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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.



   This story would not have been possible without the valued assistance,
advice and collaboration of Ms Corinne Meadowlark, a very special lady.









   BIG FEATURE AT ST CAT'S

   by Some Sort of Dog









   Part XXVII









   Chapter 79:- Wider Still, And Wider



   I staggered up the stairs and bumped into Jeremy, who was banging away
with a hammer and chisel at the door frame.

   "I only just fitted this bloody door last week and it's not wide enough
already!  What's up with that girlfriend of yours?"

   "It's not her fault she keeps getting bigger.  You should have made it
wide enough in the first place.  Are you going to do all the other doors as
well?  What about a specially wide toilet cubicle?"

   "Sod off, Shan.  St Cat's isn't made of money.  She's going to have to
manage the way they are, or go down to the bogs outside the Sixth Form
common room.  They've got a special cubicle in there for large girls."

   "She can't go all the way over there if she's busting for a wee in the
middle of the night."

   "Not my problem, sorry!  And what about my mate Darren?"

   "What about him?"

   "Nurse phoned.  He was down there screwing her this morning.  That's
fine, he's got a number for that on his time sheet - shagging staff.  But
they brought a girl in.  Young Woods girl, Victoria?  Darren had orders to
strip her off and hose her down, soap her all over, with especial attention
to bodily orifices and folds in the skin.  Then he had to rinse her off
with copious supplies of warm water and dry her with huge, warm, fluffy
towels and put her to bed.  Then he was down to keep an eye on her for the
next two days.  It's not good enough, Shan!  What's he supposed to book his
time to?"

   "Not my problem, sorry!  You mean he doesn't have a number for shagging
Third Formers?"

   "I'll pretend you never said that.  She's a minor.  All he's allowed to
do is put her to bed, fluff up her pillows and tuck in her covers.  He
wasn't allowed to enjoy soaping her almost unimaginably lush curves in the
shower.  He was not permitted to achieve an erection.  He would certainly
not be permitted to penetrate her."

   "I should think not.  He'd split her in two."

   "In that case, you should do something about that young lady's
behaviour."

   "What do you mean?" I had an uneasy feeling nagging at my vitals.

   "She practically raped him in the shower.  He ran out and climbed on the
roof, but she chased him - stark bollock naked, both of them - and dragged
him back inside again.  I tried to get him to tell me what happened after
that, but he's still in shock.  He can't talk about it.  Darren may never
be the same again."

   "Well, that's a relief, anyway," I muttered.

   I wondered what Victoria had done to the poor boy.  Under the influence
of a whole bucketful of something unknown, Victoria could have done
literally anything.  She was probably strong enough.  And she was certainly
powerfully motivated.  Victoria wanted a boyfriend, period.  If it had to
be Darren, so be it.

   "You'd better go and see her.  She's in the sick bay."

   "I'm not seeing her.  Not me!  She'll blame me for tipping that bucket
of juice all over her."

   "She'll love you, in that case.  Nurse said she's never met a happier
girl than Victoria.  Apparently, whatever you poured all over her has made
her into a different girl.  She's a bit randy, but that's not a bad thing
at all.  At least, boys will know where they stand with her."

   I heard footsteps coming slowly up the stairs.

   "Only me!" said Corinne's voice, and she came round the corner at the
top of the staircase.  Her breasts came into sight about five seconds
before the rest of her.  "Shannie!  Hi!" she said happily.  "Well?  What do
you think?"

   "Lovely shirt, Cee!"

   "Flaps was moaning about it.  She said it took enough material to make
three ordinary girls's blouses.  Clit shut her up in the end, but she
complained the whole time she was making it."

   "How's the bra?  You're insanely huge now!"

   Corinne blushed prettily.

   "It's as well these things only weigh the same as they did before they
got SuperLitened.  And the counterweights mean they just about float in
front of me like great big clouds.  I'm still getting used to them. 
They're going to be a problem in a high wind.  I was trying to get to the
bra shop earlier and I kept ending up being blown in the wrong direction."

   "Oh, poor Cee!  We'd never have thought of that being a problem."

   "It was all right coming back.  I had the wind behind me and my feet
could only just keep up."

   She approached the huge doorway, and sailed though on the port tack
without too much difficulty.

   "Where's the bed?" She aimed herself in roughly the right direction. 
"Ouch!  That's the only trouble.  I can't see the front of them.  Hey, look
at this shirt.  It fastens up the sides with velcro!  Either side, it
doesn't matter."

   She had to show me.  Although the shirt had a row of about fifty tiny
buttons, they were far beyond the reach of her arms.

   "Do the buttons work?" I asked her.

   "Course they do.  But I can't reach them by about a yard and a half! 
And there are seventy-two of them, all down the front, it would take ages
to get it on and off.  But one day, when we've got a couple of hours to
spare, I'll let you undress me properly.  Meanwhile ..."

   There was a ripping sound, and the shirt opened up at the side.  She
shrugged it off and I picked it up off the bed.  It was big enough to make
a small tent.  One of those two-person tents.  They used to call them
two-man tents, but we're more enlightened these days.  The sounds of
hammering had ceased, and we turned to see Jeremy staring in at Corinne in
her immense bra.

   "Fucking Ada," he commented coarsely.

   I could see the boy's point, though.  Corinne carefully turned away from
the door so he couldn't stare at her.  She seemed to have forgotten that
her breasts were just as visible from behind: her tiny body was only about
half as wide as each of her breasts.

   "Clit says I could sleep in this bra if I like.  She says they'll just
stick straight up in the air."

   "But what if you turn over?  You'll suffocate me."

   "Just poke me in the tit.  I'll feel it.  They're so sensitive now, you
wouldn't believe!"

   "I'd rather you took your bra off, Cee."

   "I know, dear.  But they'll go all over the place.  And if my nipples
touch anything, anything, it drives me wild!"

   "Take it off, Cee, quick!"

   "No, Jeremy's watching us."

   "Jeremy, get on with that door, then go away."

   Reluctantly, the hammering started again, but he was still looking.  Men
are such animals.



   **********

   There was a hammering on the door.  The nice new wide double door.  I
rolled upright and got up.  Corinne perched on the edge of the bed, and her
breasts rested on the floor by her feet.

   "Amy!  What can I do for you?" I stood aside and let her in.

   "Nice doors, Miss.  Someone been growing?" She saw Corinne and her
pretty jaw dropped open.  "Ah, so I see!  Hi, Miss Meadowlark!"

   "Hi, Amy."

   "It's Sexy Amy now, Miss.  Officially.  I had Daddy change my name."

   "Your father changed your name to Sexy Amy?  What does he think of
that?"

   "He thinks it's a nice name.  He wanted to give me a middle name as
well, but they wouldn't let him.  They said 'Slut' wasn't a real name."

   "It's terrible what these petty officials get away with," I sympathised.

   "It's all right.  We settled for Salacia."

   "Oh, that's a lovely name.  It really suits you.  Anyway, Sexy Amy, what
did you want?"

   "It's about Toria, Miss.  My bestest friend.  She's in the sick
quarters, Miss.  I want to see her."

   "Nobody's stopping you, Sexy Amy, darling.  You only have to ask Nurse."

   "I did, Miss, and she said she couldn't disturb them.  Toria and Darren,
Miss.  She told me to come back next week.  Even Toria wouldn't shag
continuously for that long, would she?"

   She would if it was to spite me, I thought.

   "Couldn't you hang around and catch her in her meal breaks," Corinne
asked.

   "She's not having any, Miss." Sexy Amy was staring again at Corinne with
total disbelief.  Then she looked at me.  "Miss.  Can I have a pair of tits
like Miss Meadowlark's please?  I mean, mine are all right, and they're
easily the biggest in the class, but they're *so* heavy!  Miss Meadowlark
has such big, light airy ones."

   "They're just as heavy, Sexy Amy.  They just take up loads more room."

   "But Miss.  Look at them.  If I had a pair like that, I could pull every
boy at Lord Ted's!"

   "What do you know about Lord Ted's?" I asked her sharply.

   "Nothing, Miss!" Her face was as innocent and pure as a First Former's.
She remembered her bestest friend again.  "Anyway, she's not having meal
breaks.  I think her health will suffer if she stays in bed the whole time.
That's why I want to see her.  And if she's as happy as Nurse says she is,
I can get you to pour some of that bucket stuff over me, too."

   "We can't, we don't know what was in it."

   "Never mind.  So long as Darren takes me in the showers and soaps me all
over, with especial attention to bodily orifices and folds in the skin
...", she was making lewd gestures to reinforce her every word, and I was
beginning to find it awfully arousing.

   "Stop it, Amy ..."

   "and wraps me in warm, fluffy towels then spends the next week shagging
the arse off me, I'll be happy, too!  Even if my tits stay small like
this."

   "Small?  They're the size of pumpkins!" A moan escaped my lips.  God! 
Was that me?

   "Gosh, Miss Gruntworthy, are you coming?"

   "Of course I am, you horny little bitch.  You always have this effect on
me.  Aaaagh!  Woo-woo-woo!"

   Obliging girl, she gave me a hand.  Both hands.  Corinne watched us,
patiently awaiting her turn.  She handed Sexy Amy a box of Kleenex to wipe
my juices off her hands and face.  It took her several more sheets to dry
her breasts and mop up the puddle on the floor.  Finally, she meticulously
dried her foot, being careful to wipe between her toes.

   "Have another box, Amy," said Corinne.  "We use so much, we've got
another hundred boxes in the store room."

   "Thank you, Miss Meadowlark!"

   "Thank you, Sexy Amy," I gasped hoarsely.

   "Any time, Miss!  And about that bucket, Miss ...?"

   "We'll see, darling!"



   **********

   There was a polite knock on the kitchen door.

   "Come in, Staze", I called.  No harm in her seeing what we were doing.
It would be good experience for her.  She came in and stood uncertainly
looking over at the bed, where Sexy Amy was doing something so rude with
Corinne that I couldn't bring myself to watch them.  I carried on with my
knitting.

   "What are you making, Miss.  Ooh, look, little pink bootees, Miss.  Are
they for anyone special?"

   "Not really, but they'll always come in useful.  I'm only knitting to
steady my hands.  What did you want, darling?  And shouldn't you be wearing
some clothes?"

   "Nothing, Miss.  I was just lonely.  I don't need clothes, anyway.  It's
not cold in here."

   I peered closely at her.  "Aren't you even wearing panties, Anastasia?"
I asked in my sternest voice.

   She blushed and avoided the question.  "Did you want a cup of coffee,
Miss?  I brought a big jug of Shona-milk over from the dorm."

   "Oh, lovely, yes please.  Miss Meadowlark will have one as well, and I'm
sure Sexy Amy will, although she's got her hands full at the moment.  And
her mouth." I watched Anastasia undulate into the kitchen.  From the rear
it was plain enough, she wasn't wearing panties.  No doubt about it, she
was still growing: all of her, although some parts were still growing
faster than others.  It was easier to tell with her naked like this. 
"Don't spill it on your boobs, darling," I called to her.  "You know how
hard it is to see what you're doing now."

   "Yes, Miss," she sang out in a bored voice.  She reappeared with two
mugs and gave me one, then sat down at my feet.  To my surprise and
delight, she ran her tiny index finger between my toes, removing little
piles of dirt.  "Poo!" she said as she finished and sniffed her finger. 
"It smells cheesy, like Clark's cock!"

   "Anastasia!  Please!  I'm drinking my coffee." I ruffled her hair and
she leaned against my leg.  Her breast felt like a balloon full of hot
water.

   She grinned up at me.  "Miss!  My bra is ever so tight.  That's why I'm
not wearing it."

   "You're still growing, darling.  I could tell, when I saw you come in
just now.  Your breasts are a lot bigger than they were when you came out
of the sick bay.  They're hanging lower, too.  I hope the FatLite isn't
wearing off."

   "So do I, Miss!  I love being huge, but I wouldn't want to be floppy
like you, Miss!"

   "Why, Anastasia, thank you!"

   A minor disturbance from the bed told us that Corinne and Sexy Amy had
reached an interval.

   "Thank you, Amy, you're as good with your tongue as ever."

   "Thank you, Miss."

   "I think there's some coffee in the kitchen, be an angel ..."

   Corinne had evidently been listening.  Sexy Amy wobbled past, looking
down at Anastasia.

   "You're naked!" she accused her.

   "My bra's too tight," said Anastasia simply to the older girl.  "I grew
some more."

   Sexy Amy fetched the coffees and took them back to the bed.  "Why can't
I have a pair as big as hers?" she demanded peevishly.  "She's only a kid!"

   "She's sensitive to chemicals," I said.  "You wouldn't like to be like
her."

   "Try me," muttered Amy.

   Actually, the more I thought about it, the more I was convinced that
Moggie was right yet again.  She had put forward her suggestion for
Anastasia to become Head Girl of St Catherine's High School for Girls after
the summer.  It seemed ridiculous on the face of it that a girl starting
only her second year could be Head Girl.  But if she was the girl with the
biggest breasts in the school - apart from those who were big and fat like
Shona - then she was clearly the obvious choice.  The Head Girl of St Cat's
was usually the one with the biggest tits: there was a clear precedent. 
And the way things were going, Anastasia was well on course to becoming the
girl best qualified.

   Moggie had sworn us to secrecy.  Even Anastasia had no idea, nor had any
of the other girls.  It was for the best that they didn't know.  If word
got around, we would have every ambitious girl in the school creaming
herself with SuperLite trying to get herself into the top rank.  We could
have an absurd situation on our hands.  In the worst case, the entire
school could end up with twelve and fifteen-foot busts, and the result
would be certain financial ruin for St Cat's.

   The thought was too ghastly to consider.  I looked down fondly at
Anastasia, resting against my knees.

   If only she knew.









   Chapter 80:- Victoria Has An Idea



   My conscience got the better of me.

   I went to visit Victoria in the sick bay.  Nurse held a finger to her
lips as I went in.

   "Shhh.  You can't see her yet.  Come along to the office for a minute."

   "Is she asleep?" I whispered as we tiptoed past her bedroom.

   "No, not asleep.  She just can't be disturbed.  Take a seat." We had
arrived in the nurse's office.  The walls were decorated with tastefully
framed prints of various hypertrophied bodily parts.  She noticed my
interest.  "Lovely, aren't they!"

   "Certainly different, yes."

   "He was only fourteen, would you believe?  And that girl there,
recognise her ...?"

   "The breasts look familiar.  Why don't they include their heads in these
pictures?"

   "They do, if there's anything wrong with their heads."

   "Nothing wrong with those tits, and they've included those.  Is she
ex-St Cat's?"

   "Not really.  She's still here.  It's Miss Thunderbolt."

   "Moggie?" I stood up and looked at the picture more closely.  Sure
enough, there was her appendix scar.  "The caption had me fooled.  It says
she's fifteen years old."

   "Miss Thunderbolt is funny about her age.  Coffee?"

   "Please." She pottered about, mixing instant coffee in three mugs. 
"Darren will be finished in a moment, and he'll want a cup.  Milk and
sugar?"

   She picked up the curiously-shaped milk jug and looked at me with a
raised eyebrow.  "Is that girl-milk?" I asked her.

   "Best full cream Shona!"

   "No sugar, then, thanks."

   That was when I realised where I had seen a milk-jug shaped like that
before.  It was a piece of hospital equipment common on men's wards, known
as a 'male bottle'.  I wished I could change my mind.

   Darren wandered in, wrapped in a dressing gown.  He shivered and picked
up his mug with both hands wrapped round it for warmth.  The poor boy
looked drained.

   "How's she doing?" asked Nurse.

   "Fucking insatiable," he replied briefly.  "That's six times this
morning, and it's only ten o' clock."

   "Poor Darren!" Nurse stood up and put an arm round him, drawing him to
an armchair.  "Never mind.  Perhaps it will wear off, whatever it was."

   "What was in that bucket, Shan?" Darren's eyes were like empty sockets.
His face was ashen.

   "We don't know.  There wasn't enough left to analyse.  It all soaked
straight into Toria."

   "She's horny as a goat."

   "Have her breasts grown?" I asked.

   "Not much.  They're still lush, trembling orbs of creamy flesh, capped
with puffy areolae almost three inches in diameter and nipples like
fresh-plucked raspberries.  Each breast is the size of a pineapple, and
when she isn't wearing a bra - which she doesn't in bed - they quiver like
blancmange."

   "Much the same as before, then."

   "Oooh, yes.  Her tummy has just the slightest little bulge, soft enough
to squeeze in a single hand ...  not like yours, you podgy little porker.
You're getting horribly fat, Shan!"

   "We're not discussing me, we're talking about that poor girl who is
under the influence of chemicals."

   "Why not go and see her," Nurse suggested.  "I'll help Darren revive."
Darren rolled his eyes ceilingward.

   There was already a clatter of upended surgical apparatus as I left them
to it and went off to Victoria's room.  I knocked politely.

   "Come in, Miss!"

   She was out of bed, brushing her hair.  "How did you know it was me?"

   She ignored the question.  "How do I look?" She spun round from the
mirror and grinned at me.

   "Good enough to eat." Her complexion was like the skin of a peach. 
Darren's description of her breasts was word perfect.  They hung heavily in
her T-shirt, bobbling slightly, the nipples tracing patterns as they moved
around inside the soft clinging material.  She was scratching her bare
buttock absently.

   "Perhaps I'll get Daz to eat me later.  It will make a pleasant change.
Hey, Miss!  I am sooooo horny!  Whatever was in that bucket ...  bottle it
and sell it for twenty quid a throw.  What was it, anyway?"

   "We don't know.  And it's all gone.  So once the effects wear off - if
they wear off - you'll have to get back to normal.  Does it really feel
nice?"

   "All the time.  My nipples never stop tingling, and when I touch them, I
get drenched!  Do you like that word, drenched.  Drenched.  I needed a
better word than moist, or wet.  And just the thought of Daz kissing my
lips is enough to make me start coming.  Not to mention the thought of him
thrusting his great rod into the gaping maw of my dripping cooze!"

   "Toria, please!"

   "Sorry, Miss.  I forgot." She palmed both nipples, which had hardened
during the previous few seconds, and a distant expression crossed her face.
"What's the time, Miss?"

   "Half past."

   "God, another twenty minutes.  I'm getting worse!" She whispered this
latest revelation to me, her face and shoulders flushing pink.  I tore my
eyes away and tried to fix them somewhere else.  They found only the waste
bucket, which had a used condom hanging negligently over its rim.  You
could see it had been used.  "Have to get this bucket emptied," she
laughed, picking up the bucket and shaking it experimentally while peering
inside.  "You don't want me getting pregnant as well, do you?  One single
parent in the family is enough, thanks very much!"

   "Pansy's not necessarily pregnant, you know," I said weakly.  If she had
planned to have a baby, she could hardly have planned it more thoroughly.

   "Oh, she will.  Our Mum did straight away, and so did Suzanne's Mum. 
We're a fertile family.  Pansy will be pregnant all right.  Pity really,
with the school Open Day coming up."

   "Oh, I don't know.  Perhaps the Lord Ted's boys aren't as fertile as
Pansy is.  You know about the falling sperm count these days ...  Open Day?
What Open Day?"

   "The first annual St Cat's Open Day.  It's a great idea, Miss.  All the
mothers and fathers coming to see how their girls are getting on.  Meet the
parents of the girls who are starting next year.  View the classrooms, the
facilites for games and sports, the dormitories with their specially
widened doors to accommodate girls with Considerably Fuller Figures ..."

   "When was all this arranged?  Nobody's told me anything."

   "It hasn't been arranged yet.  But it will be.  I'm going up with Sexy
Amy to see Miss Thunderbolt, as soon as I'm better, and we'll tell her to
arrange it.  Just before the Summer Holidays would be best.  Nice sunny
day, garden party atmosphere, cucumber sarnies and cups of tea under the
trees outside the bra measuring facility.  It will be perfect, Miss!  Just
think.  The school would make thousands.  We could buy a school minibus to
carry the girls around.  Or something useful."

   I tried to imagine the effects on a bunch of parents of exposure to the
student body of St Catherine's High School for Girls.  Not good, I thought.
There could be mass withdrawals of girls.  Financial ruin stared us in the
face.

   "Do you really think it's a good idea, Toria?"

   "The best," she said firmly.  She fluffed up her hair with both hands,
turning her head this way and that with quick little movements, as if she
was trying to see her mirror image before it had a chance to move.  "I have
to be getting ready for sex now, Miss.  You didn't want to stay and watch,
did you?"

   "No, thank you, Toria.  I don't think I could stand the excitement."

   "No, it's not good for older people to watch.  We do go at it a bit.  At
least, I do.  Daz just lies there most of the time these days.  I was
wondering ...  Miss?"

   "Yes, Toria?"

   "Would there be any chance of getting me some boys from Lord Edward's?
Just a few.  Not for a long-term relationship or anything, just plain sex."

   "Toria.  I am disgusted in you!"

   "Yeah, I thought so!  One rule for your cronies and personal favourites
like Pansy and Suze and little Anastasia!  You'll be making one of them
Head Girl next.  I'm doomed to be the poor relation round here.  Stuck with
Darren."

   "Most girls would be over the moon to have a boy like Darren available
all the time."

   "Huh!"

   "Doesn't a giant cock mean anything to you?"

   "Not when it takes me an hour to get it up.  And I'm sure he fakes all
his orgasms now.  He always says the same things.  'Oooh, Toria, oooh,
VicTORIA'.  Call that original?"

   The poor boy.  My heart went out to him.

   "Look," I heard the words coming out of my mouth.  "I will see what I
can arrange with Miss Mountains about some Lord Edward's boys for you.  No
promises, mind.  And it might only be one boy now and again..."

   I felt her soft lips graze my cheek.  "Make him a hunky Sixth Form boy,
Miss.  He can be good at games while still being my intellectual equal. 
Not like Darren, you know, Miss." Then she leaned toward the mirror again
and lifted her breasts with both hands, studying the effect.  It seemed to
appeal to her.  "You know what they're like over there at Lord Ted's, Miss.
Since they had their orgy with the Juniors, they'll all be crazy for huge
tits.  How about a little bit extra for me, Miss.  Only another half a
metre or so will do for now.  Or maybe two feet.  You can let me keep my
beautiful shape, my fullness and my captivating jiggle.  My slender waist
and sculptured buttocks.  My shapely legs and creamy thighs guarding the
glistening portals to an exquisitely tight cunny.  Please, Miss?"

   "But you're a minor, Toria.  You can't have an older boy!"

   "It didn't seem to matter to you when Clarrie was getting off with Davie
all those times.  He was a minor and she was an adult!  So much for your
fine principles!"

   "That was different.  The situation was confused."

   "Yeah, I bet it was, too.  Here's my lover-doll.  Don't forget the boys,
Miss!"

   I passed Darren in the doorway.  We managed to exchange looks of mutual
suffering.



   **********

   "Chauntaille!  Just the person I wanted to see."

   Moggie slithered to a halt in the middle of the main corridor.  A group
of Fifth Form girls of almost indescribable loveliness collided with her
and crashed to the floor in a welter of tumbled books and exploding bras.
Muffled curses rang out in cultured Middle English voices.  Moggie ignored
them.

   "Ignore them, Miss," I advised.  "They were following far too close
behind you under the conditions.  It's the same every time the cleaners
polish this floor: madness.  Someone stops suddenly and the scene is like a
battlefield."

   "Are you feeling all right, Chauntaille?  You look a little pale.  Been
overdoing things between the sheets?"

   Several of the girls recovering from their accident stared at me and
giggled among themselves.  I aimed a blow and succeeded in hitting one of
them just above her perfectly formed and shell-like ear.  The others
gathered round her offering sympathy and moistened handkerchiefs to staunch
the bleeding.  "I'm okay, Miss.  But I just came from the sick bay. 
Visiting Victoria, Miss."

   "Ah, young Victoria.  Splendid girl, although she could do with a bit
more breast on her.  One doesn't like to see an older girl overshadowed by
her younger sister, especially breastwise.  How is she doing, anyway, and
how's Darren holding up?"

   Damn the woman.  Did she know everything?

   "Darren's looking tired, as well he might.  Victoria's well-nigh
insatiable, he says."

   Moggie snorted.  "Most boys would give their cock for a job like that."

   "Or their right arm."

   "That too, probably.  If they didn't have one, they wouldn't really need
the other." Moggie nudged me heavily to reinforce her punchline.  Her blow
was absorbed by my flesh.  "God, look at the size of you, Shan!  I'd heard
you'd got even fatter, but I didn't believe it.  Actually, it suits you."
She reached around the side of my breast and grabbed a love handle.  "Got
time for a quickie in my office?"

   "Not really, Miss.  I've got to take over Miss Rhys ap Llewelyn Owen's
Wanking class with the Fifths.  I thought I'd do something on faking with
them.  You know, Toria thinks Darren is faking all his orgasms.  He always
says the same thing, like: 'Oooh, Toria, oooh, VicTORIA'.  Usually a dead
give-away, she says."

   Moggie suddenly had a hunted look on her face.  "Is that a fact?  Hmmm.
I'd never looked at it that way before.  The child could well be right. 
We'd better include that in the syllabus.  Anyway, Chauntaille, what about
this Open Day?"

   "This WHAT?"

   "Open Day.  All the parents come along, meet each other, meet the staff.
Not just the ones with girls here now, the ones who will have girls joining
after the summer.  Earn loads of cash, we could buy the school a minibus,
or something.  A brilliant idea of mine.  All we need to decide is when to
have it."

   "YOUR idea?  I mean, what a good idea.  Nobody else would ever have
thought of that."

   "Thank you, Chauntaille.  We older ones do still have something to
contribute to society, you know.  We're not just patiently waiting our turn
to die." She wiped away a tear and I hugged her sincerely.

   "There, there, Miss!"

   "You sure you don't have time for a fuck?  Skip this class, it's only
the Fifths.  They can get by without learning about fake orgasms.  Come on,
bunk off in my office.  Let me eat my fill from the contents of your
unbelievable girl-chasm."

   "My what, Miss?"

   "It was something I read in a comic I confiscated from Rumiko, Shan. 
Lovely artwork.  Japanese.  Actually, the heroine looked a lot like some of
our girls.  Gigantic tits, she had ..."

   "You speak Japanese, Miss?"

   "I've picked up a little on my travels.

   I realise now, I will never have the sheer brain-power needed to become
a headmistress.



   **********

   It was a good day for looking up old friends.  I collided with Smegs as
I rounded the corner by the Fifth Form classroom.  Actually, I was avoiding
a carelessly-driven wheelbarrow, and lost control on the recently polished
floor.  While I was down there, I took the opportunity of looking up
Smegs's skirt.  As I say, it was a good day for that sort of thing.

   "Shan, are you all right?  No, don't move.  Let me check for broken
bones." Her hands were warm and eager across my body.  I yearned for her.

   "Sit on my face, Smegs, please," I begged desperately.

   She recognised my need, removed her panties in a single flowing motion
and complied without a moment's hesitation.  Girls averted their gaze
respectfully as they passed.

   "Where were you going, Shan?" she shouted politely.

   "Just here.  Fifths Wanking.  Miss Rhys ap Llewelyn Owen has gone in the
fetlock: broken a nail or something." I suppose my voice was muffled, but
Smegs raised her bottom a couple of inches until I had finished.

   She sat down again with a soft squelch.  "I had a great idea just a few
minutes ago."

   "Oh, yes.  What was that?"

   "An orgy.  Not the girls.  Well, not just the girls.  Parents as well.
And some of the lads from Lord Ted's.  I thought we could describe it as a
school Open Day.  We could make a lot of money.  Well, St Cat's would,
anyway, not us.  Enough to buy a minibus.  We could use it to carry girls
to and from Lord Ted's and stuff like that.  What do you think?"

   "It's brilliant," I shouted into Smegs's nether regions.  I could swear
I heard an echo.  "Who else would ever think of an idea like that?  St
Cat's Open Day.  When?"

   "As soon as we can.  I thought I'd better see Moggie about it."

   "Yes, I should.  She might even surprise you and say it's a great idea."

   "It might need selling to her, but I think it has great possibilities.
Actually, Marvin suggested it ..."

   "Marvin?" Was it my imagination, or had it started raining.

   "Marvin ...!" said Smegs dreamily.  No, it wasn't my imagination, and
no, it wasn't raining.  Ah well, my hair needed washing tonight anyway.



   **********

   "Hi, Corinne, how's your tits?"

   "Wow.  I think they're starting to level off.  They're not much bigger
now than they were at lunchtime." She looked at me.  "Your hair looks nice.
What are you using?  New shampoo?"

   "Er, yes.  I thought I'd give it a try."

   "Hmmm, nice.  Smells nice, too.  Must be the natural oils and essences."

   "Something like that."

   I knew what was coming.  "What's it called?" How did I know that was
coming?

   "Marv something.  Marvel?  Smegs has got plenty more."

   "Would she let me have some, do you think?"

   "Oh, I'm sure she would."

   "Only I don't know her all that well ..."

   "No, I'm sure it would be no problem, Cee.  Just ask her for some of the
stuff she gave Shan outside the Fifth Form classroom ..."









   Chapter 81:- Cream Me



   "Miss, could we come in?"

   I sighed.  The place was becoming more like a common room every day.

   "What is it, Suzanne.  Pansy?"

   "We had an idea, Miss."

   "We wondered if it would be something Miss Thunderbolt would let us do,
Miss."

   "Could you ask her for us?"

   "She likes you, Miss."

   "What was it?"

   "A Grand St Cat's Open Day, Miss!"

   "Like a big day with all the parents coming along and meeting the
teachers, and everything, and we could meet the new girls' mums and dads as
well.  And show them round ..."

   "And they could have tea under the trees by Clit and Flaps's place ...
St Cat's would make tons of money.  We could buy a bus to carry us around.
All over the place.  To other schools ...!"

   "You had this idea all by yourselves?"

   "Yes, Miss.  Today, in class.  It sort of came to us both at the same
time."

   "Remarkable!  And when would you be thinking of holding this event?"

   "This summer, Miss.  Not too late."

   "No, we need to have it before Pansy starts showing."

   "Showing?"

   "You know, Miss!" Suzanne held her hands in front of her stomach as if
to indicate that she was carrying sextuplets.  The effect was lessened only
slightly by the fact that her hands were still a foot or so short of the
protrusion of her bust.

   "Well, yes, that's true.  It wouldn't do to have too many obviously
pregnant Juniors waddling around."

   "So it would have to be before the summer.  'Cos by September, she'll be
six months gone."

   "Yes, Miss, If we were to have it in May, say, my tummy would still be
small, it would just be my tits starting to get big." Pansy had obviously
been reading the pregnancy text-books.  "We could have it in June, or July,
and they'd be enormous by then!  Insanely huge!  With any luck, Miss."

   "Of course, Pansy.  They probably would be."

   "So will you tell Miss Thunderbolt, Miss?  For us?"

   "Do you think she'll let us do it?"

   "I think she may look very favourably on the idea."

   "One thing, Miss." Pansy had gone red and spoke very softly.  "Could
some boys come.  Some of the Lord Ted's boys?  Please?"

   "If it's an Open Day, we couldn't really refuse them, could we?" The
girls returned my conspiratorial grin.

   "Oooh, Miss!" they both shrieked.

   "Careful, now, Pansy.  Think about the baby!"



   **********

   "Funny thing, Shannie."

   "Funny?"

   Corinne raised her head to try and see my face, but her breast was far
too big.  She sighed heavily.

   "I asked Megan for some of the shampoo she'd let you have, but she
didn't seem to know anything about it.  She's a strange girl, Shan."

   "Strange?"

   "Hmm.  I said she gave you the shampoo outside the Fifth Form classroom,
and she laughed.  A sort of dirty cackle, it was, and she told me to lie
down on the floor so she could sit on my face."

   "She did?  What did you do?"

   "I said, no thank you very much, I'd rather not if she didn't mind.  And
she sort of shrugged and said, 'some you win, some you lose'.  Strange
girl. Pity.  Your hair looked so nice."

   "You'll have to get some next time you go shopping."

   "Oh, yeah?  Me, shopping?  I couldn't get round the revolving door into
Tesco's.  I'd never get down the aisles, and if I did, I wouldn't be able
to see what was on the shelves in front of me, and if I could, I'd never be
able to reach it, and if I did, I'd knock everything off every shelf for
miles around with my tits."

   "Oh, poor Cee!  And you wouldn't be able to get through the check-out
either.  Never mind.  Someone else can do your shopping for you.  Anastasia
will do it."

   "Huh.  Anastasia!  She'll be as bad as me, the way hers are growing! 
Give her six months ...!  By the time she gets back here after the summer
hols, she won't be able to get her knockers through that bloody door."

   "Cee, don't say that.  It's horrible.  Imagine that poor child being as
big as you.  She'd never be able to turn round in that little room next
door.  I'd have to move out of here and let her move in with you."

   "They might have to build a whole new building just for the two of us if
we carry on getting bigger.  It was a mistake, getting creamed."

   "It's making you really miserable, isn't it, Cee?"

   She sighed heavily again.  It was a good evening for sighing heavily. 
"Yes, I suppose so.  I know they're great for you in bed and everything -
although I sometimes have nightmares about finding you crushed beneath one
of them - but it's possible to have too much of a good thing."

   "How about an antidote to FatLite, Cee?  Would it work?"

   "You mean, make them more dense again, and back to their original size?"

   "Well, which would you prefer?  Honestly?  These, or the way you were?"

   "I don't know!  How about a good old British compromise?  Somewhere in
between?  How about half this size?  Like I was before I went and
SuperLitened them?"

   "If I got the girls to work on it, you'd give it a try?"

   "Anything would be better than this, Shan.  I never thought I'd come to
think of being able to walk down the aisle of a supermarket as a pleasure,
but I think I'd give anything to be able to do it right now."

   I couldn't bear to see Corinne like this.  "I'm not going to wait until
the morning.  This is urgent.  I'm going to see the First Form Sexual
Chemistry Group girls now.  We'll put on a special night-shift and work
until we have perfected the antidote to FatLite."

   "What will you call it?  SuperShrink?"

   "Let's just call it the Sensible Option.  We've been crazy, trying to
make breasts bigger and bigger.  I'm sure, once all the girls have tried
FatLite and SuperLite, they will all agree with you and want to be a
reasonable size again, like 150 inches."

   "You could make them as small as that?  Oh, Shan, that would be
amazing!"

   She tried to drag me into bed, but I was resolute.  See you later,
Corinne.



   **********

   I decided not to rope Anastasia in on this, but to ask only the two
cousins.  They owed me a favour anyway, for asking Moggie to approve their
plans for a the St Cat's Grand Open Day.  They were in the dorm, looking
bored, and when I asked if they would come down to the lab with me, they
were ready like a shot.

   "You could have asked for a few seconds to put your bras on, girls, I
would have waited."

   "It's all right, Miss, we always take them off in the evenings." Suzanne
was deliberately walking with an exaggerated swing of the hips which was
most disturbing.

   "Are you sure you're used to not wearing a bra, Suzanne?  "I asked, as
Pansy and I helped her to her feet.

   "Yes, Miss," she said huffily.  "It's this slippery polished floor.  It
ought to be against the law, Miss."

   "You'd better try holding them still while you're walking, dear.  It's
for the best!"

   We had arrived at the lab.

   "Have you got a formula, Miss?" Pansy opened her notebook efficiently,
pencil poised.

   "Let's see your notes, Pan."

   We studied the formula for FatLite, and the next page, the SuperLite
additive.  Together, we puzzled over the ingredients.  It was Suzanne's
idea.

   "Let's do away with *that* stuff there, Miss.  That's what reacts with
the stuff in Super.  If we take that out, and replace it with something
harmless, we should be able to reverse the action.  Look," she pointed with
a stubby finger.  "That's the one that makes the fat swell up and get
lighter."

   "Are you sure, Suze?" I didn't feel confident, although Suzanne had a
very real feel for this sort of work.

   "Yes, Miss.  It will work.  We will make up a cream to the new formula.
Rub it on breasts that have been SuperLitened, and they will resume their
original size.  The weight will stay the same as it was, and the breasts
will be reduced in size to the correct relationship."

   "In that case, Miss," Pansy put in, "why not have the cream in two
parts, and add the active breast reducing ingredient in different amounts,
depending on how much reduction you need?  So, Miss Meadowlark could be
reduced to half her present size if she liked.  She'd be nice if she was
half her present size." She blushed hotly.

   That sounded good to me.  "Get mixing, girls!" I encouraged them.

   "We can't, Miss," said Pansy simply.  "We need Shona.  For the milk."

   "We do?  Fetch her then.  Tell her to bring her breasts with her."

   "We can't.  She's just been milked.  Nurse took two gallons.  We're
right out of milk until the morning."

   "You can use ordinary cow's milk and sugar, Pan.  It worked last time!"
Suzanne nudged her cousin.

   "It didn't," Pansy hissed.  "That was what was wrong with it last time.
It was why it got out of control."

   "Well, that's all right then.  If it got out of control because you used
cow and sugar, then we should use cow and sugar in the reversing cream,
shouldn't we?  You know it makes sense, Pan!"

   It seemed logical enough to me.  "Get mixing, girls!  I'll nip to the
staff room and steal some sugar and milk."

   By the time I returned, a mixture was already bubbling away in a large
beaker.  "What do I do with the sugar and milk?" I asked.

   "Just toss it in the beaker, Miss." Suzanne gave it a hearty stir.  It
made a very rude noise and the girls giggled.  I didn't think that sort of
thing was funny.

   "How long before it's ready to use?"

   "Another hour, if we can cool it off quickly.  By bedtime.  Shall we
bring it up to your room, Miss?"

   "Thank you, Suzanne.  Knock three times."



   **********

   "Has she gone?"

   "I'd better check.  Yeah, Suze.  Carry on."

   Suzanne poured the contents of the beaker away and started mixing
another batch.

   "She wouldn't have understood if we'd tried to explain.  You know she
can't follow logic.  This brew will do the same as the other stuff, but ten
times as quick.  Remember the way the original boob juice worked when Shona
fell in the vat?  You could nearly watch her grow.  That's what Miss
Gruntworthy wants, she hasn't got time to hang around while Miss Meadowlark
slowly gets back to where she used to be.  If she creams her boobs with
this stuff, she'll be back to her old size in an hour." She stirred briskly
then threw the wooden stirrer on the bench.  It promptly burst into flames.
"Oh, shit!  I thought we'd solved that problem."

   "Are you sure about this, Suze?"

   "It'll be all right, Pan.  Trust me."



   **********

   "Are you sure you made enough, girls?"

   They panted into the bedroom and dumped three huge tubs of cream on the
floor.  Suzanne added a fourth tub, rather smaller.

   "That little one is the additive," puffed Suzanne.  "We made plenty of
the main cream, in case you use too much of the additive.  If you do, and
it starts working too much, you can just slop on some more of the main
stuff and it will slow it down.  See, Miss, we thought of everything!"

   "You seem to have done, yes.  Well done, girls."

   "Where is Miss Meadowlark, Miss?" Pansy looked disappointed at missing
her loved one.

   "She'll be back in a minute.  Look, I've just done my nails.  Pansy,
would you like to rub the cream on to Miss Meadowlark?"

   "Oooh, Miss!" The poor girl became incandescent.  "Oooh, Miss!"

   "I'll leave you to it, Pan," said her cousin, thumping her on the
shoulder and disappearing out of the door.  "See you, Miss.  Good luck!"
What did she mean by that?

   "Well, Pansy, you seem to have landed the job."

   "Oooh, Miss!" She seemed overcome.

   Corinne came back into the room, towelling her hair.  "I'd rather have
used some of Megan's shampoo, but I used the last of that stuff in the
bottle from the kitchen.  Hi, Pansy.  You were quick.  Is that the new
cream.  What are you calling it?  Heavy?"

   "N-n-n-no, Miss.  We hadn't actually thought of an actual name yet,
Miss, actually!"

   "Never mind, Pansy," I reassured her.  "Pansy's going to cream you,
Corinne.  My nails aren't dry."

   "Ooh, that will be nice, Pansy.  I'll just finish drying myself.  Or you
could do it if you like.  Here." She tossed Pansy a towel.  The girl
couldn't believe what was happening to her.  She was suddenly face to
breast with her heroine and inamorata, drying the droplets from her back
and breasts.  At any moment, she was going to be smoothing cream into those
stupendously over-developed breasts, using both hands, and paying
particular attention to their undersides.  Pansy looked nervously at the
three tubs of cream.  She was beginning to doubt if there would be enough
to cover Miss Meadowlark.

   "Come on, then, Pansy, darling," Corinne reclined on the bed.  "I hope
your little hands are nice and warm.  Come and cream Miss Meadowlark"

   "Oooh, Miss!"

   She peeled the lid off the first tub, hesitated and tipped a small
quantity of additive into it.  "Could I borrow a spoon to stir this, Miss,"
she asked me.  "A metal one would be best."

   Ten minutes later, one of Corinne's breasts was thoroughly creamed, and
Pansy was priming the second tub with additive.  She seemed to be gaining
in confidence.

   "We'll have a whole tub left over, Miss," she said as she stirred the
brew.  "I'm sure I got the quantity of additive right.  You'd have enough
to do Anastasia if she wanted it.  Although, knowing her, I doubt if she'll
be happy until she's twice as big as Miss Meadowlark.  Here we go ...!  And
she glopped a great handful of cream on to Corinne's right nipple.  Corinne
closed her eyes and surrendered herself to ecstasy once more.



   **********

   The birds woke me in the morning.  I had spent the night in the
armchair, to give Corinne and her breasts plenty of room in the bed.  She
had started moaning and kicking sometime around midnight, so I got out of
bed and curled up with a blanket.

   I wondered about paying Smegs a nocturnal visit, but figured that if she
was not alone, it could be embarrassing for all three of us.  Or all six,
if Smegs was feeling lonely.  The thought even crossed my mind of climbing
in with Anastasia, but that bed of mine was so narrow, neither of us would
have got any sleep.

   So when the birds woke me, I wasn't feeling too charitable, not to birds
nor to hyper-busty girls.  There was a whimpering noise coming from the
bed. It wouldn't go away, even when I wrapped the blanket round my head.

   "What's the matter?" I stomped over to the bed and glared down at
Corinne.

   "I can't move, Shan!"

   "What do you mean?" Her legs were thrashing about, and her arms as well.

   "I'm stuck.  My back won't move.  My breasts ..."

   A thought struck me.  Turning back the bed covers, I saw Corinne's
mammoth breasts lying on each side of her body.  They were just as big as
before, yet somehow, in an indefinable way, they looked different.  What
was it?  "Excuse me," I murmured, and rested a hand on her breast, giving
it a gentle shove.  It hardly moved.  My hand just sort of sank into the
soft flesh.

   "What are you doing?" She raised her head to try and see, then let it
fall back on to the pillow.

   "Your breast won't move!"

   "That's what I'm telling you.  I can't move them.  They're stuck to the
bed.  Either that, or they're ..."

   "Heavy.  They're heavy, Cee!" I used both hands, and tried to roll the
nearer of her breasts like a great big snowball.  Like a great big snowball
stuck in the snow by its own weight, it wouldn't roll.  I could rock it an
inch or so from side to side.  More effort.  This time, her breast did
move, rolling massively until it came up against the side of her body, then
it fell back, rolled perhaps a quarter turn in my direction, then settled
massively where it had started.  "Oh, shit!"

   "They weigh tons, don't they?" Corinne's voice cracked into a sob.

   "Can't be tons, the bed would have collapsed.  It might just be the way
you're lying.  Can you sit up at all?" I slipped a hand behind her back and
tried to levitate her.  She achieved a little, and I banged a pillow in
behind her.  Her forehead was shining with sweat and I mopped at it with a
hankie.

   "It's no use, Shan!"

   "Try again.  Sit up and move your bottom up the bed.  I'll help you. 
Take your time." We managed to get her almost sitting upright, but her
breasts were trying to drag her down.  The skin and the flesh was
stretching like a rubber toy.

   "There!" Two more pillows wedged her in position.  Now she could see
more of her predicament rather than just feeling it.  She wasn't encouraged
by what she could see.

   "How am I going to get out of this bed?  They must weigh ten times what
they weighed before.  Each one must weigh more than the rest of me!"

   Ah, good!  She was starting to show a sense of proportion at last.  An
encouraging sign.  "We're going to need a few helpers to carry them for
you. You won't be able to let them dangle.  They'll reach the floor anyway,
but they'll still break bones or something.  Let's sit and think about what
we're going to do about it."

   "Yes, we'll sit, shall we?  Perhaps you can tell me what else I can do.
I can't move a muscle.  I might as well have been turned to stone."

   "Cee, darling.  All that's happened is that your breasts are as heavy as
normal ones would be if they were as big as yours.  The fat has returned to
its normal density.  That was what the cream was supposed to do.  The only
trouble is, it's worked the wrong way round.  We don't know what your bust
measurement was last night, but it was certainly something more than
eighteen feet.  It didn't really matter apart from curiosity."

   "Eighteen feet?  What will it be now?"

   "Probably the same.  They're just two or three times as heavy now.  I
dare say three or four strong girls could lift each one.  Trouble will be
getting a grip on them.  rThey're soft and slippery and rubbery and there's
nothing to grab a hold of.  Once the girls have the weight on their
shoulders, you'll be able to move around all over the place!"

   "With eight girls?"

   "There might be a problem getting them all to walk the same way as each
other.  It's a question of discipline.  Like a team of huskies.  Of course,
since they're girls, not dogs, we can't harness them together.  Civil
liberties and rubbish like that.  So they'll tend to wander off on their
own, I suppose.  You know what schoolgirls are like.  Boys might be better.
We would probably be allowed to use harnesses on boys.  You'll be okay,
Cee! A week or so, and we'll have you skipping around like a two-year-old."

   "You're just trying to make it seem easier for me, Shan!  It was hard
enough getting these things to go where I wanted to go when I was driving
them myself.  What's it going to be like when four boys are taking the
right tit one way and four more boys are taking the left one the other?"

   "I'm only trying to help, Cee!  I just spent the whole night in that
poxing armchair because of you and your bloody enormous tits.  Now I try
and help you get about with them, you don't want to know." I stood up and
stalked to the door.  "Find your own team of huskies, you ungrateful
bitch!"

   As I slammed the door behind me, I heard a strangled sob.  Typical of
Corinne to turn on the tears to try and wheedle her way round me.

   I would come back and let her make it up to me later.  Meanwhile, Smegs
would know what to do.









   Part XXVIII









   Chapter 82:- The Organisation Woman



   "Smegs?  You awake?" I pounded on the door gently.

   "What the fuck, Shan?  Come in!" Her voice was muffled with sleep.  Or
perhaps it was buried in the snatch of her current favourite young lady.

   "You're alone!" I turned back the duvet to make sure she wasn't hiding a
small girl somewhere down there in the bed.

   "You came in here and woke me up just to find that out?  What's the
time, anyway?"

   "Half past.  I'll make us some coffee.  Sorry!"

   Smegs turned over on to her back and sat up in the foetid bed for a good
morning scratch n' sniff.

   "Too late now to be sorry, Shan.  I'm awake.  What's up?  Corinne thrown
you out?"

   "No!  I came of my own accord.  She's the reason I wanted to see you.  I
spent the night in the armchair.  And I could have been in here with you!"

   "I might not have let you.  So she did throw you out, then?"

   "No, I couldn't sleep with her moaning all night.  Here!" I thrust a mug
of coffee into Smegs's hand.

   She inhaled deeply on it and made a wry face.  "Did you make this with
Shona?"

   "No, cow."

   "Shit."

   "Cee's grown again, Smegs." I perched on the corner of the bed.

   "Grown?  What have you done to her this time?"

   "Nothing.  It was those girls again.  Actually, she hasn't grown.  She's
the same size, but heavier.  About the right weight for the size of her
breasts."

   "Bloody hell!" Smegs was impressed.  "She won't be able to move."

   "She can't.  That's why I came to see you.  She's miserable and we had a
row about it, and I stormed out.  But she really can't move them off the
bed.  They'll be far too big for a wheelbarrow; it will take three or four
girls each side just to carry them."

   "They won't be able to," Smegs asserted firmly.

   "What?"

   "I read a story once where a girl was so big it took a whole load of
boys to carry each of her tits.  I remember thinking at the time, it
wouldn't work, it would hurt too much to pick them up."

   "It would?"

   "Tits are covered in skin.  Imagine three or four pairs of little hands
trying to get a grip on your breasts at the same time.  It's easier for you
to imagine than it is for me.  Imagine those little fingers, with sharp
little fingernails, pinching the skin, squeezing, twisting ..."

   I was beginning to feel it.

   "...  and trying to find room to get a hold of them.  Where are three
girls going to stand on each side of you to pick them up.  Look ...!"

   She smoothed out the bed covers in front of her and laid out her pillows
in front of her.  One breast here, and the other one ...  here.  Say three
girls on each side of the bed.  Make it four.  They can't all get close
enough to lift.  That's just for starters."

   "There's more?"

   "Tell me about it!  Assume they can get those things hoisted off the bed
and on to their shoulders, or in their arms, cradled.  Where are they going
to go?  They will have to walk straight down and past the end of the bed.
Where your tits go, you will surely follow.  So you go straight off the end
of the bed as well.  And then you have to stand up.  If those eight little
bastards don't rip your tits off first!  It would be excruciating, even
assuming you could train your eight little angels to go and stop and turn
corners."

   "Yes, Cee mentioned that.  I thought they'd learn in time."

   "There's another thing.  Four girls each side.  They'll have to walk on
the outside of Corinne's breasts.  Say they're walking in a straight line,
out in the open.  The girls will have to be as close in as possible with
her boobs squashed together in the middle.  Her boobs will be up on the
kids' shoulders.  Corinne won't have a clue where she's going because her
tits will be up way above her eye-level.  That's even if we use the
shortest girls we can find.  But we can't use the tinies from the First
Form, they won't be strong enough to pick the tits up in the first place
..."

   "Smegs, stop it!"

   "...  so they'll have to be Middle girls at least.  Fourth Formers.  And
have you looked at our Fourth Formers lately?  What have they all got
growing on their chests?"

   "Tits, Smegs."

   "Not just tits.  Whacking great tits, Shan.  So if you have four of them
walking along in line behind each other, they're going to need to be more
than a foot apart.  So poor Corinne is going to have her tits stretched out
about eight feet in front of her, just to fit the girls in.  It isn't going
to work."

   "We could use boys.  Boys don't have tits.  They could walk closer
together."

   Smegs stared at me.  "Where, in a girls' school, are we going to find
eight boys?"

   "Advertise for them?"

   "You would hope to attract eight boys to work full time in a girls'
school, doing nothing all day but carrying fucking great tits around for a
teacher?  Get real, Shan!"

   "I suppose so.  There'd be no harm in advertising, though, would there?"



   **********

   It was Moggie's idea to place a full page ad in the national daily
press. I would have been in favour of something more discreet, in the local
paper, asking for a team of strong boys of below average height for
interesting duties.  Some lifting involved.

   We had fourteen thousand applications.

   As the Royal Mail van drove away after the fourth delivery that day, I
spoke to Moggie about it.

   "You can't just ignore them, Miss.  You have to reply to them all.  It's
common courtesy."

   "There are thousands, Chauntaille.  All those stamps.  And more are
still coming in every hour." A team of naked First Form girls was stacking
the mail in piles, the largest being for instant rejections.  One pile was
almost a foot high, and growing slowly.  "Look at that heap, Shan," said
Moggie.  "Those are local applicants with the right qualifications." She
thumbed through a handful of letters.  "It looks as if Lord Edward's school
has applied en masse."

   "Are we going to interview them all?"

   "It's not just an interview.  We need to test them in groups of four,
lifting a heavy weight.  I'd thought we could find a goatskin bag and fill
it with melted butter, or something.  And we need to know that they can
respond to directions.  If three of them turn left and the fourth turns
right, it could be disastrous.  We'll need them here for half a day.  It
will need to be organised like a military operation."

   "As badly as that?"

   "Every bit of it.  Ideally, we'd need an organiser to plan the details.
I thought Corinne could do that very well."

   "How can she do it?  They're her fucking tits.  Miss," I added
respectfully, as an afterthought.

   "Well, could you organise it?  I don't think YOU could organise a
piss-up in a brewery."

   I began to cry.

   "Chauntaille!  Don't take it personally.  It's just that if it goes
wrong, under the eyes of the press and the media, we'd be a laughing
stock."

   "The press?  The media?  Why?"

   "Excellent publicity for St Catherine's High School for Girls.  'Local
girls' school creates twenty-four new youth jobs.  "More to come," asserts
Headmistress,'" gushed Moggie in a positive welter of nested quotation
marks.  "I already invited the press.  And knowing our reputation, the
television will be down here as well."

   "Wait a minute.  Twenty-four?  We only need eight."

   "Three shifts.  Six 'til two, two 'til ten and ten 'til six.  The shift
not working and not sleeping will be training new recruits in the skills of
breast lifting and carrying."

   "New recruits?  What for?  It's only Corinne who's got giant tits."

   "So far, it's only Corinne, I grant you.  But next year?  What if
Cassandra grows?  Or Shona?  Or Anastasia?  We could need dozens of teams
of lifters and carriers.  Not necessarily eights, but sixes and fours.  And
who knows?  Maybe twelves!"

   "When is it, Miss?  When are you going to do it?"

   "Next Tuesday, Chauntaille.  You have two days, not counting the
weekend. Organise it, please!"



   **********

   I went back to the bedroom and lay down on the bed.  Perhaps if I had a
good cry, everything would work itself out.

   "What are you doing about getting me out of this bed, Shan?" Corinne
sounded unnecessarily peevish again.

   "We're going to interview a thousand applicants on Tuesday.  I have to
organise it.  And it's all for you."

   "A thousand?  We only want eight kids!"

   "Moggie advertised.  She got fourteen thousand replies.  They're still
coming in."

   "The stupid cow.  All it needed was a phone call to the employment
office.  And you've got a thousand coming in?"

   And the press.  And television.  What am I going to do, Cee?"

   "Organise it, Shan," she said considerately.  "I'll just lie here and
dream about having a piss occasionally.  But I'll tell you what I'll do. 
If you can get a team of girls over here in the next five minutes to get me
to the loo, I'll help you organise your interview day.  Fair enough?"

   "Oh, Cee!"

   "Mmmmmm, Shan!" We kissed deeply.  "Better make it three minutes.  I'm
going to explode."



   **********

   There were two groups of four girls from the Fourth Form.  I solved the
problem of their breasts taking up too much room fore and aft by getting
them to lower their ScatBras to the eating position.  They looked strangely
depressing with their breasts hanging down around their tummies, but at
least they could stand in a more compact line.

   It was a total shambles, but they got Corinne out of bed.  For ten
minutes, they screamed conflicting orders at each other while I stood on a
chair directing operations and having mild hysterics.

   Corinne got a fit of the giggles half way through, so she was no help at
all.  Typical.

   Eventually, each team succeeded in spreading a bed sheet beneath each of
Corinne's breasts.  They brought the four corners to the top and placed
them over their shoulders.  It was rather like those pictures of the stork
delivering babies.

   At last, with everyone ready, I shouted "one, two, three, HUP!" and the
whole lot rose slowly into the air, with the girls staggering and jostling
each other, trying to keep position without treading on each other's toes.
They weren't doing very well.  Mercifully, each girl was lifting the sheet
with only one hand, so they all had a hand free to punch the girl nearest
to them.

   "Forward slowly." All eight of them processed slowly down the sides of
the bed, snorting, giggling, jostling and punching.  Corinne carefully slid
off the end of the bed, following faithfully behind.  Somehow, the two
teams came to a negotiated agreement about which of them was to go through
the doorway first, and off they went, with Corinne waving and blowing a
kiss over her shoulder as she disappeared.

   Clearly, this situation was not a satisfactory solution to the problem.
Should I tell Moggie, so we could call off the whole absurd charade of
recruiting two dozen boys to carry breasts around for eight hours out of
every twenty-four?

   If I did, how else was Corinne going to get around?

   There was only one possible solution.  Chemistry had got us into this
predicament.  Chemistry would have to get us out of it.



   **********

   "Did you see Miss Meadowlark, Miss?" Suzanne and Pansy were excited,
hopping up and down as they tried to describe the scene.  I wished they
wouldn't jump around that like that.  It looked horribly painful.

   "We passed them in the quad, Miss," said Pansy.  "A whole crowd of
Fourth Formers carrying Miss Meadowlark's boobs in a sheet, all giggling
and wobbling about all over the place."

   "Miss Meadowlark was shouting at them, and they weren't taking any
notice, Miss."

   "And Miss Meadowlark didn't have a nightie on," whispered Pansy,
blushing.  "No clothes at all, Miss!  She's got a lovely little bottom,
Miss!" She shuddered as if enjoying a spontaneous orgasm.

   "Where did they go?"

   "Round the block.  They disappeared."

   I supposed Corinne had fancied a walk now she'd had a brief taste of
freedom.  The girls would have to bring her back soon, it was quite chilly
out there.

   "The girls at the front of her boobs were sucking her nipples, Miss,"
said Suzanne, who had an eye for such trivia.

   At least, Corinne's nipples wouldn't get too cold.

   "Help me change the sheets and make the bed for when she gets back,
girls.  And while we're doing that, we can discuss how we're going to make
her lighter again."

   An argument broke out about the chemical aspects of the task, but I
thought they reached a consensus in the end.

   "No problem, Miss," Suzanne said airily.  "I can see where you went
wrong last time now."

   "I went wrong?  ME?"

   "It's all right, Miss," Pansy reassured me, "we won't tell Miss
Meadowlark.  We'll just make her all better.  All we need to do is to cream
her with ordinary FatLite again, and her boobs will get lighter."

   "As simple as that, you reckon?"

   "Yes, Miss.  It's straightforward enough.  This is like what we did to
Anastasia when she shrank.  The other way around, that's all.  We just made
her bigger, no side effects or anything.  Look at her now."

   I couldn't look at her now, she wasn't here, but there was the nagging
feeling that Anastasia's dimensions hadn't been stable since she had been
creamed the last time.  She had been steadily growing either bigger or
heavier ever since.

   Of course, I told myself.  That was only natural.  Anastasia was still a
growing girl.

   Corinne wasn't, was she?









   Chapter 83:- Get This Show On The Road



   "We had a lovely walk.  Right round the edge of the woods, past Jeremy's
shed.  A bit chilly, but it was good to get out."

   "You should have dressed, Cee.  You'll catch your death, going out naked
like that."

   "We kept moving.  Anyway, we had to go out.  We couldn't get through the
doors into the loo."

   "It's as wide as this one.  What's the problem?"

   "It's a staff toilet.  The girls aren't allowed in.  They said, at
least, Daisy said ...  she was the pack leader ...  she said it was more
than their job was worth, going in the staff toilets.  She said they'd take
me to the door and from then on I was on my own."

   "But that's no use.  You can't walk."

   "I know.  I told her.  She was sympathetic, but rules are rules, she
said.  If the rules were changed to make all toilets available to all
users, girls as well as staff, she would be the first to assist me to my
seat.  Meawhile, she regretted her inability to be of assistance.  Those
were her exact words."

   "Pompous, officious bitch, over-inflated with her own importance ...!"

   "Over-inflated all right.  The tits on her!  She got the job of pack
leader because her tits are the biggest."

   "She's nothing!  They're only ninety-two inches, and she's not exactly
sylph-like!"

   "She's still the biggest in the team, and that counts for everything at
St Cat's.  Still, once I agreed to go in the woods, she was nice as pie. 
She sucked my left nipple all the way round the whole walk.  And Stephanie
Thundersley sucked the other one.  It's a wonder the milk didn't come
back."

   "So you went for a ee in the woods?"

   "I'm sure you don't want me to give you all the details, Shan.  And yes,
it was most enjoyable.  An enormous relief."

   "I'm so happy for you.  Now are you going to help with the organisation
for these interviews?"

   "You're still going ahead with those?  I'm sure my girls could do a good
job once they learned to follow directions."

   "Moggie's orders," I said regretfully.  "Boys it has to be."

   Corinne sighed.  "I suppose so.  And it will be a nice change, having
boys to talk to.  Who knows what might come up in the course of
conversation."

   "Corinne!  They're only children!"

   "Oh, I'm sure you can find a sprinkling of over-sixteens in case I get
an appetite for a bite of hot salt pork while I'm out walking."

   I'm beginning to worry about Corinne.  She never used to be like this.



   **********

   Fortunately, it wasn't raining.

   If it had rained, where could we have accommodated the best part of a
thousand teenage boys indoors at St Cat's without them coming into intimate
contact with the student body?  The thought was enough to make me break out
in a cold sweat.

   A fleet of double decker buses operated a shuttle service to the station
in the town.  As fast as each bus disgorged its load of nervous,
foot-shuffling, gawping boys, another swung in off the main road and down
the drive.  Empty buses departed by way of the goods entrance to avoid
unnecessary and costly head-on collisions.

   Carefully hand-picked Second Form girls met the buses and checked off
the boys' names against a master list.  Each boy was given a red or yellow
sticker to wear on his lapel, and a numbered card.

   Other boys arrived by taxi, or in their parents' cars.  As they arrived,
these were met by a team of Third Form girls with clipboards, who handed
them a special green lapel sticker.  The interviewing teams, which would
meet the boys and assess them for suitability, were briefed to observe the
colour of the lapel stickers.  Those boys with green were to be singled out
as potential slackers and trouble-makers.

   The bulk of the boys wore red or yellow stickers.  The actual colours
had no significance.  The only reason for having two colours was that the
office supplier had sold out of red stickers and had made up the order with
yellow.  The effect was to make all the boys feel insecure, each wondering
why his sticker was different from some of the others.  This was no bad
thing.

   Up to this time, every precaution had been taken to ensure that the
interviewees were not allowed to become unduly excited.  The welcoming
teams did not include any girls with more than average sized breasts.  Some
were as small as B cups!  They were dressed in their longest, most
ill-fitting skirts, their blouses and blazers were the baggiest they could
borrow, their hair was tied up or pulled back from their faces in a style
intended to be as unalluring as possible.  Many had borrowed glasses, which
they took off whenever they desperately needed to see anything.

   Thus were the boys lulled into a sense of security and normality.

   In the ivy-decked shade of the quadrangle, where the practical testing
of the applicants was to take place, the zooming eyes of the television
cameras panned restlessly, awaiting action.  Not much was happening as yet.

   The incoming boys were being fed through an induction process which
involved them filling out a huge form which demanded a staggering amount of
information about family, ancestors and education to date.  Most of the
boys were at a loss when it came to answering Question 64: 'What is your
maternal grandmother's last known bust measurement?' And Questions 65 to
127, all of which demanded measurements and cup sizes for every female
member of family right down to third cousins.

   Many boys were sitting alone, weeping softly, unable to complete even
half the questions on the form.  At this point, they were met by a team of
counsellors, selected from the most matronly girls in the whole of St
Cat's. These chubby antiseptic creatures sat with the boys and helped them
fill in the gaps in their knowledge, gently probing and coaxing the replies
from the shell-shocked lads with the aid of folders containing photographs
and sketches showing examples of standard bra cups from A up to T.

   Only after this initiation were boys allowed to filter through into the
next stage of their assessment: the physical examination.

   If a 200-question form had not been enough of a shock, what followed
certainly was.  Boys were ushered in groups of twenty into a square room
with clothes hooks all round the outside walls.  There was nowhere to sit;
nowhere to look apart from at each other.  As soon as the room was full, an
appallingly beautiful and staggeringly well-developed Fourth Form girl came
in, stood in the middle of the room and told the boys to remove all their
clothes.

   "Hang them on the hooks behind you," she ordered sweetly, and offered
encouragement to those boys who seemed reluctant to undress.  There was no
alternative.  After some considerable time, the whole room-full was
standing more or less at ease, studying the cracks on the ceiling.  The
girl performed a slow circuit of the room, applying different coloured
stickers to each boy's left shoulder.

   There was more uncertainty and rampant insecurity as the boys glanced at
their own sticker and compared it with the rest.  There seemed to be no
logical system to the allocation of the colours.  In fact, the girl issued
them entirely at random, although she occasionally tried to make pretty
patterns with the different colours.

   "Thank you," she said at last.  "Please go through to the next room! 
No! Leave your clothes there.  You will get them back later." And true to
her word, as soon as each batch of twenty boys had passed through into the
next stage of their induction, half a dozen Junior girls scampered in and
piled the clothes into numbered plastic bags.



   **********

   "How's it going, Cee?"

   I came over to the window where she sat looking down over the quad.  The
scene below was becoming more animated, but as yet, no interviewees had
emerged from induction into the public arena.  One or two of the television
crews which had arrived early and bagged the best spots were beginning to
look apprehensively at the sun as it tracked round and climbed higher in
the sky.

   "They're getting restless," she said.  "If they'd come and asked me, I'd
have told them nothing was going to happen out there until half past ten at
the earliest, but no, they always know best.  They'll start throwing their
weight about in a little while, trying to make something happen."

   Sure enough, pretty young men with pony-tails and absurd trousers were
pansying around the quad, yaa-ing and Ciao-ing into mobile phones and
braying deafeningly at the girls that they needed to speak to someone in
authority.  The girls smiled politely and wobbled their tits, and were
perplexed when there was no discernible effect.  So they did the best
possible thing and ignored the pony-tailed young men, who flapped their
hands in outrage and stormed off in search of someone who would show proper
respect for the media.  They didn't find anyone.

   "Are you comfortable, perched up there?" I asked Corinne.

   The armchair was balanced on two chests of drawers so Corinne could see
straight down into the quad without having to move.  Her breasts had been
allowed to drape themselves on each side of the chair, and cushions had
been piled considerately on the floor for them to rest comfortably without
being unduly stretched.

   "Lovely, thanks, and Anastasia is keeping me supplied with coffee.  Best
seat in the house.  Where's Moggie?"

   "I haven't seen her." I had, in fact; very early in the day, but she had
been in earnest discussion with one of the school governors and I had since
spotted them sneaking off in her BMW.  Obviously there was far too much
hassle for her to stay around the school, and she had decided to find
somewhere quieter.  "Smegs is doing a grand job down there at the
coal-face. She was in the physical examination room when I saw her."

   "Yes, I supposed she would be.  So according to my timetable," Corinne
ran a finger down her clipboard, "the first batch ought to be out of
physical in ten minutes.  Then the fun will start down there.  Are you
staying up here to watch, or going downstairs?"

   "I'll have to go down for the start, but I'll see you after the first
couple of batches.  Have fun, darling!"

   "Oooh, I will," said Corinne, taking a sip of coffee and wriggling her
delicious bottom into a more comfortable position.



   **********

   Smegs was in overall charge of the physical examination of the
interviewees, or specimens as she preferred to think of them.  Nurse was
wielding a stethoscope and cupping the balls of each applicant as they
first came in, but it was Smegs who strolled around the room, prodding and
inspecting their teeth as if she was about to buy a batch for her private
stud farm.  She carried no clip-board, not even a notebook and pencil, but
she oozed authority.

   "God, Shan, I'm oozing," she whispered to me.  "I am getting seriously
hot.  Teenage boys don't normally have this effect on me.  It must be sheer
weight of numbers.  Although there are some fine specimens among the older
ones."

   "Pity about the height regulations, though," I reminded her.  The fact
that the teams of boys would eventually be required to carry girls' breasts
on their shoulders tended to rule out taller boys.  We were in danger of
having to reject half of the applicants simply for being over five feet
six. And Smegs, in her highest heels, bestrode the room like a Colossus. 
The boys gazed up at her in awe and amazement.  She was wearing her most
supportive of bras, and her twin cannonballs were the biggest breasts the
boys had so far seen this morning.  I was wearing mine in the lowest
position my ScatBra could achieve, and with a maternity smock, I looked
merely maternal.  In fact, I looked about ten months gone, but the boys
didn't look too worried that I might suddenly go into contractions.  They
were far too busy staring at Smegs.

   They were starting to stare at some of the girl assistants, too.  These
were Fourth Formers, again hand-picked to be just smaller in the bust than
Smegs, but still eminently watchable.  About six girls in all were striding
around the room, jiggling furiously and swaying their hips so wildly that I
was tempted to take them all on one side and give them a good talking-to.

   Already, a few of the bolder boys were beginning to overcome their
initial shyness and had started to sit up and take notice of the girls.  I
would definitely have to speak sharply to the girls if this went on.  They
were being far too playful and coquettish.  A couple of them were even
touching the boys' bodies in a manner which hinted at intimacy. 
Disgraceful.

   The first batch was now lined up by the far wall, near the door leading
to the quad.  They were still stark naked, and although they didn't know
it, they were about to go outside to face the world's media.  Fortunately,
their modesty was not to be compromised.  A mind-blowingly pretty
fourteen-year-old moved along the line, assessing the boys for size, and
handing out underwear for them to wear.

   The underwear must have come from Clit and Flaps's personal store, as it
was all pure silk.  Perhaps boys' or mens' shorts would have been more
suitable, but beggars can't be choosers, and the boys did look quite
fetching once they had pulled the sheer silk up tight.  They sneaked
glances at each other uncertainly, clad only in ladies' flimsies in an
array of delicate shades from shocking pink through shocking black to
shocking yellow.  These must have been the de luxe option panties, I
noticed; there were little flowers and bunny rabbits embroidered close to
the bulging crotch of each pair.

   Not that I was looking too closely at the bulging crotch of each pair,
nothing more than a cursory glance, anyway.



   **********

   I leaned against the wall outside and mopped my brow with a hankie.  I
had been okay until I had watched the staggeringly pretty girl who was
issuing underwear take it upon herself personally to check each pair for
fit.  This was not part of her brief, I was certain.  Her eyes glazed and
her knees were visibly trembling as she took a generous handful of boy,
twenty times.  You could have hung your hat on the poor girl's nipples.  I
had been almost able to smell her arousal, or more likely it was my own.

   Which was why I was leaning against the wall outside, mopping my brow
with a hankie.  I would have mopped myself elsewhere were it not for all
those cameras looking for a subject.

   "Shan!  So you *are* here.  We've been looking for you everywhere!"

   "Villiers!  Oh, my God!  You took me by surprise.  And Bob.  And Martin.
Hi!" I was almost melting with embarrassment as Villiers looked me up and
down, taking in my maternity frock with what might just have been a touch
of panic.

   "We're shooting a bit of background material for a film on private
single-sex schools in England.  A different sponsor, but we'll be able to
use the choir stuff we shot in Newcastle." Villiers was blushing, I
noticed, and the camera crew were nudging each other.  For the first time I
noticed they had a young woman with them.  Actually, it might have been a
boy in a sweater and jeans.

   "This is Claire, our production assistant."

   We exchanged greetings.  "Hyyyy!" I was getting used to this
media-speak.

   Claire looked at my mound with a mixture of disgust and loathing.

   "You must be wishing you could take time off and have the baby, mustn't
you?" she asked in flat Northern tones.

   "Baby?  No, you got it wrong.  These are my tits!" I gave them just a
minimal wobble, no more than a couple of feet each way, and Claire subsided
instantly.  I think Martin and Bob grinned at each other, but I couldn't be
sure.  And their faces were like masks when Claire suddenly glowered up at
them.

   "Are you involved with the organisation?" Villiers asked me with a hint
of desperation.  "The television boys seem to think St Cat's has been
keeping them hanging around long enough.  Any minute now they're going to
start screaming for the Headmistress."

   "They can scream 'til they're blue in the face.  They'll be out of luck.
She's gone out for a fuck.  And we're right on schedule.  The first batch
of interviewees is due to come out at any moment.  Will you be shooting
them?"

   "No, we'll do the second or third bunch, once we've had a look at the
form, seen what happens." Villiers looked around the quad and I followed
the direction of his gaze.  One or two small groups of girls were ready for
business, their short-skirted bottoms perched on the wall surrounding the
central fountain, which was still turned off to save the planet.  No doubt,
ITV would be along in a moment to have it turned on so it would cast pretty
rainbow patterns in the sunlight.  Tough shit, I thought.

   "Most of the organisation is Corinne's work," I told him.  "She's up at
our bedroom window." I pointed and saw Corinne give a little wave.

   "Is that Cee?" said Bob.  "Isn't she coming down?"

   "No, she can't." I made sure Claire could hear me.  "Her breasts grew
too big, so she can't move without eight girls to carry them.  That's what
these boys will be doing when we recruit them.  Carrying Corinne's tits."
Claire gasped in horror.  Bob looked incredulous.  "You mean you didn't
know?"

   "No idea.  We just heard it was a bold move to integrate boys and girls
from separate private schools.  A step into the next millennium."

   "It's disgusting," hissed Claire, finding her voice at last.

   "Disgusting?" I said.  "What is?  Employing boys, or having your breasts
get so big you can't walk?  You'd better ask Corinne about that, hadn't
you? Mine are only 120 inches.  I can get around with no trouble at all.  I
don't even need a wheelbarrow, unlike some of our girls ..."

   And to prove there was a God in heaven, right on cue, Shona came
lurching round the corner of the quad with her breasts piled into her
barrow.  She had obviously loaded in a hurry this morning.  She veered
toward the middle of the quad, apologised as she ran over the feet of the
girls by the fountain, and careened round the corner by the bra measuring
facility.  A trail of milk had trickled out of the barrow, and marked her
erratic course.

   "...  like Shona," I said.  "She's still getting used to driving hers,
but of course, she's only twelve." I had spotted a movement up at the
window.  Corinne was waving.

   "Look, sorry, must dash.  I'll see you all later, won't I?"

   "Sure," said Villiers, "we'll have a chat about this and that ...?"

   "And the other," I said, with a glance at Claire.  "Don't forget the
other."

   I made things sway a little excessively as I made my way to the main
entrance.  The girls by the fountain winked at me.  I made a mental note to
have a word with them for being over-familiar.









   Chapter 84:- Suzanne Makes Her Entrance



   "Hey, look, Pan.  Boys!"

   "How am I supposed to look, you've had your eye to the hole for the last
ten minutes?"

   Suzanne moved aside reluctantly and Pansy took her place.  The cousins
were in a store room adjacent to the ex-staff room which had been pressed
into service as the first phase of the physical examination facility.  It
wasn't required as a staff room any more, as there was hardly any staff as
such.  The store room, backing on to the Chemistry laboratory as it did,
was filled with drums and bottles of chemicals.  The girls had gone in
there in search of some speeder-upper and slower-downer.  In the silence of
the room, they had heard voices next door, and Suzanne had applied her eye
to a crack in the panelling.

   "I don't know why they wouldn't let us meet the boys off the buses and
taxis, Pan.  We'd do just as good a job as those floosies from the Thirds."

   "They even picked the ones with no tits," Pansy complained.  "This
school is going to the dogs."

   "Even the girl in that room next door is pretty flat compared to us,
Pan. I bet she's no more than fifty inches.  Come on, let's have another
look."

   "Most normal girls are pretty flat compared to us." Pansy stepped away
and let Suzanne take her place.

   "Why are they all just standing around?  Shit, no they're not!  They're
taking their gear off.  They're undressing!"

   "Let's see!" Pansy tried to drag Suzanne away, but the bigger girl
wasn't about to go anywhere just yet.

   Helpful and considerate as ever, she gave a running commentary.

   "The nearest one hasn't taken his pants down yet.  I can see most of
them.  The girl is just grinning at them and they don't want to get
undressed.  Ah, there goes a pair of pants.  Nice bum.  Coo, look at that
one!"

   "I can't see!"

   "His thing is about as long as one of the jumbo sausages from the
restaurant, and it's got a funny end, all screwed up and wrinkly, like
Anastasia's pussy lips.  There's another one, he's more rounded, more like
a courgette.  Apart from the colour.  I can see ten, no twelve willies, all
in one go!  Why doesn't she touch them or something?  She's just looking!"

   "Let me see, Suze," Pansy pleaded.  Suzanne took a last longing look
round, then backed away.

   Pansy bent and took up the position.  "Shit, Suze!  They're going out.
You've used them all up.  They've gone."

   "Where?  Which way?"

   Pansy jerked her head in the direction of the far door.  "What are you
doing?"

   Suzanne was rummaging amongst the boxes and drums on the shelves. 
"Wheeee!" she cried, and started burrowing like a terrier.  "Bingo!  Here's
another hole!" She stretched herself out on the shelf, lying on her tummy.

   Sure enough, it was another hole in the wall, and as Suzanne confirmed,
it gave a view of the next room, where twenty naked boys were having their
gonads caressed by Nurse before undergoing various other ritual
degradations under the gaze of Miss Mountains and a team of quite
unnecessarily pretty Fourth Formers.

   At last, Pansy insisted on her turn, and Suzanne reluctantly began to
slide backwards off the shelf.  Then she stopped.  "I can't move, Pan.  I'm
stuck!"

   "Come on, Suze.  You've had plenty of time in there.  I want to look."

   "You can, when I get out.  But I can't get out.  The shelf on top has
moved and I can't get my tits through the gap."

   Pansy investigated, running her hands up the backs of her cousin's
generous thighs.

   "What do you think you're doing?" Suzanne sounded apprehensive.

   Pansy probed further.  "I'm trying to feel where you're stuck.  You're
bum's fucking enormous, Suze.  I've never really felt it before.  It's all
soft and squishy.  Yeurggh!"

   "Well get off it then.  I never asked to stroke my arse.  Where are you
going now?"

   "I've got past your fat bits.  The shelf is pressing down on your waist.
Huh!  Call this a waist?  You really are podgy, you know that?  You've got
love-handles!  The boxes and stuff must have been holding the shelf up, and
when you moved them, it came down and squashed you.  Can you get further
in?"

   "What do I want to get further in for?  I'll never be able to turn round
in there with these things on my chest.  I'd be completely stuck."

   "You're stuck anyway.  Your boobs will never come out of that little
space.  They're miles bigger than your arse.  Miles!"

   "I know." Suzanne lay quiet for a while, thinking.  She weighed up all
the alternatives, decided they were all as bad as each other, and started
to cry.

   "Oh, shut up, Suzanne!  Crying isn't going to solve anything.  Let me
take a look at the top shelf and see if I can move anything off it.  If we
lighten it enough, we might be able to lift it up a bit." She stood up and
investigated.

   Pansy moved a few boxes around, then she began to cry as well.  "It's no
use, Suze.  That top shelf is full of great heavy drums and boxes.  I'll
never be able to move all that."

   "Go and fetch help then."

   "There isn't anybody.  They're all doing this interview thing.  Would it
help if you took your clothes off?"

   "How the fuck is that going to help anything?" yelled Suzanne.

   "It might.  You'll be more slippery.  And if you can take your bra off,
your tits will be squashed flat."

   "Even if they were squashed flat, they'd still be loads bigger than my
hips.  What are you doing NOW?"

   "Taking your skirt off.  There!  See if you can crawl forward now."

   Suzanne failed to see the point, but she crawled forward a few inches.
"Hey, that's better.  I'm not so squashed now.  I can't get back, I can't
turn round, but I can breathe a bit.  Thanks, Pansy!"

   It all went quiet again.  "Are you asleep, Suze?"

   "No.  But I've got an idea.  This wall panel where the hole is.  I think
I can move it.  It's loose.  Yeah!"

   "You think you'll be able to get through into the next room?"

   "Maybe.  It will be tight.  I'll push it through so there's a hole.  If
my tits will go through, so will the rest of me, no problem.  Wish me luck.
I'll give it a shove."

   The panel made a creaking noise, and Suzanne puffed and panted with the
effort.  She began to cry again.  It took ten minutes before she took a
deep breath, and gave it one more try.

   "It's going, Pan!  There!"

   Sound flooded into the store room, the babble of voices, Nurse's the
loudest of all, although Miss Mountains could be heard ordering boys
around, and the fluting tones of the Fourth Form assistants.  The level of
noise in the physical examination room drowned out the sound of the wall
panel giving way.

   "Here goes.  I'm crawling through.  Nobody will see me, we're behind a
sort of table." An assortment of grunts followed.

   "Suze?  You still there?"

   "Yeah.  The hole's too small.  And my tits are too big."

   "Take your top off," suggested Pansy.  "And your bra.  They'll flatten
out against your tummy when you crawl through the hole.  Try it, Suze!"

   "But I'll be naked."

   "That's all right.  The boys are naked, too.  They won't be embarrassed.
You want to be stuck in there all week?"

   "If I get a detention for this, Pansy, you are in deep shit, okay?" But
Suzanne was struggling out of her blouse.  Seconds later came the ripping
of velcro.  A dank, girl-fragrant blouse and bra came out through the
clutter of the shelf and Pansy bundled them under her arm.

   "As soon as you get through, run round the front and I'll meet you in
the quad with your clothes."

   "Is that the best place, Pan?"

   "There's nowhere else.  The only other way is back through the room
where they all take their clothes off into the main reception area."

   "Oh, fuck, Pan!  The quad it is.  Go round there now, so I know you'll
be waiting when I arrive."

   "Okay.  Good luck, and everything, all right?  See you in a few minutes.



   **********

   I made it upstairs without laughing too much or jiggling myself clean
off my feet, and joined Corinne at the window.

   "Who was that skinny tart?" Corinne asked.

   "She's with the camera people.  That's Villiers down there.  Remember I
told you about him, at the choir contest.  I met him on the plane?"

   "Hmmm, not bad.  What was he like?"

   "Okay," I said guardedly.

   "What's her name?"

   "Claire something."

   "She's sleeping with him," Corinne said with conviction.

   "You think so?" Somehow, I didn't really care all that much, but it was
still a personal affront.

   "Sticks out like a dog's bollocks." How rude, Corinne, I thought.  Not a
nice expression at all.

   "What did you wave for?  You wanted me up here?"

   "Yes.  Bring me that box of Kleenex from the dressing table, there's a
love."

   I fetched the box.  She took one out and blew her nose.

   "Thanks, Shannie."

   "Was that it?  That's all you wanted?"

   "Shan, darling!  There's no time for anything else now, it's a busy
morning.  You're a funny girl!  Sometimes you can think of nothing but
sex!" We gazed out over the busy quad.  Activity was building.  "It's
getting close.  The first batch of twenty will be coming out in two
minutes. When the clock strikes.  Stay here and watch it with me."

   I snuggled up to her left breast and put an arm round her waist.  Down
below, the camera crews were getting ready.  Press photographers had formed
themselves into a semicircle in front of the door.  In a minute or so, that
door would open, and the first twenty boys would step out to face the next
part of their interview.  My heart was beginning to thump.  I hugged
Corinne tighter and she grinned down at me from her high chair.

   "All our meticulous planning has been building up to this moment, Shan.
It's enough to make you feel proud to be part of St Catherine's High School
for Girls."



   **********

   Suzanne toyed with the idea of crying again, but it didn't look like
being a solution to anything.  Even without her clothes, her bust was far
too large to squeeze through the hole in the panel.  She had tried twice,
and crawled back each time.

   She began to imagine herself trapped in here for the rest of the week.
The other girls in the dorm would divide up her personal belongings amongst
themselves.  There would be a Memorial Service, and her mother would be
there in purple and black.  Suzanne even conjured up an image of her
mother's mourning frock, with a generous cleavage and a revealing
microskirt.  She would be wearing a hat with a veil ...

   Was it her imagination, or did the panel seem to move a bit that time.
Suzanne wriggled forward a bit more.  The edges of the panel scraped across
the sensitive skin of her breasts, which were squashed tight against her
body.  Sliding through the gap.  It wasn't getting any easier.  Although
her shoulders were through the hole, and her chest was narrower from that
point on, it was more than compensated for by the fact that her breasts
were much fatter at their bottoms than at their tops.  It was going to hurt
when her nipples arrived at the edge of the hole.

   It's not good, she told herself.  And she started to wriggle back. 
Stuck.  It was her boobs again.  This time they were all squashed upwards,
and she was never going to be able to get them and her shoulders back the
way they had come.  A mighty sob burst from her, and from somewhere she
found the strength and determination to press onward with one magnificent
effort.

   There was a rending noise, and the edge of the adjacent panel gave way.
Suddenly and without warning, Suzanne was on her hands and knees under the
table, surrounded by the wreckage of a sizeable chunk of the store room
wall.  Amazingly, nobody had noticed her arrival in the room.  From her
hiding place, she could look to the right, where she could see the lower
halves of the boys who were coming in and being taken in hand by Nurse. 
Ahead of her, Miss Mountains and a couple of Fourth Formers were doing
something with more of the boys.  Away to the left, the door leading to the
quad, Pansy, her clothes, and safety.

   But in front of that door was a line of boys.  Naked hairy legs stood
patiently like cattle.  It was the only way to go.  Act natural, she told
herself.  She scrambled out from under the table, got to her feet and set
off for the exit.  Don't run.  Walk!

   It was perhaps an over-ambitious attempt to escape without being
observed.

   In a room staffed by a tall school teacher, a loud and randy nurse, half
a dozen crisp-bloused Fourth Formers and sixty naked teenage boys, it was
asking a bit much for a slightly chubby and gigantically-breasted little
girl wearing only a pair of day-glo orange knickers to pass unnoticed. 
Someone was bound to see her.

   She sauntered across to the rear of the line of boys by the door, her
breasts swinging together like great elongated pumpkins, bouncing on her
lower stomach in a manner which indicated to anyone who chanced to look in
her direction that this was to all intents and purposes a girl.  She
actually reached the end of the line.  The last boy turned and nodded to
her in a friendly but slightly embarrassed manner, the way naked boys do.
Then he turned the other way again, so as to avoid having to make polite
conversation.

   Several seconds later, he turned round again.

   "Fucking shit," he observed, gawping down at what were unreservedly the
most gigantically long and fat breasts he had ever seen in his fifteen
years.  "You're a girl!"

   At that moment, the girl issuing panties to the boys waiting to leave
the room had passed down the line for the last time, touching and
caressing, checking the boys' readiness to face the world at large in the
quadrangle.  Hearing the cry from the back of the line, she spun round and
saw a giant pair of tits where no tits had a right to be.  Reasonably
enough, she screamed.

   Suzanne sensed that she might shortly be in trouble if she stayed here.
Nipping smartly out of line; avoiding the grasping hands of twenty boys
suddenly confronted with two of the biggest breasts - in fact, the ONLY
breasts - they had ever seen in their short lives; she plunged for the
door. As she seized the handle and flung it open, the last words she heard
were from Miss Mountains:

   "Suzanne, NO!"

   Suzanne, yes!

   It was like a scene from a nightmare.  There she stood, naked as a
jaybird apart from her orange knickers, with what seemed like fifty cameras
aimed at her.









   Part XXIX









   Chapter 85:- Unnatural Selection



   "Thirty seconds," said Corinne, and I felt the hairs on the back of my
neck tingle and stand on end.  It must have been the tension, the
expectancy, the feeling of being part of a finely-drilled team about to
glide into action on well-lubricated wheels.  Or it might have been
Corinne's fingers tracing negligent patterns on the slope of my upper
breast.

   When I mention my upper breast, this is not to denote the higher of two
pairs of breasts, rather it describes the upper part of one of the single
pair of breasts I have.  For the purposes of this statement, 'upper' refers
to that part of the breast which is normally located above my waist. 
'Waist' is in itself perhaps a misnomer, as it seems to be getting bigger
by the week, along with my hips.

   All these thoughts flickered through my mind in the millisecond
following Corinne's warning.  In thirty seconds from now, the first batch
of twenty boys, interviewees for the posts of breast carriers, would emerge
from the room in which they were being physically examined.

   The physical examination took the form of being felt up by Nurse,
prodded by Smegs and ogled at by a team of Fourth Formers, all whilst naked
as Nature mistakenly intended.  To make the boys more presentable to the
media of the world, before they were allowed out of the room, they were
issued with a pair of shorts.  Actually, as St Cat's was a school for
girls, men's underclothes of any description were hard to come by, so the
boys were given girls' knickers in more or less appropriate sizes from the
school's, or rather from Clit's and Flaps's huge stocks.

   "Fifteen seconds!"

   A hand-picked Fourth Form girl had the task of checking the fit of the
shorts.  She carried out the job single-handed.

   "Ten!"

   The door handle twitched.

   "Five, four, three, two, one ..."

   Suzanne, magnificently topless, emerged at a brisk trot from the room
and literally squealed to a halt in front of a battery of press
photographers and television cameras.  A fusillade of flashes blossomed
around her.  She peered about her in panic, then with her toes and knees
together, she covered her breasts with her hands.

   "Suzanne.  Wrongggg!" I muttered to her from our position up here at the
bedroom window.  She wouldn't hear me, but perhaps telepathy would work on
this occasion.  She looked down at her breasts and her hands, and realised
the utter futility of trying to hide them.  She couldn't even hide her
areolae.

   So she dropped her hands and ponderously spun round, trying to get back
into the physical examination room, but it was one of those locks that only
works from the inside.  For some reason, the door was fitted with a slot
for letters.  Presumably the builders had got the door at a special cheap
rate from a demolished building.  There was no mailbox on the inside, so
the slot led straight through to the inside of the room.  Suzanne raised
the flap, bent slightly forward and yelled in through the letter-box.

   A fresh barrage of flashes illuminated her from behind.  Most of her
breasts were still visible, even from this angle: in fact, in her present
position, they had swung forward, away from her body like two great bells.
One way and another, the view had opened up considerably.  I had to hand it
to Suzanne, her day-glo orange panties would look great on television. 
Leaning forward from the waist, she presented an awesome vista of plump,
creamy nubility.  I seized Corinne's binoculars and focused on the
tautly-filled crotch of Suzanne's panties.

   "She's showing, Cee," I complained.  "How many times do I need to remind
these girls about shaving their inner thighs?"

   It took several seconds before Suzanne realised her mistake, then she
looked back over her shoulder at the gentlemen of the press, and began to
cry.

   It was probably the best thing she could have done.  The gentlemen of
the press included at least one lady.  Actually, she was a woman, but it
was the next best thing.  A kindly, motherly figure, she thrust forward,
her Nikons dangling unheeded round her neck, and took Suzanne in her arms.
A chorus of catcalls immediately went up; the woman, startled, turned, and
Suzanne wriggled free like an overdeveloped eel and shot away round the
corner of the building.

   "Suzanne.  Wrongggg!" I said again.

   Five seconds later, she reappeared, having run into a cul-de-sac full of
rubbish bins, and galloped across the front of the building, pursued by
flashes and panning cameras.  Although Suzanne was scarcely poetry in
motion, I was surprised at the speed she had built up in such a short
space. Her legs were obviously strong and muscular from carrying those vast
tits around all the time.

   To get out of the quadrangle, she had to force her way through a small
crowd of press personnel and general hangers-on.  Here, at least, her
breasts came to her assistance.  Without noticeably slackening pace, she
charged at the weakest portion of the line and barged straight through. 
Each swinging, rebounding breast took out two people, sending them flying
to the ground as if sandbagged.  With a leap over the last few fleeing
bodies, Suzanne was free.

   She passed from our view.

   "Ah, about time, too," complained Corinne, "fifteen seconds late!"

   The door had opened, and twenty boys stood blinking in the sunlight,
dressed only in girls' knickers of assorted colours.



   **********

   "Where the fuck were you?" Suzanne demanded furiously.

   "Sorry!  They wouldn't let me through.  Quick, put your clothes on."
Pansy handed her the bundle.  "What were you running for?"

   "I nearly shook my tits off, trying to run.  I fell through the hole in
the wall and I was in this room with about fifty naked boys!"

   "Ooooh!  What were they like, Suze?  Any nice ones?"

   "I dunno.  I was too busy trying to get out.  Miss Mountains was in
there.  So I joined the queue to get out, and this girl was giving them
knickers to wear."

   "Girls' knickers?"

   "Course.  St Cat's is a girls' school."

   "They wouldn't fit," said Pansy, the practical one.

   "They seemed to fit okay, from what I could see.  And the girl was
checking to see how they fitted.  That was why I got out.  If she'd come
and put her hand round my crotch she might have been able to tell the
difference."

   "That's true.  Even if she didn't notice your boobs when she moved them
out of the way of your crotch.  So you came out?"

   "Straight into a whole load of cameras.  All these flashes went off.  I
could hardly see.  So I tried to get back in, but they wouldn't listen when
I bent over and shouted through the letter box, and the flashes were still
going off.  Why did they want to take pictures of me anyway.  Especially
from behind."

   "Maybe they were perverts.  Were they all men?"

   "No, there was a woman, she was a pervert.  She came and tried to snog
me, right in front of all those people.  That was when I managed to get
away."

   "Oh, Suze!  Why do perverts always seem to follow us around?"

   "Dunno.  We're just ordinary girls, same as anyone else."

   "You've wet your knickers a bit, Suzanne," Pansy scolded.

   "So would you, if you'd been through what I've just been through.  Let's
get out of here."

   "What about the boys?  I want to see some boys.  I want to snog one.  It
feels nice.  They were saying there were some from Lord Ted's here.  I
wonder if there's any we know.  Hey, Suze, we could get some and take them
off into the woods.  We could do things."

   "I've seen enough boys to last me a month.  Do what things?"

   "Just things.  We could take our clothes off, and they could feel our
boobs and stuff.  We could fuck, maybe..." Pansy tried to sound casual
about it.

   "There's something wrong with you, Pansy!  Ever since Anastasia's
tea-party, you've been a different girl."

   "Well, I'm pregnant now.  I think.  Once I know for sure, we can decide
whether I should have a girl or a boy!  And when I'm going to have it.  It
might be nice to have it during the summer holidays."

   "Pan.  I was reading a book the other night.  There's something you
ought to know."



   **********

   We watched the first group of twenty boys as they were formed up into
two columns and marched off by Miss Rhys ap Llewelyn Owen to their first
practical test.  Despite all the negative stuff you hear about modern
youth, they had meekly lined up and allowed themselves to be shouted at by
an appalling Welsh woman.  They marched off with arms swinging, all in step
apart from one at the back whose arms seemed to work the wrong way round.
He kept changing step with little skips and hops.

   "We'll have to get rid of that one for a start.  Keeping step with the
rest of his team is essential for a breast carrier.  Imagine the pain of
having him hopping around like that with your boob over his shoulder."
Corinne winced as she said it.

   "They've picked him out.  Look, Sheenagh just took his number.  He'll be
our first reject."

   A team of four girls walked alongside the marching boys, sizing them up
and making notes against their names on a clipboard.  The four
longest-legged girls in the Fifth Form had been chosen for this task, and
they kept pace easily with their smooth, loping stride.  They wore short
white socks and the most abbreviated shorts I had ever seen.  The taut
curves of the undersides of their buttocks were peeping out of the sides of
the bright yellow stretch material.  Their T-shirts, in matching yellow,
reached down almost as far as their waists, but not quite, and the bouncing
of their full, unfettered breasts was almost hynpotic.  Their waist length
blonde hair was tied in a single ponytail which hung down the back, but the
rhythm of their motion allowed it to bounce freely in every direction.

   "Look at Sheenagh's nipples!" I said.  "Did you ever see any like
those?"

   "They are pretty spiky," Corinne agreed.  "Like ferrets' noses.  But
they're all pretty girls."

   They were.  In fact, they were so astoundingly beautiful that I was
obliged to finger myself as I watched them.  Some of the boys were
obviously affected, too.  One or two were walking with difficulty, and they
had only gone twenty yards from the door."

   "Erections, look," Corinne pointed out.  "Two, three, and a semi-hard.
Christ, just as well he is only semi.  He's like a stallion.  Pity. 
They'll have to go."

   "Do they really, Cee?  Can't we keep them for something else?"

   "Moggie says we're only allowed twenty-four.  You can't have any extras
just because they happen to look good in girls' knickers.  The girls have
spotted them.  They're doing a good job, those four."

   The twenty boys came to a halt and the four tall girls swiftly weeded
them out, together with the one who couldn't march.  They herded them in a
confused group to a roped-off area in the centre of the quad.  A huge sign
had been erected over this enclosure, saying 'Special Assessment'.

   Corinne pointed to the sign, "We couldn't call it 'Rejects', could we?
The poor boys would be traumatised for the rest of their lives."

   "Political Correctness reaches St Cat's at last," I sighed.  "What will
happen to them?"

   "We'll eventually end up with hundreds in there, so they're going be
taken away in batches and allowed to put their clothes back on.  So they
don't feel too let down, we've arranged for them to be looked after by a
special team of girls, all volunteers."

   "Looked after?"

   "Yes.  Exactly what it sounds like!" Corinne grinned.  "They'll be
allowed to take them to the dorms, the woods, classrooms, anywhere they can
find a space six feet long by three feet wide.  What happens then is up to
the girls themselves."

   "Not the boys?"

   "The girls themselves, Shan!"

   "Golly, Cee!  I wish I'd known.  I'd have volunteered."

   "I thought you might.  That's why I asked Anastasia to sort you out a
few for later."

   "Oh, Cee!  You think of everything!"

   "I do try, Shannie!"



   **********

   Suzanne had failed to get her bra on after several attempts.  "It's no
use, Pan," she cried in exasperation, "they got so shook out and floppy
with all that running, they won't fit the cups any more.  Let's get back to
the dorm." With her cousin's help, she piled everything out of sight into
her blouse and slung the bra round her neck.  They would have to use the
back entrance to the main block, as the quad was in use.

   Pnasy looked back with longing in the direction of the teeming
quadrangle.  "I wonder why they wouldn't let us volunteer for the Special
Assessment group, Suze."

   "No Juniors, Pan.  Middles and Seniors only."

   "We're just as good as them, Suze.  We've got just as big tits as any of
them, and we can fuck, too.  At least, I can.  I was forgetting you don't
believe in it."

   Suzanne snarled at her.  "Fuck off!  I can do it just as well as you.  I
just didn't fancy any of those stuck-up knob-ends from Lord Ted's, that's
all."

   Pansy clutched at her cousin's arm and pointed ahead.  "Well, that's
good.  'Cos look!  Here's a couple of strays!"

   Suzanne looked where Pansy was pointing.  Two boys had wandered out of
the rear entrance and were gazing about them looking lost.

   "C'mon, cousin," grinned Pansy, nudging her.  "Just do as I do."

   Suzanne's jaw dropped open as Pansy led the way into the attack.  She
was right, her cousin was a different girl these days.

   "Hi, boys!" Pansy stopped next to the lost couple.  They were still
dressed, wearing the uniform of Lord Edward's school.  "You look lost."

   "Oh, hello." The taller of the two was the spokesman.  "We were looking
for the boys' toilets."

   "There aren't any," said Pansy.  "St Cat's is a girls' school."

   "But the teacher sent us out here.  She said there were toilets out
here."

   "Which teacher?"

   "A shortish one with brown hair and glasses.  She had ...  well, she was
very big up here." The boy blushed and lowered his hands to his sides.

   "Not as big as you two, though," said the second boy, speaking for the
first time.  "In fact, I've never seen girls with thingies as big as yours.
You're frightfully big.  Are you teachers, too?"

   Pansy spluttered.  "Silly!  'Course we're not teachers.  Nor was the
other girl.  We can show you the way to the toilet, though.  Would you like
that?"

   "Yes, please," said the first boy.  "I'm bursting."

   "Don't burst, it will make a mess.  I'm Pansy, and this is my cousin,
Suzanne."

   "I'm Oliver, and this is Simon."

   "C'mon, then.  We'll show you the way." Pansy held out her hand and
Oliver, a little surprised, took it.  Following suit, Simon offered a hand
to Suzanne.

   "You're huge, Suzanne," he said.  "And that bra is the biggest I've ever
seen.  Is it a D cup?"

   Suzanne blushed prettily.  "Not exactly, we don't use ordinary cup sizes
here."

   "You don't?  Golly!  How old are you?"

   "Fifteen," Suzanne lied fluently.

   "Oh, that's nice.  Same as us!"

   "Oooh, good!  We can have a chat about the things we learn at school."

   The girls led the two boys up the stairs and into the girls' toilets. 
They didn't bother waiting outside.  They went in and hovered just inside
the cubicles while the boys blushed and hesitated.  Finally, realising the
cousins weren't about to go away, they unzipped themselves and did what
they came for.  Or tried to.

   Sometimes it's difficult when somebody is watching.  Especially when
that somebody is a couple of the biggest-breasted girls you have ever seen
in your fifteen years.  And especially when both of those girls are
unfastening the buttons on their blouses ...









   Chapter 86:- In Good Hands



   "I wonder where Suzanne got to," I said.  "She ran round that corner.  I
bet she's hiding in case she bumps into any boys."

   Corinne scanned the busy quad.  She was looking through her binoculars,
and restlessly turning her attention from one area of activity to another.
A second batch of twenty boys had come outside, and were now being drilled
into two straight lines by Miss Rhys ap Llewelyn Owen.

   "She must be a frustrated drill sergeant." Corinne aimed her binoculars
at the corner where Suzanne had last been seen.  "No sign of young Suze,
she must be scared rigid, wherever she is."

   "I'd better have a look for her.  Maybe I'll be able to find Pansy." I
reluctantly got up and wished Corinne's breast a fond farewell.  "I'll see
you later," I told it.

   As I closed the door, I heard Corinne giggling at something she'd seen
down below.

   Suzanne hadn't reappeared in the physical examination room.  Smegs
confirmed that she had seen the girl and yelled at her not to go outside,
but Suzanne had ignored her.

   "She came out from under that table," she said.  "She must have hidden
there to watch the naked boys, the little slut."

   "I'm sure there's a perfectly reasonable explanation, Smegs, she
wouldn't do that.  Not on her own, anyway.  Have you seen anything of
Pansy?"

   "If she had any sense, she'd have bolted as soon as Suzanne came out
into the open.  I never saw her, though.  They're as bad as each other,
those two."

   "I'll go and look for them," I said.  "In a minute."

   "Sure," Smegs grinned wolfishly.  "Have a look round before you dash
off. One or two interesting specimens amongst them."

   I was shocked at Smegs, lusting after teenage boys.  Naked teenage boys.
I walked up and down each line of twenty, viewing them from the back, then
from the front.  I felt I would recognise any one of these boys again if I
saw him.

   "Hello, Miss Gruntworthy!"

   "What?" I looked up into the boy's grinning face.  "Augustine, hello!"

   "I thought you'd never recognise me, Miss, you walked straight past me
four times."

   "I must have been preoccupied.  Sorry.  Any of the others here?"

   "Clark's here.  He was hoping to see Anastasia.  Have you seen her,
Miss? Or Pansy, or Toots?"

   "Toots doesn't start at St Cat's until September, so you won't see her."
Augustine looked crestfallen.  "I was looking for Pansy, myself.  Suzanne
had an unfortunate experience a while ago.  She exposed herself to the
world's press."

   "Suzanne?  She wouldn't do that, Miss.  She's far too nice to do that.
You know, she sat through that whole tea-party without being tempted to
join in the kissing and cuddling.  Well, just a little snog, but nothing
serious.  She's got huge boobs, though.  It's a pity she's so frigid."

   The tone of the conversation was embarrassing me, especially as the
other boys waiting in front of and behind Augustine were taking an active
interest in Augustine's words, in conversation with a *teacher*, of all
things!  The fact that Augustine had achieved an impressive, throbbing
erection didn't help my embarrassment either.

   "I'll see you later, Og," I said, edging away from it, and from him. 
"If I see the girls, I'll tell them you're here.  Bye!"

   I shot away, and heard a loud guffaw from the boys as I fled.  Men, I
thought, they're all the same: so immature, even at fifteen.



   **********

   "So, what's your favourite subject, Suzanne?" Simon asked.  All four of
them were sitting on a pile of blankets and pillows on the floor of the
First Form dorm.  They had the room to themselves, all the other girls were
watching the fun in the quad.

   Suzanne ran her hand softly up Simon's inner thigh, making his hair
stand on end.  The two girls had decided not to remove their blouses in the
toilets in case a member of staff came along and saw them, but since
settling on the floor, they had begun exposing themselves a button at a
time.  Acres of creamy flesh were on display.

   Pansy felt at a disadvantage, as she was still wearing her bra, so she
was becoming more bold by the minute, and the bolder she got, the more she
turned herself on.  She was sitting astride Oliver, with her legs spread
wide, gazing deep into his eyes.  Oliver must have thought it was his
birthday.  His sixteenth birthday.  She began a slow grinding motion,
sliding her taut bottom forwards and backwards.

   Simon watched her, wide-eyed.  Suzanne caught a glimpse of the movement
out of the corner of her eye, and redoubled her fondling.  She was lying
beside the boy, their thighs, hips and bodies pressed against each other.

   "What was the question again?" She grinned up at him cheekily.

   "You're favourite subject?  What do like doing most?  In class, I mean."

   "Oooh, Sexual Chemistry.  That's best of all."

   "What Chemistry?" Simon was startled and even Oliver tore his eyes away
from Pansy's looming breasts to stare at Suzanne.

   "Sexual!  You know?" She slipped her little hand between two of the
buttons on Simon's shirt.  It slid inside and found a tiny, sharp nipple.
He almost hit the ceiling.  "Sexual Chemistry!  When we make boob juice and
cream?  And Fatlite, and Lube and Steam?" Suzanne realised that she wasn't
making much sense.  "You mean you don't do it?"

   "Boob juice?  What's that?  And all that other stuff.  Steam?"

   "Makes you come!  So does Lube.  And Fatlite, I invented that.  Me and
Pan.  It makes your boobs lighter!"

   "In fact, it doesn't," Pansy felt she had better get her six-pennyworth
in.  "It keeps them the same weight and they get twice as big."

   "Gosh!" Oliver stared at the two of them.  "Is that why you're both so
huge?"

   "No way!" said Pansy indignantly.  "We're a hundred per cent natural. 
But you should see our Miss Meadowlark.  She's our Support and Mobility
Mistress.  Her boobs are as big as ...  as big as ..." Pansy searched
around the dorm for a suitable object for comparison.

   "You know a bean-bag chair?" Suzanne said, and both boys nodded,
frowning, trying to imagine breasts as big as bean-bags.

   "Each of her tits is about twice as big as three of those.  That's why
St Cat's is looking for teams of boys.  They're to carry Miss Meadowlark's
boobs for her!"

   The boys were struck dumb, trying to visualise a couple of double-sized
triple-bean-bag chairs and failing totally.  Suzanne decided to give Simon
something to think about.  With a swift tug, she opened the front of her
blouse completely and both her breasts tumbled out on to the pile of
bedding.

   "Ouch!" she said.  "That hurt."

   "Jesus!"

   "Christ!"

   It was a good moment for blasphemy.

   Pansy wasn't going to be upstaged by a pair of giant breasts, so she
gave an extra thrust of her hips, capturing Oliver's attention instantly.
She felt his hardness, and it brought back memories of tea-parties in
Anastasia's room.  She glanced in Suzanne's direction.  The other couple
were fully occupied.  With dextrous fingers, Pansy found the tag of
Oliver's zipper and slid it down.  Releasing him into the open air was the
work of mere seconds, and moments later, she bobbed her head and enveloped
him in her wet mouth.

   Simon wanted to know more about FatLite.  "You mean they let you use
this stuff on real people?  Like teachers?"

   "Of course.  That's what it's for.  We wrote to that cooking fat company
that make it, and they wrote back and sent a sample.  The rest of the
ingredients are ordinary chemicals, and a bit of girl-milk."

   "GIRL-MILK!"

   "Shona-milk, actually.  She's in our class.  That's her bed over there.
The extra strong one, 'cos she's huge.  She's got tits like three of these
pillows."

   "And she gives milk?"

   "Yeah.  Lots of the girls do.  Not just the ones who are having babies.
It was Pansy's idea putting Shona-milk in the FatLite, and it made it work
really well, didn't it, Pan?"

   Suzanne and Simon turned to see why Pansy wasn't answering.  They found
out.  Both of them blushed deeply and looked back at each other.  They
moved further apart, and Suzanne started to tuck herself back into her
blouse.

   "Her Mum taught her never to talk with her mouth full.  Erm, shall we
take a little walk, Si?" Suzanne was getting to her feet.  "I'll show you
the First Form Sexual Chemistry Group Lab.  We might even be able to find
something to take back to school with you." She pulled Simon to his feet,
as he tried to adjust his clothing.  "Oooh!  Is that an erection?  Did I do
that to you?"

   "Ummm, yes!"

   "Come on, then.  Let's see if there's some of the original boob juice
about.  You'd be surprised what it does to boys!"



   **********

   I headed for the First Form dormitory.  That was the likeliest place to
find Suzanne, assuming she had managed to find her way there without being
apprehended.  One or two of the dormitories were already in use, so
presumably a number of girls had already raided the Special Assessment
compound.  Boyish grunts and girlish cries echoed up and down the corridor.
Outside one of the dorms, the Fifth Form, I think it was, a small pile of
used boys lay naked and groaning in the corridor.

   In my capacity of teacher, I tried to ignore the sounds of sex, while
hoping that Anastasia was going to find me a couple of tasty specimens for
later in the evening.  The thought of that lent wings to my feet and I
approached the First Form dorm at a brisk canter.

   One expects a certain amount of sexual activity in the Senior dorms, and
possibly quite a bit in the Middles.  But the Juniors are expected to find
other pursuits.  I suppose I should have been surpised to hear cries of
ecstasy coming from the First Form dormitory.  Or should I?

   At least I had found Suzanne, I thought, as I strode into the room.  And
stopped dead in my tracks.  There was only one couple in here, and they
were definitely a couple.  They were coupling in fine style.  Pansy was
positively thrashing up and down like a rodeo rider on top of an anonymous
boy.  I wondered what it was that brought the rodeo image to my mind.  Then
I realised what it was: she was holding on with her left hand to the boy's
shirt, her bottom was bounding fully six inches up and down, so far that
clear daylight showed beneath her little bottom at every up-stroke. 
Potentially disastrous, but I had to award her excellent style marks.  And
the final touch; like a rough rider, she had her right arm raised above her
head.  If she'd had a Stetson, she would have been waving it in the air.

   With a huge grunt, Pansy reached an undeniable climax.  She deserved it
after all that effort.  The boy wasn't far off either, so I took a seat on
a convenient bed and waited a few minutes for him to finish.  I started to
get up to go over and speak to them, but Pansy had already started again,
so I sat down.  The poor girl showed her inexperience, shouting and
swearing furiously at her partner.  It made no difference.  I could have
told her it wouldn't.

   "Oh, fuck you!" Pansy screamed and sat back, wiping her face on her
discarded blouse.  "Oh, hi, Miss!" She waved at me with her fingers and
climbed off.  "Hey, Ollie!  Here's Miss Gruntworthy.  Our favourite
teacher."

   "Aaaargh!" Oliver sat up, trying to cover himself.  "Sorry, Miss!" he
tried to get to his feet.  I had a feeling he would have stood to attention
and saluted.  In his present state of undress, that would have been most
undignified.

   "Hi, Oliver," I called airily.  "Don't get up!"

   "No fucking chance of that, Miss," Pansy growled under her breath.

   "He did all right, Pansy," I told her.  "You mustn't expect too much of
them."

   "But Miss!  Now I'm pregnant, I've got to get it all I can.  A couple
more months and I'll be so huge I can't do it any more."

   Oliver's face registered horror.  "I didn't make her pregnant, Miss!  I
was thinking of cricket, Miss.  Cricket always works, our sports master
says.  If you think of cricket while you're ...  doing ..."

   "Making love, Oliver," I offered."

   "Making love," he blushed, "if you think of cricket, then you can't give
a girl a baby, Miss!"

   "I shall remember that," I said.  "It might be useful one day.  Now,
Pansy, if you'll let Oliver get dressed, he probably has to go and be
interviewed.  Thank him nicely for the fuck, Pansy!"

   "Thank you for the nice fucks, Oliver," said Pansy sweetly.  "Both of
them.  And the nice blow-job, too!"

   "Thank *you*, Pansy.  You really are an excellent shag for fifteen."

   Pansy blushed prettily.

   "Fifteen, Pansy?" I said, and she shrugged her shoulders helplessly. 
"Have you seen Suzanne this morning?  After she appeared nude on nationwide
television?"

   "No, Miss!"

   I was sure she was lying.  One gets to recognise the signs.



   **********

   "Take your trousers down!" Suzanne held the tub of cream.  Simon looked
uncertain.

   "Are you sure?" Simon bit his lip.  "Have you tested it on willies?"

   "It worked on boobs, and some of the girls said it worked on Miss
Mountains's labia.  And her clit.  So it ought to work on a willie, it's
made of all the same stuff.  Come on, before someone comes.  Get your
shorts down."

   There was no alternative.  Simon slid his shorts down to his knees, then
stood up, not very straight.  His testicles seemed to be crawling up inside
his body, seeking refuge from this absurdly developed and highly dangerous
little girl.  She took a handful of cream, aimed carefully and slapped it
on to the appropriate area.  It made a soft Splats!  Sound, and Simon
cringed, doubling over from the waist.

   "Let me rub it in.  It's got to be rubbed in evenly." Suzanne
demonstrated with enthusiasm.  "Wait a minute," she said, "There's
something missing.  Where are those ball things?"

   "They were there this morning," Simon gasped in panic.

   "It's all right, I've found one.  And the other.  They're not as big as
I thought they'd be.  They must have shrunk.  Never mind, this will make
them swell up again.  There!  You can put them away now."

   "Thank you, Suzanne.  You are very kind."

   "You have to take this little pot of cream with you, and rub it in for a
couple of nights before you go to sleep."

   "I wish you could rub it in for me, Suzanne!"

   "No, it's best if you do it yourself," said Suzanne firmly.

   Now that Suzanne seemed not to be too keen on physical intimacy, Simon
began to feel a little more bold.

   "It felt great when you rubbed it, Suzanne, can we do it now?"

   "Do what?"

   "Have love.  Make sex."

   "You mean FUCK?"

   "Erm, yes."

   "Sod off.  You're not putting that thing in me.  It's got FatLite all
over it.  I don't want to end up like Miss Mountains!"

   To make sure, she hauled Simon's shorts up tight, and heaved on his
trousers.  She paused only when the zipper was fastened and the belt yanked
tight.

   "Come on.  Back to the dorm.  They'll have finished now, and I can put
my bra back on.  If I walk around much longer without a bra, they'll be
down to my knees by tea time."

   "I've got to be interviewed," Simon gasped, remembering suddenly why he
was at St Cat's in the first place.  "What's the time?  I get done at
twelve nineteen."

   "Ten past.  You'll make it.  I'll show you the short cut." She stopped
in front of him, stood on tiptoe and closed her eyes.  "Come on, then. 
Give me a kiss!"

   "I can't reach.  Your boobs are so huge, they're in the way!"

   "They do bend, Simon.  They're not made of iron.  Just squash them. 
There, oooh, like that!"

   They did bend.  They weren't made of iron.  They squashed very nicely.









   Chapter 87:- Disgraceful Goings-on



   Having ensured that Pansy and her lover were not getting up to anything
too illegal, I made my way back downstairs.  The sight of Pansy's exuberant
style in the saddle had left me feeling more than a little aroused and
moist.  I know, I had been promised a few boys of my own for later on, and
young Anastasia was not the sort of girl to let me down.  I just felt the
need to pick out a few boys for myself, in case the worst came to the
worst.

   The physical examination room was still as busy as ever.  Some of the
cast had changed.  A steady flow of boys in groups of twenty every ten
minutes was bound be fatiguing for the staff involved.  The Fourth Form
girls had been replaced.  Perhaps the word ought to be 'relieved'.  Another
crew was in attendance, bringing a new enthusiasm to their work.  Smegs
spoke highly of them.

   "The other girls were getting a bit jaded.  Working with naked boys
wears you out after a while.  Look at Nurse!"

   I looked.  The poor woman was still clutching at the gonads of each
batch of new arrivals, but I could tell her heart wasn't in it.  She cupped
successive genitalia with an expression of ennui, and although she still
washed her hands thoroughly between feeling each boy, she no longer
approached each new victim with the same freshness.

   "I could relieve her for a while.  One of the girls could make her a cup
of tea." I hoped I didn't sound too eager.

   "I'm sure she'd appreciate that.  You're most kind.  But Shan, you don't
need to be undressed yourself."

   Glumly, I rearranged my clothing and put my breasts away.  Nurse thanked
me and stumbled out of the room, while I metaphorically rolled up my
sleeves and girded my loins.  A new batch of boys filed in and stood
patiently like cattle.  Beside me, an almost horrifyingly pretty Fourth
Former read out the name of the first boy from her clip-board.  Smiling
brightly, I approached him and lowered my hand, fingers together and
slightly cupped.

   The boy screamed and leaped about a foot in the air.  The rest of the
boys in the queue staggered back.  One of them clutched at the almost
horrifyingly pretty Fourth Former, whimpering.  She dropped her clip-board
and hugged him sympathetically.  Elsewhere in the room, other boys who had
already passed the first stage of being fondled, stared back at us
scornfully.  Smegs looked apprehensive.  Her team of enthusiastic Fourth
Form girls giggled captivatingly and wobbled their firm young breasts in
the faces of the more superficially attractive interviewees.

   The boy descended, and his scrotum dropped neatly into my hand.  This
time, he only jumped six inches.  I can be fairly precise about this,
because I had anticipated his leap and slid my hand into a new position,
rotating the wrist through ninety degrees and grasping firmly.  He still
jumped, but he wasn't going far without his cock, so he came down to earth
quickly.

   "Sorry," I said, as soon as his eyes found their way back into their
sockets.  "I should have warmed my hands first."

   "It's all right now, Miss," the boy croaked.  "But would you mind
letting go?"

   I looked down, realising to my horror that I was still clutching at the
boy's boyhood.  The Devil finds work for idle hands, it is true.  Without
conscious effort on my part, my hand had coaxed him into at least partial
arousal, and was caressing his flesh with a smooth practised action.  Even
Jeremy could hardly have complained, and he was notoriously picky about
such things as rings and fingernails.

   "Sorry," I said again, and let go with some reluctance.  The boy's
member resumed its condition of flaccidity and my assistant, the almost
horrifyingly pretty Fourth Former, gave a little gasp of regret.  "He's
okay," I told her, and she placed a tick in a box on her form."

   "How many?" she said.

   "How many what?"

   "Nurse was giving them a score from zero to ten." The girls studied her
notes.  "Nobody scored more than five so far."

   "Give him a six," I said with a surge of generosity, and washed my hands
free of social diseases.

   I'm not cut out to be a caring professional, I suppose.  Although I got
through the batch of twenty boys without losing any and without any of them
actually ejaculating, I was soon bored.  So bored, in fact, that I took the
clip-board from the almost horrifyingly pretty Fourth Former and let her
grope the last four boys in the line while I took Boy Number Sixteen to one
side and inhaled his throbbing cock.

   After that, it was almost a relief when Nurse came back.

   "Feeling better, Shan?" Smegs asked me solicitously when I returned to
her side.

   "Thank you, yes."

   "You made rather a lot of noise when you sucked that last one off.  It
seemed to be worrying some of the other applicants.  If you need to do it
again, perhaps ...  just a little more quietly?"

   "Sorry, Smegs." I felt dejected.  I couldn't even do a simple job like
feeling boys' scrotums.  Should that be scrota?  Scroti?  Nurse was so much
more efficient.  So were the Fourth Form girls.  Now I was able to study
them in action, I realised that they weren't all changing shifts at the
same time.  Every few minutes, one of them would drag a selected boy out of
line and run off with him into a corner, or behind a filing cabinet.  Her
place would be seamlessly taken by another girl, her dress rearranged, her
minimal make-up repaired, her libido undiminished.

   By the time the boys reached the door and were kitted out with their
knickers, probably ten per cent of them had received some kind of sexual
favours along the way.  They were easily spotted by their flushed faces and
heavy breathing.

   The only girl who remained at her post throughout was the girl who
issued the knickers and checked them for excellence of fit.  I offered to
relieve her for a while, but she firmly refused.  Strange girl.  The
Protestant work ethic, I assumed.

   As she flung the door wide and released her latest batch of boys into
the quad, I followed them outside.  Now, after three hours, the television
crews had packed up and gone home with enough material recorded for a
full-length feature.  The press cameramen had diminished in numbers.  The
only ones now remaining were presumably from the more specialist journals.
A few of them gathered round me.

   "Shan, remember us from way back, when the school burned down?  Get your
tits out and give the lads a flash."

   I can never resist smooth, cultured seduction.  I brought my breasts out
into the spring sunshine and hoisted the ScatBra to its maximum uplift. 
Groans of impending orgasm mingled with flashes of light.  Only after a
minute or so did I realise that the groans of impending orgasm were all
mine and I was impending no longer.  I came massively in front of the
cameras, and deposited a steaming pool of Shan-juice.

   "God, you certainly needed that, Shan!" sympathised the press.  "Thanks,
love.  Great stuff as always.  This Sunday's Smut, okay?  Page seventeen!"

   I thanked them and wandered off into the crowds.  It was like a medieval
fayre, thronged with mostly naked boys marching here and there and
performing strange tasks before crisply-dressed girls of staggering beauty.

   A glance up at the window showed me Corinne still there, her binoculars
hanging round her neck.  Anastasia was squeezed at the window next to her,
and she gave me a big grin and put up two thumbs, then quickly counted up
to seven on her fingers.

   Did that mean she had found seven boys, all for me?  Or one boy at seven
o' clock?

   My wanderings brought me to the Special Assessment paddock.  There must
have been a hundred boys milling around in there behind the ropes.  The
whole paddock was surrounded by a wall of St Cat's girls, jostling for a
sight of something worth taking to bed.  As I watched, a girl ducked under
the rope, one of the more spectacularly endowed Second Formers.  Bouncing
massively, she darted into the crowd of boys.  Being less than five feet
tall, she disappeared completely, and the only sign that she was there at
all was the disturbance beneath the surface as the boys made way for her
and her breasts to pass among them.

   Then she found what she was seeking, and plunged out into the open,
leading a boy ...  no ...  *two* boys, by their wrists.  Without stopping,
she ducked beneath the ropes, which the other girls obligingly held aloft,
then led her prizes away to the Second Form dormitory.  There was a brisk
interchange of pleasantries between the girl and some of her older
schoolmates.  I was tempted to follow her, perhaps to enjoy her spare boy -
the one she wasn't using at any given time - but it occurred to me that she
had more than enough breast to keep any two boys occupied.  I silently
wished her the best of luck.

   There were plenty of spare boys for me anyway.  The Rejects would
eventually number 976, so I would find something.  There was time enough
for that later.  For now, I would take a look at the selection process.



   **********

   "I have to go, Suzanne, I'm half an hour late for my interview."

   Suzanne tightened her grip round Simon's neck and fastened her lips
against his again.  He stopped trying to escape.

   "That's better, darling!  Relax.  When you get there, tell them you had
to go to the toilet and got stuck."

   "Stuck in the toilet?"

   "Tell them you couldn't do it.  They will understand.  They're school
teachers.  Schoolgirls get consternation the whole time.  Some of them,
anyway.  Time for another kiss." Suzanne began rubbing her vast breasts up
and down against his groin.  Simon abandoned himself to his fate.

   "Oh, hi, Suze!"

   "Uh.  Anastasia, fancy you coming into the Sexual Chemistry lab!"

   Simon tried to free his face from Suzanne's cleavage, but she kept her
hand pressed firmly against the back of his head.

   "Who's that, Suze?  Aren't you going to introduce us?"

   "Just a boy I met.  Nobody you know."

   Anastasia inspected Simon's blazer, discarded in a crumpled heap on the
floor.  "He's from Lord Ted's!  Perhaps he knows Clark ..."

   "No he doesn't," Suzanne insisted desperately.  "He doesn't know anyone.
He's a new boy."

   Simon wriggled frantically.  His ears were bright red.  Nothing else of
his face was visible.

   "Let him out, Suze!  You'll suffocate the boy in there."

   "No.  He's all right.  He went in there on his own."

   "What are you doing with him in the lab anyway?" Anastasia picked up
several of the containers on the bench.  She dipped a finger into an opened
tub and inspected the cream.  She sniffed it.  "This is FatLite!  You don't
use FatLite, Suze!" She gasped.  "You've been using it on him, haven't you?
Did you put it on his willie?"

   Suzanne didn't reply.

   "You've gone red, Suze.  You did put FatLite on his willie.  I'll ask
him."

   With surprising strength and with the advantage of surprise, she grabbed
Simon's collar and yanked him out of the warm security of Suzanne's
cavernous cleavage.  He blinked, then sneezed.

   "Hello," said Anastasia, "what's your name?"

   "Simon," said Simon.  "Fucking hell!" He gazed speechlessly at
Anastasia's fantastic chest, turned to look again at Suzanne's, then turned
back to Anastasia.  He shook his head in total bewilderment.

   Anastasia blushed prettily.  "Yes, they are, aren't they?  And I'm still
growing.  Do you know my boyfriend?  His name's Clark."

   "Brian Clark?  Or Dennis?"

   "Silly!  Clark Vincent."

   "Vincent's your boyfriend?  The crafty little sod.  How did he get hold
of a girl like you?"

   "Oh, you know.  The usual way.  With both hands most of the time.  Are
you in the same class as him?"

   "Who, Vincent?  No.  I do Science."

   "You mean you do Sexual Chemistry as well?  Suazanne and me are both in
the First Form Sexual Chemistry Group.  We've invented lots of exciting
things.  You've heard of FatLite, haven't you?  You've got some on your
willie!"

   "Was that what it was called?  Suzanne wouldn't say.  She just said it
would make me a bit bigger.  Will it?" Suzanne was speechless, her mouth
opening and closing silently.

   Anastasia was not going to make any false claims on behalf of FatLite.
"To be honest, we don't know what it might do.  We know what it does for
women's boobs.  And we know about women's willies."

   "Do women have willies?" Simon looked confused.  "I thought they just
had a sort of crack."

   Anastasia giggled.  "Gosh!  Hasn't she showed you hers?  She's a funny
girl, our Suze.  Look!"

   And to Suzanne's horror and Simon's acute embarrassment, Anastasia
hoisted her skirt and quickly lowered her knickers.  She raised one foot
and planted it on the workbench.  It was arguably and probably the most
lewd sight Simon had ever seen.  "See, it's not really just a crack.  It's
a lot more complicated." And Anastasia demonstrated just how complicated
the equipment was.  "It's quite easy to use, though.  You just put it in
here ...!"

   Simon had gone pale.

   "You'd better not put yours in here, though, just in case.  You've got
FatLite on it.  It will give me huge like lip things down here.  And we
don't know what it does to boys' things, either.  Nobody's tried it yet. 
It might make it bigger, or fatter.  What you'll have to be careful about
is the Uncontrollable Horniness!"

   "The Uncontrollable What?"

   "You get Uncontrollably Horny.  It might last a few hours, or maybe a
few days.  You will probably feel like having sex with every girl you see."

   "But I go to Lord Ted's.  We don't see any girls.  The only woman we see
is Matron, and she's old and fat and ugly.  Although one or two of the
Sixth Form reckon she does it."

   "Does what?" Anastasia asked, and Simon's jaw dropped in amazement. 
There was this girl with simply outrageously mountainous boobs, standing
with one foot up on the desk, flashing her terribly complicated crack, and
she didn't know what 'doing it' meant.

   "When will the Uncontrollable Horniness start?" he asked faintly.

   "Tonight," said Anastasia without a shadow of doubt.  "What time do you
have supper?"

   "Six o' clock."

   "Half past six," said Anastasia.  "You'll be going crazy by quarter to
seven.  You should be all right by the end of the week.  Tell you what, if
you can get to a phone, give me a call and tell me how Uncontrollably Horny
you are.  And if it will make you feel any better, I'll describe what I'm
wearing.  I don't wear many clothes in the evenings." Anastasia seemed to
realise at last where her foot was, and lowered it to the floor.  She
replaced her knickers and adjusted the crotch with an air of preoccupation.

   "Anyway, I can't stay round here all day talking to you.  I only came
down to find some more boys for Miss Gruntworthy.  My room is next door to
hers.  Call me later, right?  Extension 4321."

   Anastasia bounced out.

   "Wow!  Who the fuck was that?"

   "She's in our class," said Suzanne bitterly."

   "But she's immense!  And that pussy.  Did you see it?"

   "I've seen one before."

   "But it was all pink and wet inside."

   "Hers always is!  Are you going to your interview or not?"

   "I thought you might want to kiss a bit more."

   "Piss off.  You'd better go and get interviewed.  You won't get the job,
though."

   Suzanne turned ponderously and left the lab, her nose in the air.

   Simon was about to follow her, puzzled by her apparent sudden change of
mind.  Then he stopped, and looked at the tubs of cream on the bench. 
Quickly, looking around him, he gathered up a selection and stuffed them
into the pockets of his blazer.

   Then he made a dash for the door.  Wrongggg!  This wasn't the way out!
He was in a store room.  Simon was about to leave and find another way out,
when he noticed a pile of boxes which had apparently been taken down from a
shelf.  They were covered in dust, but on the top of the box was a boldly
scrawled message.  Uncontrollable Horniness Aerosol Spray.  DO NOT USE!!!



   **********

   Down in the quad, I watched a group of boys attempting to lift a huge
goatskin bag which I knew was filled with waste motor oil.  There was
nothing to grip, and their fingers sank into it, yet slipped helplessly on
the smooth surface of the bag.

   At the far side, Martin and Bob were filming the operation, working as a
well-drilled team, not speaking, but changing angles as if by telepathy. 
There was no sign of Villiers and Claire.

   Anastasia appeared at my side as I watched.  Her little hand slipped
into mine and I felt her pulling me away.  Anastasia obviously wanted me to
go with her.  We strolled round the outside of the rejects' paddock,
casting an eye over the scared-looking boys in their little girls' panties.
It was like a slave market.

   "What do you think of that one, Miss?"

   "Not bad.  Nice little bum."

   "Do you like little bums, Miss?"

   "They're nicest to hold on to, I always think."

   Anastasia looked thoughtful.  "I think the boys I found for you are like
that.  One was a bit fat, but you can throw him out.  I found plenty."

   "How many?"

   "Eleven, Miss.  Ten if you chuck out the fat-arsed one.  Do you need any
more?"

   "No, darling.  Ten should be just fine.  Where have you put them?"

   "They're in my room.  I told them to stay there.  They can look out of
the window."

   I looked quickly up at the windows.  Corinne was still there, and at the
next window along, a group of boys' faces peered out past the curtains. 
Anastasia waved to them and stuck her tongue out.  The boys laughed and
pointed at her.

   "They seem very friendly, Anastasia.  Have you been getting to know them
a little too closely?"

   "Oh, no, Miss.  Not all of them, anyway.  I only shagged five.  And only
two of them more than once."

   "Anastasia, darling.  How dreadful!"

   "My favourite one is that one with the short hair.  I had him six times.
The others all sat around and watched us."

   "Anastasia, you are a disgraceful slut!  I hope you took precautions,
not like Pansy."

   "Of course!" She sounded quite hurt.  "I got some from Nurse.  She asked
me how many I needed, and I told her about twenty.  And she said 'twenty a
week?' So I said okay, and she gave me a whole box of them.  A hundred and
forty four."

   "A hundred and forty four precautions?"

   "No, a hundred and forty four packets of three.  I can have lots of fun
with all those!  I've only used twelve so far today, so they should last me
until the end of the month.  Unless Clark comes over again."

   I made a mental note to speak sharply to Nurse.  She was rapidly turning
our girls into sluts.

   "Ooooh, Miss, look!"

   I looked where Anastasia was pointing.  The Rejects' paddock, surrounded
by girls, suddenly seemed to have shrunk.  I realised what had happened. 
The ropes around the paddock had gone, and the crush of girls had closed in
on the frightened and inadequately-dressed boys.  The St Cat's girls were
making a strange, unnerving noise, like a low growl, deep in their throats.
It was like an animal howl, and it made my blood run cold.

   And there was a faint but unmistakeable odour of strawberries.  It
brought back terrible memories.  I put two and two together, then grabbed
Anastasia firmly by the hand and led her away from the thronging girls.

   "What is it, Miss?  You're hurting me!"

   "Come away, Staze.  Right away.  Come upstairs.  Introduce your boys to
me."

   "Now, Miss?  They won't be ready yet.  I only finished shagging them
half an hour ago ..."

   I got her indoors just in time.  When we opened the door and went into
our bedroom, Corinne was looking agitated over by the window.

   "Shan, what's happening down there?  Have you seen the girls?  They've
gone mad!"

   "Not mad.  They're behaving exactly as you'd expect.  Those girls have
been got at!"

   "Got at?"

   "They have been attacked.  Anything could happen in the next half hour.
Someone has given those girls the Uncontrollable Horniness!"









   Part XXX (Readers will also require Part XXX-a, an essential document)









   Chapter 88:- Preparations



   "Seven weeks!" Moggie spun furiously round in her new revolving chair.
She came to a halt with her back to us and we waited patiently while she
scooted round to face us again.  Moggie hadn't yet got the hang of her new
chair.

   "Seven weeks since it happened, and we've still not heard the last of
it. Still, new and terrifying facts are coming to light." We all hung our
heads in deep shame, apart from Miss Rhys ap Llewelyn Owen, who stared
arrogantly back at Moggie.  "Oh, I'm not blaming you.  You did your best,
but the power of Uncontrollable Horniness in the hands and loins of nubile
girls is far greater than you should be expected to deal with.  Megan,
what's the latest news?"

   Smegs consulted a clip-board, one of the eighty new clip-boards ordered
specially for the breast-carrier interviews.  A number of letters were
attached, newly arrived in the morning's mail, with the folds still
unflattened.  "Sixty-seven boys still accounted for as of this morning,"
she announced gloomily.  "Three more came to light last week.  Two returned
to their schools voluntarily, the other was at home, recovering."

   "Sixty-seven boys still missing," mourned Moggie.  "After seven weeks. I
think we must give up hope.  How many of those may we assume to be hidden
in the various dormitories at St Cat's, Chauntaille?"

   "We're guessing, of course, but our agents believe we could account for
perhaps fifty, more or less evenly divided among the seven dorms."

   "No good searching again, I suppose?"

   "Not really.  They have lookouts posted in all the corridors.  And the
girls fed the sniffer dogs with aniseed, so they were useless.  We sent
them back to the Anti-Terrorist Branch on Friday."

   "Corinne, any word from your boys?  Your breast-carriers?"

   "They're saying nothing.  I suspect they know something, but I'm not in
a position to place any pressure on them.  I have to allow their trust and
love to develop naturally over a long period."

   "Seven weeks, Corinne?  Isn't that long enough?"

   "It's only five weeks since they started work.  And there was Easter as
well.  I've only had the use of the boys for about three weeks, which is
about a week each in total, and that includes basic training.  How am I
supposed to pump them for information while they're carrying my tits
around? It takes all their concentration to keep going in the same
direction as each other."

   "I know, dear.  I'm sorry.  You know how it is.  It's a terrible burden,
being responsible for the loss of five dozen boys, their mothers' pride and
joy, every one of them.  And by the time our lot have finished with them,
they're going to be no use to anyone ever again."

   Poor Moggie.  I felt so sorry for her.  Having made herself scarce on
the day of the interviews, she didn't even have any boys put by for
herself. Smegs had a few, I knew, and I still had the ones Anastasia had
found for me.  Actually, I had got rid of all but the three thickest ones,
who were concealed in the store room upstairs, but I suspected that
Anastasia was hanging on to a few more for herself, in case she needed them
one night.

   Anastasia was still seeing Clark on an regular and official basis,
thanks to Moggie's initiative with Professor Garibaldi of Lord Edward's
School which allowed liaisons between our girls and their boys.  They were
allowed two nights a week, on a home and away basis, and girls were
permitted to carry unused dates forward to compensate for missed fixtures
on difficult weeks.

   Moggie had even arranged for the ex-gymnasium to be made available for
the purpose of mating.  For those girls who had no objection to open-plan
sex; the ex-gymnasium, with its wide open spaces, was ideal, even if the
atmosphere was chill enough to snap your nipples off.

   So Anastasia was assured of her regular dates with Clark.  On the
principle of not shitting on your own doorstep, she had arranged a series
of alternative unofficial boys for use on the other five nights a week. 
With her unquenchable horniness and ever-expanding breasts, Anastasia was a
popular and accommodating girl, and quite pretty in a moon-faced way when
she took her glasses off.

   As long as she did it quietly, it was perfectly all right by me.  The
girl was twelve, after all, and had to make her own decisions in life.

   Moggie dragged my thoughts back to the present.

   "...  attention, Chauntaille!  What about pregnancies?"

   I fumbled through my stack of nine clip-boards.  "Routine pregnancies,
Miss?  Or those directly resulting from the Uncontrollable Horniness at the
interviews?"

   "You weren't listening, were you?  The Uncontrollable Horniness ones
first."

   I bit my lip and continued doggedly.  "Thirty-nine confirmed, Miss.  You
want their names?"

   "That won't be necessary.  Just their Forms."

   "One in the Upper Sixths, none in the Lower Sixth, Miss, then one in the
Fifth Form, nine in the Fourths, seven in the Thirds, ten in the Seconds
and the rest in the Firsts."

   "That's terrible!  How do you account for there being so many in the
Middle and Junior Schools?"

   "You have to look at the problem from the other direction, Miss," I
explained patiently.  "A girl can only be pregnant once at a time.  More of
the Seniors were already pregnant before the Uncontrollable Horniness
struck, so they weren't available for pregnancy.  We have two hundred and
thirty girls at the moment.  Of those, more or less the usual proportion
were pregnant already on the day of the interviews.  Of the others,
according to the Roman Catholic Church, a proportion would have been in
their safe period, or sick, or unavoidably detained, or they prefer girls,
or they were just plain unlucky.  And the First and Second Form girls were
not officially permitted to touch the interviewees.  So by the time the
Uncontrollable Horniness struck, they were ...  how can I put it delicately
...  frothing, Miss!"

   Moggie had been scribbling figures on a scrap of paper.  She looked up.
"So thirty nine isn't a bad score, then, is it?"

   "Quite encouraging, actually, Miss!"

   "Good.  Well done, Chauntaille!"

   I blushed prettily and felt Corinne's and Smegs's fingers as they groped
across my inner thighs.  Their fingers touched on common ground and I
decided to leave them to get on with it.

   "What about routine pregnancies, Shan?"

   "One more definitely confirmed since your last meeting, Miss.  Pansy
Woods."

   "Pansy!  Oh dear."

   "What's the matter, Miss?"

   "I had a call from her Auntie Tanya.  Pansy's and Victoria's mother is
still out of the country, and won't be coming to the St Cat's Grand Open
Day.  Ms Woods, that's Ms Tanya Woods, called to ask if the girls were all
right, including Suzanne, of course.  I told her yes."

   "Pansy's fine, Miss," I confirmed.  "She's never been fitter.  And her
boobs have started to grow, of course.  I mean, they weren't exactly
bee-stings before, so you can imagine them now.  So she's happy as a pig in
shit.  She's just pregnant, that's all!"

   "Well, that's a relief.  Perhaps you could call her Auntie Tanya and
tell her the good news?  You know her quite well, don't you?"

   "I'd be glad to," I said.  Tanya would be thrilled.

   "Fine." Moggie turned to her next piece of paper.  "Right, last item. 
The St Cat's Grand Open Day.  I understand the whole operation is going
ahead: any more ideas for special items during the day?  Yes, Corinne?"

   "I thought a wheelbarrow race would be fun, Miss.  Five laps of the old
sports field.  Make it a handicap.  We could have betting and everything,
of course."

   "Sounds good.  Yes, Shan?"

   "An obstacle race for pregnant girls, Miss?  Handicapping according to
the number of months."

   "Excellent!  Arrange it.  Any ideas from you, Megan?"

   "I'd thought of a sort of First Form Sexual Chemistry Group special
event, Miss, if Miss Gruntworthy doesn't object.  Mothers of girls could
come into a tent and pay five pounds to be sprayed or rubbed with
chemicals."

   "What chemicals?"

   Smegs interrupted.  "It doesn't matter really.  They all seem to do the
same things.  But the kids themselves could pick something suitable for
most of the mothers who came in.  Nobody would be disappointed."

   "Fine.  Miss Rhys ap Llewelyn Owen, get the Art girls to run us up some
large signs, day-glo and black, make that one say 'First Form Sexual
Chemistry Group Anoint-a-Mum Tent'.  What about the menu?"

   "Menu?"

   "List of substances available, what they do - illustrated, of course -
before and after photos ..."

   "I see what you mean," I said doubtfully.  "Before and after might be
difficult.  Where can we get pictures of 'before' breast enhancement?  We
can't fake it."

   "Enhance a spare girl.  Take some pictures of her today, then bump her
up to the max and take some more pictures.  Find a flat-chested one, make
it more obvious."

   Corinne quickly riffled through a print-out and pointed with her pen at
a suitable candidate for breast enhancement.

   "I could let you do the same with my pussy," Smegs offered, a little
bashfully.  "All we need is to get some pictures of it the way it is now."

   Moggie looked doubtful.  "What about before?  We can't use shots of
another girl's.  These things look different.  I mean, look at Shan's, then
look at Miss Rhys ap Llewelyn Owen's."

   There was a brief pause while everyone obeyed Miss Thunderbolt's order,
Corinne holding up Miss Rhys ap Llewelyn Owen's outraged skirt.

   Smegs blushed.  "You don't actually need to use another girl's.  A
boyfriend took some pictures of me a while back."

   "I never saw these, Smegs," I challenged her.  I felt hurt.

   "No, I never collected the prints.  They're still at the Photo-Shop."

   "God, Megan," sighed Moggie.  "You're a strange one.  Send one of the
girls to collect them.  Okay, that just about takes care of the mothers,
what about the dads?"

   "A brothel, Miss," I suggested diffidently.  "Maybe a Mini-Brothel."

   "Great idea.  We have the expertise.  Who wants to organise it?"

   "I thought I could have a word with Toots.  I know she's not a student
yet, and she would want a rake-off, probably fifty per cent of the takings,
but she would arrange everything perfectly, and she's a very clean girl. 
Her master insisted on that in the Middle East."

   "Fifty per cent?  A bit steep.  See if you can get her down to
thirty-five, forty top whack."

   "Will do, Miss."

   I was pretty sure Toots would do it for love, so any rake-off would come
to me.  Ouch.  I felt a nudge from Smegs, and another simultaneously from
Corinne.  Okay, any rake-off would be shared among the three of us.  But
with any luck we would clear a grand each.  Not to be sniffed at.

   "Just make sure the dads don't find themselves screwing their own
daughters, Chauntaille."

   "If you say so, Miss," I said stiffly.

   "Unless the daughters absolutely insist."

   "Then can we charge them double, Miss?"

   "Sounds fair enough to me.  Miss Rhys ap Llewelyn Owen, another sign:
'Mini-Brothel'." Moggie looked anxiously round at her staff.  "Any other
business?" Moggie slammed an ornate crystal ashtray down on the desk,
smashing it to pieces.  "No?  Next meeting one week from today.  It will be
the last before the St Cat's Grand Open Day.  We have ten days to get the
show on the road.  That is, YOU have ten days.  I myself will be away for a
few days on business.  Meeting closed, ladies, thank you." She stood up and
looked at her watch.  "If you will excuse me, I have an important meeting
in town ..."

   Her chair was still slowly spinning when we heard her BMW roaring out of
the drive.  Moggie was late for sex.



   **********

   "I'm telling my mum you're preggers, and she'll tell your mum, and
she'll send for you and you'll have to leave St Cat's and go and have your
baby in Singapore," teased Suzanne.

   "Bollocks!" Pansy retorted, none too politely.  "Tell your mum if you
like.  She'll understand.  She had you when she was thirteen.  Anyway,
you're only jealous."

   "Jealous?  Huh!"

   "Yeah, jealous.  Because you're still a virgin.  And my tits are getting
bigger and bigger already, and I'm not even three months gone yet.  They're
gonna get absolutely HUGE!"

   "Huh!" Suzanne was sounding less and less assured.

   Pansy stopped sneering at her cousin.  She put a hand under Suzanne's
chin.  "Why don't you get a baby as well?  I'll find a boy for you and show
you what to do.  It's dead easy, even if they can't find the way in for
themselves.  I always put it in for them anyway.  Then you bounce around a
bit until they squirt.  Most of them only take a couple of seconds. 
Honest! It's just like fucking!"

   "Just like fucking?" asked Suzanne, puzzled.

   "You know.  Just like when you sit on a boy's face and do yourself on
his nose!"



   **********

   "Team ...  ready!  Ready ...  walk on!"

   It was Corinne's voice, from down in the quad.  I hurried to the window.
Down below, in the warm sunshine, eight boys, in two more or less straight
lines, were walking across the open space.  There was no sign of Corinne.

   "Team ...  left wheel!" Seven of the boys obediently turned left and set
off in a new direction.  The eighth disobediently angled off to the right.
With commendable dedication, he splashed into the fountain, still turned
off to save the planet.  Realising his mistake, he came to a halt,
knee-deep in green slime.  Corinne began to scream fearsomely at him from
under the porch, where I now saw she was sitting in one of the armchairs
from the ex-staff room.  The other seven boys continued walking in a
straight line, and only a strangled yell of "Whoa!" from Corinne brought
them to a halt, inches short of the brick wall.  "Come back over here, all
of you," she yelled, and the boys straggled back in a dejected group,
keeping their distance from the one who didn't know his left from his
right.

   I could hear Corinne giving them a good talking-to.  This was their
third session this week, and the team was still nowhere near the peak of
efficiency required.  A higher-pitched voice rang out on the other side of
the quad, and eight boys appeared, trotting briskly, with Anastasia close
behind them, squatting on a small trolley, pulled along on two lengths of
rope.  "Team ...  WHOA!" Anastasia screeched, and all eight boys slithered
to a halt just short of the fountain.

   Without the benefit of brakes, Anastasia's trolley continued at
undiminished pace, between the two columns of boys, until its front wheels
collided decisively with the low wall surrounding the fountain.  Anastasia,
obeying the laws of nature, rose to her feet and floated more or less
gracefully over the parapet, straight into the pool of slime.  Her team
looked on in horror.

   "Good!" spluttered Anastasia, recovering, and wiping green muck from her
blouse.  She stood up to her knees in the clag, like an inland waterways
version of Aphrodite.  "Excellent trot, lads, and a fine halt.  Next time,
try and stop the trolley as well, if you would, please." She held out a
little hand and the nearest two boys dragged her out, a tiny, bedraggled
and hugely busty figure, looking up at her team.  She raised her lips to
her rescuers, and rewarded each of them with a little kiss.  Even from up
here at the window, I could see the pink of her tongue as it darted into
their mouths.

   They installed her on her trolley again, all eight of them touching her
gently around the sides of her chest and bottom.  Once more, they took up
the ropes.  "Team ...  walk on!" sang out Anastasia, and away they went, at
a more cautious pace, disappearing round the corner beside the bra
measuring facility.

   Meanwhile, Corinne had dismissed her team.  They wandered away looking
utterly defeated, and a few minutes later Corinne came in the door. 
Exhausted, she flopped on the bed.

   "Oh, poor darling!" I rushed to her side and applied something moist and
cooling to her face.

   "Thank you, Shannie," she said with an expression of distaste, and
handed them back to me.  I thought I had better not put them back on, and
went to the chest of drawers for another clean pair.  My last.

   "Anastasia's team were looking good," I said lightly.  "Until they
crashed."

   "My lot are useless.  It's not always the same boy who gets it wrong.  I
don't know how that lot got through the interviews.  I daren't even try
them with my tits yet.  Thank goodness for Team B.  They're not perfect,
but they make this lot look brilliant."

   "Those are Team C, aren't they?  I recognise the little blond one at the
back."

   "That's right.  Bloody hopeless.  Anastasia is drilling Team A at the
moment.  B are on Sex Break."

   "I should have thought C didn't qualify for a sex break after that
performance."

   "That's right.  They're not getting one.  That's why they looked so
crestfallen as they walked off.  No sex for three days, I told them."

   "Three days?  What about their contracts?"

   "Fuck their contracts.  If they can learn which way is left, they can
shag to their hearts' content, but until then, they're in breach of
contract anyway.  I've got them coming back at two, and again at six this
evening.  And I told them, they're not getting to lay a finger on my tits
until they can go through a complete hour without a single mistake."

   "Oh, Corinne, that's a bit harsh!"

   "It's harsher on my tits, dear, when they don't know left from right!"

   We heard Anastasia driving her team back into the quad.  "Team ...Whoa!"

   There was silence from down below, then a polite cheer from eight boys,
before we heard them trotting away with the empty trolley, and Anastasia's
door opening and closing with a self-satisfied slam.

   "She's very good with them, Cee!"

   "She's too soft with them, kissing them all the time." Corinne looked
disapproving.  "She even stops and gives them a feel of her boobs every ten
minutes."

   "It seems to work.  They're eating out of her hand."

   "Not just her hand, Shannie.  I suspect she's servicing the lot of them,
on and off.  The child is so insatiable, she makes my head spin.  It's a
wonder Clark doesn't suspect something."

   "Too besotted, I imagine.  Never mind, though.  Even if they're slow on
the uptake, you can always get around at a walking pace with them."

   "Even a walking pace is painful when they can't walk in step.  They have
to be out of step, actually, the left hand column and the right hand
column, or it builds up a sort of swing that gets out of control.  Trouble
is, Moggie wants a display team demonstration for the St Cat's Grand Open
Day.  It's all very well, but I'm the only one with tits big enough to need
a team of eight, so I have to go through the torture of the rehearsals."

   "We could use teams of six.  Amelia Murgatroyd could drive a Six.  And
Shona."

   "If Shona can't steer a wheelbarrow, what is she going to be like with
six headstrong teenage boys in front of her.  They'd get a sniff of her
milk and they'd be off in all directions.  Amelia's not much better."

   I sighed.  "They're the only ones big enough.  It's a pity Cassandra's
not here yet.  Even though she's no age at all, she could use a Six, maybe
even an Eight, if they practised lining up a bit further apart.  Anastasia
would be ideal, but ..."

   "...  but not for a few more months, Shan.  And don't even think of
enhancing Anastasia in time for the St Cat's Grand Open Day."

   "Corinne, I wasn't!" But my blushes gave me away.  My blushes always
give me away.









   Chapter 89:- Meet The Folks



   It was a lovely morning.  One of those early summer days when the
morning mist gives a promise of a scorching afternoon, although a soft
breeze was forecast to get up in the mid-morning to cool the overheated
flanks of girls and their guests alike.

   As staff members, Corinne and I were not bound by the same rigid dress
rules which so restricted the students.  With their microscopic skirts and
bursting blouses, the girls already had a head start on us when it came to
pulling something tasty, so we felt justified in dressing up a little.

   Corinne's problems were greater than mine, as she had to leave her
breasts almost completely exposed for her breast carriers to obtain a
reasonable grip.  She was able to cover the last foot or so of each breast
with a custom-made bikini bra in canary yellow.  This concealed her nipples
and areolae.  It was held in place by an arrangement of long silken cords
which passed over her shoulders and round her waist.  Clit had put a
tremendous amount of design work into these cords, to ensure that the bra
cups stayed in place regardless of the position of the breasts: from
horizontally in front - or even supported at up to ten degrees above the
horizontal - to hanging vertically downwards.  Such attention to detail is
vital in garment design, and is often taken for granted by casual
observers.

   Casual observers standing behind Corinne were rewarded by a view of her
minute waist and hips in a pair of matching canary yellow pedal pushers and
yellow espadrilles.  Pity about the colour, I thought, but at least she was
co-ordinated.

   My problem was to conceal my still-growing waist and hips, now so
shamefully huge, I hardly dared look in a mirror in case they had ballooned
another inch.  I lowered my ScatBra FreeTips to its minimum support setting
and eased my bulk into a clinging jersey creation in shocking pink.  I had
argued bitterly with Clit over the neckline, but she had prevailed, and it
plunged in front to about a foot below waist level, revealing the upper
halves of my breasts.  I saw later that she had made herself a skirt in the
same material, presumably with what she had saved from the neckline of my
dress.

   Smegs came in for a twirl as we were finishing dressing.  Her legs were
endless and tanned in the tiniest shorts imaginable, and her top was almost
non-existent.  From behind, she was effectively nude.  If her outfit had
been any other colour it might have been more visible, but it matched
Smegs's skin tones almost perfectly.

   "You look stunning, Smegs," I said sincerely, and I blushed as she
scolded me for leaving traces of saliva on the crotch of her shorts.  Only
the timely arrival of Corinne's breast carriers, Team A, saved me the
embarrassment of a further tongue-lashing from Smegs when I caught her bra
cup with one of my earrings and both her volleyball breasts leaped out into
the open.

   The eight boys took up their positions, and at an almost inaudible word
of command from the Number One boy, they raised Corinne's mammoth breasts
to the horizontal using silken slings looped over their naked shoulders. 
Their bodies had been oiled, and the only garment they wore was a shiny
gold-coloured sequinned jockstrap.  I made a mental note to congratulate
the boys' team of dressers from the Third Form who, even now, would have
been preparing the back-up carriers of Team B.

   Down in the quad, a band was tuning up, there was excited barking from
the Police Dog display team as they caught the musky scent of aroused
girlhood, and childish shrieks of delight could be heard from the woods as
the first sexual couplings of the day took place.

   "Time to go, girls," said Smegs, and we followed Corinne and her Team
along the corridor and down the stairs.  These boys were good.  They needed
no commands beyond an occasional single word of prompting from Corinne.

   Then we were out in the warm sunshine, where Smegs immediately excused
herself.

   "I have to check that they're all wearing their knickers," she whispered
coyly, and darted off, her appearance bringing startled glances from all
the onlookers.

   "She won't have any problems checking," I muttered to Corinne, "their
skirts are so short you can see their knickers without needing to bend
down. Those girls are a credit to St Cat's," I said, my voice cracking with
emotion.  "It makes me feel so ...  good!"

   Corinne obviously felt the same.  She touched my forearm with soft
fingers, her eyes shining with tears of pride.

   "Come on," I said, "let's go and see who's here."



   **********

   "I'm telling Miss as soon as I see her.  You are in deepest shit,
Pansy."

   "She said I could.  I'm allowed.  Miss Meadowlark said I was allowed to
take my bra off if it was too tight.  And if I get a boy, I can use the
pregnant girls' room, instead of taking him all the way up to the dorm, so
there!"

   "I'm still telling.  The notice on the board said you have to wear your
bra.  It never said anything about being pregnant.  Just because you're
pregnant doesn't mean you can walk around with your nipples sticking out
like that.  Look at them!"

   "Yes," said Pansy happily.  "I've looked!  In the mirror, of course."

   "Anyway, you're not properly pregnant yet.  You're only three months, if
that.  You shouldn't be allowed to use the pregnant girls shaggery until
you've got a lump.  You haven't got a lump yet.  All you've got is fucking
great big tits."

   "I don't care, Suze."

   "You could have found a bra that fit anyway.  You could have worn one of
mine."

   "I know, Suze."

   "I'm telling, anyway."

   "Go on then.  Here's Miss Meadowlark and Miss Gruntworthy now.  Tell
them."

   "I will.  Just you watch."



   **********

   "Miss!"

   Suzanne had leapt out in front of us, waving her arms.

   "Team ...  left wheel!" Corinne yelled, and her boys, conditioned to
instant obedience, did their best.  The left column went left as ordered.
The right column saw Suzanne jump into their path.  Their only way to avoid
her was to turn sharp right.  They did.  "Right wheel!" screamed Corinne,
realising her mistake too late.  "Whoa!  Ooof!"

   "Hello, Suzanne," I said, grabbing a handful of her hair and heaving her
out of Corinne's cleavage where she had become wedged between the vast
mounds of flesh.  The eight boys looked at her as if it was her fault.

   Corinne was still shouting at the boys, who hung their heads in shame.
This was the A Team, and on their first public outing, they had blown it.
They had crashed.  Nobody had been killed, nor even hurt, but Team A had
been tried, and found wanting.  Their oiled shoulders drooped.

   "Sorry, Miss," murmured the Number One boy.  He gave the 'down' signal,
and all eight of them, in a single, smoothly co-ordinated movement, lowered
Corinne's breasts until they lay against her thighs.

   "Where are you going?" Corinne demanded.

   "We failed, Miss."

   "Come back here and pick up my tits!" The boys did, but their confidence
was gone.  "Take me over there, we're blocking the footpath." They shunted
Corinne across to the side of the path, but it took them several attempts
before they got her neatly parked.

   Meanwhile, I asked Suzanne what she wanted, leading her by the arm
across to where Pansy was standing, preening herself.  "She's not wearing a
bra, Miss.  And her nipples look obscene."

   I looked.  They did.  Dark shadowy circles showed starkly through the
thin material of Pansy's blouse.  This was not the sort of thing we
expected of a First Form girl.  I told her so.

   "But Miss Meadowlark said I don't need to wear a bra, in case I squash
my boobs.  I am pregnant, you know, Miss!"

   Prissy little bitch.  I went back over to where Corinne stood,
surrounded by her group of forlorn and oily boys.  "Did you give Pansy
permission not to wear a bra today?"

   "Yes, I suppose so.  She said her bra was so tight it hurt her boobs. 
She reminded me she's pregnant."

   "She reminds everybody of that.  I'm going to send her back to the dorm,
either to come back when she's decently dressed, or to stay there all day."
I turned and strode purposefully in her direction.  "Pansy!" I was building
up a head of steam.  "Oh, hello, Tanya.  I didn't know you'd arrived."

   "We're all here.  Well, not Pansy's mum, but Grandma Trudy is here, and
Sir Roger.  And Clarrie, and young Davie.  He's quite grown up now.  But
you're looking very fit."

   "I'm looking gross!" I said grumpily.  Tanya was hugging Pansy in one
arm, Suzanne in the other.  The three of them were just a row of six
gigantic breasts.  It was a happy family scene.  Certainly, I couldn't tell
Pansy off for not wearing a bra, not while her aunt was cuddling her.

   "What about our naughty little girlie, here?" Tanya giggled.  "At least
I was thirteen when I had Suze.  This little hussy is going to beat me by a
whole year!" She hugged Pansy tighter.  "Suzanne's turn next, I suppose!"

   "Oh, Mum!" Suzanne squirmed and blushed in embarrassment.

   I felt for her.  Tanya actually wanted her daughter pregnant!  Tanya
looked radiant.  "At least, this time, I'll have my next one before young
Pan.  About three months before!" And releasing the two little girls, she
reached below her bust and pulled her dress tighter across her belly.  Oh
no, I thought.  Another one.

   "Congratulations!" I said weakly.

   "Great news, isn't it?" Tanya stared more closely at my lower half. 
"You as well?"

   "Me?  No chance!  I'm just getting fat."

   The girls sniggered girlishly.  "Why don't you two go and see if you can
find Grandma Trudy," said Tanya, patting them on their bottoms.  The girls
immediately made themselves scarce, Pansy almost dragging Suzanne away. 
She wanted to get away from her teacher before the question of foundation
garments raised its head.

   Tanya watched them go with a sigh.  "Well, now, Shan." She took my arm.
"Pansy getting pregnant!  Never a dull moment at St Catherine's High School
for Girls?  How did this latest fiasco occur?"

   "Same way as yours, I imagine," I mumbled, then stopped.  Tanya was
looking elsewhere.

   "Wha ...  what ...  who's THAT?"

   I followed the direction of her eyes.  Corinne had finished speaking to
her boys and had ordered them to pick up her breasts again.

   "I thought it was a fancy dress thing, like a pantomime horse," Tanya
said quietly.  "Tell me it is, Shan.  Tell me those things aren't real!"

   "Tanya, but of course.  You haven't met Corinne, our Support and
Mobility Mistress.  She's real, all right." I guided her towards Corinne.
Anything to divert Tanya from the subject of unplanned pregnancies.

   Tanya just stood and stared.  "I'm sorry, Corinne," she said at last. 
"I have never seen anything like it.  What bra size are they?  Oops, sorry.
It was the first question that came to mind.  It's what they all ask me."
She scanned the team of boys, who were in their walking formation, holding
Corinne's breasts about six inches apart to reduce friction.  The nipples
were supported at about waist level.  "I'd like to shake hands," said
Tanya, a little belatedly, "but I can't get near enough."

   "That's easy enough," laughed Corinne, who was regaining her good
spirits.  "Right hand column ...  sideways, shuffle!" she commanded, and
four of the boys obediently shambled a few paces to one side.  Fortunately,
Corinne remembered to tell them to Whoa!  And they stopped.  "Pleased to
meet you, Tanya," giggled Corinne, reaching over her right breast to offer
a hand to Tanya, who entered Corinne's cleavage with a sense of wonder.

   "You're privileged, Tan," I told her.  "It's not just anyone who gets
invited in there!"

   Corinne stuck her tongue out at me.  When she does that it always make
my insides turn over.  This time was no exception.  Meanwhile, Tanya was
fascinated by Corinne, and engaging her in animated conversation.  I
decided to escape before the subject inevitably worked its way round to
adolescent pregnancies in supposedly all-girl educational establishments.

   "I just saw someone waving to me," I called, backing away.  "See you a
little later."

   It was time to mingle with the fast-thickening crowd.  I made a royal
progress through the crush of school-uniformed nubilia and peacock-bright
motherhood.  Girls were pointing me out shyly to their parents.  I heard
the whispered words 'our Miss Gruntworthy' over and over again.  Mothers
tried to meet my eye, but I felt their gaze travelling down my yawning
cleavage to my thickening waist and the all too clear evidence of pregnancy
further down.  I could feel myself being classified as another single
parent family, another triumph for rabid lust over old-fashioned morals and
common-sense family planning.

   "Shan!  Whoooooooo!" Someone was waving over the heads of the crowd. 
Over by the wheelbarrow course.  I pushed my way through.

   "Baps!  You made it.  I thought you'd be busy working today." We hugged
and kissed wetly, and members of the public were forced to turn away in
acute embarrassment.

   "You're looking fit, Shan.  So you decided to start a family at last!"

   "No!  This is all me.  I'm thinking of getting a placard to hang round
my neck saying I'm not pregnant."

   "Well, if you're not, your hips and thighs are a disgrace.  You used to
be so tiny and slim.  Still ..." she took a fistful of love-handle and
wiggled it about.  I began to feel horny.

   "Is Cassandra with you?" I asked, pulling a well-lubricated hand out
from under my skirt and desperately changing the subject.

   "She's why I came.  Had to get her to show me around.  Where the bras
are made and everything.  Christ, the tits around here!  I've never seen so
much tit, and I'm in the girl-dairy business!"

   "They're doing St Cat's proud," I said with a catch in my voice.  "It's
a pity you can't stay all day.  By mid-afternoon most of them will be
practically topless."

   "Pity, but my girls need my constant attention.  They send their love,
by the way." She was looking around her all the time, occasionally breaking
off and gasping as a particularly well endowed couple of girls wobbled past
us, smirking self-consciously.  "Where is that child?  I told her not to
wander off."

   "There she is, look!" I had spotted Cassandra in the wheelbarrow
scrutineering tent, where the disco lad was examining each vehicle for
safety and road-worthiness.  "I think she's trying out a wheelbarrow for
size.  Bloody hell, she needs one, too.  She's even bigger!"

   "Does it show?" Baps looked at her younger sister.  "Gosh, it does from
this angle.  Is there anywhere I can get her milked?"

   "Depends what you want to do with it.  If you want to bottle it and take
it home, you could go in the caretaker's shed, but if you just want to let
her give drinks, you can do it here.  It's a hot morning, she'll get plenty
of customers."

   "Well, if that's all right.  I wouldn't want to upset anyone ..."

   I left Baps and Cassandra setting up their own drinks stall.  They had
found a table from somewhere, and Cassandra already had taken one
stupendous breast out of her bodice and laid it on the table, where milk
dribbled and spurted gently from the nipple.  The first few customers were
already waiting, although I wondered if they would be able to get their
mouths around one of Cassandra's hugely distended spigots.

   It must have been the heat.  As I wandered off, girls' fathers were
trying to meet my eye, before their gaze travelled down to my yawning
cleavage.  Most of them looked no further, although one or two gave me a
closer scrutiny, and allowed their jaws to drop open in disbelief.  Before
long, I began to see the same fathers again and again, glancing casually at
me without really looking.  There were ten or a dozen now, following me
around at a discreet distance: gradually the numbers grew, until I realised
that I had separated as many as forty or fifty men from their wives or
loved ones.

   It was time to strike up a conversation with someone, before my brigade
of followers began to get out of hand.  I decided to take a look in the
quad, and as if at the cue of an all-seeing theatrical director,
immediately spotted the distinctive shape of Grandma Trudy.

   "Shan!  You're looking incredible, honey!" her voice rang out across the
crowded quadrangle.  "Don't tell me, when's the happy event?  There's a lot
of it about, right now!"

   I had reached her side, and she lowered her voice a few decibels. 
"First it was young Tanya, I'm really happy for her, you know?  And little
Pansy, too.  I didn't think it would take that minx very long, once she
found out what went where.  And Clarrie, too.  Did you hear about Clarrie?"

   It was news to me.  "Clarrie?  Pregnant?  Gosh, that's lovely news. 
Who's the ...  I mean, when is it due?"

   "She's got a few more months yet.  Due in August.  She sure looks well
on it.  She's about here somewhere..." Trudy's voice tailed off as she
scanned the horizon.  "Nope.  Can't see her.  Toria probably took her for a
look round the old place."

   "How's Sir Roger?" I asked politely.  "He hadn't been too well ...?"

   "He's as well as could be expected, the horny old goat.  Suze and Pan
have taken him off to have a look at the Mini-Brothel.  Hey, that's so
quaint.  They said they would give him a personal introduction to the
Madam. Ms Lashmore?  Sounds like a dominatrix."

   "Toots?  No, I don't think she does whipping, not yet.  Plenty of time,
though, she's only ten.  No, Toots is straight sex, no questions asked. 
Sir Roger will like her, I'm sure."

   "As long as it keeps him off the streets.  He's been getting kinda
tetchy lately, since Clarrie caught.  She got a whole lot bigger, and Sir
Roger wanted to do all the usual things, and Clarrie just couldn't any
more, just physically couldn't.  Well, you know how she was built before.
Anyways ...  when's yours due?"

   "Me?  No, not me.  I'm just putting on a bit of weight."

   "C'mon, honey!" Trudy patted my cheek.  "You're flushed and beautiful
and great with child!"

   I blushed prettily.  She wasn't going to believe my protests short of a
physical examination.

   "I think I saw someone waving to me over there," I said suddenly, gazing
into the distance.  "I'll see you later, won't I?  Enjoy your visit. 
You'll have to persuade the girls to show you round the school.  Must dash,
bye ...!"

   "Take care, honey ...!"









   Chapter 90:- Light Relief



   "Dawn!  So glad you could make it!" I wondered if she had found the
Mini-Brothel yet, and had a word with her step-daughter, the Madam.

   "Hi, Shan.  Lovely day!  And a marvellous show you've put on.  A lot of
people must have worked very hard."

   "Oh, yes.  And a lot are working very hard today, as well.  How much
have you seen?" I was trying to edge her away from the marquee in the
corner of the quad where the words 'Mini-Brothel' were discreetly displayed
on a brilliant orange sign, eighteen feet by three.

   "I've watched the police dogs, and one of the heats of the wheelbarrow
racing.  Great fun.  I'm sure my daughter Cinders would enjoy that.  The
finals will be worth seeing, later.  But I was looking for Toots.  Do you
suppose she's up to some mischief?"

   "Toots?  No, she'll be okay, wherever she is.  I saw her earlier, when
Nigel dropped her off."

   "Oh, good.  You know what she's like.  I half expected her to be running
a house of ill-repute by now.  But these girls!  They are fantastic.  I
never saw so many huge tits in my life, and the uniforms are really
amazing! Strange thing, the clock struck just now, and just like that,
every one of the St Cat's girls took her tie off and unfastened the top two
buttons of her blouse.  They couldn't have done it better if they'd been
rehearsing it for months!" Dawn gazed about her.  I was still trying to
lead her away from the Mini-Brothel.  She was resisting slightly, and we
were describing a course midway between hers and mine.  Somehow, we arrived
at the entrance to the girl's dormitories.

   "Hello, Anastasia!" shouted Dawn suddenly, and Anastasia - who had just
emerged rather furtively from the door with four boys who seemed to have
dressed in a hurry - spun round.

   "Oh, hello, Mrs Lashmore!  Lovely to see you.  Were you looking for
Toots?  She's over at the Mini-Brothel today.  I'm going that way.  I'll
take you, if you like."

   And before I could lift a finger in protest, Anastasia had taken Dawn's
arm and led her off into the crowd.



   **********

   "You look even worse now you've taken your tie off, Pansy." Suzanne
glowered at her cousin who had deliberately opened the top four buttons of
her blouse on the stroke of eleven.  "And if you carry on at this rate,
you'll be naked by this afternoon.  I'm going to find Miss Gruntworthy and
tell her ..."

   "Go on, then, Tell-tale Tit.  See Miss Gruntworthy.  I'll see Miss
Meadowlark.  She's my friend."

   The girls stood and snarled at each other, and groups of stray fathers
and menfolk gaped at the diminutive couple with the astounding breasts. 
Although Pansy's were still not quite as big as Suzanne's, she was slimmer
than her cousin, and with the top four of her buttons undone and no bra,
she provided a far more entertaining view.  Men were gathering to stare in
their general direction, while pretending to study the wholly unremarkable
architecture of the St Cat's quadrangle.

   Without a further word, the two girls turned on their heel and stalked
off.  Pansy had suddenly felt unaccountably horny and decided to go in
search of Davie: Suzanne was finding the competition uncomfortably hot, not
a sensation she was used to, especially as far as her cousin was concerned.

   She blundered off in search of available boys, and almost immediately
struck gold, or more accurately, oil.  She encountered the eight evenly
matched bodies of the Team B Breast Carriers, on their way to relieve
Corinne's A Team at noon, and currently marking time with forty minutes
still to go.

   "Hi, boys!" Suzanne mewed softly, nuzzling up to the team's Number One
boy, the appointed leader.  She rubbed her breasts against his jockstrap,
then stepped back to study the effect.  It was quite gratifying.  Despite
his job of carrying one eighth of arguably the Biggest Breasts in the
World, Number One boy was only flesh and blood, and Suzanne was decidedly
made of a very great deal of the same.  He watched as Suzanne's nipple
untelescoped itself away from his well-filled groin.

   "Shit, Suze, now look what you've done," he hissed, crossing his legs
and bending over from the waist to try and hide what was happening. 
Suzanne giggled and applied her other nipple to see if that one worked as
well.  If anything, it worked even better.

   The other boys looked on in horror.  They daren't say anything in case
Suzanne decided to rub herself against them, too.  It must have been
telepathy.  Suzanne eased her breasts away from Number One boy, then
deliberately turned away from him, until her plump bottom was pressing
against his by-now fully erect member.  She wriggled herself around until
she felt it fit neatly into the cleft between her buttocks, then blew a
little kiss over her shoulder and launched herself at her next victim, who
happened to be the Number Five boy.

   With two down, or more accurately, two up and six to go, Suzanne was in
her element.

   Meanwhile, Pansy was approaching the entrance to the Mini-Brothel
marquee.  At that moment, she saw Anastasia leading a woman she thought she
recognised as Toots's step-mother.  Something told her it would perhaps not
be the best idea in the world if Mrs Lashmore came face to face with the
Madam of the Mini-Brothel.

   "Oh, hi, Anastasia!" Pansy said brightly.  "Mrs Lashmore, isn't it?"
Dawn nodded.  "I'm a friend of Toots.  You weren't looking for her, by any
chance?" Pansy shook her head at Anastasia, who was pointing at the
Mini-Brothel and trying to speak.

   "Yes," said Dawn, "Anastasia was taking me.  She said she was in here,
although I can't think why she should be.  Must be some mistake."

   "Oh, yes, it is," said Pansy.  "In fact, I thought I saw her a while
ago. Over this way!" And Pansy grabbed at Dawn's other arm and tried to
drag her off toward the bra measuring facility.  Meanwhile, she was trying
to wink at Anastasia, and failing.  Pansy could never wink without her
mouth opening automatically.  It was as if she was trying to insert a
monocle in her eye.

   Dawn looked at Pansy with alarm.  "Are you all right?  Is there
something in your eye?"

   Anastasia refused to let go of Dawn's other arm.  "She's this way. 
What's up with your eye, Pan?" she pulled harder.

   Pansy retaliated.  Dawn was tugged one way then the other, then both
ways at once.  Curious onlookers watched as this innocent woman became the
victim of a tug-of-war between two massively well-developed young girls. 
All three participants were raising their voices as they became more
agitated.

   "What you doin' to my Auntie Mum?" said Toots suddenly, emerging from
the doorway of her marquee.

   The two girls let go of Dawn, and all three of them stared at Toots. 
She was certainly a remarkable vision.  Pansy recovered her voice first. 
"Gosh!  You look nice, Toots!"

   "T'anks, Pan.  Dese my workin' clothes.  Come in de office an' have a
cup of tea."

   Too flabbergasted to think of an excuse, Dawn, Pansy and Anastasia
followed meekly as Toots stood aside and ushered them into the cool
interior of the big tent.  It was dark inside after the brilliance of the
sunshine, and they all blinked, straining to see.  The far wall was hung
with tasteless draperies, and there was a doorway with a bead curtain which
stirred slightly in a breeze which blew from somewhere.

   Faint cries carried to their ears, the squeals of girls mingling with
the harsher, more earthy shouts of men presumably in the throes of ecstasy.
"Business is goin' well," Toots explained.  "Go roun' to de left."

   They found themselves in a neat and spacious office.  Toots's desk, with
its computer and no chair occupied one corner, and there was a group of
inviting armchairs round a low table in the centre of the floor.  "Take de
weight off your feet," said Toots, picking up a small bell and ringing it.

   A Fourth Former dressed in harem costume appeared almost immediately. 
"Tea for four, please, Saskia," snapped Toots, and the girl bowed, her eyes
lowered.

   "Your wish is my command, O Madam," she purred and backed out of the
office.

   "Well, very cosy," said Dawn, looking round at the huge photographs
displayed on the walls.  In pride of place, Toots's gigantic portrait in
harem pants hung over the desk, picked out by a spotlight.  A phone rang,
and Toots plucked a mobile handset from her cleavage.

   "Yo?" She listened for a while.  "How many we got free?" Silence again.
"And he want a block bookin' for how many?" Toots strode over to the
computer and tapped a few keys.  The display scrolled endlessly down a vast
list of names.  "Okie-dokie.  Bring in six more girls.  Make sure dey
properly dressed and clean.  Listen, call Miss Clit and tell her I need her
factory for two hours at one o' clock.  Six beds.  Usual arrangement.  Den
tell number five to hurry it up, or she lose she bonus.  How goes it, 'part
from dat?  Great!  Later, mon!"

   Toots slammed the antenna down into the phone and thrust it back into
her bosom.  "Fuckin' incompetent bastard," she complained bitterly. 
"Never, ever, employ a man to do a girl's job," she advised her shocked
audience.  "Ah, Saskia, drop it down on de table.  Good kid, dat one," she
confided after the slave had bowed herself out of the office.  "I can get
her a place with my ole mate the Pasha Mandingo of Cantelopia, any time."

   "Aren't you cold in that dress, Toots," asked Dawn.

   "No problem, Auntie Mum," the girl laughed, her immense breasts
jiggling. They were balanced on a platform bra which somehow held them out
in front of her so that their upper surfaces were slightly higher than her
shoulders.  She had to peer over them to see to either side.  Probably more
than two thirds of her coffee-coloured breasts was on display.  The rest,
which included the nipples - but only just - was sheathed in scarlet latex
which clung to her like her skin.  In fact, it was tighter than her skin,
as there seemed no possible way she could ever have sat down in that dress.
There was no room for underwear: in fact, there was convincing evidence
that she wasn't wearing any.  Toots smelled of expensively musky perfume
and warm rubber.

   "Pity about de uneven floor in here, I can't wear me heels," she
complained, indicating a pair of scarlet shoes with improbably high heels
which were tossed casually on the desk.

   She padded sinuously on bare feet across the office and sat down -
confounding the experts - and poured the tea, an incongruously domesticated
gesture which made her guests gasp.  It was almost as shocking as if Toots
had taken all her clothes off and inserted a gigantic dildo.

   "We doin' a roarin' trade.  I told 'em de one tent wouldn't be big
enough, but dat Miss Thunderbolt, she say dis is all she can afford.  She
don' listen!  I tell her she make serious money on dis thing.  Me, I ain't
makin' a penny.  I need de tax loss."

   The others sipped their tea in stunned silence.  Was this the way it was
going to be when Toots was a full time student at St Cat's?  The place
would never be the same again.  At least, life would never be dull.  And a
St Cat's girl was probably assured of an honest living if she played her
cards right.

   Pansy glanced across the table at Anastasia and grinned at her.  She
even managed a successful wink.  Both girls were obviously thinking the
same thing.



   **********

   I wanted to be as far away as possible from the Mini-Brothel when Toots
met her Auntie Mum, so I headed for the exit from the quad.  With any luck,
I would bump into Smegs at the obstacle course for pregnant girls.  I
thought I had discovered Corinne again, but it turned out to be her reserve
Team of boys.  They seemed to be gathered in a huddle, as if their Number
One boy had called them together for a Team talk.

   "Hi, Miss," fluted Suzanne's nicest little girl voice.  She was
obviously up to no good.  Where was she?  "I'm in here," and a hand waved
from within the circle of oiled boys' bodies.  I approached, but the boys
made no effort to open their circle and let me in.

   "I'm just making friends with the B Team," Suzanne giggled.  "Come and
have a look, Miss!" I peered over the shoulders of two of the boys, and
felt my eyes open wider.  No wonder they were huddled together!  Suzanne
was enjoying herself immensely, keeping all eight boys on the boil with a
touch here, a caress there.  So far, I noted with relief, she had not yet
liberated any of the boys from their skimpy underwear, but the way things
were looking, it wasn't going to be long.

   On the other hand, one or two things were surprisingly long.

   "Suzanne!" I forced myself to concentrate on disciplinary matters. 
"Where's Pansy?"

   Suzanne reddened.  "Dunno, Miss."

   "And at what time are you due on duty in the First Form Sexual Chemistry
Group Anoint-a-Mum Tent?"

   "Twelve, Miss.  Same time as the boys are due to relieve Miss
Meadowlark's breast carriers, Miss."

   These boys were pretty obviously going to be in need of relief
themselves before then.  "You'd better all come over here with me," I said,
and the Team looked at each other, then down at Suzanne, who shrugged her
shoulders.  The movement had an interesting effect on her breasts, I
noticed.  When I start noticing things like that, it usually means I am
getting horny.  "Don't break up your circle, just shuffle over that way."
And I set them moving with a gentle shove in the right direction, with
Suzanne in the middle.  "Never mind looking over your shoulders," I told
the boys furthest from me, "Suzanne, look out in front and keep an eye on
where we're going."

   Suzanne obediently parted the two leading boys by the simple expedient
of grasping their erect penes and moving their owners apart by a few
inches, so she could see where we were going.  Off we went, through the
crowds, attracting a certain amount of attention, I must admit, but
eventually we reached the sanctuary of the bra measuring facility, where
the crowd was thinnest, and once we had rounded the far corner of the
building and passed into the shadow of the trees, we were free from
inquisitve eyes.

   In fact, here, there were no recognisable guests at all, and I could see
no more than a dozen or so couples mating in the bosky woodland, plunging
and thrusting in the dappled shade.  More slowly, I guided the eight boys
and Suzanne to a reasonably free area, just as a couple completed their
coitus and scrambled to their feet.

   I recognised a Lower Sixth Form girl with staggeringly huge breasts and
a man in a rumpled and grass-stained suit.  Lovingly, the girl brushed
leaves and dirt from her recent partner's jacket.  Much as one wished to
encourage private enterprise, this sort of freelance fucking was draining
away the profits of the Mini-Brothel.  I spoke more sharply than necessary
to the girl.

   "Have you quite finished?"

   "Yes, Miss.  This is Mr ...?"

   "Jones," said the suit hastily.  "Mr Jones."

   "Miss Gruntworthy, may I introduce Mr Jones?  Mr Jones, Miss ..."

   "Thank you, Jayne-Lee, that will not be necessary.  Mr Jones." I
inclined my head politely and the couple moved off, Mr Jones uncomfortably
offering the girl his arm.  "Right, quick, boys.  We've got ten minutes
...!"

   We didn't do too badly.  With Suzanne's valuable help, I managed to
encourage all eight boys into a more or less lasting state of detumescence
before it was time for them and Suzanne to hurry off to their duties.  I
wiped my hands on the cool grass and sat down on a tussock, panting
slightly.

   That had done me no good at all.  At least, I now knew the more intimate
biological details of Team B, for what it was worth, but I was feeling as
horny as a she-goat.  What I really needed, sitting here on a tuft of grass
in a cool and shady glade, was a knight on a white charger to come along
and sweep me on to his saddle and gallop off with me into the sunset.  But
this was St Catherine's High School for Girls.

   There were no knights here.

   "Shan, is that you?"

   "Sir Roger, what a surprise!"









   Part XXX-a











   NOTICE TO ALL GIRLS





   St Cat's Grand Open Day



   Dress - General

   All girls are to note carefully the following dress regulations

   for the above event.  School uniform is to be worn by all students.

   There will be NO relaxation of the Rules regarding effective

   brassieres.  Underwear is to be worn.  Panties in the correct personal

   colours will be issued by Ms Rumiko Tsujimoto on the evening before

   the event, and for emergencies only, on the morning of the event for

   one hour only from 0800.



   Neckties

   Summer Rules will apply regarding the wearing of neckties.  These may

   be removed from 1100 onwards, and the top button of the blouse shall

   then be unfastened.  Further buttons may be unfastened, one at a time,

   at hourly intervals, until the blouse is completely open at the

   front.  Then and only then may the blouse be removed entirely.  This

   rule does NOT apply to girls whose blouses have more than twenty

   buttons at regulation three inch intervals.  These girls may release

   buttons in groups of two or three as authorised by teaching staff.



   Skirt Length

   Skirts are to be of regulation length.  The hemline shall be no

   greater than four inches (105mm) nor less than two inches (52mm)

   below the juncture of the thighs.  The juncture of the thighs will be

   measured while wearing regulation panties, pulled up tightly so as

   fully to compress any dangling labia.  Girls with exuberantly

   pendulous labia are advised that they must keep their panties pulled

   up tightly at all times.  Girls designated by the nursing staff as

   having problem labia and/or excessive hirsutism may wear their skirts

   longer as required, but under no circumstances are hemlines to reach

   below the knee.



   Sanitary Protection

   Girls scheduled to be wearing sanitary protection on St Cat's Grand

   Open Day must see Nurse on the day before the event for Decency

   Appraisal.  Pieces of string shall not be allowed to dangle visibly,

   as these cause offence to many males.



   Pregnant Students

   Pregnant students will observe the normal school Rules as amended

   for pregnant girls, but the normal rules of good taste must always be

   observed above all.  Display of the unclothed belly beyond the twenty-

   ninth week is NOT permitted in public.  Pregnant girls who wish to

   mate should use the area specially designated for this purpose to

   avoid giving offence.



   Lactation

   It is the responsibility of lactating girls to dispose of their girl-

   milk in a hygienic and decorous manner as befits young ladies.

   Feeding guests without a proper introduction will NOT be permitted.

   Spraying guests with girl-milk is discouraged.  (St Cat's Girls are

   NOT racing motorists.) Breast-feeding of babies may be carried out

   publicly and with pride, but orgasms during feeding shall be enjoyed

   in complete and ladylike silence.



   Lactation - Special Note

   Once formally introduced, guests may use lactating girls free of

   charge during the day.  Any girl seen charging money for girl-milk

   will face serious disciplinary action.



   Mini-Brothel

   Mini-Brothel girl staff have already been selected and advised of

   their duties, shifts and rest periods.  Whilst they will be permitted

   to remove their lower underwear while on Mini-Brothel premises, it

   must be replaced before leaving the marquee.  The roped off area

   outside the marquee entrance shall denote the marquee boundary for

   the purposes of this regulation.



   Courtesy

   All girls are to be courteous to guests of the Mini-Brothel.  Guests

   will neither be referred to nor addressed as 'customers' nor 'punters'.



   Madam - Form of Address

   Mini-Brothel administration will be the full responsibility of Ms

   Tessa (Toots) Lashmore, who is to be addressed (for the day of the

   event ONLY) as 'Madam'.  Ms Lashmore will NOT be bound by St Cat's

   Dress Rules as she is still only ten years old.



   Guests

   Guests may be escorted freely throughout school premises by students.

   Discretion should be exercised when entering dormitories as these are

   likely to be in use for sexual intercourse.  Guests and escorts may

   enter, but should avert the eyes in the presence of mating couples,

   and should attempt to find an unused bed or area of floor space.

   Additional overflow mating areas will be provided if demand dictates;

   please observe the signs, and vacate areas as soon as both parties

   have climaxed for the final time.



   Entertainment.

   Various entertainments have been arranged, and will be announced over

   the public address system.



   Safety Warning

   Spectators at the wheelbarrow event are warned that wheelbarrow

   racing is DANGEROUS.  Spectators must stay off the track, and keep

   away from the edges of the course.  Young girls with huge breasts in

   wheelbarrows need room to manoeuvre and cannot stop dead.  Keep a

   sharp lookout at all times, and listen for the screams of girls who

   may have lost control either of their vehicles or themselves.



   Pregnant Girls' Obstacle Race

   The obstacle course for pregnant girls is out of bounds to guests

   during the progress of racing.  Between races, guests are welcome to

   use the course, but in the event of heavy demand, pregnant female

   guests will receive priority.



   Courtesy - General

   Students are reminded that courtesy must be extended to all guests.

   Later in the day, when cleavage display has reached its maximum,

   some guests may become unduly excited.  They should be treated with

   gentleness and firmness.  Remember, older guests may take longer to

   attain an orgasm than students are used to.  Allow plenty of time for

   coupling with middle-aged guests, and be prepared to compliment them

   lavishly on their performance, even if they appear to have faked an

   orgasm.



   Fertility Note

   Appearances can be deceptive.  Always remember, a single drop of

   semen contains sufficient sperm to impregnate an entire city.  Middle-

   aged men do NOT suffer from low sperm-count as younger men and boys

   do.  Take a note of the names and phone numbers of ALL your sexual

   partners during the day.  Your guests will appreciate a thank-you call

   at home or in the office.









   Part XXXI









   Chapter 91:- Ultimate Perfection



   "How's business, Shona?"

   "You're five minutes late."

   "No I'm not.  The clock hasn't struck yet." Suzanne held up a finger in
triumph as the bell rang out the first of twelve strokes from the bell
tower.  "Your watch is fast," she said, gazing out of the doorway of the
First Form Sexual Chemistry Group Anoint-a-Mum Tent at the St Cat's girls
unfastening a second button of their blouses.  Or a fifth or sixth, in the
case of the larger girls.

   Shona was gathering up her belongings and preparing to leave.  "How's my
skirt?" she asked Suzanne.

   "Pull it up a bit more, Sho, I can't quite see your knickers.  That's
better," she said as Shona grunted and tugged her skirt into submission.

   "What about my boobs?  Should I show a bit more, do you think?"

   "Only the next six buttons, you don't want to attract too much
attention. There, that looks nice!" Suzanne arranged Shona's neckline to
make sure that no more than two feet of drum-tight cleavage was showing. 
"This bra's just about full up, Sho.  You should have got a new one last
week.  If this one bursts, you're going to flop all over the place in front
of all these people.  You will be in deepest shit."

   "Suze!  Don't say that.  It will be all right, won't it?  Even when the
milk comes in?"

   "You could always go down to the quad and start selling drinks.  Nobody
would mind."

   "What, flash my boobs out there?  I'd die.  And my mum would kill me."

   "She can't kill you once you're already dead.  Go for it, girl!  You've
got the biggest titties in the school apart from Miss Meadowlark.  Go and
earn yourself some extra pocket money."

   Shona was literally shivering in her shoes, her knees knocking and
ripples spreading across her exposed bosom like waves on a pond.  But her
eyes were shining with excitement.  She bit her lip in apprehension. 
Suzanne nodded her head encouragingly.  "Who's been doing the rubbing?" she
asked, to take Shona's mind off her coming ordeal.

   "Sexy Amy.  She was supposed to be on from ten 'til eleven, but she
wouldn't come off, and she's just refused to be relieved again.  She says
she's enjoying it too much.  Toria's in there with her right now."

   "Toria?  What's *she* want?"

   "Dunno." Shona hesitated at the door.  "I'd better go, then." She seemed
to be in no hurry.  "Wish me luck!"

   "You'll do great, Sho!  If I see your Mum, I'll tell her where to find
you."

   "Don't you dare ...!"

   Suzanne ducked into the tent and pushed aside the flap into the rubbing
room.

   "At least you could knock, Suzanne," complained Victoria, sitting up
abruptly on the table and clutching at a towel to cover herself.

   "How can you knock on a door in a tent?" Suzanne giggled.  "What are you
hiding your boobs for, cousin Toria?  We've all seen them before!"

   "Go away!"

   "I can't.  I'm on duty now.  It's twelve o' clock.  Aren't you going
off, Amy?"

   "No, I'm staying.  This is great!  I've been getting to rub some lovely
titties."

   "What are we selling most of?" Suzanne studied the labels of the various
tubs of chemicals.

   "Straight boob, mostly," said Amy.  "The mums have seen the tits on some
of the girls and they all want a bit for themselves.  But we've done a few
FatLite.  I've been recommending FatLite for some of the heavier women. 
That's right, isn't it?"

   "Yeah, but it's important that you give them the cream for rubbing on
when they get home.  They can use anything, but plain face cream is best."

   "I bet they've got plenty of that at home.  We've had some plain enough
faces in here this morning, haven't we, Tor?"

   "One or two." Victoria was subdued.  Suzanne bursting in and
interrupting her session with Sexy Amy had been unnerving for her.

   "I'll get back out the front," said Suzanne with a grin at her cousin.
She unfastened her blouse buttons until her olive drab bra cups peeked out
starkly from her cleavage.  "See you two later!"

   Sexy Amy watched her leave.  "Come on, Toria, back on the table." Amy
dipped her hand into a tub of cream.  "Come on, we were just getting
started!"

   "I can't.  She'll hear us."

   "We'll do it quietly.  Do you want rubbing or not?"

   Victoria blushed and chewed her lip.  "Course I do!" she hesitated, then
dropped the towel and lay back on the treatment table.

   "Hold tight, sweetie, here we go!"



   **********

   "Are you sure about this, Sir Roger?" I was hesitating before undoing
the buttons at the back of my dress.

   "Chauntaille, my dear." The gentle knight was struggling with the belt
of his trousers, although his fumbling fingers would hardly do what he
wanted.  I always think there's nothing worse than watching somebody
scratching around with something like that, and failing.  In the end, I
could watch no longer.  I reached across and yanked his belt undone in a
single movement, following it up by whipping his zipper down.

   Sir Roger gasped at my directness.  "Oh, Chauntaille.  I have admired
you for so long.  I have always wanted to make you mine.  Your breasts are
the dangliest I have ever seen in my life.  I have had a long life, and a
fruitful one, but never have I seen breasts as long and dangly as yours."

   I wasn't sure what to think about that, but I assumed he meant it as a
sincere compliment.  Sir Roger was a gentleman, after all.

   "Where's Clarrie?" I asked, delaying frantically.

   "Off with Davie somewhere.  She doesn't do it with me any more.  Now
she's pregnant, and being so big anyway, it's rather awkward for her.  She
says she can do it with Davie, because he's slimmer than me.  Longer, too,
apparently; the little brat.  Still, you will know that length isn't
important, won't you, my dear?"

   "That's very true, Sir Roger.  But are you sure you want to go through
with this?  What about Grandma Trudy?"

   "What about her , Chauntaille?  She doesn't need me any more.  I've done
far too much running around impregnating all the girls I could lay hands
on. Clarrie's only the latest in a very long succession.  Trudy's been very
understanding, but we don't really have a sex-life any more.  Chauntaille!
Let me undress you.  Please!"

   What the hell, I thought.  After helping Team B reach fruition, I was
just about steaming down there.  Old Sir Roger would be as good a means to
an end as any.  I made my decision, practically ripped my dress off and
followed it by tearing apart the velcro fasteners on my ScatBra FreeTips.
Sir Roger's eyes almost came out on stalks as he saw my nipples ballooning
out through the cut outs in the ends of the huge brownish-yellow bra cups.
Then the bra was gone, and my breasts swung like church bells around my
lower thighs.

   "Oh, Chauntaille!"

   "Oooh, Sir Roger!"



   **********

   "There, isn't that nice, Toria?"

   "Oooh, yes.  Amy, you have the loveliest hands."

   "See, and all this time, you always kept on saying you didn't like the
idea of girls rubbing your boobs!  There you are, you didn't know what you
were missing, did you?  Roll over a bit this way, and I'll finish you off
underneath."

   "Is this going to work, this stuff?"

   "Work?  By this time tomorrow night, you'll start growing.  By the
weekend, you'll be huge."

   "Huge?  You mean bigger than Pansy?"

   "Even bigger than Pansy's going to be when she's feeding her new baby.
Bigger than Anastasia.  Well, bigger than Anastasia is at the moment.  As
big as Miss Gruntworthy!"

   "Shit, Ames.  I don't know if I want to be as big as that!"

   "You should have thought of that before." Amy patted Victoria's boobs,
setting them wobbling.  "It's done now."

   "You mean I can't NOT get huge?"

   "Right.  You have to rub in the plain cream tonight and tomorrow."

   "What if I don't," asked Victoria eagerly.

   "You'd better!  If you don't you will get such Uncontrollable Horniness
that you won't be able to stop coming.  Until you rub the plain cream in,
you will suffer from that.  As soon as you rub it in, the Uncontrollable
Horniness will go away and your boobs will start getting huge!  Simple!"

   "So I can avoid having giant boobs if I decide to live with the
Uncontrollable Horniness instead?"

   "Toria.  Don't even think about it!"

   "Coo-ee!  You finished in there?" Suzanne called through the tent flap.

   "What you want?" Amy shouted.

   "We've got a customer.  Breast enhancement.  Straight, not FatLite!"

   "You all ready, Toria?"

   "Just this last button.  There!"

   "Send her in," said Sexy Amy.  "We're ready."

   The flap opened and the customer came in.

   Sexy Amy was picking up another tub of the Original Recipe.  "You going
to help me, Toria?  We'll do one side each at the same time, all right?"
She prised the lid off the cream tub.

   "If madam would like to remove her shirt and bra and get up on the table
...?" Sexy Amy looked up at the customer for the first time.  "Mummy!  Oh,
shit!"



   **********

   The old bugger wasn't all that bad.  He knew what he was doing, I had to
admit.  I lay on my back, knees raised, and clapped my breasts on each side
of Sir Roger's head.  His thrusts were slow, without being at all
tentative. I allowed my internal muscles to grip and relax, almost milking
him.  Sir Roger gave another moan.  "Oooh, Chauntaille, darling!"
Unoriginal, but not entirely lacking in sincerity.

   "Sir Roger," I said, "Oh my!"

   He paused in his thrusting.  "Sorry, what did you say?"

   "Who, me?"

   "Who else is there here?"

   "I said, 'Sir Roger, oh, my!'"

   "That's what I thought you said.  Trudy always said that.  In bed."

   "Trudy called you Sir Roger?  In bed?"

   "No, not that bit.  She said, 'oh my!'

   "Oh, Sir Roger, I'm so sorry!"

   "No, don't be.  It just took me aback a little, that's all.  I'm all
right now." To prove it, he started his stately movement again.  "My God,
Chauntaille, you are so wet and so huge, and yet your muscular control is
such that it is like making love to a young girl ..."

   "I am a young girl, Sir Roger," I reminded him with one of my extra
special pussy squeezes.

   "Oooh!  Yes, you are, my dear.  One forgets these things."

   Sir Roger may have been on the verge of losing his faculties, but he was
still a talkative fucker, in the literal sense.

   I allowed my breasts to close together over Sir Roger's ears and his
voice became more muffled as his whole head was engulfed in the warm
magnificence of my bosom.  Vastly pendulous breasts have their uses.

   Still, grunts reached my ears, urgent little stabbing cries.  He's
getting close, I thought, and redoubled my efforts.  I was getting there as
well.  "Ooh, Sir Roger!" I said, more or less en passant, and began to hump
my buttocks on the springy turf of the woodland.  If at that precise moment
I had chanced to look around me I would have been able to see at least half
a dozen couples mating within twenty yards of our position.  Some of the
girls would have been on top, some on their backs, giving their all for the
honour of St Catherine's High School for Girls.

   Another muffled grunt, and I released the inward pressure on my boobs. I
didn't want to suffocate the old boy.

   "Oh, Chauntaille, my dear," announced Sir Roger, as if he'd never been
away.  "You are such ...  perfection.  You are without a ...  shadow of a
doubt, the finest ...  fuck I have ever experienced.  If I was to die now,
I would go ...  to my ...  grave in the ...  knowledge that I had ... 
achieved ...  the ...  ultimate ...  perfection!"

   He's nearly there!  I thrust back at him and he thrust back at me.  I
slapped my breasts together over Sir Roger's head again and went for the
big finish.

   "Oh, you bastard!" I howled, "don't fucking stop now!" And I bucked more
furiously, reaching the edge, the very brink.  More, give me another five
seconds, Pym, you bourgeois pseudo-aristocratic jumped-up bastard, give it
to me, fuck you!  "Aaargh!  Aaargh!  Aaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrgh!  Wow!  Wow! 
Woo-woo-woo-woo-woo-woo-woo-woweeeeeeeeeeeeeee!"

   Polite applause echoed round the woodland glade.  I was reminded of a
cricket match on the village green.

   The old bugger knew what he was doing all right.  That was some
performance for an old 'un.  Well done, Sir Roger!

   "Oooh, Sir Roger!  That was wonderful!" I released the grip on my
boobies and Sir Roger's exhausted head flopped on to my chest.  "Sir Roger?
How was it for you?"

   He obviously only spoke while he was actually doing it.  He'd certainly
shut up now.  I could feel him inside me, surprisingly big still,
considering he had almost blown it a couple of minutes ago.  I lay back,
recovering my breath, and affectionately ruffled the hairs at the back of
Sir Roger's neck.  Perhaps I should have taken advantage of the old boy's
offer all those months ago.

   Still, there was always next time.

   Wasn't there?

   A ghastly, chilling thought had suddenly occurred to me.  Sir Roger's
head flopped on to its other side.  And as I touched his cheek, the
terrible truth became clear.

   I sat up, with a struggle, shuffling my bottom backwards on the cool
grass.  Sir Roger, the late Sir Roger Pym, slipped out of me.  As a shudder
ran through my body, I realised the significance of his last words.  He
had, at least, experienced the ultimate perfection.

   And he'd hung on long enough to satisfy Big Chauntaille Gruntworthy.









   Chapter 92:- Back In The Saddle



   Smegs always knows what to do.

   So does Corinne.

   The trouble was, I couldn't find either of them.

   Corinne wasn't where I had left her.  Not that she would be, of course.
Not still talking to Tanya after something like an hour.  Not in the heat
of the midday sun.  Someone told me they had seen her setting off with her
team of boys at something like five past twelve.  That would have been her
B Team, fresh from their mass wanking session, invigorated and reporting on
schedule to relieve the disgraced A Team.  They had gone up the drive
towards the main road, I was told.  S had obviously taken the Team for a
work-out.

   Smegs wasn't at the wheelbarrow racing, the pregnant girls' obstacle
course, the police dog demonstration, the ex-Printing Works Brass Band
Concert, the Mini-Brothel and the First Form Sexual Chemistry Group
Anoint-a-Mum Tent.  All this searching had taken me a good quarter of an
hour since I had left Sir Roger's body in the woods.  I had done my best to
make him comfortable, closing his eyes and his mouth, and laying him on his
back.  My first idea was to lay him on his front, but he still had an
erection, and presumably it wasn't going to go down at this late stage in
his career.  I didn't like to bend it, so on his back it had to be.

   The next step was to summon help from the nearest mating couple. 
Surprisingly, they were less than ten yards away, on the other side of a
fat tree trunk.  The boy was on top: I didn't recognise him, but I assumed
he was someone's son.  He was indignant at being interrupted, but the girl,
an absurdly pretty Fourth Former, seemed glad of a break.  "Come on,
Keanu," she had nagged him.  "Let's see what Miss Gruntworthy wants."

   They were both a little less keen when I showed them Sir Roger's supine
corpse.  "He's dead, Miss!" the girl informed me, quite astutely, I
thought.

   "I know he's dead.  He died on the job.  Look after him while I go and
get help.  If you're going to carry on shagging, at least cover his face as
a mark of respect."

   The girl gravely deployed her knickers over Sir Roger's face and
prepared to resume giving her all.

   I suppose it was delayed shock.  Up until the time I left Sir Roger
under guard, I was coping reasonably well with the situation.  By the time
I reached the spot where Corinne no longer was, I was beginning to get
panicky; and by the time I had tried everywhere that Smegs might have been
but wasn't, I was in tears.

   Tanya found me, crying my eyes out behind the Mini-Brothel.

   "Shan?  What's the matter?" She put her arms around me and gave me a big
soft hug.

   "Tan!  It's terrible.  He's in the woods."

   "What's wrong?  Who's in the woods?  Have you been molested?  Actually,
I was looking for my Grandad.  Sir Roger?  You haven't seen him?  Only he's
ten minutes late for his appointment in the Mini-Brothel, and that little
black kid - the madam - she was wondering whether to let his girl go to the
next customer."

   She was about to carry on for the next ten minutes, but I jumped up and
dragged her off without a word into the woods.  It was cooler in there,
under the trees, and so peaceful.

   "Here.  Just here!" I led Tanya to the spot and stopped.  "It was here,
I know it.  I remember that tree stump with the fungus."

   "What was here?  Shan.  Look at me." Tanya grasped my upper arms and
shook me gently.  "Shan?"

   "Sir Roger was here.  I was ...  with him.  We were, you know?"

   "Fucking?"

   "That's right.  Just here.  I'd just helped Suzanne with wanking
Corinne's B Team ..." Tanya's eyes widened to about the size of large
saucers "...  and I was sitting on that tussock over there, wiping my
hands, and Sir Roger came along, and ...  one thing sort of ...  led to
another ..."

   "...  the way they do ..."

   "...the way they do, and we made love.  Only ...  when I'd finished -
and I only just managed to finish - he was dead."

   "Dead?"

   "Mm-hm."

   "Jesus, Shan!" Tanya looked about the clearing.  "So what did you do
with him?"

   "I left him here.  Just here.  He was heavy, and stiff.  Very stiff,
part of him was."

   "Gosh!"

   "And I found a couple to look after him.  They've gone, too."

   Someone was coming through the undergrowth.  "Is this your couple,
Shan?" Tanya pointed.

   "That's them.  What have they done with him?"

   "Hi, Miss," the girl called, cheerfully.  They approached and stopped,
the boy staying about five yards away.  "We took your man away.  He was
putting us off.  Well, not me - I was all right - but Keanu said he
couldn't keep it up with him lying there.  He's in Mr Jeremy's shed."

   "But that's ...  right over there ...  hundreds of yards away."

   "Yeah, we got another couple to help us carry him.  Nobody saw us.  He's
all right, Miss.  He's still dead."

   "That's a relief," said Tanya.  "Come on, Shan!" She thanked the loving
couple and we headed for the shed which was just visible through the trees.
Jeremy opened the door when we knocked.

   "Shan!  And Tanya!" He opened the door wider for us to go in.  "Look
who's here.  It's Sir Roger.  Some kids brought him in." He had covered the
body with a dust sheet.  Unfortunately, it stuck up like a tent in the
middle.  "He's got a hard-on for some reason.  Looks like he died happy."

   "Oh, yes," I said fervently.  "He certainly did!"



   **********

   The show must go on.  In the finest traditions of the stage, St Cat's
rose to the occasion.  Corinne returned from her test run with her B Team.
All nine of them were covered in dead leaves and traces of mud.  Corinne
told me later they had gone off the road in a big way.  Apparently, the
Team were preoccupied and not at all responsive to orders.

   She immediately closed the First Form Sexual Chemistry Group
Anoint-a-Mum Tent and set up a crisis headquarters.  Miss Rhys ap Llewelyn
Owen had a word with the Art girls and within minutes a huge orange and
black sign saying 'Chrisus Headqarters' appeared.  Corinne had to send it
away to get the spelling corrected.  Somebody found Grandma Trudy and
brought her to the tent.  They gave her a cup of hot sweet tea which she
firmly refused.  We had to break it to her that the only tea we had was
hot. We simply didn't have it with ice.  Then we broke the other bad news.

   "He died with a hard-on, you say?  Figures.  You got a spare girl I can
borrow, Shan?"

   Someone found a Second Former.  Trudy gave her a set of car keys.  "Go
to my four-by-four, hon, look in the back seat.  There's a black dress on a
hanger.  Bring it here, will you.  Don't get it creased, you hear!" The
girl went off, and Trudy continued.  "I've been carrying that black dress
around these past two years in case the old fool shuffled off this mortal
coil while we were out visiting.  At least, he died happy.  And he was
among friends, Shan.  I daresay he couldn'a been in better hands."

   "He did say, Trudy ...  in fact, these were his last words ...  that if
he died at that moment, he had at least experienced the ultimate
perfection."

   "He told you that, Shan?"

   I nodded, tears streaming down my face.

   Trudy gave me a lace hankie.  "He told Clarrie the same, she says.  He
used to tell *me* that, until we stopped doing it.  I guess he always knew
- deep down inside - that when he finally went, he was going to go while he
was doing what comes naturally.  So he said the same thing every time, just
in case."

   The police were summoned, and Trudy was asked to make a formal
identification of the body.  She didn't even raise the dust sheet.  "That's
Sir Roger," she said, with a glance at its erection.

   Meanwhile, as the afternoon wore on, the usual amusements continued.  As
a mark of respect for the deceased, the Mini-Brothel remained open for
business.  "It's what he would've wanted," said Trudy.  The wheelbarrow
racing and the obstacle course for pregnant girls went ahead as planned. 
The ex-Printing Works Brass Band changed their programme, I was told,
taking out some of the more jolly numbers.  They could have fooled me.  As
far as I could tell, everything they played sounded identical.

   Clarrie turned up from somewhere with young Davie.  The servant girl
shed a tear for her lost master, then asked Trudy if she knew anything
about the will.

   Things were pretty much normal for an afternoon at St Catherine's High
School for Girls.



   **********

   "Bloody cheek!  They chucked us out of our tent." Suzanne was so
indignant, she was even reduced to talking to Pansy again.  A bunch of
wheelbarrows wobbled past, their drivers panting and cursing.  The crowds
cheered, urging on their favourites.

   "What for?  Weren't we making enough money?

   "They wanted it for a crisis headquarters."

   "What crisis?" demanded Pansy.

   Shona appeared.  There were enormous patches of dampness round each
nipple.  "That's better," she said, sounding relieved.  "I just got rid of
another gallon.  Hey, you know our tent?  There was a policeman in there.
And a woman policeman.  And two detectives.  One old and the other ancient,
just like on telly."

   "So what?" grumbled Suzanne.

   "They reckon old Sir Roger's dead!"

   "I didn't know he was still alive."

   "He isn't now.  He's in Jeremy's shed with a hard-on, only they've
covered him with a sheet.  But that's not the best thing.  They said Miss
Gruntworthy killed him!"

   Shona was gratified by the response.  Suzanne and Pansy gasped in
unison. "Killed him?"

   "That's murder!" said Pansy.

   "How did she do it?  Did she shoot him?" Suzanne had a thirst for
macabre detail.

   "She fucked him to death," Shona announced.

   Pansy knew how it was done.  "You mean she sat on his face and squashed
his head?"

   "I don't think so," said Shona.  "It doesn't sound like the sort of
thing Miss Gruntworthy would do."

   "Still no reason to throw us out of our tent." Suzanne had an honest
grievance and was determined to make the most of it.

   "Anyway, Pan." Shona had remembered something.  "What was your sister
doing in there for an hour with Sexy Amy?  I reckon she was getting her
boobs made bigger."

   "Who, Toria?" Pansy laughed out loud.  "She'd never do that.  She's all
talk.  Toria would be too scared to have her boobs made bigger."

   Suzanne giggled.  "I bet she'd do it to get even with Miss Gruntworthy."

   Pansy gave a gasp.  "Will Miss Gruntworthy have to go to jail?"

   "Yeah, I s'pose so," said Shona.  "Oh, shit, look at all the milk on
this blouse.  If my mum was here, she'd kill me."



   **********

   "Let me in, I want to see my friend!"

   "Sorry, Miss, you can't come in 'ere, there is ay Po-lice hinvestigation
a-taking place ..."

   "I'll give you five seconds to move your arse, Plod, then I'm coming
in!"

   "Smegs!"

   "Shan!"

   We met and hugged for a long, long time.

   "Are you all right, love?"

   "I think so.  Everyone's been very kind.  Corinne and Trudy and Clarrie,
everybody!"

   "I'm sorry I took so long.  I was tied up, and nobody told me about ...
Sir Roger!"

   "It's all right.  You're here now."

   I suppose we shouldn't really have snogged right there in front of the
police and everything, but they were very good about it, even clearing a
space on the floor when Smegs tenderly laid me down and serviced my foaming
beaver.  After about ten minutes, we sat up and apologised.

   Even the Detective Inspector wasn't too hard on Smegs, although he said
he could easily have come down on her like a ton of bricks for tampering
with the evidence.  I suppose that's the sort of thing that passes for a
joke in police circles.  Appalling taste, these people have.

   Not that I've tasted too many of them.



   **********

   "Where were you, anyway, Smegs, while all this was going on?" I asked
her when the Law had gone and we at last had a quiet moment.

   "Like I said.  I was tied up." She showed me the rope marks on her
wrists and ankles.  "I was getting off with one of the dads, Sexy Amy's, in
fact.  I just happened to mention that his daughter was just about the
hottest piece of arse in the Third Form - if not the entire school - and
that I wondered whether she inherited it from her mother or her father, and
he dragged me off through the bushes to his car.

   "Golly, Smegs, how awful!  Did you scream for help?"

   "Not straight away, but when he'd stuffed the gag in my mouth, I had a
real yell.  Nobody seemed to hear me.  Then he tied me up."

   "Did he rape you?"

   "Not really, I suppose.  He got his trousers down round his ankles then
went all limp and floppy.  He was staring off up the driveway at something,
and suddenly, up came Sexy Amy's Mum, dragging Amy along by her ear, and
she put her in the car, then she started on him.  She dumped him in the car
as well, then jumped in and drove off."

   "She didn't untie you first?"

   "No!"

   "Oh, Smegs, how terribly frustrating for you!  How did you get free?"

   "A couple of the lads from Lord Ted's Sixth Form came along and found
me, and turned me loose."

   "Awful!  And you were tied up all that time!"

   Smegs looked uncomfortable.  "Well, not exactly.  I was only tied up for
about a minute after the Sexy Amies went off, then the boys came along.  We
sort of sat around snogging and talking for the next hour or so.  Then they
said an old boy had died on the job, and one of them mentioned that he'd
been shagging a St Cat's teacher at the time.  I thought of you straight
away, Shan!"

   "Oh, Smegs.  Thank you!"

   There was a shuffle of feet and Corinne came over, preceded by her B
Team.

   "How are you now, Shannie?"

   "Much better, thanks."

   "I've been thinking.  Before I got too huge, I used to ride a horse."
Smegs and I both looked at Corinne, trying to imagine such a ridiculous
thing.  "And my instructor used to say that if ever I fell off, the only
thing to do was to get right back on his back again.  'Straight back in the
saddle, young Corinne,' he used to say.  I think you ought to do that,
too."

   "I can't ride a horse, Cee, not with these things."

   "No.  You know what I mean.  You've got to get back in the saddle with a
man.  Get another stallion between those thighs, straight away!"

   "Golly, Cee, what a graphic image you do paint!"

   "Megan," Corinne said, "where can we get Shan laid this afternoon? 
Urgently?"

   Smegs thought for a moment, mentally ticking off names in her extensive
database.

   "Why not the Mini-Brothel?" she suggested.  "Complete anonymity.  At
least, a clinical arrangement, no ties, no complications, just a straight
screw with somebody's daddy."

   "What do you think, Shannie?"

   "I suppose so.  There must be worse ways of earning a living."









   Chapter 93:- Having Sex



   "I wonder why they wanted us three in the Mini-Brothel, Pan?  We're a
bit young!"

   "It must be a special job," said Pansy.  "Miss Meadowlark must have
thought it was so special I was the only one who could do it."

   Suzanne snorted.  "I bet it was Miss Gruntworthy's idea.  That's why she
asked for Anastasia.  You know how much Miss Gruntworthy fancies
Anastasia!"

   "Does she?" asked Anastasia with interest.  The thought had never
occurred to her before.  She blushed prettily.  "Golly!"

   "Why else would they want us to dress up in these harem outfits.  It
must be something to do with sex."

   Toots slunk in, her dress squeaking faintly and smelling of rubber. 
"Have you tree not dressed yet?  C'mon, girls, I got customers waitin'
outside and right roun' de block!"

   "Sorry, Toots," murmured Suzanne.

   "Madam to you, please!"

   "Yes, Madam!"

   "Wow!" said Anastasia, as soon as Toots had gone.  "She's a real slave
driver, that one.  Let's get dressed quick." She grabbed a pair of the
voluminous pants and slid one leg into them.  "Gosh, these are really
smooth and slippery inside.  And cool." She pulled them up to the waist and
took a few paces up and down.  Pass me that top, Pan."

   It was way too small.  Anastasia tried, but failed.  "Is this the
biggest?"

   "No, mine's the biggest." Suzanne puffed out her chest.

   "Take it off, then, and try this one.  I'll try yours."

   Suzanne was unhappy, but she took her top off and handed it to
Anastasia.

   "That's better.  Not much, but at least we're both decent." Anastasia
cupped her breasts through the sheer translucent material.  "Gosh, don't we
all look RUDE!" Without thinking, she slipped her hand down the front of
her pants.

   "You don't need to put your hand down there," Suzanne pointed out. 
"There's a hole in the crotch!"

   "Where?" Pansy wanted to know if hers had one as well.  "Oooh, wow, so
there is!"

   "Oi, stop it, you three!" Toots had come in again and caught them all at
it.  "If I catch you playin' wid yourselves again, you're in trouble,
right?" The three First Formers blushed and hung their heads.  "Now, you
arl ready?  You got to get Miss Gruntworthy all nicely warmed up ready for
her gennelman.  You got ..." she consulted her watch "...  you got twenty
minutes.  I'll sen' her in right away!"

   "Has she gone this time?" Suzanne tiptoed to the bead curtain and peered
through.  "She only said we mustn't play with ourselves.  She didn't say
anything about playing with each other!  Stay there, Staze, just spread
your legs.  Like that, yessss!"

   "Ooooh, Suzanne!  Pansy, come over here where I can reach you."

   "Aaaargh!  Staze.  Wow!  Closer, Suze.  Let's all get down on the floor.
That's it.  Mmm!"

   "Mmmmmmmmmmm!"

   "Oooooooooooh, yes!"



   **********

   "Go on in, then Shannie, don't put off the evil moment." Corinne would
have given me a shove from behind, but her eight boys were in front of her,
and in her way.

   Smegs took my arm and urged me forward gently.  "In you go.  Get it over
with."

   "You both make it sound as if I shan't be enjoying it.  It's only sex,
for crying out loud."

   "Be brave, Shan.  Tough it out.  It will make it easier in the long
run."

   "Try to see it through to the end, but if it gets too unbearable, make
an excuse and leave."

   "I'll try.  For the honour of St Cat's.  Wish me luck!"

   "Break a leg, Shannie!"

   "You'll slay 'em," Smegs encouraged, possibly not quite realising what
she'd said.

   With a bold gesture, I went in the main door of the Mini-Brothel, swept
aside the bead curtain and entered the inner chamber.  It was quite dim
inside, and it took a while before I could see clearly.  It took a little
longer still before I could believe what my eyes were seeing.

   Anastasia was lying on her back, with Suzanne's face buried in her
pussy. Pansy had Suzanne's legs over her shoulders and her face in her
cousin's crotch.  At the same time, she had lowered herself so she was
perched on Anastasia's face.  Such hands as the girls weren't using to
balance themselves were groping and fondling the nearest luscious breast
they could find.  There was a sound of concerted sucking, lapping and
squelching, and all three girls were moaning constantly.

   I hadn't the heart to interrupt.  I just stood and watched until
Anastasia's moans began to rise in pitch and urgency, and her orgasm
triggered off the other two.  After a pretty arousing three or four
minutes, they all collapsed in a sweating heap on the carpet.  The tent
smelled like a whorehouse, which was reasonable enough, all things
considered.

   "Good afternoon, girls," I said.  "That looked like good fun."

   "Good afternoon, Miss Gruntworthy," the girls chanted in unison,
struggling into an upright position.  They sat in a row on a couch, facing
me, flushed and panting, their eyes bright, their nipples erect, touching
themselves intimately with trembling fingers.

   "I believe you are going to get me ready for my guest?"

   "Yes, Miss," said Anastasia, as spokesperson.  "If you could give us a
couple of minutes to recover."

   "Of course," I said.  "I'll just take my dress off, to save time." I was
getting quite good at undoing the buttons down the back, then I dropped the
dress to the floor at my feet and picked it up.  There was a wardrobe in
the corner.  Toots seemed to have thought of everything.

   "We'll do your bra, Miss," said Pansy.  She got up off the couch and
dragged Suzanne to her feet.  Suzanne seemed exhausted, she had obviously
given her all.  I felt the velcro part as Pansy ripped it free.

   "Careful," Anastasia shouted a warning as my breasts plummeted down,
still in the cups but no longer strictly under control.  The cousins caught
one each, but the weight nearly dragged them off their feet.

   "Sorry, Miss," they both said together.  "They're heavy!"

   "I know!  Take it off gently, they aren't going to fall any further."

   They disentangled the bra cups from my tits.  It can be difficult with
these FreeTips things where you stick out of the ends, and the girls seemed
unwilling to use the necessary force to push them back through the holes in
the cups.

   "We have to rub you with erotic oils now, Miss," Anastasia told me
intriguingly.  Perhaps she meant exotic oils.  On the other hand, though,
perhaps she didn't.  Whatever she meant, she had a great big bottle of the
stuff.

   "How do you want me?  Standing up or lying down?"

   "Could you kneel down to start with, Miss, please?" Anastasia said
seriously.  "We'll do your top half."

   "And your boobs, Miss," Suzanne elaborated.  "Even though they're in
your bottom half, we'll do them with your top." That was precisely the sort
of information I didn't really need.

   The cousins dragged my breasts out of the way with little cries of alarm
and I knelt down.

   "The oil is nice and warm, Miss," Anastasia shook the bottle.  "It's
been out in the sun."

   It still felt cool and pleasant, and Anastasia's little hands were soft,
pudgy and everywhere at once.  She didn't have the technique of Sexy Amy,
but she was certainly thorough.  Generous, too.  She poured a dollop of oil
into the waiting palms of the two cousins, and they joined her, all three
of them chattering away like hairdressers.

   "This is the stuff they use on Miss Meadowlark's boob carriers, Miss,"
said Suzanne.  "It really does great things for their muscles, Miss.  But
you know about their muscles, don't you?" She grinned and winked
conspiratorially at me and I ignored her with my nose in the air.

   "Lie on your back, Miss." Anastasia arranged the beanbags on the floor
and patted them invitingly.  "We'll do your boobies.  Then we'll do your
bottom half and you can put your pants on.  There isn't a top to fit you,
I've got the biggest and it's tight on me."

   I didn't bother telling Anastasia that her breasts were so much higher
than mine she needed a far bigger size than me.  My udders would have
flopped out of the bottom of any harem costume.  I could have worn a size
32!

   They anointed me, or everything of me they could see, then I rolled over
and felt them applying oil to the backs of my thighs and buttocks.  They
were giggling among themselves.  Finally, Pansy spoke, while the others
gave little gasps and squeaks of horror.  "Are you pregnant, too, Miss?"

   "I beg your pardon?  Pansy, I am NOT pregnant!  I am putting on a little
weight, that's all!"

   A voice, I don't know which girl, sniggered, "a little!"

   "You're getting gross, Miss," laughed Suzanne.  "My belly is plump, and
my hips are wide, but with me, it's just puppy fat.  I'm same as my mum. 
She's not as fat as you."

   "Suzanne!  How dare you?  All of you, show some respect, please.  Have
you finished rubbing?"

   "Yes, Miss," Anastasia screwed the top back on to the bottle.

   "Sure you don't want anything else rubbed on, Miss?" asked Suzanne.  "We
could find you something interesting.  A bit of FatLite, or some
Uncontrollable Horniness?"

   "Thank you, girls.  You are most kind.  Hand me my pants, please."

   I got them on after a struggle, and stood there, pinging the elastic and
feeling my breasts bouncing heavily against my thighs.

   "There's a way in down there, Miss," Pansy informed me.  Most
considerate.  She even showed me where her aperture was, placing one foot
on the arm of the couch in an awfully lewd pose.  "You can get your hand in
there, Miss, if you dive in between your boobs."

   "Thank you, Pansy.  I will bear it in mind."

   Toots had come in behind us.  "You about ready, Miss Gruntworthy?  Your
gennelman is here if you all done wid de oil an' thing."

   "She's ready, Toots," said Anastasia.  "Send him in!" Did she think they
were going to stay and watch?  "It's all right, Miss, we'll finish you off
with oil while your man's getting his clothes off ready to start.  We won't
get in the way."

   How thoughtful.  The girls had moved across the room and were whispering
among themselves.  It was infuriating not being able to hear what they were
saying, but there was a lot of gesturing and waving of plump bare arms. 
Finally, they sent a spokesperson, Anastasia.

   "Which way up would you like to be, Miss, on top or underneath?"

   "Neither, thank you.  I reserve the right to do it which ever way up I
fancy." Actually, I fancied doggie fashion, but Anastasia hadn't offered me
that as one of her list of options.

   "How about doggie fashion, Miss?" I saw the other two girls gasp and
cover their mouths with shocked little hands.  "Ah, yes.  I thought so. 
Come on, then.  Hands and knees, Miss!"

   I should have thrown the little bitch out, but she was my next door
neighbour, after all.  I got down on hands and knees on the
strategically-placed pile of bean-bags.  The two cousins darted forward
just in time to pull my breasts out of the way so I didn't kneel on them.
Then they disappeared again, behind me, taking Anastasia with them. 
Giggling had broken out.

   "Hee-hee!"

   "Fucking hell, Suze!"

   "It's ginormous!"

   "Miss?"

   "Yes, Suzanne?"

   "Will ours be this big when we're grown up?  I've never seen one as big
as yours.  It's huge!"

   "I would be lying if I said yes, Suzanne.  My pussy is probably one of
the biggest in the civilised world." h "Gosh, Miss!"

   "Golly, Miss!"

   "Wow!  Look out.  Here he comes.  Look!"

   The last word was followed by a couple of gasps from the other two. 
What had they seen this time?  Was my lover - my partner, my client - hung
like a stallion?  I would find out soon enough.  I felt a pair of strong
hands on my hips, just at the point where my buttocks began to jut out in
such an embarrassing manner.  The hands of a practical man, a manual
worker. Horny hands.

   "Hello, Shan!"

   "Jeremy?"

   "No, don't turn round.  Just relax, darling!"

   They had arranged all this, my bestest friends.  Getting Shan back in
the saddle didn't involve getting her laid by the first punter to arrive at
the Mini-Brothel looking for a screw.  They had found the only boy I could
seriously say I enjoyed fucking, and they had delivered him to the very
portals of my loins.

   I relaxed and he entered me, as they always say in women's romances. 
What they don't say in women's romances, at least, not the ones I've read,
was that he slipped the first inch into me, then followed it up with the
rest in three quite distinct stages.  "Wow!" I commented.  "Woo-woo-woo!"

   "You're soaking wet, Shan!"

   "My handmaidens have been preparing me.  I must have become slightly
aroused."

   "You ought to keep those three around all the time, they've done a great
job."

   I heard giggles.  Surely they weren't still here, watching us!  An extra
thrust from Jeremy made me put the matter to the back of my mind.

   "Oof!  Ouch, ooooh, gosh, golly golly!  Typical of you, darling, if you
don't mind my saying so.  What about the foreplay, then?  Oh, no!  Straight
in.  You never even touched the sides!"

   "I can't do that with many girls, Shan!  There'll be plenty of time for
foreplay after this first quickie."

   "But they'll be wanting their brothel back.  Toots will have guests
lined up four deep outside ..."

   Allow me to explain.  This conversation was being conducted in grunts
and gasps.  I could try to include them as punctuation, but it would be
tedious.  Try, if you will, to imagine me on my knees getting heartily
porked from behind.

   "Toots has moved the whole operation down to my shed for the rest of the
afternoon.  She's a very flexible girl, is young Toots."

   "Jeremy, you haven't ...?  Surely not you and Toots?"

   The only reply was an extra deep thrust.

   "Woo-woo-woo-wow!"

   "Shan, darling, I love it when you say that!  It sounds so RUDE!"

   I said nothing more for the next five minutes.  Nothing printable, at
least.

   Jeremy rolled me gently on to my back and arranged my breasts where he
wouldn't kneel on them.  He is so considerate.  Then our lips met, and our
tongues, our mouths open wide like you see in the movies, and we kissed
each other all over our faces, eyes, noses, ears, mouths again ...

   "Miss!"

   There are some things that always bring you back to earth with a shock.

   "Would you like a drink, Miss?  Keep your energy and fluid levels up."

   "I'm not a car battery, Anastasia!"

   "Mr Jeremy's having one, Miss.  We asked him."

   "Oh, all right, then.  I'll have whatever he's having ...  hang on a
minute!  When did you ask him?"

   "While he was just finishing.  I could see it was coming to en end, so I
came over to take your orders."

   Anastasia snapped her fingers at Suzanne, who was hovering by the bead
curtain, and held up two fingers.  Like a good and faithful servant,
Anastasia stayed where she was, kneeling beside my head.  In my state of
heightened arousal and sensory awareness, I could smell her scent, a blend
of musky womanishness and sharp perspiration.

   "How was it for you, Miss?"

   "Fine, thank you, Anastasia.  The earth probably moved."

   "Gosh!  We've been watching, Miss.  You're ever so good, considering
you're grown-ups."

   "Why, thank you, Anastasia!"

   Jeremy was trying to stifle a giggle, and failing.  "Did you hear them,
Shan?  They never stopped, all the way through."

   "I could hear something, but I was busy.  What were they saying?"

   "Oh, nothing much!  A bit of applause occasionally.  Sort of a
commentary.  It reminded me of golf on television, more than anything else.
Polite, restrained, but a knowledgeable audience."

   "I'll give them knowledgeable!  Applause!  Little bastards.  I'm their
teacher, for fuck's sake!"

   Anastasia looked embarrassed and put her hand over her mouth.  "Oh,
Miss." She sounded disappointed in me.  She looked up anxiously for Suzanne
and Pansy.  "Where are those two.  Sorry about this, Mr Jeremy, and you,
Miss.  They've only gone for a couple of drinks ..."

   A chillingly familiar sound echoed from the next room of the marquee. 
We all glanced at each other, then looked away in embarrassment as the
noise came again.

   "Oh, yes!  Yes, yes, yes,YES!  Woo-woo-woo-woo-woo-WOW!"

   Someone, not far away, was getting it, and getting it good.

   Anastasia's lips moved.  "Pansy?" she said to herself.  "Shall I go and
stop them, Miss?"

   "Better not, darling.  It might do some damage if you stop them now."

   "Oooh, wow!  Oh, shit!  Yes!  Golly!  Woo-woo-woo-Woweeeeeeeeeeee,
DAVIE-EEEEEEE!"

   Davie?

   "She sounds just like you, Shan," said Jeremy.  "You've taught these
girls well.  The 'woo-woo-woo-wow' bit was perfect."

   "I sound like THAT?"

   "Woo-wooo-YES!"

   "If I wasn't sitting here with my hand up to the wrist in your pussy,
darling, I would have thought it was you out there getting a good
seeing-to. It's so convincing, I'm getting hard again already."

   "Jeremy!  Not in front of Anastasia!  Oh, all right then.  Just a
quickie!"

   "No, darling.  You're right.  Not here.  Come back with me to my shed.
We'll throw Toots and her brothel out.  They can have their tent back."

   "No, Jeremy, it would take too long."

   "But where can we go.  I want you.  Now."

   "I know where we can go!" I jumped to my feet, feeling his fingers slip
from my pussy in a slight gush of fluids.  Anastasia rolled clear just in
time.  And I dragged the poor boy out through the bead curtain, out into
the main entrance to the Mini-Brothel marquee, out into the afternoon
sunlight and the crowded quadrangle, out past the bra measuring facility
and down to the temporary car park outside the caretaker's shed.

   Like the good and faithful servant she was, Anastasia followed, carrying
Jeremy's clothes.  Before we even reached the Jaguar, she had the keys out
of his pocket and darted ahead, her huge breasts swinging beneath her tight
harem top, and unlocked the doors.  She even closed the back door after we
were safely inside.



   **********

   Anastasia, her duties discharged, made her way back through the curious
crowds to the Mini-Brothel, where she found Pansy being serviced for the
third time.  Not that Anastasia knew it was the third time, at least, not
until Suzanne told her.

   "I've been keeping score," she told her glumly.  "The first one was a
bit quick, but this one's been going ten minutes and she hasn't even said
'woo-woo-woo-woo-wow' yet."

   The two girls studied Pansy's technique with professional interest. 
From the occasional glimpses of Davie's startled face, the poor boy was
shell-shocked.  For a pregnant woman, Pansy was being almost irresponsibly
vigorous.  She was bouncing up and down at least nine inches at each
stroke, her little bottom rebounding off Davie's stomach muscles, before
being launched back into the air like a jack-in-the-box.

   Fortunately, nine inches was not quite enough for her to become
completely disengaged from Davie's juice-moist prong, or something could
easily have been damaged.  On their hands and knees, Suzanne and Anastasia
peered at each other across Davie's tortured, sweating body.  Each time
Pansy bounced upwards again, the two girls grinned at each other.

   "What are they doing, Staze?" Suzanne shouted.

   "It's not fucking.  And I think what Miss Gruntworthy and Mr Jeremy were
doing was making love.  This must be something else."

   "Woo-woo-woo-woo..."

   "There she goes!  Sex?  Is it sex, Staze?"

   "Woo-woo-woo-woo-wow ...!"

   "That could be it, Suze.  Pansy's having sex.  Funny though.  It sounds
just like she's making love."



   **********

   When you fall off a horse, as Smegs told me, you should get back in the
saddle as soon as you can.  When you are fucking a man and he dies on the
job, something similar applies, although it is probably as well not to use
the same man.

   My two bestest friends looked after me after Sir Roger expired on top of
me in the woods on the sunny afternoon of the St Cat's Grand Open Day. 
'Back in the saddle' meant I was back in action that same afternoon, in
Toots's Mini-Brothel.  And to show the attention to detail that Corinne and
Smegs brought to everything they did, the partner they chose was Jeremy, my
first love.

   Those friends of mine even provided three young handmaidens to prepare
me for my lover, with exotic oils and soft hands all over my body, which
brought me to a state of such heightened readiness that it was a wonder
that Jeremy didn't fall in and have to be thrown a lifebelt.

   The handmaidens seemed to enjoy it, watching every move.  So impressed
were they that Pansy - reasoning that she could only get pregnant once -
took unto herself a lover within minutes, giving Davie the ride of his
life. He was later heard to murmur that never before had he experienced
anything quite like it.

   Not that Jeremy and I knew what anyone said afterwards.  We climbed into
the back seat of his Jaguar and made love with such total dedication that
we were still in there four days later.  It would have been longer, but on
the fourth afternoon, when Corinne came by to pass bananas and isotonic
drinks through the window, she refused to bring any more provisions until
we had come out and taken a shower.

   We did, under protest, sharing a bath in the staff domestic quarters. 
We did it on the bathroom floor beforehand, again in the bath, twice, and
three times more while wrapped in huge fluffy bath towels in the corridor
on the way from the bathroom to my bedroom.

   "It's got to stop, Shannie," Corinne complained as Jeremy and I coupled
frantically on the bed.  "All this sex can't be good for you." But we took
no notice, so she had her boys pick her breasts up and lead her from the
room.

   She ended up in Smegs's room, where Smegs was missing Sexy Amy who had
been taken home by her parents after her mother had discovered her loving
daughter working in what she quite unfairly described as a massage parlour.
Unfairly because it was the First Form Sexual Chemistry Group Anoint-a-Mum
tent, which Sexy Amy's mother had entered in the hope of getting a pair of
breasts to match her daughter's.

   Sexy Amy's mother didn't know what she'd missed, but she would have done
if she had met Victoria the morning after she had been thoroughly creamed
in that same tent with the same substance.  I didn't see Victoria myself,
even though she beat on the windows of the Jaguar trying to attract my
attention, and hung around in the staff domestic area until Corinne was
sick of the sight of her and sent her away.

   Spend just four days fucking in the back of a car, and five and a half
more days in bed with your lover, and you can miss so much.  I even missed
the inquest on Sir Roger, which was adjourned for a post mortem report.

   See what I mean?  Life passes you by.









   Epilogue









   Chapter 94:- Lord Dismiss Us With Thy Blessing



   (I suppose that chapter heading counts as blasphemy, to add to all my
other manifold sins.)

   Walking on wobbly bandy legs, I must have looked as if I had spent the
last ten days literally in the saddle after my unfortunate experience in
the woods with Sir Roger.  The late Sir Roger.  But I had to walk: it was
the last day of term, the last day of the school year.

   As the strains of what I assumed to be the St Cat's school song died
away in the warm afternoon sunshine streaming through the windows of the
school assembly hall, I felt tears prickle in my eyes.  The staff was
ranged on chairs on the platform, looking out over the faces of those
wonderful girls.  The tears prickled in my eyes because Jeremy, sitting
behind me, had slipped his hand beneath my bottom in a wholly intimate and
friendly gesture of oneness and loyalty.  I turned and kissed him
whole-heartedly, and the delighted gasps of the girls echoed round the
hall.

   Smegs and Nurse dragged me off him and stood our chairs up again.  We
sat down, feeling frustrated.  Moggie never even faltered in her speech. 
She must have known what was going on behind her, yet she gamely carried
on, despite so desperately wishing she could join in, lapping at my
femininity.

   As she continued, my eyes flickered across the familiar faces.  So
beautiful, so innocent, the sun shining through their hair making them seem
to be wearing haloes.  Over toward the back of the room, some of the more
heavily pregnant girls had been allowed out of the labour ward to attend
the poignant ceremony.  Even as I watched, the medical orderlies wheeled
one of the girls out to have her baby.  I felt sorry for her, missing
Moggie's speech, which seemed to be on the theme of fruitfulness and the
joys of planned parenthood.

   How many of these girls would not be with us in September, I mused.  The
Sixth Formers, many of them, would be moving on to University or to their
chosen careers in the pleasure industry.  Other girls who would become
mothers during the summer holidays would not be returning.  I could see
tears glistening in their eyes as they realised that they were crossing the
stream for the last time.  Many girls were holding hands or openly
caressing each other: hands exploring blouses and bras to liberate
huge-nippled and aroused breasts.

   These goings-on were clearly affecting some of the staff members, who
had turned to each other - dewy-eyed and wet-lipped - clutching feverishly
at each other's lusting bodies.  Darren bore Nurse to the floor, flung her
skirts over her face and mounted her more or less without ceremony.  Little
ceremony was required, as I noted with interest that Nurse wore no
knickers. I hated to think what Smegs would think of that, but Smegs was
pawing at my groin and making the most pathetic little mewing noises. 
Elsewhere on the platform - and incredibly - the disco lad was attempting
to fondle Miss Rhys ap Llewelyn Owen.

   The stench was indescribable.

   Corinne's eight boys of Team A, clad only in their sequinned
jock-straps, were becoming restless.  Eventually, she husked an order at
them, and they laid her breasts carefully down on the platform before
plunging down into the ranks of the Junior girls at the front of the hall.
There was a chorus of protesting howls from the Middle girls, but it was
already too late.  Sex-starved and covered in erotic oils, Team A made
their selection and homed in.  Within seconds, they were mating.  I was too
shocked to raise a finger to stop them.

   Not that I could move anyway.  Corinne and Smegs were already hard at
work on my sopping wet groin.  It was just like a meeting in Moggie's
office except that it was taking place in the full public gaze.  Not too
many of the girls were gazing.  They had gathered round the orgy in the
front row, where I could recognise Pansy's distinctive style of rodeo sex;
where Anastasia, with steamed-up spectacles, was being energetically and
comprehensively doggied; and where five other First and Second Form girls
were enthusiastically attempting to make the next generation of St Cat's
babies.  To judge by their style and technique, they stood every chance of
success.

   And like the calm at the centre of the hurricane sat Suzanne, still
fully dressed, earnestly talking with one of the boy breast carriers, the
nerdy one with glasses.

   I worried about Suzanne sometimes.



   **********

   Moggie picked up her notes, peering over her reading spectacles at her
audience, which had completed its orgy and resumed its seats, flushed and
breathless.  The only visible sign of the outbreak of lust was the gentle,
loving afterplay as seven boys and seven girls exchanged soft, languid,
open-mouthed and somewhat noisy kisses.  The headmistress sat down and
nodded to Miss Rhys ap Llewelyn Owen, who stood up, jettisoning the disco
lad on to the floor.  Serve him right, I thought.

   "We will sing the hymn, 'Lord Dismiss Us With Thy Blessing'," she
announced.  "After the singing, please remain standing for a brief prayer
..."

   And te evocative words rang out from two hundred and thirty or so creamy
girlish throats.  Something comfortably in excess of three hundred and ten
yards of bust swelled proudly, the creaking of the ScatBras audible even
above the bell-like crystal voices raised in joyous song.  There wasn't a
dry eye in the hall: indeed, precious few dry panties; as the last echoes
died away and the school stood, heads bowed.  Only the occasional giggle,
moan of ecstasy and wet kiss broke the silence as Moggie rose to beg
forgiveness for all our sins.

   "And now, girls, you may leave, with dignity and decorum, and disperse
to your homes.  Remember, while you are travelling in the uniform of St
Catherine's High School for Girls, you are ambassadrices for your school.
Even if your loins are absolutely bursting for a fuck, you should at least
try to wait until you get home.  Thank you all.  We will see most of you in
September.  Enjoy the summer!"

   A nice touch, I thought, the reminder about waiting until the girls
arrived home before indulging in the joys of sex.  It showed that Moggie
retained the common touch: she spoke the girls' language.  Whether her
words would be heeded was another matter.  The girls were dangerously hot
after witnessing the orgy.  Some of them wouldn't even get much further
than the bus.



   **********

   Tearfully, I said my farewells to the girls outside the main entrance
lobby.  Over the way, Smegs had a little crowd round her, mostly Second
Form girls.  They seemed to be wondering how they would survive the next
two months without each other.

   Corinne stood with half of her A Team informally holding her breasts
just clear of the ground.  Girls gathered round her to shake her hand and
wish her a happy holiday.  I saw her kiss Pansy softly on the cheek and the
girl wandered off in a daze.  One of the breast carriers wandered with her,
his hand straying down inside the back of her skirt.

   Suzanne brought me back to the present.  "See you in September, Miss,"
she said."

   "Bye, sweetheart!  Are you going by train?"

   "Yes, Miss.  Shona is coming with us.  We're all going to the seaside
next week.  Clit made us some brilliant bikinis."

   "Bikinis?  Pan and Shona as well?"

   "Yeah.  Pan's belly's still not too huge.  We haven't seen Shona wearing
hers yet."

   "Golly!" I said, somewhat stunned at the concept of Shona in a bikini.
Or even the two cousins, for that matter.  "Enjoy yourselves."

   "Thanks Miss." Pansy had joined her cousin, still with Corinne's breast
carrier umbilically attached to her bottom.

   Anastasia appeared, clutching a small suitcase.  Her skirt looked
remarkably short.  I was tempted to find a tape measure and check that it
was the regulation minimum two inches below the juncture of the thighs.

   "Thanks for everything, Miss," she panted.  "God, I'm puffed out!  Clark
came up to the bedroom to say bye-bye!  Just a quickie, Miss."

   "Clark?  He is here?"

   "He hitched a lift over with Miss Mountains's boyfriend, Miss.  It was
ever such a quickie, Miss.  Four minutes!  He's coming home with me.  He's
just dressing."

   For four minutes, I wondered why he had bothered undressing in the first
place.  "How nice, dear.  Take care, won't you!"

   "Of course, Miss.  Here he comes now.  We're getting the bus." She stood
on tiptoe, her breasts squashing massively against mine, and we kissed
damply, mouth to mouth.  It might have been better if she had kept her
tongue out of my mouth.  It was fully five minutes before I could
disentangle myself and remove my hand from her still moist crotch.  Clark
coughed politely, said goodbye and led Anastasia off.  They were
practically climbing into each other's arms as they weaved away toward the
bus stop.

   I had become aware of a brooding presence by my side.

   "See you in September, Miss," said Victoria.

   I had heard she had been thoroughly creamed with FatLite at the St Cat's
Grand Open Day.  It seemed not to have worked.  Victoria's full breasts
were their usual bouncy selves, jiggling and rebounding bralessly beneath
her blouse.  She scratched her crotch abstractedly as she stood, and beads
of sweat stood out on her brow.  A thought occurred to me.

   "You were rubbed with FatLite, weren't you, Toria?"

   "Yes, Miss." She blushed deeply.

   "Have you had the second treatment yet?  The cream?"

   "So what if I haven't, Miss," she said aggressively.

   "Have you felt any ...  symptoms?  Any slight traces of Uncontrollable
Horniness, perhaps?"

   Victoria went scarlet.  "No, Miss!  Not much, anyway." She scratched
furiously at herself again, ending up by clutching at her groin and biting
her lip.

   "How long has it been now, Toria?"

   "Ten days, Miss."

   "No one has ever gone ten days.  You realise that there may be effects
we don't yet know about?  If you don't cream your breasts as soon as you
get home ..."

   "I'm not going home, Miss.  I'm going to Sexy Amy's."

   "Well, she'll rub your breasts for you.  Get her to do it straight away.
You promise?"

   "Yes, Miss," she sneered in a bored sing-song.  And she swaggered off,
although I noticed her grab at her crotch and disappear round the corner of
the building out of sight.

   It could be serious.  Two weeks without the second creaming could lead
to Victoria becoming the first ever permanent Uncontrollable Horniness
sufferer.  For that matter, two weeks before the second creaming could lead
to ...  who knew what might happen to her breasts when she was finally
creamed?  There could be explosive development, far exceeding anything we
had ever experienced.  From a starting point of well in excess of sixty
inches on a growing girl, the effects could be devastating.

   Oh, well, I thought fatalistically, it was done now.  I was beginning to
sound like the girls of the First Form Sexual Chemistry Group.

   Or as they would be in September, the Second Form Sexual Chemistry
Group.



   **********

   "You all right, love?"

   "Hmm-mm," Corinne nodded.  She nudged her Number One boy and he made a
signal to his colleagues.  They laid Corinne's breasts down and drifted
away, their oiled shoulders gleaming as they moved among the crowds of
admiring girls who were waiting to leave, but desperately horny.

   "We haven't seen much of each other recently," I said.  "What with
Jeremy and everything."

   "I know."

   A small orgy broke out, involving Corinne's breast carriers and a number
of girls.  Corinne and I watched idly.

   "You doing anything special for the summer?"

   "Staying here.  I can't go anywhere with these things.  My boys are
staying." She looked over at them fondly.  "Two weeks on, four weeks off.
They'll look after me." She sounded on the verge of tears.

   "You could come home to Fillamore Deepleigh with me.  Jeremy's driving
me back."

   "No, I'd be in the way.  I'll be all right here.  The boys will cook for
me and everything."

   "Darling, Cee.  Please come home.  Next week, perhaps?  Stay as long as
you like.  We have loads of space.  Jeremy will pick you up next week.  He
can borrow a van ..."

   I wished I hadn't said that.

   Corinne smiled sadly at me.  "I'll call you if I get bored.  I've got a
lot to do.  Work and stuff.  Clit and Flaps are here.  Honestly, it will be
okay.  Here's Jeremy now, don't keep him waiting." She leaned forward and
pursed her lips for a kiss.  It was a sisterly one.  I tried a bit of
tongue, but Corinne kept her lips tight shut.  I tasted a tear on her
cheek.

   Hers, or mine?

   "Bye, Shannie!"

   "Bye, Cee.  You'll call, won't you?"

   "I'll call!" She turned away and snapped her fingers for her boys. 
Their hours of training showed as they stood up immediately, leaving the
girls writhing in helpless frustration.

   "Come on, love," said Jeremy.  "I've loaded your case in the car.  We'll
be home for tea."

   "Yes.  Home for tea."






   THE END