job.  Can she come back after school for three nights?"

   "Make it five," said Flaps.

   "Five it is," said Clit.

   The two women were rubbing their hips and thighs together in
anticipation of five nights with (arguably) the biggest unwheelbarrowed
breasts in the entire school.

   "Right, then.  Start tonight, Annie, all right?"

   "Yes, Miss," she said mournfully.

   "We'll be gentle wiv you, Annie," Clit assured her.









   Part V









   Chapter 13:- The New Project



   I found myself hurrying back to the main block after that episode with
the tape measures in the bra manufacturing facility.  I knew Anna-Maria had
become huge, but seeing her with her breasts dangling over the edge of a
five-foot high table, and swinging only inches above the floor, I realised
just how big she had become.

   Five days to make a bra?  Even a mammoth SBSMXXCW9.  Ridiculous!  I
would tell Moggie that as well, when Smegs and I went in to do our
punishment tonight.  I had so many tales to tell the headmistress.  Illicit
relationships between the seamstresses were bad enough, but when the girls
became involved as well, it was a bit much.

   Before then, though, I had one more class.  I stopped outside the Third
Form classroom and smoothed down my rumpled clothing.  I had dressed in a
hurry.  In fact, I had left the bra manufacturing facility naked, and had
to go back for my clothes when I realised how cold it was outside.  Not one
of the girls saw fit to remind me, of course.

   I had found Clit and Flaps in the middle of a reconciliation.

   I coughed politely.  "Just came back to get dressed," I murmured. 
"Don't let me stop you."

   They both squealed in ectsasy and rushed over to me.  It's quite a
luxurious feeling, being dressed by two naked, busty young women.  Their
fingernails trailed across my fevered skin, and I felt little wet kisses
planted en passant on various parts.  I finally emerged looking like a sack
of rather large potatoes.



   **********

   The class went silent when I entered.

   "Right, girls.  The subject for today is, as you are all aware, Blushing
Prettily."

   Little cries of 'oooh' went up, and there were soft squeaking noises as
the girls wriggled their magnificently plump little bottoms on their
chairs.

   "Now.  There are two types of blushing.  Anyone?"

   "Prettily, Miss."

   "Thank you, Gwendolyn.  Good to see you're paying attention.  Any
others?"

   "Embarrassment, Miss.  Like Gwendolyn is doing now!"

   "Excellent.  Stand up, Gwendolyn." She rose to her feet, bright scarlet.
"Take a good look at her, class.  Note the lowered eyes and the wriggling.
Thank you, sit down.  Now, I need a girl to demonstrate the other sort. 
Toria, stand, please."

   Victoria stood up, grinning around her.

   "Golly, Toria," I said in some surprise, you're even bigger than you
were this morning!"

   She blushed prettily.

   "That's fine.  See the colour as it spreads down the neck to the upper
curves of the breasts?  Just a couple of buttons, please, Toria ..."

   She unbuttoned the top three, and the class craned its necks to see the
pink glow of her big, wobbling boobies.  She *was* bigger than she had been
this morning!  And how did she make them jiggle like that?

   "Note also the lower lip.  Toria is biting it gently with the upper
front teeth.  She is lowering the eyes very slightly.  Just enough!  This
is an excellent ploy to use with the pretty blush.  And those of you who
are next to her, what about her feet, anyone?"

   "Toes turned inwards, Miss?"

   "That's right," I intoned, striding to the front of the class and
turning to face them.  "The toes are turned inwards." I demonstrated the
toes and lower lip biting for the class, and they giggled.

   "There's one other thing you can't actually see, anyone?"

   There was silence as the class stared at me and Toria in turn.

   "Come on, now!  Nobody have an answer?  Theresa?  Nesta?"

   Nesta blushed fiercely behind her thick glasses.  On her desk lay her
notebook in which she made a note of rude words which she would later enter
into the database of words which were not allowed to pass the school's
firewall into the computer network.  She shook her head.

   "How about 'wet', Nesta?"

   "Oooh, Miss!" Nesta scribbled the word in her notepad.  "That's
disgusting, Miss!"

   "Disgusting, perhaps, but very much a fact of life." I wrote the word in
large letters on the blackboard before turning to face them again.  "Class!
Victoria is getting wet!  Anyone near her care to confirm that?  Don't all
RUSH!"

   A stampede had broken out to get closer to Victoria.  They stopped in a
rough circle around her, pawing the ground.

   "Gwendolyn, you may check for us."

   Gwendolyn squealed in delight at being selected.  She checked, and
emerged, rubbing her fingers together.  The rest of the class laughed.

   "Yes, Miss.  She's soaked."

   "Soaked?"

   "Sopping, Miss.  Drenched!"

   "Good girl.  Don't be afraid of using alternative or additional words.
Did you get all of those, Nesta?"

   "Yes, Miss.  And 'moist', 'dripping', 'squelchy' and 'saturated'."

   "Those are lovely ones, Nesta.  Well done.  Thank you, Toria, button
your blouse and sit down."

   She complied with an audible splats!, and the girls around her giggled.

   "Toria, stand up again!  Thank you.  There you see the embarrassed
blush. As you see, not the same thing at all.  Thank you, Toria!"



   **********

   Victoria caught my elbow as I followed the girls out of the classroom.

   "That wasn't very nice, Miss.  I mean, thanks for making my breasts seem
even bigger than they were this morning.  It's this bra, Miss, by the way.
But making me embarrassed, and sopping wet.  That was bang out of order."

   "It's swings and roundabouts, Toria.  Some you win, some you lose. 
Don't forget, knickers in the basket as soon as you get to the dorm!  See
you later ..."

   And I was off, leaving her staring after me open-mouthed.

   Smegs was already in Moggie's office when I knocked and walked in.  Our
thighs touched when I sat next to her, and she didn't pull away, which was
a promising sign, at least.

   "Sorry, Miss.  I had Third Form Blushing."

   "No problem, Shan.  I bet they've all gone off to change their knickers
after that."

   "They'd better," growled Smegs, just like her old self.

   "Yes, you should get a good crop of Type 'A' out of them.  Some 'B' as
well, if my nose didn't deceive me."

   "Oh, well DONE, Chauntaille!" Moggie was in an excellent mood.  She must
have been laid at lunchtime.  "Right, now listen up." God, she'd been
listening to contemporary music as well.  Smegs nudged me and it was all I
could do to stop myself burying my face in her steaming snatch.  Moggie was
still talking.

   "...  let you off the punishment.  You have learned your lesson, I am
sure, and I am not a vindictive old woman.  I am not an old woman at all.
Not after this lunchtime ..." she gathered her thoughts.  "Where was I? 
Yes, Megan.  Your Lower Sixths want to make a film.  I chanced to meet the
camera crew at lunchtime..."

   Both of them?

   "...  and we discussed, among other things ..."

   I bet you did.

   "...  the proposal to make a film of a girl whose breasts grow
dramatically.  I suggested a meeting tomorrow.  The camera crew have
arranged to stay in a nearby hotel tonight.  I may see them later..."

   You probably will, yes.

   "...  and will discuss having a meeting here in the morning.  You two
should attend, and the two associate producers, Pubella and Gudrun.  Among
other things, we need a flat-chested girl who will be expanded during the
course of the film ..."

   "But, Miss," I broke in, "is that wise, in view of all the expansions
we've had recently?"

   "We won't be expanding her.  Remember, here in my drawer, we have the
Biggest Breasts in the World!" She slid the drawer open and produced
Shaynette's monster artificial bosom, still slightly inflated.  She must
have been trying it on herself.  Either Moggie or Miss Labia.  "So, there's
no need to expand a girl in real life.  Shan.  A Junior would be most
suitable for the role.  Can you find an innocent-looking one?"

   That wouldn't be so easy.  Most of the Juniors looked about as innocent
as Kings Cross streetwalkers.  I thought about it for a while.

   "No, Miss!"

   "No, I supposed not.  Well, an almost innocent one would do.  Perhaps
she could put her thumb in her mouth and stand with her toes turned
inwards. One of the Drama Group.  We still have a Drama Group, don't we?"

   "I think so, Miss."

   "Good, that's settled then.  She's got to be absolutely flat, remember.
In her first few scenes she's got to be naked.  Topless, at least."

   "What about the British Board of Film Censors, Miss?"

   "What about them, Chauntaille?"

   It was no use arguing with Moggie sometimes.  "Nothing, never mind," I
said.

   "Right," she peered at her watch.  "Shit, is that the time?  Off you go,
and have your tea, or whatever you're going to have.  See you both in here
at ten sharp."



   **********

   "Whatever happened to Ten Sharp?" Smegs rubbed against me sinuously as
we walked along the corridor with our arms around each other.

   "What?"

   "Never mind." Her tongue slid into my mouth and passing girls giggled
happily at the sight of two of their teachers so obviously enjoying
themselves.

   "Let's go and have our tea, or whatever," I purred in my huskiest voice.
We were undressed and in Smegs's new double bed within thirty seconds.

   Behind us, on the stairs, girls were collecting up stray items of
underwear and dipping their fingers cautiously into the dribbles of
moisture I had inadvertently sprayed on the walls.



   **********

   We did have our tea afterwards.  Supper, it was, actually, but it was
hardly worth getting out of bed, so I ran to the restaurant and grabbed a
few handfuls of food before scooting back to Smegs again.

   "Anyone see you?" she said.

   "What do you mean?"

   "You weren't wearing any clothes."

   "Oh, shit, Smegs, you could have SAID."

   "I shouldn't think it matters a lot.  The whole of St Cat's knows what
we've been doing, the noise you've been making.  You're getting louder,
Shan, darling!"

   "Am I?" I bellowed at her, and dived in once more.

   She's not so quiet herself!



   **********

   We were up bright and early, and took breakfast together in the
restaurant.  Perhaps we should have showered first, but the girls probably
understood.  Some of them moved away to more distant tables, but I did see
some of the Juniors fighting for the privilege of getting a table right
next to ours and immediately downwind.  Obviously they were overdue for
their first lessons in The Role of the Five Senses in Lovemaking.

   We were clean and scrubbed by ten o' clock, though; having shared a
shower cubicle, a loofah and a sponge.  The loofah seemed to disappear
after a few minutes, but no doubt it would turn up eventually.

   Moggie did the introductions.

   "Shan, you've met Martin and Bob: Megan, this is Martin, and this is
Bob. Our film crew.  That's it, we all know each other.  The two Sixth
Formers, Pubella and Gudrun sat thigh to naked thigh in microscopically
abbreviated skirts and their ScatBras hoisted to just above the horizontal.
They nodded to me, looking as if butter wouldn't melt either in their
mouths - or any other of their all too readily-accessible orifices.

   "Did you find a flat-chested girl, Chauntaille?"

   "Not yet, Miss.  We were otherwise engaged last night."

   "We'll find you one, Miss," Pubella chirped brightly.  "Young and
innocent?  Flat chest?  Goes like a train, Miss?"

   I didn't know about the last requirement, but the rest of her sounded
okay to me.  I nodded to Moggie and she agreed.

   "Thank you, Pubella.  Bring her along here after the meeting and we'll
vet her."

   Sounded painful.  I wondered if it was anything like what mother had
done to the cat.

   And after that, the two girls and the camera crew got into a deep and
meaningful discussion on scripts and treatments and outlines and above and
below the line costs and stuff like that.  I nodded off, and Smegs woke me
with a probing hand.  I sat up with a jerk.  No-one had missed me.

   I wasn't comfortable, somehow.  An itchy sensation, down there.  Not the
usual one, which meant I needed a good Smegging, or even a stiff cock, but
a more nagging feeling.

   Only when the meeting broke up, at lunchtime, and Smegs and I dashed
back to bed for a quickie before the drudgery of afternoon classes, did the
reason come to light.

   "Oooh, look, Shan, my sweet!  I just found the loofah!"









   Chapter 14:- Pubella Comes Good



   "We brought the star, Miss."

   "Sorry, Pubella?"

   "The star of the film, Miss, this is Abi." She stood aside and a
miniscule girl appeared.  She had been standing there the whole time.

   "Abi?  Aren't you in the Second Form?"

   "Yes, Miss.  Abi Goodyear."

   "Not Dunlop," said Gudrun with a snigger.  "Although she's going to be a
walking advert for rubber by the time we finish shooting this epic."

   She certainly fitted the part.  Her chest, inside her starched blouse,
was not calculated to trouble the bra-makers.  Her face, if not entirely
innocent, possessed a certain wide-eyed charm.  Her hair was long and
blonde, and she frequently had to flick it away from her face.  Smegs used
to have this habit but she had grown out of it now.  Perhaps because of the
association with Smegs, I found it quite alluring.  Abi did it again and I
became almost turned on.  She smelled nice, too; not at all cheesy, like
most Junior girls, but a fresh scent of springtime flowers.

   Stop it, Shan, I rebuked myself sharply.  You are unnecessarily horny of
late.  Perhaps what you need to cure you is another damned good knobbing.
It had been almost a week since Villiers!

   "Are you feeling all right, Miss?"

   "Sorry, Pubella.  Did you say something?"

   "I asked if you were feeling all right.  You went all quiet and your
eyes glazed over."

   "I'm perfectly all right, thank you.  Take ...  take Abi to Miss
Mountains and show her, no, better still, go to Miss Thunderbolt's office.
Ask Miss Labia if it's all right to see the headmistress."

   "All right, Miss.  Miss Thunderbolt is in there with the camera crew. 
We know, 'cos we're seeing them later, after school." She winked.  She
actually winked!  What was St Cat's coming to, girls getting laid after
school.  In the woods, probably.

   "In the woods?" I asked, without really meaning to.  It sort of slipped
out.

   "Nah, too wet.  In the caretaker's shed.  We've got a booking for the
bed.  Two hours, Miss."

   "Three," said Gudrun.  "I changed it to three.  Six till nine."

   "Fine, I can make it last.  Are you coming, Miss?"

   "I beg your pardon?"

   "To the shed.  There's plenty of room.  And we won't be using the crew
the whole time, we like to get off with each other now and then, so
there'll always be one spare for you ..."

   "Absolutely not!  I have never heard of such a thing!"

   "Suit yourself, Miss.  We can get Miss Mountains instead, can't we,
Pubes?"

   "Yeah, no trouble.  She said she fancied that Bob Martin."

   "See ya later, then, Miss!"

   And they were gone.  I went to my own little narrow bed and had a good
old cry.



   **********

   "Shan?  You in here?"

   "Go away."

   I felt her hand on my shoulder.  I wished it didn't feel quite so nice.

   "I'll put the light on, mind out for your eyes."

   The light came on and I buried my head deeper in the pillow.  Smegs
stroked my hair and I moved my head slightly to get away from her hand.  I
felt her hankie brush my cheek.  "It's all right.  Tell Auntie Smegs all
about it."

   So I did.

   "Those little bastards," she said fiercely.  "I'll kill them!"

   "Smegs, don't go!  Where are you going?"

   "I won't be long.  Wash your face.  See you around six.  My room." And
she was gone.  No point in crying any more.  So I sat up.  It was twenty
minutes to six.  Twenty minutes later, feeling not much better, I was in
Smegs's room trying to watch her television.  It seemed to be a programme
about schoolkids.  Strange kids, they were, a school with boys as well as
girls, yet they didn't seem to spend their every waking hour trying to
climb into each other's pants.  I watched it with growing impatience.

   "Hi, she's here, come on in.  I'll put this nosh into some dishes, get
your coats off..."

   Smegs bustled off and I stood up, blinking.  "Lo, Shan," said Bob. 
"Smegs said you were feeling lonely, so we thought you'd fancy an evening
in."

   "Oh?  Oh, lovely!"

   "Chinese all right, kid?" Smegs came in from the little room that served
as a makeshift kitchen area.  She piled dishes on the low table and we all
squatted on the floor.

   "We got a banquet for eight," said Martin.  "In case you were as hungry
as we were." He passed me a prawn cracker, one of those things made of
fish-flavoured expanded polystyrene.

   Smegs looked at me closely, and grinned a secret little grin.  We all
dipped into the dishes.

   "Shit, I forgot the beer!" Bob got up.  "Can I find my own way out of
here to the car park?"

   "Down the stairs, turn right, on your left outside the double doors."

   "Back in a minute.  Keep my cushion warm, Shan."

   "They'll all be double doors soon, the way we're going," said Smegs. 
"The builders are doing the dorms this week.  It's hard enough getting a
big girl through, let alone a wheelbarrow."

   "How many girls are using wheelbarrows?" said Martin.

   "Only two, but I think it will catch on.  Anna-Maria wants one.  She's
the girl that exploded out of her shirt on the stage."

   "I should think she does need one.  I never saw anything like it.  It
was all we could do to keep filming with that going on."

   "We measured her yesterday," I said.  "A hundred and forty inch bust!"

   "I don't believe it.  I mean, what's yours?"

   I blushed prettily.  "Ten feet.  It doesn't sound quite as outrageous as
a hundred and twenty inches."

   We had to tell him the whole story of our tits, and how they grew at
first.  Bob brought the cold beers, and the banquet for eight gradually
dwindled to a pile of empties.  "Toss them in that sack, Mar," said Smegs.
"No, not that one.  You wouldn't like what's in there."

   I lay back with my head in Bob's lap, and he stroked my neck.  I could
tell he wanted to feel lower down, but he was too shy.  It took a bit of
organising, but at last, I sat up and altered my position, my head against
his shoulder, and my right breast flopped on to his arm.  Get yourself out
of that, I thought.  He didn't try, and once he did move his hand - he'd
probably got pins and needles - I gave such a moan and rubbed myself
against him, he seemed to get the message.

   Of course, by then, the conversation had died away completely, and when
I chanced to glance over at Smegs and Martin, they were well away on the
rug.  So I suggested to Bob that we got ourselves more comfortable, and
that was when my shirt came unbuttoned right the way down to the waist.

   Enough of this.  Why should I tell what we did?  I got one surprise,
though.  Bob had nothing to be shy about, unless he was worried in case he
scared me with it!

   Anyway, it fitted beautifully, as if it had been made for the job:
although as all my friends know, I am EXTREMELY accommodating.



   **********

   They left our room quite early in the morning, before the girls were up
and about.

   "What happened last night, Smegs?  Pubella and Gudrun said they had a
date with Bob and Martin."

   "I persuaded them it would be better if they changed their minds.  They
listened to reason in the end."

   "What did you say to them?"

   "It doesn't matter.  It worked." I had crawled into her bed as soon as
Bob had left.  "How are the knees?"

   I rubbed my knees a little ruefully.  "Recovering.  These hardwearing
carpet tiles are all right, but they aren't best for getting doggied. 
Sorry about the rug, by the way.  I hung it on the radiator to dry."

   "Something told me you had," she said.  "What happened to it?"

   "I squirted all over it.  After the third lot, it got so wet we had to
get off it on to the carpet.  It is washable though."

   "We'll leave it on the radiator for now.  It smells nice!" She's a funny
girl about smells, is Smegs.

   Martin and Bob said nothing at all when we all met up in Moggie's
office. Nor did the subdued Sixth Form girls, who looked at us with a
mixture of hatred, envy and sheer terror.  The star was in there as well,
smelling just as nice as the day before.  And the decision was made that
the two associate producers would go away and write the whole story by the
weekend, we would fax it to the crew for approval, and we would start
shooting on the following Monday.

   Outside, in the corridor, Smegs and I spoke to the crew.  They had gone
back to their hotel for breakfast and a freshen-up before coming back to
the school for the meeting.  We stopped talking for a moment as Pubella and
Gudrun hurried past, studiously looking the other way.  Then the corridor
was quiet, and we even had time for a goodbye kiss from Bob and Martin
before they went off.  We stood by Smegs's window and watched as their car
slipped away up the drive.

   "Thanks for everything, Smegs, darling.  I know you did all that just to
cheer me up!"

   "Well, most of it, yes.  But it was nice to have a good screw again.  It
was Christmas week, my last time."

   "With all those people, remember?"

   "I didn't sleep with them all," she protested.  "Well, only twelve of
them.  And I thought the little Irish one was best.  The one that sucked.
What was her name again?"

   "Megan."

   "No, that's my name."

   "Megan," I insisted.  "Fuck me again, please, right now!"

   She can never resist gentle sweet-talk.  We were late for our next
classes.



   **********

   "Quiet please on the set!  Lose those house lights somebody.  All ready,
Mar?  Bob?"

   Pubella wanted to direct.  She had the right sort of voice to make
herself heard across a crowded studio, classless, received pronunciation
with slightly flattened vowels giving away her parents' Northern origins.
The voice of a girl whose parents had more disposable income than was good
for them.

   "Lights, then.  Turn over, please.  Can I have absolute silence.  And
... action!"

   Abi, discovered in bed in a darkened dormitory, woke and sat up, saw the
sunlight streaming in through the window, reacted, rubbed her eyes, said,
"oh, fuck it," and lay back down again.

   "Cut," shrieked Pubella.  "She's forgotten her lines.  Abi, darling. 
You wake up, you sit up in bed, you see the sunlight, you react, rub your
eyes and repeat after me ..."

   "Repeat after you ..."

   "Ughh!"

   "Ughh!"

   "That's it.  Not too hard to remember, is it?  Right, let's go again. 
Ready everyone.  Stand by.  Turn over, Mar, darling!  And ...  action!"

   Again, Abi went through her routine.  This time, she got the words
right, and didn't say, "oh, fuck it" until she had said "Ughh!" and
couldn't remember what she was supposed to do next.

   "We can use that as far as it went." said Martin.  "We'll shoot a
cutaway of the clock or something.  If you carry on to the next scene, Abi
will soon get into the swing of it, won't you, sweetheart?"

   Abi nodded gratefully and prepared for her next bit of action, where she
stretched, showing a featureless chest beneath her new Marks and Sparks
nightie, and crawled out of bed.

   I could stand no more of this.  I slipped out of the commandeered dorm
and down the corridor to my room.  "How's it going," said Smegs, coming
round the corner with two enormous sacks over her shoulders.  "Last weeks
knickers," she explained unnecessarily.  "Can I leave them in your room,
mine's full."

   "Full of what, knickers?"

   "No, I've got Martin's and Bob's gear in there.  They're not booking in
to the hotel until they know how well they get on today.  I thought they
might like to stay the night."

   "Oh, all right." I stood to one side and Smegs dumped the sacks on my
bed.  I would swear they were moving.  "Is there something alive in there?"

   "No, it's just the steam pressure building up.  They're not a bad batch.
Many more pairs like that and we can bump the price up another ten per
cent! Have they done the bit with the tits yet?"

   "No, they were still on the first scene, where she gets up.  They've got
the washroom sequence, the toilet, dressing ..."

   "Toilet?  You mean we see her having a sh ..."

   "No!  What sort of film do you think this is!  No, we see her go into
the toilet cubicle and close the door.  Then some other girls come in and
start discussing the way they all have breasts but little Abi doesn't. 
They don't know she's listening, you see."

   "Gosh, I see!  Do we hear her, then?"

   "Hear who?"

   "Abi.  She's doing a jobbie in the bog.  Do we hear anything.  Splashes
or anything?"

   "Of course not.  What would be the point of that?"

   "Realism.  These other girls would get suspicious if they were in the
room and there was a girl in the bogs and absolute silence.  There ought to
be farts and things.  Ask your Bob!"

   "Oh, Smegs!  You are disgusting.  It's those knickers that have this
effect on you.  And he's not my Bob."

   "No, you just fuck each other occasionally.  And very loudly, Shan-tail!
I still think Abi ought to fart.  You don't need her to do it for real, you
can record the sounds and put them in afterwards.  Like this."

   She performed a credible farting noise with her mouth on her bare arm,
then produced a groan.

   "What was that for?"

   "Just a bit of accent.  Why shouldn't she groan as well.  Absolute
silence for a few seconds, then she could strain a bit, then a fart, a
groan, and a socking great splash!  Then the girls would giggle, make some
rude comment about the air quality, and run out.  I ought to have written
this script.  I've experienced life."

   "It's not a film about the toilet habits of schoolgirls.  The scene only
takes place in the loo so that Abi can overhear the conversation.  It's a
device."

   "So's farting and splashing.  That's a device that says there's a girl
in the bogs having a dump.  If you don't tell Bob, I will."









   Chapter 15:- We've All Got To Grow Sometime



   They shot the toilet scene in the afternoon.  Abi came in, carrying her
sponge bag; her towel over her shoulder.  She inspected herself critically
in one of the full length mirrors, provided by a thoughtful management for
the girls to see what was happening in that mysterious area below their
waists.  She disappeared into the cubicle and locked the door.

   A gaggle of busty girls came in.  The pick of the larger Juniors, they
included Suzanne, Pansy and Victoria.  They held an animated conversation
while inspecting themselves in the mirror.  Suddenly, they all cracked up,
leaning against each other and giggling helplessly.

   "Hold it, what's the matter?" Pubella yelled.

   "It was Abi," said Pansy.  "She let one go!"

   "She what?"

   "She farted, Pubes," said Victoria.

   "Abi!  Can't you keep quiet in there.  You're supposed to be listening."

   "I tried, but I farted.  Sorry!"

   "All right, go again!"

   "What, from the top, Pubes?"

   "Mar?"

   Martin sighed.  "No, from the point where the girls come in.  We'll
shoot a close up of the door lock changing from 'vacant' to 'engaged'."

   Again the girls came in, chattering.  The scene was going well.  It was
alive.  Even when Abi farted again, they carried on without laughing too
much.  It was the splash that stopped them in their tracks.  It was a truly
thunderous splash, like a hippopotamus leaping into a watering hole. 
SPALLOSHHHH!  Slowly, the red-faced girls helped each other to their feet.
Pubella hammered on the cubicle door.  Sheepishly, Abi opened it.  The cast
reeled back several paces.

   "Fuckin' hell, Ab!"

   "Wowee!"

   "Jeez, Abi, what have you been EATING?"

   "Sorry, Pubes.  As soon as I sat down, I wanted to go.  I haven't been
for three days ...  Well, I hadn't.  I've been now!"

   "I can tell that, Abi," shouted Pubella from the far side of the room.
"We'd better give it five minutes and try again.  Make it ten."

   "'Scuse me, Pubes."

   "What is it this time?"

   Abi whispered something.

   "I can't hear you from over here!"

   "Well, come over here, then."

   "You gotta be joking."

   She whispered again, a bit louder.

   "Oh, Abi!" Pubella's voice rang out throught the echoing toilets.  "Can
somebody bring her a roll of PAPER, please!"

   I decided it was as good a time as any to leave them to it.  Smegs had
got her ripe sound effects one way or the other.  And probably better than
any simulation.  It was all there, including the groan, and the reactions
of the girls was spontaneous and totally authentic.

   I gave her the full story and she brightened immediately.  "We'll have
some nice Type 'C' stains, then?"

   "Well, no, not exactly.  She wasn't wearing any knickers.  She was in
her M&S nightie, and nothing else."

   "Typical bloody Juniors, going to bed without knickers.  Absolute
disgrace!"

   They wrapped after the following scene was shot.  The chattering girls
with the improbable breasts charged out of the toilets and their yelling
voices dwindled out of earshot.  A few seconds later, Abi emerged,
pale-faced and about nine pounds lighter, and washed her hands.  Well, you
have to set the right example, don't you.



   **********

   They did manage a few more shots during the next few days.  On the
Wednesday afternoon, I dropped in and found them shooting a scene in a
classroom.  "What happens in this one?" I asked Suzanne who was waiting for
her turn to sit at a desk and look surprised.

   "This is the first enlargement scene," she whispered.  "Abi is in class
and she feels a tingling in her chest, and when she looks at herself, she's
grown."

   "Is she wearing the inflatable breasts under her blouse now?"

   "Not yet, Miss.  She's not going to be very big in this one.  Just like
little bumps.  They're going to shoot her from another angle and they'll be
there."

   "When's she going to wear the Biggest Tits in the World?"

   "Tomorrow.  Goodie wants to see them inflating!"

   "What, just like that?  Before your very eyes?"

   "Yeah!"

   "Gosh!"

   **********

   "What did she want?" Pansy asked her cousin.

   She was asking about the Biggest Breasts in the World."

   "What did you tell her?"

   "Tomorrow."

   "Will the mixture have worked by then?"

   "Probably.  If we spray her tonight.  She'll start to grow overnight."

   "I can hardly wait," said Pansy.  "We haven't done any enlarging for
months!"

   "Well, we know the stuff works.  That business with the choir ..."

   "We still don't know who did that."

   "I've got a good idea.  It was those cows from the Fifths."

   "Yeah, but why?"

   "Maybe they wanted to get some tits of their own, but it went wrong. 
Anyway, this won't go wrong.  We'll get Abi when she's changing after this
shoot.  She's shy, so she changes her shirt in the bogs."

   "I'm not going anywhere near the bog if she's in there.  There's
something wrong with her insides.  I can still taste it from Monday."

   "I'll just give it a quick in and out.  Ten seconds, a smell of
strawberries, and Bob's your uncle."

   "He's not, is he?"



   **********

   "I want to see her getting bigger," said Gudrun obstinately.

   "You will, I keep telling you.  We'll blow her tits up a bit more each
time we shoot her."

   "No, Pubes, I want to watch her tits grow.  We look at her and she
grows. Like a balloon."

   "Breasts don't grow like that.  It's gradual.  Ours took all day to
reach this size!"

   "I still want to see them grow.  It's more exciting."

   "There's something wrong with you.  What's exciting about it?"

   "I dunno.  It just is.  I've always been excited by balloons.  If
someone blows up a balloon, I get all wet."

   "You do?"

   "There's nothing wrong with that.  You get wet sometimes."

   "Not when people blow balloons up.  Anyway, we can't.  You have to pump
these breasts up with a pump."

   "We could have a hose connected to them."

   "Goodie, how could we connect a hose to the girl.  You'd see it."

   "Let's ask Mar."

   So they did.  Martin looked at Gudrun a bit strangely, but shrugged his
shoulders and said, yes, you could shoot her with the hose passing under
her arms and beneath the desk.  Her tits could blow up quite quickly that
way.  If that was what was wanted.

   Yes, insisted Gudrun, it was.

   It was quite simple in the end.  Jeremy was called for and he arranged
for an electric pump to be placed outside the window, with a long hose
leading to the Biggest Breasts in the World, hidden beneath Abi's arm,
inside her blouse.

   Ten minutes it took, and they were ready for a test.  The breasts slowly
grew in size.  You couldn't even hear the pump.

   "Right, let them down." Pubella yelled.  "Right, listen!  We'll do this
one where her breasts start growing.  Instead of stopping after you feel
them, Abi, carry on, and the camera will truck round to the other side, and
you will start getting even bigger.  Happy?"

   Everybody said they were happy.  "Did you let those things down, Abi?"

   "Yes, Pubes, but ..."

   "Good.  Ready with the pump, Jeremy?  Switch it on when I say so.  Juice
'em!  Roll, and ...  wait for it.  Action!"

   Suzanne nudged Pansy and pointed.  The two kids hugged each other in
delight.

   Abi started to feel her chest.  A worried look came over her face and
Pubella smiled at Gudrun and they exchanged silent high fives.  The kid was
acting!  At last!  'Ready with the pump,' she mouthed, and Jeremy gave a
thumbs up.  As soon as Pubella pointed, he switched on.

   The crew and audience watched spellbound as Abi's shirt began to look
tighter.  It was barely perceptible, and Gudrun was on the verge of telling
Pubella to start the scene again when there was a ripple beneath Abi's
blouse.  A big ripple.  A just audible gasp ran round the classroom.

   It even affected me.  What an incredibly erotic sight, I thought.  Abi
was getting bigger by the second.  Her breasts had reached apple size, and
she was still stroking them with both hands, although an even more anxious
expression was by now on her face.  Oranges, grapefruit.

   Abi's blouse was straining now.  Pubella signalled Jeremy to stop the
pump, putting up her hand ready to shout cut.  But something was wrong. 
Jeremy was shaking his head vigorously and jiggling the switch.  Still Abi
expanded.  She had melons up her blouse, pineapples!

   Martin looked up at Pubella in alarm, but she wasn't paying attention,
so he shrugged and carried on shooting.  The camera move complete, he was
now viewing from the window side of Abi, and keeping a close lookout for
any sign of the hose.  No fear of that, he thought, she's so big now, you
could hide a fire hose under those things.  Why couldn't that bloody
director follow the script?  The kid will split her shirt in a minute.

   Wronggg!  It wasn't a minute.  Abi's expression changed to horror as her
blouse bulged more dangerously, then started to creak as the seams down the
sides gave up the unequal struggle.  Jeremy jiggled the pump switch one
more time, then threw it away and darted out of the back of the room, on
his way outside.  Gudrun was open-mouthed in a silent scream.  Her fingers
were a blur beneath her skirt.

   Watermelons.  Pumpkins!  Abi's breasts were bigger even than Shaynette's
had been.  I was expecting her to start rising into the air at any moment.
They bulged out of the top of her blouse as three buttons ripped undone. 
The girl's St Cat's tie slowly levitated to the horizontal as the latex
breasts grew and grew.

   All around the room, nervous watchers were seeking shelter behind
substantial objects.  Martin, feeling safe behind the camera, glanced up
from the viewfinder and saw an explosion getting ready to happen.  He
cringed behind the viewfinder again, and felt a little safer.  Bob didn't.
He sank behind a desk, cowering down so that only his microphone peeped
over the top, ready to record the devastation of Abi.  Poor child, so
small, so fragile.  Smithereened in the cause of an inflation fetish.

   Her vast pink breasts were capped with pointy plastic nipples.  The
blouse material was no match for these, and they ripped their way through
into the open air, closely followed by absurdly large areolae and great fat
tits.  They were getting greater and fatter by the second now they were no
longer constrained by the crisp white cotton.

   Jeremy nearly made it in time.  As he reached the pump battery and
yanked the leads off the terminals, he heard a dull thump from inside the
classroom, followed by a scream.  I saw his face appear at the window as he
tried to see what had happened.

   "Cut!" said Pubella, weakly.

   Abi was sobbing, the remains of her blouse lying in shreds on the desk.
The Biggest Breasts in the World had lasted well, but a split had appeared
beneath the left breast.  A simple enough repair.

   The girl rested her head in her arms, crying piteously.  "Help her out
of the Biggest Breasts in the World, somebody," called the director, and
Suzanne and Pansy darted forward.

   "Sit up, Abi," said Pansy.

   "Let's get that off you," said Suzanne.  They released the apparatus,
which, for the initial clothed scene had not been glued on.  Pansy placed
the Biggest Breasts in the World on an adjacent desk, and gave a giggle
that she managed to turn into a gasp.  It merged with all the other gasps
that filled the room.

   "That's what I was trying to tell you, Pubes," Abi said at last.  "I've
got tits of my own!"



   **********

   She certainly had.  When the two First Formers helped Abi to her feet,
the whole crew could see that she had a splendid pair of melons on her
chest.  Firm and plump, they swelled out almost horizontally in front of
her, with erect nipples crowning them, perched on top of the sort of great
big puffy areolae that tend to suggest there's a good bit of growing still
to be done around here.

   "Hey, *they're* nice ones, Ab!"

   "Cor, you've got some whoppers, Abi," enthused Pansy.  "You didn't need
that pump really, did you?"

   "No," said Abi, utterly confused.  "Where did I get these, Suze?  Pan?"

   "We've all got to grow sometime," said Suzanne.



   **********

   They all looked at me.  So, I was a teacher.  It was nothing to do with
me.  But they obviously expected me to do something.

   "You'd better call it a day, Mar," I told him, but Martin was already
unmounting the camera from the tripod.  Bob was disconnecting leads.

   "That's a wrap, Pubella," Bob called, and Pubella, stunned, could only
nod.

   "Come on, you lot," I held out my arms to Abi and the two First Formers.
"Let's find you some clothes, shall we?" I led them out of the classroom
and upstairs to the dormitories.  Abi was still shivering with the shock of
it all.  Even Suzanne and Pansy had run out of words.

   "Can I go to the loo, Miss?" Abi had screeched to a halt by the doors to
the toilet area.  "It's an emergency!"

   "Go on, then.  Do forgive us if we don't come with you." Abi shot into
the toilets and we heard the distant slam of a cubicle door.

   Pansy shook her head, sadly.  "There's something wrong with her insides,
Miss.  I told Suzanne."

   "She's had a nasty shock, Pan," I said.  It was nearly ten minutes when
we heard sounds of life from the toilets, and then there was a scream. 
"Abi?  What's the matter?"

   She appeared, white and shaking.  "I saw myself in the mirror, Miss. 
I'm huge!"

   "Not all of you.  The rest is still tiny.  Just your boobs are huge."
Abi was still getting used to having boobs, so she didn't even blush,
although I bet she could blush as prettily as any of them once she'd had a
bit of practice.

   "Come on, then." I placed my hand on the girl's bare back and guided her
into the First Form dormitory.  How many more times was I going to go
through this routine?

   "She's about your size, Pan.  Can you find her a bra and a blouse,
please?" Pansy scrabbled in her drawers and found the items.  Abi held up
the bra helplessly.

   "Which way up does it go, Miss?" The weight of the thing became too much
for her arms and they flopped down, setting her boobs in violent motion.

   The two girls helped her stop them bouncing, before they broke
something. They got her into the bra, and even showed her how to squeeze
the cups to activate the self adjustment mechanism.  "Gosh," she said at
last.  The first experience with a well-fitting ScatBra always made its
wearer say 'Gosh'.

   "Golly," she elaborated, buttoning Pansy's blouse across her jutting
bosom.  "Look at these things!" Then a preoccupied expression came over her
face.  "Whoops!  Got to go again, Miss!" She left rubber as she shot out of
the door and hurtled into the toilets.

   "What is the matter with that girl?" said Pansy.



   **********

   I was awakened by a noise.  What was it?  There, again.  Someone
knocking on the door.

   I elbowed Smegs and she snorted and made a noise like a dog drinking. 
"Whaddya want?  Oh, Shan!  Not again, darling!"

   "No.  Well, later, perhaps.  There's someone at the door."

   "Answer it, then, you idle cow." She turned her face away.

   "I can't answer it, it's *your* room.  It's *your* bed!"

   She muttered something about me being such a stickler for protocol, and
I could always sleep in my own bed if I felt that way, couldn't I?  But she
got up, scratching her hair and her crotch, and went to the door.  "Who's
there?"

   "Miss?  Miss Gruntworthy.  Is that you?"

   "No, it's Miss Mountains.  Miss Gruntworthy's room is next door."

   "Is she in there?  Please, Miss?"

   "Who is it?"

   "It's Abi, Miss.  Please.  It's an emergency!"








   [end of first instalment]