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First Term at Stonemere Park Ch. 01

By: lctf



Stephanie stared at her chest in the bathroom mirror and counted under her breath. This time the bra would stay on. It had to. It was a 34C, and it had fitted like a glove yesterday.

'One... two... three... four... oh god please no...'

But her breasts were already crawling out of the cotton cups, a tidal wave of firm young bosom surging up to her chin. By the time her soft little pink nipples had sprung into view there was no denying the fact that, overnight she had gone up a cup size. Maybe two.

'Not today. Please not today.'

The eighteen-year-old stared in dismay at the reflection of the newly-abundant twin-domed bust which rose impudently from the vanquished cups of her hopelessly upstaged C-cup bra, running an anxious hand through a thick head of deep red frizzy hair and questioning why, why she should have awoken to this absurd growth spurt on the morning of her first day at a new school. She looked down at her uptilted nipples, which stared back up at her in smug defiance.

What was more, this useless assembly of cotton, elastic, lace, and wire was her only bra. Her parents' sudden decision to move to South London meant that all her other clothes were still in transit down from Oxford. But, she reflected, even if she did have the rest of her underwear with her here in the house they'd hastily rented, she didn't own a brassiere that would accommodate these... these... She couldn't even think of a word to describe them. Her mother was flat as a board. The breasts had skipped a generation in her family, so there wasn't even the chance of wearing an emergency hand-me-down.

Stephanie glanced at the clock. It was half past six in the morning. The train to school would leave in an hour, so there wasn't even the chance to get to the shops beforehand. Blast!

She reached behind her back and snapped open the redundant bra, yanking it from beneath her rotund boobs which, released and raring to go, bobbed and jostled with animated enthusiasm. She had tried wearing the thing standing up straight, and the cups had disappeared under her swollen breasts almost immediately. And she'd tried hunching over, but that simply tipped the mass of boob-tissue out of the cups, too, tit spilling out everywhere. There was no posture or contortion of her young body that could make the bra do its job.

Now nude except for a pair of knickers (those at least still fit her!), Stephanie wrapped herself in a towel, unlocked the bathroom and skipped across the hallway to her bedroom, shutting the door firmly behind her. She caught sight of herself in the full-length wardrobe mirror and cautiously unwrapped the towel, watching, panic stricken, as her grotesquely over-proportioned chest ballooned outwards, pale and in astonishing defiance of gravity. She noted with confusion that her nipples had remained the same size as they had been on her less busty self, like soft pink pennies, gently inverted in the centre. She missed her tastefully discreet C-cups already, and she'd only been awake half an hour. Her nipples had looked proportional on the breasts she'd had for the past two years, but now they just served to make her opulent jubblies look even huger.

She looked out the stipulated uniform of white blouse, dark grey skirt, and grey woollen tights, hastily purchased on a last-minute shopping trip with her mother the previous day. If these bosoms had put in their appearance twenty-four hours earlier she'd have been to the lingerie department, got herself fitted, and be safely harnessed by now, but no, two years after she thought she'd stopped developing, Pinky and Perky (her nicknames for them in private) had to double in size at the worst imaginable time. 

Oh goodness, what if the blouse didn't fit! She tore it out of the cellophane packaging and fumbled the buttons open, then thrust her arms into the sleeves and began to fasten herself in. As she worked her way up the column of buttons, it became apparent that her chest was rapidly running out of room, and it was with some difficulty that she made her way past the full circumference of her extra-womanly torso. Doing the blouse up all the way to the top was out of the question: the gaps that yawned open between the buttons looked absurd and the portions of cleavage exposed from top to bottom loudly advertised the lack of a bra underneath. So she settled for leaving the top three buttons open. Blast it, why did these mammoth mammaries have to be so firm? If they'd been squishier the blouse would have compressed them inwards, but instead they pushed impertinently outwards, straining the material to its limits. On the other hand at least it looked like she was wearing a bra, right down to the convenient cleavage that was exposed beneath her collarbone.

Stephanie hopped a little on the spot. Her chest rose and fell like a bouncy castle, and continued to do so for some time after she herself had stopped moving. She gave her shoulders a shimmy, and watched in quiet horror as her chest repeated the endless undulations, this time from side to side.

Why today? Why today?

She sat on the end of the bed and wriggled her legs into the tights, noting with further annoyance that her chest now prevented her from leaning forward as much as it used to, the swollen mounds of her bust pressing immovably against her thighs as she attempted to dress. She slipped into the pleated grey skirt, and remembered with sudden relief that there was a dark navy sweater as part of the uniform too. Scrambling her way desperately inside it, she surveyed the result in the mirror. While of course nowhere near as pleasingly baggy as it had been in Primark the day before, it at least covered the stress-lines around her taut bosom, discreetly hid the salacious expanse of cleavage, and, in addition, its dark colour went some way towards disguising the full extent of her busty bralessness.

This would have to do. She grabbed her shoulder bag and made her way down the stairs as quickly as her rebounding bosom would allow.

Hunching, shuffling, and skulking in a way that made her seem even more recalcitrant a teenager than usual, Stephanie negotiated the breakfast table. Both parents had risen early to wish her good luck on her first day at Stonemere Park Girls' Grammar, but she deftly avoided hugging either one, for fear of drawing attention to the bounty beneath her sweater that had sprouted overnight, and it was with an exchange of concerned grimaces that they waved her goodbye as she made her way down the road in the direction of Clapham Junction.

Stephanie reflected on her predicament. She'd run the gauntlet of the family breakfast, but now she and her blossoming chest were out in the open. Scarlet-faced in the realisation that not only were her breasts hopping up and down with each step she took along the pavement, but were doing so one after the other, right-left, right-left, slightly out of sync, she folded both arms over her chest in an attempt to keep them still. Thus grumpily resolved, she made her way through the ticket barriers and down to the platform, where there was still a good twenty minutes to wait until the train would arrive to take her to Stonemere.

She entered a shelter on the platform and took a seat on a bench, putting her bag on her lap in front of her chest to make sure it didn't draw any undue attention to itself. Commuters milled about, but no-one took any notice of her, thank goodness.

Before long, Stephanie became aware of some girly chatter, and looked up to see three girls her own age enter the shelter and sit together in a gossipy huddle. They, too, were in grey pleated skirts and white blouses, and Stephanie noted with surprise that not only were they also bestowed with chests conspicuously large for their slender teenage frames, but that unlike her they seemed not in the least bit concerned with hiding their well-developed bust-lines. In fact, Stephanie perceived, they almost seemed to be flaunting their endowments, and as she paid closer attention to their conspiratorial conversation it became apparent to her that breasts were the very subject of their conversation.

'So I got myself fitted last week,' one of them, a redhead like herself but ferociously freckled, said to the others. 'Thirty-four F.'

'Oh my God, no fucking way,' a lanky ash-blonde gasped in a hoarse whisper. 'You barely had tits at all before the summer! And here was me thinking that growing to a thirty-two E was a big deal.' She adjusted blouse and bra to ensure her voluptuous cleavage was looking its best.

The third girl, a rose-cheeked confident prefect sort with wavy dark chestnut hair tied back with a headband, joined in. 'I've been a thirty-two E since last term,' she said with a calm smile. 'You get used to it.'

'Sorry to interrupt...'

The three adolescents looked up from their bra-size conversation. Stephanie was smiling at them nervously, bag clutched tightly to her bulging sweater. 'Are you girls going to Stonemere Park?'

'You must be the new girl.' The wavy brunette stood, tall of build and jutting of chest, and walked a few steps across to where Stephanie sat. 'I'm Sally. What's your name?' Sally held out a hand. Stephanie extended hers in return but in doing so allowed her bag to fall from her lap. There was no hiding the generous extent of her bosom, which billowed under her sweater with the hand-shaking exertion that Sally purposely prolonged, gazing down at Stephanie's chesty bounty. 'I'm Stephanie.'

'Look girls,' said Sally quietly. 'I think we've got another contender for Miss St. John's sex education club.'

'Oh fucking hell, not another redhead,' scowled the 34F schoolgirl, eyeing Stephanie with no small amount of jealousy. Stephanie was easily the prettier of the two redheads, and the other one clearly knew it.

'That's Lowenna,' Sally said, still pumping away at Stephanie's hand and enjoying the jostling activity within the new girl's pullover. 'She went from an A cup to an F over the summer, and was looking forward to being the bustiest redhead in the class. And now you come along and steal her thunder.'

'Sorry,' winced Stephanie with a pained smile, not entirely sure why she was apologising, but eager to avoid making enemies so quickly. 'If it makes any difference, I don't know what cup size I am, so there's every chance your boobs are bigger than mine.' 

'You don't know what cup size you are?' echoed the blonde.

'I had a growth spurt too,' shrugged Stephanie, wrestling her hand free from Sally's. 'I haven't had a chance to get re-measured yet.'

'Well what size are you wearing now?' queried Sally.

'I'm... I'm not wearing one,' Stephanie flushed a deep, hot pink.

'Liar!' scoffed Lowenna. 'Stand up.'

Stephanie hesitated.

'Go on,' said Sally. 'We just want to look.'

Mortified, Stephanie rose slowly to her feet.

'Stand up straight,' Lowenna continued. 'Back straight, chest out.' Lowenna herself stood, black bra clearly visible beneath her own Stonemere Park blouse.

Stephanie's brand new chest protruded obscenely under her jumper as she drew herself up to full posture. The domed, almost semi-spherical shape of her burgeoning breasts could easily have been the work of an expensive brassiere, so it was no surprise that her new classmate was already calling her out for supposedly being dishonest.

'You're wearing a padded bra, bitch,' sneered Lowenna. 'Is that how you thought you'd make an impression on your first day? Stuffing tissue paper down your bra?'

'Don't listen to her,' said the ash-blonde, also standing. 'I'm Emily. We're not all bad.'

Stephanie smiled and accepted Emily's handshake, trying to ignore the daggers Lowenna was shooting her with that hateful face. Emily repeated Sally's boob-jostling handshake on Stephanie, and now, standing up, it was hard for Lowenna to justify her claims of Stephanie's alleged mendacity, so organic and playful were the wobbly cadences of her bouncy, knitwear-encased globes. 'They're real, I promise,' insisted Stephanie anxiously to the inquisitive trio. Although, she secretly wished they weren't real, and that she could go back to her cute C-cups which had fit so neatly inside that comfortable cotton bra. Wriggling her hand free of Emily's, she stooped to pick up her shoulder-bag from the concrete platform, painfully aware of the heavy udders that swayed pendulously from her petite torso. Trust me to end up with the most breast-obsessed classmates on the day Mother Nature curses me with these puppies, Stephanie thought to herself glumly.

The girls traipsed out of the shelter and approached the edge of the platform, where the train to Stonemere had been announced and would shortly be due.

Stephanie decided that Sally seemed to be the most sensible of the three girls, and decided to pick her up on something she'd referred to earlier. 'What's the after-school sex education club?' she asked her as they stood waiting.

'Ah,' smiled Sally. 'One of the teachers has taken it upon herself to prepare those of us with... pronounced womanly attributes for the big scary world of men.'

'We're quite well-developed for our age,' chattered Emily by way of further explanation. 'I've got great tits, apparently. That's what Miss St. John said. She said that with our lovely boobs and bums we'll have men forcing themselves on me and all that sort of thing, so she wants to make sure we know all about sex so we can stay in control when that happens.'

Not to be outdone, Lowenna piped up. 'I've got a cracking arse, and I didn't used to have the tits to go with them, but now I do. Lovely big F-cups.'

'Yes yes Lowenna,' Sally rolled her eyes. 'Anyway, Miss St. John started the after school club last year to teach us how to use our bodies and keep the upper hand when it comes to men.'

'Wh-what kinds of things have you learned?' asked the incredulous Stephanie.

The two-carriage train pulled into the platform. This time of morning all the commuters were heading north into central London, so this particular train heading south into the Surrey countryside was deserted. In fact, apart from the four Stonemere Park schoolgirls, there was only one other passenger waiting on the platform as the train rolled to a halt and the doors opened: a skinny young man in a suit, mid-to-late twenties, face buried in a book, oblivious to the small throng of sex-savvy students, beady eyes scrutinizing him purposefully as they all boarded and took their seats, he at one end of the carriage, they at the other.

The train pulled out of the station. 'Why don't we show you,' Sally answered.

First Term at Stonemere Park Ch. 02



'So, Stephanie, do you think you have what it takes to be a Stonemere Park girl?' Sally said, leaning across the aisle to where Stephanie sat clutching her school bag to the ample breasts she still hadn't become accustomed to owning.

Stephanie looked away, out of the window at the early morning south London townscape that trundled past.

Lowenna, leaning over from the seat in front, raised a skeptical eyebrow. 'She looks too much of a square, padded bra or not,' she snorted. 'I bet she's never even done it.'

Mortified beyond belief at this remark, Stephanie wished the seat would swallow her up, desperately hoping that the poor lone commuter at the other end of the carriage couldn't overhear this ribald banter. Her last school had been so nice, the girls had been so polite. This filthy obsession with sex was simply too much, especially on her first day. Stephanie decided that these girls couldn't have had a very good upbringing.

'Don't worry,' said Sally, 'Lowenna's a slag. I'm a virgin too, but that doesn't mean I haven't had fun. Lots of ways to make boys jizz without putting it about.'

'That's what Miss St. John has been teaching us,' noted Emily, also poking her head above the seat next to Lowenna.

Sally hopped across the aisle and budged Stephanie up, getting herself comfy in the adjacent seat. The four girls were in a huddle together. 'See that man at the other end of the carriage?' They craned their necks around and observed the young pinstripe-suited commuter, completely lost in a weighty science-fiction novel. 'Make him cum.'

'I... I beg your pardon?' Stephanie wasn't entirely sure what the expression meant, but she could guess. 'You mean...?'

'Just in his pants,' Sally clarified hastily. 'I'm not crazy. See if you can make his penis so hard that he ejaculates in his underpants. Without touching him.'

'Is that even possible?' asked Stephanie in an incredulous whisper. She'd had one boyfriend, but the relationship hadn't got any further than holding hands and kissing, in spite of his insistence to take things further. It had been relatively platonic while she was still an A-cup, but when she'd started making her way up the boob-size alphabet to a shapely C-cup, she had realised with discomfort how difficult her young body was becoming for a sex-obsessed boy to ignore. Deep down Stephanie recognised that it was her resistance to his increasingly lecherous advances that had finally driven him away to the easier girls from her school, but she was saving herself for the right man. And the right man certainly wasn't this scrawny nerd in the suit picking his nose.

Lowenna and Emily giggled at Stephanie's innocence. 'You're eighteen,' said Emily. 'How can you not know these things?'

'I do,' said Stephanie crossly. 'But that doesn't mean I think it's alright to sexually torment a stranger in public.'

'If you don't like the idea of teasing men, then what's with the padded bra?' sneered Lowenna.

'I'm not wearing a padded bra,' snapped Stephanie a little too loudly. 'I'm not wearing a bra at all!'

'Don't believe you,' Lowenna said.

'It's true!'

'Show us.'

Stephanie couldn't believe she was being bullied already and she hadn't even arrived at the school. 'No, I most certainly will not.'

Lowenna's eyes narrowed. 'If you don't show me, then the first thing all your new classmates will hear about you is that you stuff toilet paper down your bra to make your tits look bigger.'

'Just show her,' said Emily diplomatically. 'We're just girls. The man can't see you from where he's sitting.'

Stephanie's mind flashed back to the spectacle she had witnessed that morning in the bathroom mirror when she'd undone the couple of pajama top buttons that hadn't popped off in the night. The round, protruding blimps that had stared back at her in the reflection had simply looked grotesque. She could barely stand the thought of looking at them herself, let alone showing them to someone else. And on public transport!

The train stopped. Stephanie's eyes darted out of the window, hoping that this was Stonemere already. But it wasn't. She waited to see if the young man in the suit would alight, but he stayed in his seat, engrossed in his fantasy novel. The doors shut. When she turned her head, the three pairs of teenage eyes were still firmly fixated on her in leery expectation.

'Oh all right,' Stephanie rolled her eyes. 'If it will shut you up.'

Emily clapped her hands giddily. Lowenna eyed Stephanie with a mix of anger and curiosity. Sally looked on calmly.

Not believing quite how she'd been talked into this, Stephanie grabbed the hems of blouse and sweater, took a deep breath, closed her eyes, counted to three, and yanked them up. Except the tight blouse simply lodged itself under her jutting chest.

'Your tits, Stephanie,' said Lowenna. 'Not your stomach.'

Infuriated and embarrassed beyond belief, Stephanie fumbled under her sweater and unfastened the buttons of her blouse, feeling it part gratefully and disappear into her armpits. 'I'll try again,' she said. 'Ready?' With another deep breath she yanked blouse and pullover up again in defiance, this time all the way up to her neck. She was painfully aware of how heavily her boobs descended and rebounded, over and over again, once they had fallen out of her clothes. The cold air of the train felt alien and uncomfortable on her naked skin, and she felt a tingle in her nipples, which she recognised deep down as a feeling of strange excitement, as though she'd crossed a threshold into a new, taboo world. 'Happy?'

Sally, Lowenna, and Emily simply looked, their mouths slightly agape, transfixed by the bosomy goods Stephanie had bared for them. A vein twitched on Lowenna's forehead.

Stephanie yanked her clothes back down, and busied herself with the awkward and very British task of buttoning her blouse under her sweater, a task whose difficulty was exacerbated by the size and firmness of her blossomed bust.

'We believe you now,' said Sally finally. 'Although looking at Lowenna, I'd say that happy isn't the word.'

Lowenna disappeared back into her seat, fuming with envy.

'What's her problem?' said Stephanie, still busy with her buttons. 'She's a 34F. Surely I can't be that big.'

'Size isn't everything,' said Emily with wisdom beyond her years, or perhaps she was simply repeating a cliché.

'You've quite a pair,' said Sally. 'And if we're impressed, just imagine what skinnybones in the suit will make of them.'

'No way,' said Stephanie, horrified again by the suggestion. 'You're out of your mind. You do it.'

'You want us to respect you, surely?' said Sally, not unkindly. 'Just think how impressed Miss St. John is going to be when she finds out how empowered you are with your sexuality.'

Stephanie thought about this.

'You want to do well, don't you?' said Emily.

'Of course I do,' said Stephanie, 'But...'

'No buts,' said Sally. 'Except for the one in your trousers. But I think it's your big milky jugs that will win this particular battle. Science fiction nerds like him love big tits.'

Stephanie's reflex was to argue that she didn't have big tits, but of course her days of possessing a discreetly-proportioned figure were clearly over. In her mind she wasn't busty, but in reality... well there was no denying what was going on inside her school blouse.

'Let's get you ready for this,' said Sally. 'Take off the jumper, let's see what you look like just in the blouse.'

'Oh dear,' sighed Stephanie, resigned to whatever strange trick she was being coerced into playing on this unsuspecting young commuter. She pulled the navy sweater up past her jutting chest and yanked it over her red corkscrew curls, stuffing it down the side of the seat next to her. She had done the blouse up the wrong way and left a huge gaping gap two buttons big, an absurdly cavernous few inches of deep natural teenage cleavage on display. 'Oh dear,' she repeated. 'I've buttoned it up all wrong.'

'Just fasten the bottom few buttons,' said Sally. 'Let's get some good cleavage happening.' She undid the erroneously fastened buttons, treating herself and Emily to another good eyeful of Stephanie's grapefruit-sized breasts, and buttoned her back up tightly, forcing her chest up with corset-like effect. Her soft, small, pink nipples were only just out of view within the blouse. 'Do they jiggle?' Sally asked. Stephanie sighed and, by way of reply, gazed up at the ceiling in embarrassment and wiggled her torso, setting both tits into elastic waves of violent motion. 'Perfect,' said Sally, following the involuntary wobbling with great delight. 'We're about to reach a very bumpy part of the old railway track as we move onto the Stonemere branch line. Go down the end of the train and sit opposite the man, and let the bumpy train do the rest.'

'I don't understand,' said Stephanie, feeling utterly absurd in her semi-topless state.

'Bouncy boobs. Men love them.' Sally looked at Stephanie in despair. 'You really do have a lot to learn.'

'I've only had these since this morning,' Stephanie argued back with defensive exasperation. 'How the heck do I know how they work.'

Sally slid out of the seat and gestured down the aisle. 'Off you go,' she said. 'And don't come back till he's shot his load.'

'Shot his...?' Stephanie repeated in confusion, then rolled her eyes in comprehension. 'Right.' All this new vocabulary. It was like a foreign language. She stood and brushed past Sally onto the aisle. Both Sally and Emily watched her keenly as she walked slowly along the moving train. Lowenna played with her mobile phone, deep in a sulk.

'And don't slouch when you sit down,' added Sally. 'Sit up straight, give him the full effect.' She arched her own back by way of illustration, her own ample chest straining at her sweater. 'He'll get an erection... you know what that is, right?'

'Yes of course I know what an erection is,' retorted Stephanie hotly, 'I'm not completely stupid.'

'Relax, relax,' laughed Sally. 'He'll get an erection, and if you keep up the jiggling, his balls will overload, and...' with her hands at her crotch she mimed a flood of semen spreading over her thighs.

Stephanie felt like a walking trampoline, horribly, cripplingly conscious of how mobile her bosom was, of how each rotund breast bounced in vibrant autonomy with each careful step she took along the train carriage to the other end where the young man was sitting.

'Um, excuse me,' she said. 'Is this seat taken?'

The man told her to go ahead, and looked briefly up from his book, then did a double-take as Stephanie placed her trim shapely bottom on the seat opposite him, filling his field of vision with cleavage and the generous expanse of firm, quivering bosom that the three open buttons of the top half of her blouse laid bare.

He stammered something unintelligible, and, forgetting his manners, simply stared at Stephanie's chest. Ordinarily Stephanie would have been quick to cover herself up, or to switch seats altogether, but of course the titillation of this poor man was the whole point of the exercise. She considered explaining the whole ridiculous scheme to the man and asking him to play along, but how on earth would she explain it? The thought of asking a stranger to fake an orgasm struck her as even more unthinkable than incurring one for real. At least all she had to do was sit there. He glanced up at her face, caught her eye, and looked quickly away, blushing furiously at having been caught in the act of staring at her bountiful young chest.

The train, as Sally had predicted, hit the branch line with a single jolt that paid bouncy dividends within Stephanie's blouse. The wobbling continued for several seconds, and it wasn't long before the young man in the suit was stealing not-so-furtive glances at the distracting activity before him. Stephanie felt extremely silly just sitting there. Any sane woman would have taken the matter under control, but instead she simply had to let the effects of physics run their interminable course, her brand new knockers careening to and fro like a Newton's cradle.

A voice rang forth from the train's public address system that made Stephanie jump, adding yet more energy to the cavorting leaps and bounds her poorly-restrained chest was undergoing. The voice announced that Stonemere would be the next stop. Stephanie realised with growing panic that they may reach the station before the man had had a chance to... resolve his interest in her.

'I'm sorry,' she said, not quite believing the words were coming out of her mouth. 'This is going to sound completely and utterly bonkers, but..'

The man looked up from her vivaciously shaking bust. 'Yes?' he croaked.

'The other girls have dared me to, um, arouse you to the point where you... you know...'

A blank face looked back at her, somewhere between fear, lust, and confusion.

'And we need to get it over with before we reach the next stop,' Stephanie continued, rather impatiently. 'As you can see, I have a rather large bosom, and my new acquaintances thought that if I sat here, braless, with my blouse half open, letting the rhythm of the train bounce my bosom up and down and all over the place, you might get so... excited by the sight of it that you would lose control. Down there.'

The young gentleman addressed Stephanie's half-exposed chest as it continued to wobble under the erratic trundling motion of the railway carriage. 'Are you saying that you'd like me to... to... now?'

Stephanie nodded anxiously, smiling a rather ingratiating smile. 'I'm so sorry if my breasts aren't having the desired effect. This is all horribly, horribly embarrassing for me, and I don't know how I got talked into it.'

'Your breasts are most definitely having the desired effect,' the man interjected. 'They're so big and so bouncy, and... did you say you weren't wearing a bra?'

'Oh you've no idea what a relief it is to hear you say that!' laughed Stephanie nervously. In the near distance she could see what she assumed must be the small village of Stonemere, and beyond the former stately home that housed the college. 'And correct, I'm not wearing a bra. That's why they're bouncing so much. Do you at least have an erection?'

'A very hard one,' the man said, leaning back to demonstrate the tent in his suit trousers, not taking his wide eyes off Stephanie's gloriously animated chest for a second.

'Oh good,' said Stephanie matter-of-factly. 'And do you feel a... you know, and orgasm building?' This was stuff she'd only read about in biology books, having maintained a suspicion of indulging in carnal activity herself all her teens. It felt very strange saying it out loud, and to a complete stranger at that.

'I'd really rather not jizz my pants,' he said, a torn man. 'I'm on my way to work.'

Stephanie shimmied her shoulders. 'Ejaculate for me,' she pleaded. 'Those girls will never let me live it down if I fail.'

The train hit a bump in the track so ferociously that the blouse button taking all the strain finally popped open. The overwhelming majority of Stephanie's not inconsiderable chest wobbled buxomly and nakedly forth, her pretty pink nipples the crowning, jiggling glory of her flourishing femininity.

'Oh my goodness,' gasped the man in boggle-eyed incredulity, as Stephanie's breasts ballooned toward him. The colour drained from his face, and Stephanie, too frantic to worry about the fact that she was sitting bare-breasted on a public train, watched in relieved fascination as the tent in the man's suit trousers throbbed and pulsated visibly, and a pungent aroma of what Stephanie assumed must be fresh semen filled the air of the train carriage. 'Oh Lord,' he mumbled, slumped powerlessly, his eyes locked onto Stephanie's bare nipples.

She heard a slow collective hand-clap as Sally, Emily, and Lowenna appeared behind her. 'Well done Steph,' Sally said. 'You're alright.'

The train shuddered as it pulled into the station, and Stephanie hastily fumbled with her buttons to cover herself up. The suited commuter was gibbering weakly in a post-orgasmic daze.

Sally handed Stephanie her school bag and sweater, and grinned. 'Welcome to Stonemere Park.'



First Term at Stonemere Park Ch. 03



Stonemere Park Girls' Grammar was in a grand old house just outside the village of Stonemere, a twenty-minute walk from the railway station. Stephanie and her new schoolmates set off on foot, and left the poor commuter on the train to continue his journey and work out how to deal with the copious supply of semen which had flooded his suit trousers, although Stephanie guiltily wished she could have stayed behind to help him, as it had been her newly-oversized wobbling breasts that had caused him such messy sexual inconvenience.

Lowenna stormed off ahead, with Sally, Emily, and Stephanie lagging behind. Sally and Emily wanted to know all about their new schoolmate, and probed eagerly and nosily into her past. Stephanie explained that her parents were both scientists, who worked together and had to move around a lot depending on where their funding was coming from. Stephanie had been to several school, all of them girls' schools, and all of them very straight-laced and traditional.

'You'll find Stonemere Park very different,' Sally said. 'Your parents are in for a surprise on parents' day.'

Stephanie's face fell. Mother and Father would be horrified if they ever found out what she'd done to that poor man on the train, and if they found out that the school encourages such behaviour... Well, it was safe to assume that she'd be off to yet another school very soon. 'What do your parents make of it?'

Sally skipped ahead, walking backwards along the pavement. 'Oh my parents are both artists, we're very open about sex in my family. They sent me here precisely because of its reputation.'

'Mine too,' said Emily. 'Aren't you hot in that jumper?'

'Very,' said Stephanie with a frown. The south of England was experiencing a late, hot summer, and the other girls had their jumpers in their bags or round their waists. 'But I need to cover myself up. I look obscene.'

'And I suppose you think I look obscene?' said Sally in mock indignation. 'With these perky E-cups?'

'Your blouse fits properly,' said Stephanie stiffly. 'And you're wearing a brassiere. So no. You look shapely and respectable. My boobs feel like they're trying to tear my blouse apart, and I've only got a few buttons left.'

'Miss St. John will help you out,' said Emily helpfully. 'She takes great interest in making sure we're all wearing correctly fitting bras.'

'But she lets us go braless if we want to,' added Sally. 'Which not all of the teachers do.'

'Don't let the headmistress catch you like that,' warned Emily. 'She believes that bralessness causes boobs to go saggy, and she wants us at our perky best at all times.'

'Just my luck,' muttered Stephanie, resenting the heavy jostle her unfettered bosom undertook with every step towards the school, which loomed ahead of them, an overgrown but charming country pile, very much like the schools she'd been to before, but she was getting the feeling that this appearance would be where the resemblance was going to end.

'Miss St. John! Over here!' Sally called across to a young teacher in a linen trouser suit, thick chestnut curls and ruddy cheeks very much like her own. Miss St. John waved, and jogged through the small throng of schoolgirls across the front lawn to meet the arriving party, her own chest, full and substantial in proportion to her statuesque, athletic frame and rounded hips, bouncing happily as she moved.

'Hello girls,' she said with a friendly smile. 'How was your summer?'

Sally and Emily chattered about what they'd been up to.

'And you must be Stephanie?' Miss St. John gave Stephanie, hunched with her school bag clutched before her, an appraising look up and down.

'Yes, Miss.'

'Welcome to Stonemere Park,' said Miss St.John. 'Arms by your side, stand up straight. We don't slouch here...' She broke off and raised her eyebrows as Stephanie, red-faced, drew herself up and allowed her domed chest to thrust forth, pulling taut the knit of her sweater. '...No matter how busty we are. My my, aren't we a lucky girl!'

'I hate them,' said Stephanie. 'I've only had them since this morning. I was a C-cup yesterday.'

'They look like Fs to me, in which case join the club,' said Miss St. John with a wink, and to Stephanie's shock and surprise she reached out and grabbed her bralessly quivering breasts, giving them a hearty grope, heft, squeeze, and jiggle. 'Maybe even double-Fs or Gs, depending on your back measurement. And you've clearly not had the chance to get a new bra at this time in the morning. We'll get you sorted out temporarily, but you'll need to go shopping at the weekend. I'm willing to turn a blind eye to braless, bouncing boobs, but the headmistress is not quite so forgiving. School rules say you must always be wearing a bra during school hours.'

'We told her,' said Sally, eager to impress.

'Come and see me at lunch,' said Miss St. John, finally relinquishing her grasp on Stephanie's bulging chest. 'In the meantime we'd better get you to your first lesson. What A-levels are you taking?'

'French, Art, and Drama,' answered Stephanie.

'I do drama, too,' said Sally. 'I'll see you in class later!'

'Either of you do French?' asked Miss St. John, narrowing her eyes as she struggled to remember.

'Nope,' said Sally and Emily in chorus. 'But we'll drop her off at Monsieur Prévert's classroom.'

'Monsieur?' echoed Stephanie. 'You have male teachers here?'

'A few,' shrugged Sally. 'Why?'

'No reason,' said Stephanie. The all-girl schools she'd been to in the past had had all-female staff, and she found the thought of being taught by a man rather distressing, especially if the girls were right about the school's libidinous leanings.

'Enjoy your first lessons,' called Miss St. John after them as they made their way into the main building. 'And come and find me in my office at lunch!'

The bell rang out, and Emily turned off down a corridor, breaking into a chest-hopping run to get to her own first lesson, and Sally led Stephanie further into the building following signs to the Modern Languages department. Sixth-formers, many of them much more strikingly attractive than the pupils Stephanie had been to school alongside in the past, hurried past them in all directions.

'Watch out for Monsieur Prévert,' said Sally in a low voice. 'The girls don't call him Monsieur Pervert for nothing. Although don't call him that to his face.'

Stephanie nodded, wide-eyed with concern.

'And don't let him find out you're not wearing a bra. He's a stickler for the school rules and loves to give out detentions.'

Stephanie didn't want a detention, certainly not on her first day. She'd never been given a detention in her life. Why was this day turning into such a disaster?

Sally pointed to the end of the corridor. 'It's the last door on the right,' she said, then hurried back the way they'd come. 'See you in drama later,' she called back in a hoarse whisper. The school had fallen silent. Lessons had begun.

Stephanie pushed open the door to Monsieur Prévert's French class, where the other girls were getting settled behind their familiar desks from the previous term. At one of the desks she recognised, with a sinking heart, Lowenna from the train, who in turn clocked Stephanie and rolled her eyes, murmuring something presumably not very nice to her deskmate.

Monsieur Prévert was circulating, placing marked mock-examination papers on desks. A wiry, dapper Frenchman of around forty with a pencil moustache and greasily combed jet-black hair, he looked up and stopped in his tracks upon seeing Stephanie standing uncertainly by the classroom door. 'Bonjour,' he said, in a rather unwelcoming manner. 'Tu t'appelles comment?'

'Stephanie. Stephanie Fox.'

He looked around the room for an empty seat. 'Voilà,' he said, gesturing to a seat at the back of the class next to a mousy-haired girl with bad skin and thick spectacles. 'Assieds-toi ici.'

Stephanie moved past the desks, taking great care not to set her unsteadily-jutting chest into motion too conspicuously, and sat down as instructed. It was clear that the only reason the seat was free because no-one wanted to sit next to whoever this girl was.

'I'm Jill,' she whispered. 'What's your name?'

'Stephanie,' said Stephanie. 'Nice to meet you.'

'Can we be friends?'

Oh great, thought Stephanie with an inward grimace. The last thing she wanted was to be friends with the school freak. But she was in no position to be picky. And she had never possessed her peers' ability to be openly rude to others. 'Sure,' she smiled weakly.

'Attention, les filles,' said Monsieur Prévert, and began the lesson. As it was the first day back after the break, he devoted the first part of the lesson to a vocabulary refresher. Clothes, specifically.

'Qu'est-ce que tu portes,' he asked Lowenna, who stood upon being addressed, her newly-developed chest thrust forth drawing a subtle gasp from some of the class. Monsieur Prévert, too, clearly noted the change she had undergone.

Lowenna wrinkled her nose as she drew on her hazy memory of French. 'Je porte des chaussures... uh... marrons...'

'Montrez-les à la classe.,' Monsieur Prévert urged. Lowenna swung her leg up and plonked her foot down on the desk, causing her skirt to ride up her thigh. Her white knickers were thus flashed for all to see. 'Continue,' said Monsieur Prévert.

'Uhh... Je porte une... Une skirt?'

'En français, s'il te plait,' barked Monsieur Prévert. Then, rather sinister: 'Donne-moi ce vêtement.'

Lowenna looked confused, wondering if she had misunderstood. But she hadn't. He wanted her to take the skirt off. With a shrug, and an embarrassed look around the class, she undid the buttons on the side and wriggled her way out of it. She stooped, picked it up, and placed it in Monsieur Prévert's waiting hand, which snatched it from her and held it aloft.

'Qu'est-ce que c'est?' he asked the class.

Stephanie shot her right hand up, causing her right breast to wobble wildly within her sweater, which clearly did not escape the lecherous eye of Monsieur Prévert, who studied the stray globe's movements for a moment. 'Oui, Stephanie,' he said eventually. 

'Il est une jupe grise,' she said.

Lowenna, standing semi-clad across the room, scowled at her. 

'Excellent, Stephanie,' said Monsieur Prévert with mild suspicion, then returned his attention to Lowenna. 'Continue,' he said.

Lowenna looked down at herself. Her blouse draped loosely over her rounded, high buttocks, and at the front, where it would ordinarily have modestly covered her crotch, the garment was held aloft by her proud 34Fs, leaving her white knickers exposed. Monsieur Prévert reached out and inserted a Gauloise-stained finger under the elastic beneath her stomach, and tugged it outwards, then let it snap back. 'Cette,' he said. 'Qu'est-ce que c'est?'

Lowenna thought furiously, then finally, resigned, said, 'Je ne sais pas.'

'Donne le moi.' Monsieur Prévert held out his hand once more and snapped his fingers a couple of times.

With a petulant roll of her baby-blues, Lowenna slipped out of her knickers and kicked them into the air with one of her shiny shoes. A rust-red bush of pubic hair was now on display between her full, white thighs, and the girls stared with silent anticipation.

Stephanie, meanwhile, couldn't believe what she was seeing. How was this allowed? An adult male forcing a teenage pupil to strip bare for not knowing her French vocab? It defied comprehension. At the same time though, she couldn't help feel a tinge of cruel pleasure at seeing her tormentor humiliated.

Monsieur Prévert urged Lowenna on.

'Uh. Je porte des chaussettes blanches,' she said, indicating her ankle-socks. 'Et un... un chemisier blanc.'

Monsieur Prévert waited. 'C'est tout?'

Lowenna nodded uncertainly.

'Et sous ta blouse? Rien?'

Lowenna realised what he meant. 'Sous ma blouse, je porte un... un...' She racked her brain for the word for bra, then by luck it came to her. 'Un soutien-gorge!' she blurted out.

'De quelle couleur?' Monsieur Prévert asked slowly.

It was black, everyone could see that through the thin white blouse. But Lowenna just looked helpless, and chanced it. 'Un soutien-gorge blanc?' She bit her lip and looked up at him slowly.

Monsieur Prévert stepped forward, pulled her collar to the side and snapped her black bra strap. He shook his head in disappointment. 'Il est pas blanc,' he said. 'Donne-le moi.'

A murmur went round the class. 'Silence!' Monsieur Prévert snapped. Then, again, calmly, 'Donne-moi ton soutien-gorge.'

Bright red with simmering rage, Lowenna undid her blouse buttons and wrestled the thing off, throwing it angrily on her desk. Her bra was a lacy black balconette, showing off an impressive cleavage. Freckles covered her throat and upper chest, and thinned out, giving way to alabaster, vein-marbled breasts. She took a breath and unhooked the back strap, a two-handed operation she was clearly not yet fully accustomed to. Now unrestrained, her bosom visibly decompressed beneath the loose bra cups. She slid the straps from her freckled shoulders, and pulled the entire undergarment free of her chest. Her breasts were glorious. Stephanie reckoned they were roughly the size of her own, except shaped differently. Her own were like buoyant semispheres dotted each with a pale inverted nipples, whereas Lowenna's already had a commanding aura of maturity to them, with upper slopes that descended from collarbone to nipple, and bases that bulged roundly in to meet the base of her ribcage. They looked meaty and solid, and her areolae were deep pink and generously sized, goosebumped, with nipples stiffening in the classroom air.

Her nipples weren't the only thing stiffening. Stephanie noticed, appalled, that an erection was growing visibly in Monsieur Prévert's pinstripe trousers, a tent gradually making its way to one side where it stabbed and throbbed in time with his quickening heartbeat as he took in the impressive sight of the breasts Lowenna had grown over the summer.

He took the bra from busty young Lowenna, who was now naked save for her brown leather shoes and white ankle socks, and held it aloft, dangling from his raised index finger. 'De quelle couleur est ce soutien-gorge?' he asked. 'Stephanie?'

Lowenna glared at her. With a half-heartedly apologetic shrug in Lowenna's direction, Stephanie replied, 'C'est un soutien-gorge noir.'

'Bravo, Stephanie,' said Monsieur Prévert. 'Bra-vo.' The schoolgirls giggled at the pun, all of them except Lowenna and Stephanie. 'Alors, Stéphanie, Il est évident que vous êtes parle couramment le français. La même question à toi. Qu'est ce que tu portes aujourd'hui?'

Stephanie stood, trying to avoid eye-contact with the seething and stark naked Lowenna. She cleared her throat. 'Je porte des chaussures noires, des chaussettes blanches, une jupe grise, sous laquelle je porte un slip blanche. Et je porte un chemisier blanc et un tricot bleu.' She stopped dead in her tracks, momentarily pleased with herself, but realising that she was faced with a dilemma: Knowing how strict Monsieur Prévert was said to be about the school dress code, should she invent a bra, or lie?'

'Et... quelque chose d'autre?' said Monsieur Prévert curiously.

'Non.' Stephanie was a terrible liar. She simply couldn't do it.

With a furious gleam in his eye, Monsieur Prévert marched across the classroom, reached out his hands and planted them firmly on Stephanie's big round breasts. He probed, gently, and let them wobble gently in his hands, as though what he was feeling was contradicting what he was seeing. 'Incroyable,' he muttered, glancing up from Stephanie's chest to meet her eyes very briefly. Then, releasing Stephanie's bosom to bounce freely again under her jumper, he strode to the front of the class. 'Stéphanie!' he said. 'Détention ce soir!'

Detention! On her first day! Stephanie's feelings were a mixture of relief that she had been allowed to remain fully clothed, and utter shame that she had managed to disgrace herself already. What would her parents say!

Monsieur Prévert threw Lowenna her clothes, and as she dressed at her desk, she turned and gave Stephanie a triumphant smirk. It seemed that, against all odds, Lowenna had somehow emerged the victor.

The lesson continued with girls being similarly humiliated by the cruel, leering Monsieur Prévert until eventually the bell rang.

'Detention?' wailed Stephanie to the spotty, bespectacled (and, Stephanie couldn't help but notice, also alarmingly large-bosomed) Jill, who patted her reassuringly on the back as the walked along the corridor amidst the throng of eighteen-year-olds. 'I'll be late home! How will I explain to my parents?'

'I've an idea,' said Jill. 'Monsieur Prévert doesn't invigilate the detention himself. It's a supply teacher who does it at the moment, she has no idea what all our names are, and doesn't care. If you like, I'll do the detention for you. I'll sign in as you, and do whatever I have to do for the hour. I'm a boarder, so it's not like I've anything better to do after school.'

'You... you'd do that for me?' gulped Stephanie, wiping a creeping tear from her cheek.

'Isn't that what best friends are for?'

Stephanie, despite her gratitude, felt a sinking feeling. She consulted her pocket timetable, hoping to be free of the slightly overbearing advances of the nice-but-weird Jill. 'It looks like my next lesson is art. Can you show me the way to the art department?'

Jill beamed. 'What a coincidence! I'm doing art too! We can go there together. Class buddies again! Next thing you'll be telling me you're doing drama, too.'

Stephanie shuddered inwardly. 'I am.'

'Wonderful!' exclaimed Jill. 'Best friends forever!'

And with that, she linked arms with Stephanie, and off they marched to their next lesson.



First Term at Stonemere Park Ch. 04



In the art room Stephanie found once more that there was nowhere to sit except next to Jill, but the desks were larger and more widely spaced in a rough circle around a large empty space in the centre of the room, so there was a sense of independence from this rather possessive individual. And there was no sign of Lowenna, just another group of post-pubescent girls flaunting their burgeoning sexuality.

The teacher, a free-spirited sort in her fifties with short grey hair, rotund body draped shapelessly in floaty tie-dye, bustled into the room and made a short diversion to introduce herself. 'You must be Stephanie. I'm Mrs Bach.' Then commenced the lesson. 'Good summer all, I hope, let's pick up where we left off, chapter fourteen.'

Stephanie opened the weighty textbook. Chapter fourteen was titled "The bared bosom in 17th and 18th century art." She shook her head. Was this place completely and utterly obsessed with breasts?

'The painting on the first page of the chapter is of Nell Gwynn, a mistress of Charles II,' explained Mrs Bach. 'As you can see, she is depicted topless, both her full breasts spilling over the neckline of her chemise. She was one of the first sex symbols. Red curly hair, large, pale, exceptionally well-formed bosom, delicate little nipples.'

Stephanie shuddered with embarrassment at the sudden realisation that this could very well be a description of herself. She also suddenly became aware that she was the only redhead in the room, and certainly one of the largest-breasted. Hopefully Mrs Bach wouldn't notice this...

'Stephanie.' Great. 'What do you suppose the bare-breastedness of this subject is intended to signify?'

Stephanie studied the painting, the brazen, titillating way that Nell Gwynn flaunted her gravity-defying bare chest, the sly smile on her lips, the girlish ginger hairstyle. It started to feel uncomfortably like looking in a mirror, but she refused to acknowledge the resemblance. 'Loose morals?'

'A little hasty to judge, perhaps!' laughed Mrs Bach. 'How do you draw this conclusion?'

'She doesn't seem to be exhibiting any shame in exposing herself like that,' sniffed Stephanie.

'What if,' posited Mrs Bach, 'The breasts in question were smaller? Would you still judge her as loose?'

'Perhaps not,' said Stephanie.

'Describe the breasts in detail,' said Mrs Bach.

Again feeling like she was describing herself, Stephanie gulped and spoke. 'They're of substantially above-average size. I would guess a double-D or larger in today's sizes. They are domed, sticking out from her chest like half spheres, pointing slightly upwards. They don't sag, you can see there is no crease beneath them, they just swell straight out from her body, despite their size. Her nipples are by contrast very small, and only very slightly darker pink than her small pale areolae.'

'Very good, Stephanie,' said Mrs Bach. 'While these breasts are large and enticing, this is balanced by a youthful innocence. The lack of maturity signified by the buoyant weightlessness, the delicate colouring and modest size of those dainty, youthful nipples. She seems to represent a male ideal. The girly ginger curls transposed with the come-hither smile. The bared breasts combining sexual maturity with a taut youthfulness. In fact, Stephanie, you would appear to be very much the reincarnation of Nell Gwynn! With your red corkscrew curls and what appears to be an ample young bosom of your own. Might I enquire about your nipples?'

Stephanie's face turned as red as her hair. 'Um, they're also very small and pale.' The rest of the class giggled.

'And without a bra,' pried Mrs Bach. 'Do they still sit so high and round on your chest?'

Stephanie felt that she could tell Mrs Bach the truth. 'I'm... I'm not wearing a bra,' she said, eyes down.

'How simply marvellous!' Mrs Bach clapped her hands. 'Oh you must pose for us!'

'Pose?' Stephanie got that sinking feeling again.

'You must recreate the Nell Gwynn pose from the painting and we will draw you, together, as a class. Right now. Nothing to be embarrassed about, everyone in the class posed last term. Didn't you, girls?'

Stephanie's heart pounded. Her vision swam. She looked around the room. All eyes were on her. On the walls were drawings and paintings of what she realised were her new classmates, bare naked, beautiful breasts of all shapes and sizes being very much the emphasis of their poses which ranged from the demure to, she felt, the downright pornographic.

'Drawing pads and charcoal out, girls. Stephanie, this way please.'

Still not quite believing what was happening, Stephanie drifted from her seat to the centre of the room where Mrs Bach was placing a high stool.

'Jumper off,' Mrs Bach ordered briskly. Stephanie wrestled the woolly garment from her body and handed it to the teacher. Her blouse was now barely held together by the two remaining buttons beneath her bust, and there was a murmur of interest from the class as Stephanie's deep, wobbling natural cleavage came into view between the parted panels of the cotton blouse. Stephanie herself stared down into this expansive quivering abyss with still the same horror she had done that morning looking in the bathroom mirror.

At Mrs Bach's behest, she lifted herself up onto the stool and perched, back straight, chest out. 'Now,' said the art teacher, 'Let's see if we can reproduce the Nell Gwynn look. I'd ask you to unbutton the top few buttons of your blouse, but I can see that your delightfully firm breasts have already taken care of that!' She laughed, but Stephanie didn't: she failed to see the funny side of all of this. Mrs Bach then stood behind her and, taking collar and sleeves in her hands, pulled the blouse down off Stephanie's pale shoulders. Stephanie's breasts, trapped, got pulled down too, until the blouse finally lost the battle and both bountiful globes sprang elastically back upwards, jiggling and wobbling until they finally settled into a soft outward thrust of which Nell Gwynn herself would have been proud. Another murmur went round the class. Stephanie wanted to crawl away and die with embarrassment, but somewhere she was starting to get the feeling that there was something rather special about her new boobs. The reaction to them hadn't been the revulsion she had expected, in fact quite the opposite. They'd won her jealous enemies among her peers, and it wasn't even lunchtime and she'd already flashed them at a man making him ejaculate almost instantly in his trousers. She had them manhandled by both female and male members of staff, and now here she was with both mammaries bared in imitation of a 17th-century painting before a classroom of strangers. At least it was just girls, she told herself. At least it was just girls.

'Oh my,' marvelled Mrs Bach as she made her way round to survey Stephanie's bared bounty for the first time. 'Simply glorious. Girls, note the way Stephanie's bosom curves in the classical style. Note the resemblance to the breasts in the painting in your book. And note also how Stephanie's breasts manage to retain this weightless appearance despite being significantly larger than Miss Gwynn's! What size bra do you wear, Stephanie?'

'Um, I don't know, Mrs Bach,' she said. 'But Miss St. John is going to help me find out at lunch.' Again the girls sniggered.

Stephanie sat thus, breasts bobbing defiantly from her yanked-down school blouse amidst the scratch and scrawl of pencils and charcoal.

Mrs Bach meandered around the room, remarking and commenting on the work that was under way, noting how a particular girl may have captured the bold curve of Stephanie's exuberant bosom, or another the delicate innocence of her small chubby pink inverted nipples. She chastised Jill for over-exaggerating Stephanie's bustiness (presumably, Stephanie thought, in yet another misguided attempt to ingratiate herself), and several other envious pupils for not rendering them opulently enough. 'Stephanie's bosom is a perfect specimen of abundance in restraint,' declared Mrs Bach as she did her rounds of the scribbling schoolgirls. 'Large and upstanding enough to drive any man to wanton, turgid arousal, yet tastefully stopping short of grotesque exorbitance.' She seemed to aim this last remark at a particular statuesque, blimp-chested brunette, which Stephanie thought rather unfair could no more accept blame for her vastly overdeveloped bust than Stephanie could take credit for her own. In fact, Stephanie's suspicion that her evidently miraculous chest was going to be way more trouble than it was worth, suspicion Mrs Bach's next comment only served to reinforce.

'You know, girls,' she said, 'Your drawings of Stephanie's gloriously classical breasts is so good, I'm going to speak to the headmistress about hanging them in the main hall as an exhibition.' The girls all murmured excitedly at the prospect of having their work thus display. All of them except, of course, Stephanie, whose crippling self-consciousness instantly plummeted to a new low, as if that were even possible given the developments (in both senses) of this first day at Stonemere Park.

Eventually the lesson drew to a close, and Stephanie was permitted to pull her by now shapelessly useless blouse up over her shoulders and cover the undignified semi-nudity with her sweater which, too, was becoming deformed by the constant demands placed upon it by these cursed breasts.

The school bell rang, and the throng of blossoming young femininity made its way through the corridors to lunch.

A voice crackled over the P.A. It was Miss St. John. 'Attention any boarders with bosoms sized 34D and above. If you have a spare bra you you don't mind lending a new girl for a week, please bring it to Miss St. John's office now.'

Stephanie felt the mocking eyes of her new peers on her from all sides. She shrieked as a pair of hands grabbed her boobs from behind. 'I don't think you'd get those into a 34D bra!' said the voice. Stephanie wrestled her big breasts free of these prying hands, and span around, but the culprit could have been anyone in the crowd.

Jill appeared. 'Miss St. John's office is down that corridor, third door on the left,' she said. 'I'm a boarder and I'm a size 36E. I'll run up and get a spare, and see you there in a few minutes! I really hope mine fits!'

It was starting to feel like some X-rated version of Cinderella, as Stephanie, having eventually found Miss St. John's office after taking a wrong turn and retracing her steps, knocked on the door and entered to find a small group of girls, ample-bosomed like herself, waiting with Miss St. John, spare bras helpfully in hand. At least there was some generosity of spirit in this place, reasoned Stephanie.

'Stephanie,' said Miss St. John, 'This is Elise, Esme, Lucinda, Joey, and Sarah.'

A light tap on the door, and Jill peered her head around.

'And Jill. Come in, Jill.'

Stephanie recognised Esme as the balloon-busted girl from her art class, and was touched to find her here despite the slight humiliation the girl had experienced at Stephanie's expense.

'Now girls, thank-you all for volunteering your spare lingerie. Poor Stephanie here experienced a sudden growth spurt on her very first day. I'm sure you can all identify with the physical inconvenience such an unexpected development can bring about, and so we're going to find her a bra she can wear until the weekend when she can go shopping for one of her own. She doesn't know her size, of course, so we're going to have to resolve this by trial and error. Elise,' said Miss St. John, turning to a shorter girl with long, unkempt brown hair and a rather large chest. 'What have you brought?'

'Well,' jabbered Elise, holding up an enormous looking contraption of lace, elastic, and wire. 'This is a 36H, but the one I'm wearing at the moment is a 32J. They both fit me, but I'm happy to let Stephanie try both of them.'

'Okay well,' said Miss St. John. 'Tops off, both of you.'

This constant baring of her bouncing boobs was now becoming second nature for Stephanie, and she scrambled out of her sweater and fumbled open the surviving two blouse buttons with rather routine boredom. Her bare breasts wobbled into view to an impressed silence from the assembled women.

A crop-haired strawberry-blond broke the silence. 'Fuck!' she exclaimed. 'What a pair of tits!'

'Language, Sarah,' interjected Miss St. John. 'But yes, Stephanie does seem to be in possession of a rather remarkable bust.'

'Didn't I tell you they were unreal,' said Esme, who alone had had a lengthy preview of the bare bust in question during the preceding art class. Word was clearly getting around. Stephanie was making a shapely-bosomed name for herself already.

Elise's shirt was off, too. Her chest looked twice the size of Stephanie's. Stephanie gazed, awestruck, but judging from the lack of reaction from the others in the room, whose attention was still glued to her own bobbing orbs, Elise's mammoth mammaries were clearly old news. As Stephanie strapped herself awkwardly into the proffered 36H brassiere, she watched in fascination of her own as the shorter girl shrugged off the 32J she was wearing. Elise's breasts looked, Stephanie, thought, absurd on her diminutive frame, swooping outwards, bulging beyond even her arms, yet still sandwiched tightly together in a natural cleavage that seemed to stretch down for miles. Her nipples were cookie-sized, dark and bumpy, with prominent nipples that visibly erected in the air of the room. Stephanie hoped that her breasts, too, would soon become as much a boring part of the school furniture as Elise's giant knockers appeared to be.

In any case, even with Miss St. John's help adjusting, fiddling, and jiggling, the bra was too big, even for Stephanie. They swapped into the 32J and that, too, was oversized in the cups, though the back size seemed to be a good fit. Elise was told to dress again, and with an apologetic smile at Stephanie, she left the room.

'Who else here has a 32 back?' Miss St. John narrowed the field down. Statuesque Esme was out of the question, who politely bowed out and headed from the room for lunch. Jill, likewise, though eager to help, had to concede that her back size was a few inches too big. Stephanie snapped off the 32J and returned to her topless, quivering-boobed state.

A very pretty girl with long, wavy, dark brunette hair, dramatic eyebrows, and a strikingly prominent bust, spoke up. 'Well, like Elise, I've brought a 36C, which used to fit, but I'm wearing a new 32E. I don't want to lend it out, but you can try it on now if it helps find your size?'

'I'll try the 32E, please,' said Stephanie, now becoming rather infected by this sordid obsession the girls had with each others' bosoms.

'Sure,' said Joey. With a flick of her long hair, she unbuttoned her tight school blouse, parting it to reveal a very pretty black and violet silk uplift bra, that hoiked her large breasts up to create an enticing and sexy cleavage. Stephanie couldn't be sure if this exaggerated effect of boob nearly overflowing from bra was intentional or simply the result of the wrong bra, but there was no denying that Joey's cleavage made a strong impression.

Unsurprisingly, as this 32E bra came off, Joey's boobs didn't stay as they were, but descended a couple of inches to rest above her toned stomach. They were pleasantly tear-drop shaped, and though they hung with a maturity slightly beyond her years, they didn't sag, and there was no sign of stretch-marks. And there was still enough substance to these teenage tits that they jutted forward, with only the slightest crease beneath them where they met her ribcage. Her areolae were sized in proportion, a pretty shade of pale coral pink, with deeper pink nipples at their centres.

'Are you sure you're wearing the right size now?' said Miss St. John, eying Joey's swaying breasts with concern. Look at the marks the wiring have left across your boobs. Joey looked down and shrugged. 'It feels comfortable,' she said.

Stephanie took the 32E bra from Joey and put it on. Her breasts sat noticeably higher on her frame than Joey's, and as the cups enclosed them she felt like this "uplift" bra was, if anything, pulling her perky, buoyant boobs downward. What the bra did do very successfully, on the other hand, was to sandwich Stephanie's breasts tightly together, taking what was already a surprisingly effective natural cleavage and squeezing it further, and deeper.

'Suits you,' commented Joey, as Stephanie closed the hooks behind her, but Miss St. John was inclined to disagree.

'No Joey,' she frowned, 'Your breasts are almost the right size and shape that you can get away with wearing something like this, but on Stephanie... You can see that the cups are forcing her breasts much lower than they would sit naturally. Stephanie, jog on the spot a little.'

Stephanie did so. Her chest rebounded heavily, and, as Miss St. John had foreseen, Stephanie's animated breasts made good their jiggly bid for freedom, her nipples flicking with spring-loaded ferocity up from the cups, which now, supporting both boobs from beneath, only served to direct them upwards at an even jauntier angle. It was the same thing that had happened with her old C-cup bra that morning at home, and here it was happening again with an E-cup!

The one girl who hadn't yet said anything, piped up. 'Miss, I'm only a 34 double-D, so I think it's safe to say this one isn't going to fit Stephanie's bust either.'

'Very well, Lucinda,' said Miss St. John. 'Off you go. Stephanie, give Joey her bra back. That just leaves you, Sarah, what size have you brought?'

'A 34G,' said the busty, elfin-featured strawberry-blonde as Stephanie disentangled her way out of Joey's 32E brassiere. 'And the one I've got on is a 34G too.'

With a grateful smile, Stephanie accepted Sarah's offering, a white lace full-cupped number. Joey stayed to watch with interest as Stephanie put the bra on.

'How does it feel?' asked Miss St. John.

'OK, I guess,' Stephanie said. The back band was comfortable, the straps soft on her shoulders, and her round breasts sat neatly in the cups. 'Perhaps the cups are a little loose, but I think it will do. If you don't mind, Sarah?'

Her boob-twin smiled. 'You're very welcome to it,' she said. 'It's just for this week, correct?'

Stephanie nodded, noting with delight that this time the mere act of nodding didn't set her chest wobbling the way it had been doing all morning. 'I'm going to get some new bras this weekend. Thanks, Sarah.' As she and Joey buttoned up their blouses again, Stephanie found she was for some reason disappointed that she hadn't got to see Sarah's breasts, especially as they would seem to be the ones closest in volume to her own. But she quickly suppressed this growing feeling of curiosity. She wasn't going to let Stonemere Park turn her into a tit-crazed nympho, not if she could help it.

The bell rang. Lunch break was over.

'Well I'm glad we sorted this out,' said Miss St. John, beaming with satisfaction as Stephanie put her jumper back on. 'What lesson do you have next?'

'Drama,' said Stephanie, consulting her pocket timetable.

'Me too,' said Sarah. 'Come on, I'll take you there.'

Stephanie savoured the feeling of stability the new bra gave her, as her boob-twin Sarah led her hastily through the school to her next lesson.



First Term at Stonemere Park Ch. 05



'I hope you all read this term's text over the summer,' said Mrs Winchester, with a tone of voice that implied severe consequences for anyone who hadn't.

Stephanie raised her arm, boob-wobbling thankfully restricted by the temporary brassiere her new friend Sarah had lent her. As luck should have had it, Sarah had not only been able to furnish Stephanie with a reasonably well-fitting bra, but also had a spare seat next to her in class which Stephanie eagerly accepted, pretending not to notice the frantic waving of Jill at the back of the room. 'Sorry Miss,' said Stephanie, 'I'm new, and wasn't sent a reading list for this class.'

'Name?'

'Stephanie, Miss. Stephanie Fox.'

'Ah yes, moved here from Oxfordshire, correct?' She threw a dog-eared copy of the text across the room, which Stephanie caught with one hand. 'Good catch, Fox,' said Mrs Winchester. 'Perhaps you should be on the rounders team instead of here in my drama class!'

'Sorry, Miss,' said Stephanie. 'I'll read it tonight.' She looked down at the book. It was an ancient Greek play called Lysistrata, by someone called Aristophanes. The cover illustration was a drawing of a shapely woman in a toga, one breast bared, before whom a man, also in a toga, knelt, hands clasped in desperation. Beneath the toga, the man in the drawing was sporting what Stephanie realised, with shock, was a fierce erection.

'Who would care to summarise this term's play for the benefit of our new arrival?' Mrs Winchester surveyed the room.

'I shall, Mrs Winchester!' Stephanie turned and recognised Sally, the confident wavy-haired brunette from the train, the girl who had so smoothly persuaded her to bare her breasts for that unfortunate commuter. She looked again at the play's cover illustration, and recognised the attitude of power the woman in the toga commanded over the prostrate, priapic ancient Greek.

'Sally,' smiled Mrs Winchester. 'Our resident theatre-buff! Welcome back. Please, tell us the story of Aristophanes' Lysistrata.'

Sally stood, her firm breasts stabbing proudly against the thin cotton of her blouse. 'Lysistrata tells the story of the titular character...'

'Titular,' interjected Mrs Winchester. 'Who can tell us what titular means? Yes, Jemima?'

'It means large-bosomed,' said a beautiful but dim-witted posh girl.

'If only your brains were the size of your breasts, Jemima,' said Mrs Winchester witheringly. 'No, it means that the character Lysistrata is also the name of the play. Although, as we shall see, Lysistrata's breasts play a crucial role.' Jemima smiled proudly, not realising that whatever contribution she may have made was entirely coincidental.

'The titular character of Lysistrata,' continued Sally, 'hatches a plan to end the war he people, the Greeks, are waging with the Spartans. The women from both sides conspire to deny the men any sex whatsoever until peace is restored. The men tire of having constantly-erect penises, and inevitably give in to Lysistrata's demands, thus ending the war.'

'Very good, Sally, thank-you,' said Mrs Winchester with a smile. Sally was clearly her favourite, thought Stephanie. 'Now, let's discuss the text. Did any of you have any questions about it, having read it over the summer?'

Sarah raised her hand. 'It wasn't clear to me exactly how the Greek and Spartan men finally lose their erections.'

'Good question, Sarah,' said Mrs Winchester. 'Any ideas anyone?'

'By fucking them?' said one girl. Her language made Stephanie blush, but elicited no reaction from anyone else.

'Yes, I imagine so,' said Mrs Winchester. 'They could have pulled the men's togas aside to reveal their huge, throbbing, purple erections, wrapped their shapely thighs around their waists and allowed the men to plunge gratefully into their cunts, writhing and gyrating around them until the months-long build-up of hot white seed exploded endlessly into them.'

'No foreplay, Miss?' asked another girl.

'Well let's not forget,' said Mrs Winchester, an unexpectedly filthy gleam in her eye, 'that in denying the men any sexual favours, the women of Greece and Sparta are also denying themselves the same. While the men are walking around ferociously hard-dicked, just think how dripping wet all the Greek and Spartan pussy must be. So when the peace treaty is signed, those solid rods will enter the females' sopping fannies like hot knives through butter.'

Stephanie's small nipples tingled in her bra, sending a shudder through her body, the guilty pleasure of which sensation she did not like one bit.'

'But these were times that were sexually far more liberated than our own,' continued Mrs Winchester. 'Something tells me that although traditional penetrative sex would no doubt have constituted a large part of the carnal celebrations, I'm quite sure that Lysistrata and her female friends would have had many other techniques at their disposal with which to relieve the heavy, burgeoning testes of their menfolk, and that these men in turn would have been the victims of ever-wilder sexual fantasies they would have been willing to try out. Yes, Sally.'

'Perhaps the women might have sucked the men's cocks?'

'Excellent suggestion, Sally,' smiled Mrs Winchester. 'Yes, I can imagine that upon setting eyes on the bulbous, twitching head of a chronically sex-starved erect member, many women's first reaction might be to take it, in its engorged entirety, into their hot, hungry mouths, and suck greedily until every last long-overdue portion of jism had slipped its way down their nympho throats.'

'Handjobs, Mrs Winchester?'

'Indeed, the soothing balm of a delicate pink feminine hand on the rough, veiny, masculine shaft of lust-crazed gristle protruding from their numbed loins will have been exactly what the male characters would have needed to express themselves in endless white ropes of pressurized liquid seed.'

Desperate to contribute somehow, despite her obvious inexperience in such sordid matters, Stephanie raised her hand.

'Yes, Miss Fox?'

'Perhaps the women simply have to bare their breasts, which causes the men to...' she struggled to recall the obscene colloquialism she had heard on the train. '... um... shoot their loads?'

Mrs Winchester paused. Stephanie noted with a sinking stomach that the drama teacher was decidedly flat-chested, and that her suggestion may have hit a nerve.

'Rather far-fetched a notion, don't you think?' scoffed Mrs Winchester dismissively, touching her hair, a grey strictly drawn-back bun, with self-conscious bony fingers. 'Whoever heard of such a thing?'

Stephanie felt incredibly stupid now, more so given that she herself had driven a stranger to a helpless, convulsing hands-free orgasm that very morning.

'And besides, Stephanie,' the condescending drama teacher went on, 'Even if a woman possessed breasts whose appearance alone were sufficiently erotic to drive a man to an unassisted orgasm purely by being bared, you have to remember that in ancient Greece, the women regularly went about in public with one or both breasts exposed anyway, so the men would have been desensitised to the stimulatory effects of bosoms, however pert and voluptuous they may be. I suppose you, Stephanie, you're going to tell me that you have breasts that can drive a man to these extremes?'

'She does, Miss,' called out Sally. 'A man saw her bare bosoms this morning and messed up his pants. He didn't stop ejaculating for ages!'

Mrs Winchester stared at Sally, then at Stephanie, then at Stephanie's jutting chest. 'Well I can only hope this was an accident on your part, and the result of some rare medical condition on the gentleman's.'

Stephanie smiled in weak gratitude at Sally, who shrugged back sympathetically. At least she'd tried.

'Given the profuse visibility of bare breasts in ancient Greece,' Mrs Winchester said to the class, 'It wasn't so much what you had, but what you did with it.' She paused for effect and looked around the class. 'Can you tell what I'm getting at? Oh come on, you lucky girls with enormous busts must know about it? Stephanie?'

Stephanie shook her head in confusion, she didn't understand what Mrs Winchester was hinting.

'Angela Kenworthy,' Mrs Winchester addressed a stunning, cherubic-faced specimen with big blue eyes, pouting cherry lips, long, lavish, dark blonde hair, and gorgeous, ample breasts that jutted torpedo-like within a fitted white blouse. 'Stand up.'

Angela stood. Face and breasts were the mere tip of the sexual iceberg. Her waist was wasp-thin, her hips rounded with child-bearing maturity beyond her years, her legs long, calves shapely, ankles slender perfection. Her well-upholstered bottom so high and proud that it appeared to lift her tight grey skirt high enough to reveal the gartered tops of her navy tights.

'If there's a picture of pornographic desire in this room,' said Mrs Winchester of the cartoonishly-proportioned Angela. 'Have you ever lost anything in that absurd cleavage of yours?'

'Oh, plenty of things, Miss,' nodded Angela eagerly. 'Keys, debit card. I lost a ginger snap down there once.'

'Yes,' said Mrs Winchester with a slow, meaningful look around the class. 'You could fit lots of things in there, couldn't you? Anyone?'

'A cock!' shouted Stephanie, so keen to impress Mrs Winchester after being made to look so stupid that she didn't wait to raise her hand and be called upon.

'Go on, Stephanie,' said Mrs Winchester..

'Um, perhaps at the end of the play, the Greeks and Spartans wedge their stiff erections into the women's cleavages, and the women then use their breasts to, um, wank them off?' She felt distinctly uncomfortable with this disgusting language, but it appeared very much to be the tone of the class, indeed of the whole school. She saw Sally smile at her in admiration.

'Very good, Stephanie. It's called a tit-fuck, or tit-job, or tit-wank. If a woman is lucky enough to possess breasts large enough to surround the circumference of a man's erect penis, instead of fucking her pussy or hand, the man can also fuck the cleft created by her pushed-together breasts, until he cums in long, grateful spurts all over her face, hair, throat, and boobs. The resulting decoration is referred to as a pearl necklace. Those of you in Miss St. John's sex education club may have heard of this?'

'We're doing handjobs and frotting this term,' said Sally. 'Apparently tit-fucking will be covered in January.'

'Consider this a preview, then,' said Mrs Winchester with foreboding. 'You'll discover it soon enough when you leave school and enter the world of men. But first, we're going to study Aristophanes the best way possible: by performing it.' An apprehensive hubbub fell upon the class. 'We are going to stage an all-female student production of Lysistrata as this term's school play. You may sit down now, Angela.'

The girls got very excited about this. A school production! Stephanie's interest was piqued. Acting had always been a passion, and this would be her chance to shine. She could easily see herself in the role of a feminist pioneer, but this hope was scuppered almost instantly:

'Sally, I'd like to cast you as the titular character,' said Mrs Winchester. 'We'll cast the other parts as term goes on. Is that fine by you, Sally?'

'Thank-you, Miss!' beamed Sally, chest swelling with pride under her school shirt. 'I'm titular in both senses!'

'Indeed you are,' said Mrs Winchester. 'You're a fine student, an excellent actress, and your breasts are classically beautiful. In fact, let's put you in a toga right now. Up to the front of the class please, Sally, and strip naked.'

Sally sprang to her feet and made her way excitedly towards Mrs Winchester's desk. 'Completely naked, Miss?'

Mrs Winchester took a folded sheet from a cupboard. 'Well I'm guessing that whatever underwear you have on didn't exist in Aristophanes' day. If we're going to stage this play accurately, I want you all to experience the life Greek and Spartan women would have led, right down to their everyday clothing.

With her back to the class, Sally performed a brisk strip tease. From her vantage point at the back of the class, Stephanie glimpsed the sides of Sally's high, firm breasts as they protruded either side of her slim back as the beige bra came off. School skirt joined it on the teacher's desk, and then tights and knickers, until Sally's body was bared in its entirety, from behind, to the whole class. It was clear from the high, toned, sculptural form of Sally's buttocks that she was a sporty girl, and that thus the evident size of her firm breasts was by no means the result of overindulgence in the school canteen.

Sally stood patiently while Mrs Winchester draped and wrapped her tall young body in the white sheet, finally pinning it together with a brooch. She stood back to admire her sartorial handiwork and nodded with satisfaction. 'Turn and let the girls see you,' said the teacher. Sally turned, hands proudly on jauntily angled hips. Her right breast was entirely bared. Stephanie looked with great interest at Sally's exposed aureole, which was really quite large, perhaps the size of a golf ball, swollen and shiny, with a tiny dimple at its epicentre. Her large breast was naturally very pointy, and this puffy, skin-tone nipple extended its jutting outward reach by at least another inch. Mrs Winchester had furthermore left Sally's left leg exposed, thigh and all, way up to her hip, so that from a certain angle her unkempt thatch of dark curly pubic hair could be glimpsed. 'Meet your leading lady,' chirped Mrs Winchester with pride in her busty, leggy star pupil.

A ripple of applause greeted this wanton display of teen sexuality. Stephanie joined in reluctantly, and decided to spend the evening reading the play closely to identify the next best part.

Leaving the classroom, Jill caught up with Stephanie. 'That should have been you up there, Stephanie,' she said.

'Oh,' said Stephanie. 'Thanks Jill. I'm sure we'll all get to join in. I guess Sally's the star pupil, so she's earned it.'

Stephanie saw Lowenna approaching, and motioned to greet her, but Lowenna pushed past, pretending not to see her.

'Don't mind her,' said Jill. 'Some of the girls just aren't that friendly.'

'I just want people to like me,' said Stephanie.

'I like you!' insisted Jill. That wasn't what Stephanie had meant, but didn't have the heart to say that it was the popular and sexually confident girls like Sally and Lowenna that Stephanie really wanted to impress.

'What lesson's next?' she wondered aloud, taking her timetable from her pocket.

'Free period,' said Jill cheerily. 'You can go home early. Wish I was a day girl like you!'

'And you still don't mind sitting my detention for me?' said Stephanie, feeling guilty about her indisposition toward Jill's attempts at friendship.

'Hey, I'm stuck here for the next ten weeks,' shrugged Jill. 'Where else am I going to go?'

'Well, if you're sure. And you're certain no-one will find out it was you and not me?'

'Absolutely,' said Jill earnestly. 'They have a supply teacher covering detentions, who doesn't really pay attention. We just sign in and sit there for an hour writing lines or whatever.'

'Thanks,' smiled Stephanie. 'You're a good friend.'

'Hooray!' said Jill.

Stephanie got the feeling she was now Jill's first and only friend. She thanked Jill again, and set off out of the school grounds, making sure she was not being watched.

As the train to Clapham Junction pulled out of platform 2 at Stonemere Station, Stephanie reached into her bag and pulled out the dog-eared copy of Lysistrata, and began to read.



First Term at Stonemere Park Ch. 06



Stephanie was re-reading the Ancient Greek sex comedy for the third or fourth time on the train to school the next morning, having spent the evening avoiding her parents' inquiries as to the incidents of her first day at Stonemere Park by hiding in her room doing homework. The last thing she wanted was for anything of the sexual nature of every single one of her lessons to slip out at the dinner table.

Not wanting to encounter the other day girls on her train again, she avoided them on the platform at Clapham Junction, boarding the train at the last moment before departure once she knew they were safely out of sight in the other carriage. It was just her and the skinny male commuter who had orgasmed so plentifully into his suit the previous morning at the sight of her rampant boobs. She had sat down opposite him, and, looking up to see her in panic-stricken recognition, he had moved to change seats, but she reassured him by saying, 'It's okay, I'm wearing a bra today,' and tugging open the collar of her blouse to reveal the sturdy white strap of the undergarment Sarah had lent her. He smiled weakly and returned his attention to the science fiction epic he was reading. Stephanie noticed that the front cover of this book depicted a huge-bosomed redhead space heroine, and wondered if the content was as erotic as she imagined.

Returning her attention to Aristophanes, she decided that the character of Lampito, Lysistrata's Spartan counterpart, was the part she was going to vie for in the A-level production Mrs Winchester planned to mount at the end of term. Despite the teacher's insistence that the aesthetic characteristics of women's breasts would have been deemed irrelevant in nudism-rife ancient Greece, Stephanie noticed that the text of the play made repeated reference to Lampito's large, shapely breasts, and concluded that fate must have intended her to play the part in giving her such an extreme growth spurt in the chest area at this time.

'Excuse me,' she said aloud.

The commuter looked up, and around, but it was just the two of them in the carriage as it trundled through South London. 'Yes?' he said, warily.

'I'm going to audition for a part in this play.' Stephanie held the scruffy volume of ancient Greek drama up. 'The character at one point opens her robe and is described by another character as having "a superb bosom". You've seen my bosom, would you describe it as superb? Would it seem out of place if I were to bare my breasts on stage and someone said that?'

'Yes,' said the pained young man. 'Please don't make me cum again. I had a very awkward time trying to get cleaned up yesterday.'

'Don't worry,' Stephanie laughed. 'Thank-you for your feedback.'

'You're welcome.' He buried his nose once again in his book.

She glanced again at the cover of the sci-fi novel and imagined herself in the illustration, tits and arse barely covered by shiny green spandex, laser gun in hand. It was called "Phoebe Flynn in the Seventh Dimension". She made a mental note to seek out a copy, then returned her attention to going through the text of Lysistrata with yellow highlighter.

It occurred to her that at any point she could have driven the man opposite her to the heights of orgasm. The power and responsibility that came with her newly-developed breasts troubled and excited her in equal measure, and it was with great restraint that she bid her fellow traveler farewell and joined the other day girls on the platform at Stonemere railway station.

Now that Stephanie had overcome the initial shock of attending such a sexually liberated girls' school, and didn't have the braless playfulness of her errant bosom to worry about, the plucky schoolgirl dove into her studies with enthusiasm. In French, she impressed Monsieur Prévert with her wide-ranging understanding of French adjectives, being able to give a detailed verbal description of a classmate's nipples the leering Frenchman had forcibly exposed for the purpose. In Art, she was able to show off her anatomy knowledge with a beautifully rendered charcoal sketch of an erect penis, and in Mrs Winchester's drama class she won the part of the "superb-bosomed" Lampito opposite Sally's Lysistrata. She even managed to make inroads into the cool girls' social circle, and in her rush nearly forgot to thank Jill for sitting detention on her behalf.

But it was the invitation from Miss St. John to attend the special sex education club on Friday after school that was the real victory as far as Stephanie was concerned. It seemed to be the pinnacle of everything Stonemere Park represented, extra classes for those girls deemed sexually ripe enough to be the inevitable targets of male lust at university and the workplace. Despite her ears, which she had always deemed too prominent, Stephanie had never considered herself unappealing in that sense, with her effortlessly slim figure, flawless magnolia skin and luscious red corkscrew curls, she sensed that it must have been her miraculously ballooning bust that must have clinched this particular deal. And thus, she decided that instead of hiding her belatedly blooming womanliness, she would play the game and put it to the same use her peers seemed to.

She explained to her parents that she would be later back on Friday, and when she arrived at Miss St. John's classroom, a few of the girls were already milling about inside, sitting on desks and doing their nails.

Lowenna was among them, and looked up, her angrily-freckled features contorted into an ugly sneer. 'Well look who it is,' she said. 'What are you doing here?'

Stephanie gulped. 'This is the room for the sex-education club, isn't it?'

'It is,' said Lowenna. 'That's why I'm asking what you're doing here. It's for girls who are irresistibly sexual. Not swots like you. Look at Angela.' Stephanie looked at Angela, taut, generous arse perched idly on the teacher's desk. 'Angela belongs here,' said Lowenna, pointing at the sultry teen beauty. 'She's a wet dream on legs. I belong here, I've a juicy, fuckable arse and suckable nipples. You've no arse, big ears, and freakish balloon-tits.'

'They can't be that freakish,' retorted Stephanie, red-faced. 'They made that man ejaculate the second he saw them!'

'Exactly!' laughed Lowenna cruelly. 'No man wants that! Men want to be teased, ever so slowly. Sex with you would be over as soon as it had begun.'

'And the longer you keep it going,' added Angie, bored, not looking up from her nails, 'The harder they cum. I pulled a guy on holiday, teased him for an hour, then fucked him for another hour. When he pulled out to shoot his load onto my stomach, the whole lot shot so far it all ended up on the wall behind my head. He nearly passed out.'

Stephanie was both fascinated and furious.

'You'll never get to experience that,' said Lowenna. 'Just the sticky smell of cum-filled Y-fronts. I bet I could keep a guy going for hours before he came. Hours and hours!'

The class had slowly been filling around them, but thankfully Lowenna's bullying had gone unnoticed. Sally was there, as were the girls Stephanie had met at her emergency bra-fitting on her first day. No sign of Jill, who, despite an ample bosom of her own, had clearly been deemed too plain to require these advanced lessons in sex.

Finally, Miss St. John strode exuberantly into the room. With her was a shy, painfully thin young man in jeans and a faded T-shirt, his straw-blond hair combed unfashionably. His presence startled the girls, and the chatter in the room instantly descended to an apprehensive hush.

'Girls, I'd like you to meet my eighteen-year-old nephew, Luke.'

'Hello Luke,' said the girls in a sing-song chorus. Luke looked terrified. It was obvious that he was there against his will.

Miss St. John eyed him mischievously. 'I caught him in the laundry closet last time he came to visit, masturbating furiously over one of my E-cup brassieres. We now have this little agreement that I won't tell his mother, as long as he agrees to help out in the occasional lesson. Isn't that right, Luke?'

Luke nodded, staring at the floor while the girls sniggered. Stephanie, on the other hand, felt awful for the poor boy. The humiliation!

'Boys Luke's age get rather attached to their genitals, but soon they realise that the sensation of being manipulated to climax is far more pleasurable when the act is performed by a sexually attractive second party. We call this a...' She took chalk from her desk and wrote the word on the blackboard: 'H-A-N-D-J-O-B. Handjob. Now, let's start with the basics. Luke dear, would you mind removing your jeans and underwear?'

'Really, Aunt Coralie...?' he was no exhibitionist, that was sure, but what choice did he have?

'Chop chop!' said Miss St. John. Luke loosened his belt and fumbled with the button fly of his jean, then pulled them down, along with his boxers.

The girls craned their necks forward. Stephanie's heart pounded. She'd never even seen her one boyfriend's willy, so this would be her first glimpse of one in real life, certainly as a young adult. Luke, despite his wimpish, spotty, unmasculine demeanour was, for want of a better word, hung. A thick hose of cock descended half way down his left thigh, flanked by bloated adolescent testicles and a youthful thatch of pale blond pubic hair.

'Look closely, girls,' said Miss St. John. Stephanie's first instinct was to start to sketch Luke's dangling appendages in biro in her exercise book, and she started scribbling away, glancing up and down at the bottomless teenage boy. 'My first response was the same as what I'm sure you're all thinking, namely: why does a young chap with equipment like this need to masturbate, when there should be plenty of young ladies willing to do it for him!'

The class giggled. Luke looked like he wanted to die. Stephanie couldn't help but notice the first hint of tears welling in his blue eyes.

'I'll need two volunteers,' said Miss St. John. 'One to get my nephew hard, and the other to wank him off with a handjob.'

Everyone except Stephanie raised their hand. Stephanie wasn't going to risk getting it wrong and looking stupid again, she'd learned to bide her time over the course of her first week at Stonemere.

'Angela, you're very much teenage boy fantasy material,' said Miss St. John, pointing to the class bombshell. 'Come up here and see what you can do with this.'

Chewing gum in mouth, Angela sauntered down the classroom aisle on her mile-long legs like a model down a catwalk, firm thrusting chest prancing within her taut school shirt. Luke's brow visibly beaded with cold sweat. If he'd got his kicks wanking into his aunt's huge bra, this was going to be a walk in the park for Angie.

'Like what you see?' said Miss St. John cheerily.

'Um... um...' Luke stammered as he took in the sight of the gorgeous girl approaching, eyes darting hungrily from legs to hips to tits to face, over and over. It was hard to know where to begin with a girl like Angie.

Angie surveyed the trembling weed of a boy. 'Her bra got you hard, eh?'

Luke nodded.

'Let's see what you make of mine then.' Angie started to unbutton her shirt. Stephanie couldn't see what Luke could see, but judging from the effect it was having on his genitals she assumed that Angie's blouse was as impressive on the inside as it was on the outside, as Luke's penis started to redden, engorge, lengthen, and rise. The shiny purple head crawled, raw, from the shroud of his foreskin until its glistening eye winked and squinted in the autumn afternoon sun.

'Do you like my boobies, Luke?' pouted Angie, as she parted her blouse to reveal them in their lace housing. 'This is an E-cup bra, just like your aunt's. I bet you want to jizz all over this one too, right?'

Luke said nothing, but his cock replied by stiffening at a forty five degree angle, straining upwards toward Angie's bra-clad bosom. It trembled and twitched, his exposed veiny swollen plum sack now taut and shiny.

'Very well done, Angie,' said Miss St. John. 'Admirably efficient use of your feminine resources. Now let's have another girl up here to get her fingers round Luke's throbbing erection and wank it off to completion. Yes, Lowenna, please come up here. And Luke, please stand side-on to the class so everyone can see.'

Lowenna swaggered up to the front and stood before Luke, striking a slutty pose which Stephanie felt was too much. Angie had been a model of alluring restraint, but Lowenna was laying it on a bit thick. This continued when she unnecessarily started to unbutton her own blouse before kneeling before the hapless Luke.

'Like cleavage, do you Luke?' Lowenna said, clumsily squeezing together the exposed tops of her freckly breasts with her arms. 'These are F-cups!'

Luke's untouched cock responded by beginning to fire the pent-up contents of his young balls into Lowenna's face with such force that the school bully was nearly knocked backwards off her knees. An almost continuous stream of chalky white jism pulsated forth while Luke sighed in relief. He wasn't so much experiencing an orgasm as he was pissing cum, Stephanie noted. This was a long overdue natural bodily function which Lowenna's slutty posturing had finally set off (though Angie's fabulous face and body had probably done the lion's share of the work.) And she was fascinated by the consistency of the semen. By the time the ejaculations had begun to subside, Lowenna looked like she had been hit in the face with a paper plate of shaving foam. A thick, quivering mask of translucent white plasma covered her face almost entirely, with only her mouth exposed and gasping for air.

Lowenna, temporarily blinded by the cum in her eyes, rose unsteadily to her feet, and Luke took a step back, clearly mortified at what he, or more accurately his cock, had done. Miss St. John placed a wad of paper tissues in her flailing hand, with which she proceeded to wipe the profusion of man-fluid from her furious, panting face.

'Never mind, Lowenna,' said Miss St. John sympathetically, as Lowenna stomped back to her desk. 'What just happened? Sarah?'

'Luke came in Lowenna's face,' said Sarah, to much giggling which only served to anger Lowenna still further.

'Quiet girls. Luke came, but he didn't orgasm. Luke, tell us what happened, from your point of view.'

'Um,' said Luke. 'The beautiful girl showed me her bra, which gave me this erection. Then the other girl opened her blouse, and I looked down and saw her big bosoms and after that I couldn't really control what happened.'

'What did it feel like when you came?'

'It was just... relief,' said Luke.

Miss St. John addressed the class. 'What Lowenna did to Luke was to clean his pipes, so to speak. Luke produces a lot of semen in those remarkably large testicles of his. An overabundance of the stuff makes men horny and irrational. Once the first load has been extracted, you will find that a man can still perform, but he won't be guided quite as much by his primal animal instincts. Note that Luke is still very much erect. Another volunteer please.'

This time, Stephanie shot her hand in the air.

'Yes, Stephanie, come up here and take a gentle hold of Luke's cock.'

Stephanie left her seat and knelt before the trembling teenage boy. His erection was now perpendicular to his body, and the wet opening in his cockhead stared straight into Stephanie's face. The intoxicating, oddly bleachy smell in the air took her back to the trouser-creaming commuter experience from Monday morning. She raised her hand and, delicately, curled her pink fingers around it.

The reaction was instant, and Stephanie tensed in case she was going to receive a faceful of teenage cum. But instead she felt Luke's cock harden, expand, and tilt upwards again, until she was faced with its vein-ribbed underside, and his twin dangling bull-testicles, which to her looked no less drained of cum than they had done when he'd first dropped his pants.

'Very good Stephanie,' encouraged Miss St. John. 'Now very slowly start to rub it.'

Stephanie did so. Luke let out a stifled moan, this time not the sigh of a man urinating after a long wait for the lavatory, but a heady groan of young ecstasy. Her hand made its way up and down the cum-slick length of his overgrown rigidity, and she settled into a lilting rhythm, timed sensitively to the audible feedback he was volunteering.

'This time, dear,' said Miss St. John to Luke, 'Perhaps you might give some warning when you're going to ejaculate.'

He nodded, then his eyes bulged as Stephanie picked up the pace. 'Oh God,' he croaked. 'I can feel it coming.'

It suddenly occurred to Stephanie that she might get semen all over her school blouse, and this was something she didn't want to have to explain to Mother. Decelerating her wanking hand, she unbuttoned her blouse with the other.

'Wh-what are you doing?' stammered Luke as Stephanie's borrowed brassiere came into view, the rounded tops of her magnificent breasts swelling proudly over the cups.

Stephanie shrugged the blouse off her shoulders. 'Sorry Luke,' she said, 'I don't want to get your sperm on it.' Still wanking him off, she was now conscious of the extra girth and length she had added to his erection with her huge young breasts now wobbling heavily in the bra.

She heard Sarah's voice call out from the back of the class. 'That's my bra, Steph,' called Sarah. 'Don't get cum on it! Please!'

Stephanie flicked her green eyes up at Luke. 'Do you mind if I take it off?'

'Oh my god!' wheezed Luke. 'That will definitely make me cum! And it's going to be a lot again.'

'Would you like to cum all over these boobies?' said Stephanie, more out of kindness and empathy than in any kind of attempt to titillate. 'Would you like to see your semen all over my beautiful bare bosoms?' She felt his cock lurch dangerously at the mention of the word. Luke simply nodded by way of reply, his eyes bulging as hard as his cock.

'OK,' smiled Stephanie, 'Here we go.'

She reached back and unsnapped the brassiere's hooks. The elastic relaxed, but her high breasts, now wobbling unrestrained, held the cups aloft. Luke groaned helplessly at the sight.

'Ready?'

Stephanie rose on her haunches until her wobbling, loosely-covered chest was aligned with the twitching solid cock she was still expertly manipulating. With a shimmy of her exuberantly wobbling chest, she let the cups of the bra fall, baring both creamy breasts to the horny young man's disbelieving eyes. She switched hands to allow the other shoulder strap to disengage, and the second the bra hit the classroom floor, Luke began to unload directly onto her huge domed tits.

The warmth of the jets that splattered her jiggling boobs with semen reminded her of hot showers she'd take, and the tingling in her nipples that the water aroused, or like standing in a storm and privately relishing the sensation of having her chest pounded with driving rain.

'You...' wheezed the continuously-spunking boy, 'You have the most amazing... the most amazing boobs...'

Nutload after nutload of thick jizz pelted Stephanie's chest. Still wanking Luke's cock steadily, she allowed her chest to sway from side to side ensuring even coverage. She loved every single moment of this experience.

But all good things must come to an end, and amid a sprinkle of polite applause from the classroom, Luke finally stopped cumming, and Stephanie reluctantly relinquished her soft grip on his wilting member. Luke retreated dizzily to a chair to recover, but Stephanie drew herself up to full height and stood before the class, her unique, bouncy breasts completely shrouded in jism that was only a couple of shades whiter than her own skin.

She shot Lowenna a defiant look. Lowenna boiled with rage. It was a rather spectacular conclusion to her first week at Stonemere Park, and Stephanie couldn't wait to find out how the rest of the term was going to unfold.



First Term at Stonemere Park Ch. 07



On Saturday morning Stephanie got on a train again, but this time it wasn't south, it was in the opposite direction, into Central London. She told her parents she was just going window-shopping, but in fact her trip had one very particular purpose, and that was to get fitted for a new bra so she could return the spare that her classmate Sarah had kindly lent her. But, given the disproportionate dimensions her breasts had so mischieviously and so suddenly ballooned to, this wasn't simply a case of a quick visit to the lingerie department Marks & Spencer. This was going to require the attention of a specialist, and all of her research on the internet in the field of large cup sizes pointed to one outlet: Storm In A G-Cup.

Emerging from Notting Hill Underground station, the heat of the city enveloped her immediately, and she instinctively peeled off her sweater and stuffed it in her shoulder bag. The instant leering attention of male passers-by reminded her, as though any reminder were necessary, that she was no longer a modest, anonymous C-cup, but that her white strappy crop-top was now having to deal with luscious melons several sizes larger. Although Sarah's bra was doing a reasonable job of keeping this abundance of adolescent bustiness in check, she could still feel a heavy thud of a wobble, side to side and up and down, with each step she took along the city pavement. And if she could feel it, the lecherous eyes of heterosexual men would most definitely see it.

But, she reminded herself, this was who she was now, or at least what she was. Inside she was still the same innocuously-proportioned, hard-working A-level student, but on the outside she felt like she had acquired magical powers, inhabiting the body of a woman with many times the sexual magnetism she was accustomed to exuding.

'Nice tits,' came a charmless cry from the window of a passing white van. Yes, they were indeed nice tits, she thought, with a glance down at the mammaries in question that wobblingly led the way before her. And while the attention was by no means welcome, at least it was a compliment of sorts.

Turning right on her way to Portobello Road, she noticed a shop called the Music & Goods Exchange, a cluttered second-hand book store that appeared to specialise in comics, science fiction, and fantasy. The array of lurid fantastical book covers in the window reminded her that she'd wanted to find out what it was the man from the train found so engrossing about his morning commute reading material and with the ring of a bell she pushed open the doorway into the fusty, dusty old shop.

A pot-bellied man with a goatee and a suspiciously-stained black T-shirt did a double-take at Stephanie's round bosom and the deep cleavage that peeked out of her taut white top, then cleared his throat. 'Yes, miss, how I can I help?'

Stephanie consulted her little notebook. 'I'm looking for a book called "Phoebe Flynn in the Seventh Dimension." Do you have it?'

'I do.' The bloated fantasy-store shopkeeper got to his feet, treating himself an unsubtle eyeful of Stephanie's chest as he did so. 'I have the whole series, if you're interested.' He led her deep into the shop, which was bigger inside than it appeared from the outside. Soon they were both crammed into a narrow space between two book stacks, where he gestured to a full shelf of book spines bearing the same PF lightning-bolt logo.

'Gosh,' said Stephanie, out of her element in this absurd boys' world of spaceships and robots. 'What are they about?'

'You mean you don't know?'

'Um, I saw someone else reading it and thought it looked interesting. So no. What are they about?'

'Well,' said the shopkeeper, and, choosing his words carefully, went on. 'The books are set in a future where sex and pornography have been outlawed, most of mankind has devolved into androgyny, and the heroine...'

'The titular heroine?' chipped in Stephanie innocently.

The shopkeeper took one of the novels from the shelf and flicked through it, stealing another sideways glance at Stephanie's own titular attributes. 'Yes, the... titular heroine, Phoebe Flynn, the redhead on the front cover with the large, erm...' Stephanie's inquisitive green eyes compelled him to continue. 'With the large breasts, she's deemed so sexy as to be a threat to this sexless society, so she's this futuristic sex outlaw. When men see her naked they risk having, um, fatal orgasms, that kind of thing... The books are really just porn for people who want to look like they're not reading porn. Are you absolutely sure this is the book you're looking for?'

'Very much so.' Stephanie realised that, although the premise was absurd beyond belief, she could have a lot to learn from this pulp novel, not only about the base urges that seemed to inform men's every thought and action, but also about how she could weaponise her own nature-bestowed physical attributes in a sexist, male-dominated world. She reached up to the shelf and took the Seventh Dimension novel. 'I'd take them all,' she said, 'But I can only carry so much.'

'You're carrying a lot already,' leered the shopkeeper.

'Are you talking about my breasts?' said Stephanie, heart pounding in her chest, summoning the confidence from somewhere. She didn't want this revolting man to get away with this innuendo. 'If so,' Stephanie continued to address the speechless man, 'then yes, you are correct. Both my bosoms at least as heavy as this book.' She grabbed another of the weighty Phoebe Flynn novels and placed them both in the shopkeeper's sweaty palms. 'Feel how heavy they are?'

He nodded.

'If you were holding my breasts, that's how heavy they'd feel in your hands. I'd let you feel the real things, but you look out of shape and I'd be concerned about the effect that would have. Phoebe Flynn's not the only one with killer tits. After you.'

She returned the other book to the shelf, followed the alarmed shopkeeper back to the till, handed over 70p for the book she'd come in for, and left him to deal with the erection she'd noticed poking at his jogging bottoms.

A walk through Portobello Road market led her at last to "Storm In A G-Cup", the shop she'd read so much about. Stephanie pushed open the door and entered this glorious Aladdin's cave of silky, lacy marvels. The sheer variety of styles and range of sizes from large to enormous instantly made her feel that she was not alone with her whopping boobies. Looking up, she saw the proprietor, a fellow bosomy redhead she recognised as the enterprising Nina Bridges she had read about online in the course of her lingerie research.

'Good morning,' said Bridges with a smile. 'Might I compliment you on a simply magnificent pair of breasts, young lady!'

'Thank-you,' said Stephanie. 'Likewise!'

'You've come to the right place. Do you know your size or do you need fitting?'

'No idea what my size is, something in the 34F range. I had a prolific growth spurt a few days ago. This time last week I was in a C-cup, if you can believe that. The bra I'm wearing at the moment was loaned to me by a classmate.'

'Mmmmmm, new boobs!' Nina Bridges' eyes gleamed behind her thick rimmed glasses and she tucked her sleek red bobbed hair behind one ear as she took in the round magnitude of her customer's chest. 'How simply marvellous. Would you follow me into the fitting room, please?'

The fitting room was spacious and equipped with all sorts of arcane devices, scales, protractors, and one wall was all mirror. There was a tank of water which Stephanie instantly identified as the device used in the shop's pioneering displacement method of ascertaining breast volume.

Nina swished the curtain closed. 'Let's get you out of that vest top then, shall we?'

Stephanie put her bag and science fiction novel on the floor and, with some difficulty, negotiated her way out of the tight white stretchy top.

'Your boobs really don't like that bra, do they?' observed Nina, shrugging off her black suit jacket and hanging it on a hook on the wall. 'They're trying to escape!'

Stephanie looked down and saw with fright that both her dainty pink nipples were at least an inch clear of the lace edge of both bra cups, cups that were still full to bursting point. On Monday this bra had felt a little too big. She realised now that she must have had an extra little growth spurt since then.

'Let me show you how a bra should fit,' said Nina, and peeled off her own black vest top to reveal a beautiful bra. The torpedo-bosomed lingerie specialist's scarlet nipples were alarmingly evident through sheer cups. 'What do you think?'

'It's very sexy,' said Stephanie, unsure as to whether that was a good thing or not. 'In fact it's so see-through you might as well not be wearing it.'

'True,' said Nina, and with a practiced sleight of hand snapped open the bra and pulled it from her breasts, which surged forward, settling into luscious, heavy tear-drop shapes, swooping upwards like ski jumps. Their scale made Stephanie suddenly feel significantly more averagely endowed. 'I find it puts my customers at ease if I get my tits out, too,' Nina smiled. A week ago Stephanie would have been shocked beyond belief at this flagrant display of topless nudity, but her introduction to the liberated philosophy at Stonemere Park school helped her retain her composure. 'Your turn,' said the bra fitter with a wink.

Stephanie was practically topless already, with her cute little nipples already staring up from outside the cups of Sarah's bra, and so stripping to the waist for the shopkeeper didn't feel such a huge step. As the cups of the undergarment fell away, Stephanie noted once more the curious sensation of weightless buoyancy with which her new breasts hovered.

'Oh my,' marveled Nina. 'They didn't drop an inch. May I?'

Stephanie nodded as Nina raised her hands and aimed them at her jauntily bobbing nude globes. The woman was a professional, Stephanie reasoned. She'd had her newly-flourishing jugs groped both by her French teacher and by Miss St. John, but this felt different, not some feverish horny squeeze and jiggle or cold appraisal, but the sensitive caress of a fellow busty female who really knew her way around a pair of tits. Nina's fingers danced and stroked, probed and tickled, every lustrous detail being documented and archived for future reference in the lingerie specialist's brain.

'To look at them,' Nina thought aloud, 'You'd think they'd have to be solid as rocks to stay so high and perky. But they're so soft and pillowy to the touch. I've never seen or felt a pair of boobs like it. And believe me I have seen and felt a lot of boobs. Here, feel mine.'

Stephanie hesitated.

'Go on, it's fine,' laughed Nina, and took Stephanie's hands, slapping them onto her own titanic bust. 'Tell me how they feel.'

'They're... they're so big,' muttered Stephanie. 'And the rest of you is so slim.'

'Why thank-you!' said Nina, leaning forward a little, compelling Stephanie to plunge her fingers deeper into her ample titmeat.

'They're much heavier than mine,' continued Stephanie, weighing both breasts, hefting them with effort. 'And they look, well, more like breasts are supposed to. Firm but with... and I mean this as a compliment... with a nice amount of sag, and without any stretch marks. It makes your ages very hard to judge, actually.'

'And my nipples?'

'They're nicely in proportion,' said Stephanie. She slid her hands round to the Nina's scarlet-tipped peaks and absent-mindedly took the liberty of rolling the buxom entrepreneur's protruding nipples between her pale fingers and thumbs. This elicited a sharp intake of breath from Nina. 'Oops, sorry!' said Stephanie.

'It's fine, it's fine,' hastened Nina, 'Feel free to carry on.'

Stephanie continued softly tweaking Nina's bumpy red nipples, feeling them harden and noting the goosebumps radiating out across the expanse of pale skin. The stimulation seemed to increase the density of Nina's chest, and Stephanie swore she could feel both breasts heave and surge upwards. 'They're clearly very sensitive,' said Stephanie.

'They are,' confirmed Nina breathlessly. 'As indeed are my breasts as a whole. In particular the inner surfaces, in my cleavage.' She took one of Stephanie's hands and slid it deep between her close-set boobs and into the surprisingly cold, dry depths of her tight decolletage. Her eyes rolled as Stephanie caressed and stroked, wriggling her hand around inside. 'Sufficient stimulation of that sensitive skin between my breasts can drive me to... to climax.'

Stephanie, concerned that this might be going a little too far, hastily withdrew her hand.

'Yes, yes, you're right,' said the flustered Nina, snapping back to her senses. 'Neither the time nor the place!'

Stephanie smiled politely.

'I assure you there's a point to this,' said Nina. 'You see, breast and nipple sensitivity is one of many important factors in selecting a bra. I, for instance, can't wear a bra with any kind of structure in place between my boobs, as the constant rubbing up and down, while I walk, well it's like...'

Stephanie cast her mind back to the drama lesson with Mrs Winchester. 'Like being titfucked?' she suggested brightly.

Nina eyed her, impressed. 'Precisely. Clever girl. Well, breast orgasms are as much a curse as they are a blessing. Climaxing in public can be a humiliating predicament, and the last thing you want is a poorly-chosen brassiere setting you off.'

Stephanie nodded.

'Tell me about the sensitivity of your own breasts,' said Nina, taking a step back to once more survey the opulence of the exquisite, succulent teen bosom that hovered, nude, before her.

'It's not something I've really explored,' admitted Stephanie. 'I think my nipples are quite sensitive, but any time they come close to even getting a little ticklish, I make sure that doesn't escalate. I had to spend Monday morning braless because my old C-cup didn't fit me anymore, and my shirt wouldn't button up so I had the rough knit of my school jumper rubbing at my boobs and nipples any time I walked anywhere.'

'School jumper?' echoed Nina. 'How old are you, if you don't mind my asking?'

'Eighteen, Miss,' said Stephanie.

'Please, call me Nina. My my, a schoolgirl with a bosom like yours. You must be getting a lot of attention from the boys.' Nina took a tape measure from her trouser pocket and wrapped it around Stephanie's ribcage, her own swaying breasts colliding softly with her customer's as she did so.

'Oh, it's a girls' school,' said Stephanie. 'But the few men I've been in contact with have responded very positively to my breasts. Some of the girls made me flash a man on the train on my first day and he came in his pants. And in sex education yesterday the teacher's nephew ejaculated so much onto my bosoms they ended up completely covered from top to bottom in his semen. Although, come to think of it, I was giving him a handjob at the time, so it's hard to say whether it was my chest itself that forced him to unload so much.'

'Let me guess,' said Nina, scrutinizing the measurements she had taken. 'You're at Stonemere Park?'

'Yes, Nina,' said Stephanie. 'How did you know?'

'I did my A-levels there as well, ten years ago,' smiled Nina nostalgically. 'Let me tell you, although the explicitly sexual nature of the lessons might be shocking at first, for girls like you and me, slim redheads with huge gorgeous tits, it's the best preparation for life. The more you understand about what goes on in the one-track male brain - and it's not a lot - the more control you'll have as you go through your career. Any thoughts on what you might like to do for a living?'

'Not really,' frowned Stephanie, as Nina applied compass and protractor to her wobbling bust. 'I guess university and then I'll see. I'd love to be an actress, but I need something practical to fall back on, I suppose.'

'How would you like to make a little money?'

'I'd love to!'

'I'm bring out my own range of lingerie,' said Nina, guiding Stephanie to the water bath. 'Sexy, transparent bras to wear under light clothing.'

'Like the one you were wearing earlier?'

'Exactly, that's the one. Just lower your breasts into the water please. That's it. Anyway, I need someone to model them for the catalogue and the website. You've an absolutely perfect figure, and most importantly your nipples are pale, flat, and discreet enough not to show through the material. I'd do it myself, but... we'll you saw how conspicuous my nips are.'

Stephanie stood straight again, warm water dripping from her buxom swaying breasts, and accepted a towel from Nina with which she dried herself. 'I... I'm very flattered, but...'

'Trust me, you're perfect,' said Nina. 'Every woman wants tits like yours, and every man wants his partner to have tits like yours. I'll pay you fifty pounds an hour, and you can keep the bras.'

Stephanie couldn't believe what she was hearing. No way was she beautiful enough to be a model.

'Tell you what,' said Nina. 'Let's finish fitting you, I'll give you whichever size fits you best, on the house. Give it a test drive during the week. And you can make up your mind about the modeling at the same time, and then get in touch at the weekend again if you want to go ahead with it. Sound good?'

'I guess,' smiled Stephanie, wondering what the catch was.

'Now, nipple sensitivity,' said Nina. 'Trousers and knickers off, please.'

'What?' said Stephanie, now genuinely startled.

'We're going to see how much vaginal fluid you produce when your breasts are stimulated. Don't worry, it's perfectly safe.'

And a few minutes later, Stephanie found herself reclining, entirely nude, in a custom chair of, presumably, Nina's own design, her feet in stirrups, a panel of absorbent spongy material pressed against her vagina. And Nina set to work with various devices, massaging oils, and even her own lips, teasing and fondling Stephanie's huge swollen breasts and small inverted nipples. A vibrating dildo found its way into her cleavage, thrust softly in and out, causing her entire bosom to quiver overwhelmingly.

This was the closest to actual sex Stephanie had ever experienced. Masturbation had been something she had never really been especially interested in but now, without even going anywhere near her tingling young clitoris, Nina's manipulation of her fresh, heaving breasts was driving her closer to orgasm than she'd ever felt. The sponge between her legs felt hot and heavy with the steady stream of pussy juices this stimulation was eliciting, and she felt a steadily approaching surge of something incredibly powerful within her, a feeling that terrified and fascinated her.

Nina suddenly stopped, and inspected the sopping juice-collector, placing it on a set of scales at the base of the chair, scales that were already collecting a noisily dripping splash of juice.

'You're stopping?!' exclaimed Stephanie. 'Please!'

Nina looked up. 'Oh my goodness, you were actually going to cum.'

'Please finish!' Stephanie was out of her mind with unresolved sexual stimulation.

'You poor thing. I wouldn't normally do this, but...' Nina placed a skilled couple of fingers on Stephanie's soaking vagina and gave her swollen clitoris the tiniest rub.

Stephanie felt like she'd been struck by lightning and screamed in rampant ecstasy as her long overdue first ever full orgasm consumed her. Her tits shook wildly like two plates of blancmange as her entire body convulsed with the most intense sensation of pleasure she had ever experienced. 'Oh god,' she panted. 'Oh my goodness!'

'I hope you don't mind that I finished you off like that,' said Nina. 'We could have carried on with your tits and nipples and I imagine you would have orgasmed that way in due course, but I felt it rather inappropriate. Fingering your clit was the most efficient way to get you to climax.




First Term at Stonemere Park Ch. 07



Stephanie clambered out of the chair, nude and dizzy with arousal. 'Oh god,' she moaned, it's not finished. I can still feel it buzzing.'

'Then there's another test we can do,' said Nina. 'We also need to measure the extent to which jiggling stimulates you. Shimmy your shoulders.'

'What?' gasped Stephanie.

'Shimmy. Jiggle your boobs.'

Stephanie clumsily set her chest into motion.

'No no, like this,' said Nina, giving her still-nude tits a practised wiggle. 'You barely need to move your shoulders, just let the inertia of your breasts do the work.'

Stephanie focused on the weight of tit which protruded from her chest and gave her shoulders a gentle shake. Her breasts started to jostle and slap against one another with a rhythm that reawakened the spark of orgasm that still glowed within her. Muttering expletives, Stephanie found that she was shimmying her way to a second orgasm, that, if anything, felt like it was going to be even more debilitatingly powerful than the first.

Nina took a step back and watched in fascination as the orgasm hit her bosomy young customer with a force that drove her, writhing and drenched with perspiration, to the floor, flailing tits pointing at the ceiling. She crept next to her. 'There's a shower through that door,' she said softly. 'Freshen up and let's get you into a bra.'

In the shower, Stephanie experimented further, letting the hot water jets massage her shimmying tits to a third, gentler orgasm. Nina's finger on her clit had been the catalyst that set her off, but she found that without even putting a hand between her legs, she could pleasure herself simply by jostling her big sensitive breasts to and fro, without the crippling extremity and subsequent clitoral discomfort of a vaginal orgasm. Though delighted at this new journey of self-discover the bra saleswoman had led her on, Stephanie also realised that it was an ability she was going to have to treat with restraint and responsibility.

She returned to the dressing room, and heard Nina dealing with another customer out front. Putting her knickers and jeans back on, she wandered topless around, surveying the various bras on hangers.

'Feel better?' said Nina. 'Although the glow on your face answers that question for me! Try this one. It should be perfect.'

Stephanie strapped herself into the undergarment, leaning forward and jiggling herself into the cups - carefully though, so as not to set herself off again. Her breasts well contained by cups that fit like a second, near-transparent silky skin, Stephanie took a walk up and down, surveying herself in the mirror. They only real difference between her nude and bra-clad states were a noticeable reduction of jiggle down to a firm, sexy minimum. The uniquely rounded shape of her breasts, of which she was becoming prouder every day, was perfectly preserved. Only one question remained. 'What size is this?'

Nina smiled. 'Thirty-two G.'

Thirty-two G! Stephanie stared with increased pride at the reflection of her busty physique in the mirror.

'It's on the house, remember?' Nina said, handing Stephanie her top and bag. 'Drop in next Saturday. In the meantime: knock 'em dead, honey.'



First Term at Stonemere Park Ch. 08



Monday's French vocabulary refresher with Monsieur Prévert was, to Stephanie's complete and utter lack of surprise, on the theme of parts of the body. Here we go again, she thought, bracing herself to go along for the ride. She had completed the new wardrobe that had begun with the gifted 32G(!) bra by treating herself to a fitted blouse and a tight-fitting stretchy knit skirt, both in the regulation school uniform colours. The blouse fitted the contours of her ballooning bosom very nicely, and tapered in to her slim stomach in sleek, sexy style.

Whereas on her first day she had blended right in with her plain-faced deskmate Jill, now, a mere week later, she was approaching the same bombshell league as Sally, or even Angela. And all this without makeup: though happy to flaunt her blossoming body, Stephanie had left her face and hair unchanged. To do anything with her naturally pretty face, peachy skin, and bouncy red corkscrew curls would, she still felt, be a makeover too far across the threshold into becoming somebody else entirely, and she wanted to look in the mirror and still be reminded of who she really was deep inside. Her eyes were wide emerald green, her cheeks rosy, her lips pink and full, and though she had always hated her prominent ears, her sudden sexual development had now given her the confidence to turn those into an asset, and it was with her curls tucked proudly behind them that she sat awaiting the start of Monsieur Prévert's lesson.

The gaunt, greasy-haired ghoul of a man set his briefcase on the desk and walked among the silent pupils. He placed his bony hand onto the dark blonde head of a tall, long-haired girl Stephanie knew as Alex. 'C'est quoi?' he asked. 'Jill?'

'La tête,' answered Jill correctly.

'Et ceci-là?' Prévert touched his gallic nose and stared around.

Stephanie raised her hand. 'C'est votre nez, monsieur.'

The teacher nodded and, meandering around the room, allowed his hand to come to rest on Lowenna's shoulder. 'Qu'est-ce que c'est, Lowenna?' he asked her.

'Mon chemisier,' blurted Lowenna, eager to rectify her mistake from last time, not realising she had missed the point of the exercise, which was to name body parts and not items of clothing.

Grabbing Lowenna by the arm, Monsieur Prévert yanked the nasty girl to her feet, making her chair scrape along the classroom floor noisily. He roughly unbuttoned Lowenna's shirt far enough to allow it to be yanked down over her shoulders and come to rest on her protruding F-cups. He tugged both green bra straps down from her shoulders, so that it was really just her nipples holding her shirt up. Prévert span Lowenna round to face the class, and put his hands on her heavily freckled shoulders, and asked again what they were, shaking them and making the schoolgirl's chest wobble. Lowenna looked her usual furious self, humiliated once more.

Stephanie hoped that the teacher wouldn't pick on her again, as the last thing she wanted to do was bring yet more of Lowenna's hatred upon herself.

Luckily, Alex spoke up in her plummy voice. 'Les epaules,' she said of Lowenna's shoulders.

'Bravo, Alexandra,' barked Monsieur Prévert. 'Deshabille-toi, s'il te plait.'

Alex stood, and excitedly began to undress as she'd been told. Stephanie was struck by the power the young woman exuded by means of this ready confidence. This one wasn't going to let herself be victimised or humiliated. Her baggy blouse came off, revealing a surprisingly full pair of breasts bobbing in a lightweight pink bra, dark nipples clearly visible through the lace. Then off came her skirt, tights, and knickers in one go, which she kicked off. Her dark bush was wildly untrimmed. Finally, with a flourish, she snapped off the bra, baring her breasts which were round and wobbly and sat high on her chest, with fiercely erect brown nipples pointing gently upwards from their peaks. Stephanie secretly envied the girl her long legs and flat stomach. Alex struck a little bit of a pose, hand on cocked hip, a naughty, toothy smile on her lips and a dazzling twinkle in her eyes.

Monsieur Prévert took in her unabashed naked form and made no attempt to hide a stiffly prodding erection in his trousers as he approached her, muttering under his breath in French.

He wandered around behind her, standing so close that, judging by the girl's gasp of surprise, his erectitude must have wedged itself in between her compact buttocks. He cupped her grapefruit-sized breasts and presented them to the class, giving them a gentle jiggle. Alex didn't let her smile lapse for a single second, staring straight ahead with lofty allure.

'Qu'est-ce que c'est?' he asked his familiar question.

Lowenna's hand shot up so fast her right breast leaped out of her bra and blouse, nipple dancing attention-seekingly.

'La Marianne?' said Monsieur Prévert. Lowenna looked puzzled and, arm still aloft, scanned the room along with the others, wondering who was called Marianne. Stephanie rolled her eyes, it seemed she was the only one who got the teacher's "joke": likening the bare-breasted, arm-raising Lowenna to the French revolutionary symbolic figure of Marianne, or Liberty. But again, she kept this recognition to herself, not wanting to upstage any of her new classmates, especially Lowenna.

'Alors, Lowenna,' sighed the teacher in disappointment. He juggled Alex's tits from behind again and raised his eyebrows.

'Ils sont seins,' said Lowenna, her own right "sein" jutting rudely forth from her rumpled clothing.

'Oui,' said the teacher with a nod from behind his victim's shoulder. He closed his eyes and sniffed her long hair. Stephanie observed that Alex's hips were being gently and repeatedly nudged forward. It appeared that Monsieur Prévert was rubbing himself against Alex's naked bottom as he continued to caress her shapely pliant breasts. Stephanie wondered if that could possibly be allowed in a school.

Monsieur Prévert's jaundiced fingers made their lecherous way up the lower curves of Alex's boobs until they reached her stiff chestnut nipples. He tweaked and rubbed them. 'Et ceux?'

The class collectively racked its brains for the word for nipple.

Stephanie suddenly remembered what it was, and, unable to bear the tension, raised her hand.

'Stephanie, alors.' The disgraceful French teacher tickled Alex's nipples which were, fortunately for Alex, clearly not especially sensitive.

'Ils sont des mamelons,' announced Stephanie proudly.

'Exactement!' barked Monsieur Prévert, perspiration beading his brow as he now squeezed and kneaded Alex's well-sized, supple, naked breasts with gathering lust. He allowed one hand to descend down onto Alex's stomach, latching onto as much combined tit as he could with the other hand. The class identified the words for stomach, vagina, labia, clitoris, thigh, knee, shin, feet, toes, all the while this unforgivably perverted Frenchman groped his pupil's gorgeous body from behind, and prodded his trouser-tent into her posterior. He span her around to face him, her back now to the class, and while he now feasted his beady eyes to the succulent teen bosom he was manhandling and, presumably, ground his stiff bulge into the young woman's hairy pubis, the class continued to recite French words for back, buttocks, anus, calf, and ankle.

Grabbing Alex by the shoulders, he again span her 180 degrees to face the class, her chest wobbling heavily from side to side with the motion, and once again pressed himself tightly to her back. Panting heavily, he fumbled with his belt and trousers. Stephanie couldn't believe what happened next. Something emerged from beneath Alex's by now rather swollen pussy lips. It was the throbbing, glistening, pulsating head of Monsieur Prévert's gnarled French cock, which he had released from his trousers. The purple mushroom-shaped gland advanced forth until it stuck out a good few inches in front of the alarmed nude schoolgirl, and then curved upwards until it rested against her pubic hair. Alex was now straddling his elongated shaft, her moistening labia kissing it visibly.

The only sound in the room was the erratic breathing of the highly-aroused French teacher as he resumed his desperate kneading of his young charge's doughy bosom. Eventually the shameless man spoke: 'Ça,' he said, briefly letting go of a jiggly boob to point down it his cock which curved upwards below. 'Qu'est-ce que c'est, Alex?'

Alex looked down between her perky boobs at the engorged bell-end that stared, cyclops-like, up at her. 'C'est...,' she stammered, not so much afraid as excited. 'C'est votre penis, Monsieur.'

'Oui,' he said quietly, closing his eyes once again to sniff her long, thick hair as he allowed her lovely breasts to jostle and wobble in his palms.

And with that, he came.

Stephanie watched in astonishment as a first rope of custard-like fluid sailed from the tip of his cock into the air and traveled half the length of the classroom, reaching nearly as far as she was sitting, landing with a splatter on the floor of the classroom aisle in front of her. A second garland of jism traveled, to Stephanie's further amazement, even further than the first, as though the first had just been a warm-up. It was as though Monsieur Prévert hadn't ejaculated in decades, so thick and opaque, so pent-up were his copious emissions into the dusty classroom air.

Alex, meanwhile, simply stood there, a strange expression on her face as her French teacher's twitching penis continued to pulse forth violent ejaculations of long overdue spunk from directly beneath her luxuriant pubic thatch.

After what seemed like, and probably was, several minutes, Monsieur Prévert's furious genital emissions finally subsided and he stood there, panting, his fingers slowly relaxing their greedy grip on Alex's tits as his erection descended and withdrew, allowing the tall teenage beauty, hitherto trapped by this wanton member, to slip free. The spent Frenchman stuffed his tender cock back into his trousers, and groggily dismissed Alex back to her a seat with a wave of his hand. Chest jiggling proudly, the model student scurried back to her desk and started dressing again.

Monsieur Prévert was suddenly a different man entirely. His mind and testicles now clear, textbooks were opened, grammar scribbled on the blackboard, and a perfectly normal lesson ensued for the remaining half hour. Stephanie dove into the academic work with glee. Finally she was learning something that might actually help her pass her A-level exam, and all it had taken was for the perverted teacher to cum.

And this gave her an idea.



First Term at Stonemere Park Ch. 09



'Plaster casting dates back to the 17th century, where it began life as a way of reproducing famous sculptures,' said Ms Bach to the attentive class. She was stirring a bucket of translucent white gloop. Looking at it drip from the wooden stick in thick milky strands, Stephanie couldn't help but think of cum, the way Miss St John's nephew's cum had coated her wobbling breasts, the way Monsieur Prévert's cum had sailed the length of the classroom from beneath Alex's damp vagina. She nipped her thigh sharply in self-chastisement. She wanted to succeed and flourish here at sex-obsessed Stonemere Park, but she didn't want to become a complete and utter slut, and her growing fascination with semen worried her.

'Today, girls, we're going to plaster cast body parts.' Whispered excitement flurried around the room. 'I want you to pair up with the girl next to your left, both pick a favourite part of your body that you'd like to reproduce in plaster, and we'll begin.'

Jill turned to her right and grinned at Stephanie, who did her best not to show her disappointment at having to work with the school weirdo. 'I suppose you're going to want to cast your fabulous boobies?' Jill said, cheekily helping herself to a gentle handful of Stephanie's bountiful chest through her blouse.

Stephanie shrugged. 'I guess,' she said. 'How about you?'

Jill pondered the question, eyes rolling hugely behind thick bifocals. 'My pussy,' she decided.

'Not your boobs?' said Stephanie. 'They're a good old size, and they look pretty firm.' Jill's bosom was indeed impressive and proudly pointy beneath her sweater.

'It's my pussy I love most though,' said Jill. 'I want a cast of my pussy.'

Buckets of gloopy casting gel were circulated around the classroom, and strategic items of clothing started to come off. Stephanie stole glances around the room of exposed body parts, still fascinated by Stonemere Park's obsession with the nude female form and its power to enthrall. As she returned her attention to the task in hand, she came face to face with Jill's pale blue knickers, which she promptly yanked down to bare her thick pubic thatch and meaty labia, an alarming sight to Stephanie. Until now, Stonemere Park had treated her only to an abundance of bountiful nude teenage breasts, and though she had shared showers with other women in the past, this was the closest her face had come to a naked vagina. She noticed with distaste that Jill's labia were shiny with a slick of fluid of some kind.

Ms Bach explained that the body parts were first to be lubricated with body oil, so that the set mould could be easily removed, and she moved around the room handing out squeeze bottles of some cheap supermarket brand.

'Oil me up then, Steph,' said Jill.

It didn't occur to Stephanie that Jill could very easily have done this herself, and before she knew it she was massaging the lavender-scented liquid liberally into her odd classmate's sexual organs, hips, and thighs. Jill twitched slightly, not doing an especially good job of hiding her evident arousal.

Throwing one of the old art-room shirts over her uniform, Stephanie then rolled up her sleeves and grabbed a handful of gloop from the bucket.

'Go on,' said Jill with a sly smile. 'Slap it on.'

Stephanie cautiously placed a handful of milky gel directly onto Jill's crotch. Jill's thighs writhed in quiet delight. 'Stay still,' muttered Stephanie. 'You have to stay still while I do this.'

'Miss!' came a shrill schoolgirl voice from across the room. 'Emily's bosoms won't stay still!'

Stephanie and Jill looked across. Emily, the sandy-haired girl Stephanie had met on the train on her first day, was standing topless before another girl who was having a hard time trying to apply the moulding agent. The bare breasts in question, large and low-slung but upswept and shapely with engorged pink nipples, were indeed quivering visibly despite the fact their owner appeared to be sitting entirely still.

'I'm sorry,' said Emily to Ms Bach, who had wandered across the room to investigate. 'They never really stop jiggling.' She shrugged by way of apology, but this simply had the effect of sending her remarkably wobbly chest into further undulations, side to side and up and down.

'I can't find a window,' protested her plaster-casting partner. 'Every time I get my hand close, her tits wobble out of the way!'

Ms Bach turned to address the class. 'Try to keep your body parts still, girls. If like Emily you have particularly jiggly bosoms - and I know a lot of you do - you might want to steady them with your hands for the first application of the moulding gel.'

'See?' said Stephanie to Jill. 'Keep your vadge still.' She scooped another handful of stodgy substance and applied it gently between Jill's thighs, packing it thickly onto her moist pussy lips. Jill managed to stay still, instead emitting an involuntary moan of delight. Stephanie was growing uncomfortable. She had the suspicion that not only was Jill probably a lesbian, but that Jill fancied her. And her she was, tricked into pleasuring a stalker in the most intimate way imaginable.

The layer of gloop started to set around Jill's private parts and thighs. At least she was covered up again, reasoned Stephanie.

'Your turn,' grinned Jill. 'I'll do your boobs while my pussy-mould sets. Top off!'

Reluctantly, Stephanie took the overshirt off again, then her sweater, then unbuttoned her blouse to bare her perfect creamy cleavage.

'Ooh, that's a nice bra,' cooed Jill. 'What size is it?'

'32G,' replied Stephanie as she put her school blouse to one side and stood to face Jill. The 32Gs bounced elastically in the well-fitted undergarment as she rose.

'They do look bouncy,' remarked Jill with a wink. 'I hope they can stay still while I slather them in this spunky liquid rubber.'

Stephanie unhooked the strap behind her and let the sheer cups fall from her breasts, which bobbed weightlessly in the classroom air. 'They're quite bouncy,' she conceded, 'But they don't just jiggle autonomously like Emily's seem to. I've got to put in a bit of effort...' she broke off, realizing that not only was Jill staring, transfixed, at her creamy, perfectly formed G-cup domes, but that a respectful hush had fallen over the entire room in their naked presence. Stephanie's face glowed beet-red, but she pretended nothing was happening. She seized Jill's wrist, wrenching the strange girl's fingers from her (thankfully silicone-encased) crotch, the sight of Stephanie's perfect breasts clearly having compelled to her to attempt to finger herself in public, and placed the bucket of gloop in her hand. 'Cover my boobs in this,' she said.

'Don't forget I need to oil them first,' leered Jill. She squirted lotion onto her hands and held them out, palms facing Stephanie's chest. 'If it feels weird having me oil you up, why don't you simply rub your boobs against my oily hands.'

Stephanie reasoned that, although this interaction would be no less bizarre, it was at least a step removed from a massage of her feminine attributes, and so she leaned forward and allowed her jutting sensitive breasts to make contact with Jill's oily palms. She squirmed her soft tits up and down, jiggled them gently from side to side, making sure every square inch (and there were a lot of those on her considerable bosom) was well oiled up. She wished she could have simply done it herself, but her own hands were already encrusted with glued-on shards of drying silicone casting material and needed a good wash. But more worryingly, she sensation was sending tingles of what she suspected may have been sexual pleasure. In a small way the stimulation of her nipples seemed to be amplified by the newly voluminous scale of the breasts they sat at the opulently domed summits of, and the feeling reminded her of what it was like when, alone in her room at night, she touched her... her... no, she didn't want to think about that. 'OK Jill,' she said finally, withdrawing her lubricated bosom from her classmate's outstretched palms. 'Go ahead and cast my breasts.'

Needing no further encouragement, Jill wiped her lubricated hands on her baggy overshirt, and plunged them both into the liquid molding material, scooping up two generous quantities, and placed them gently onto Stephanie's bare breasts, distributing the stuff all over with loving attention. 'I see what you mean,' Jill marveled. 'They're actually surprisingly firm. In fact, my hands are trembling more than your boobs are! I've never seen or felt a pair quite so impressive.'

The attention from the class had subsided again, but Stephanie still felt deeply uncomfortable at the pleasure Jill appeared to be deriving from her messy manhandling of her proud bosoms. But at the same time the milky white ooze reminded her again of the lake of sperm Miss St John's teenage nephew had so helplessly unloaded onto her chest, and she felt her small nipples stiffen into the setting ooze. Letting her fantasies free rein felt to her like a loss of control, and control she felt was all she had in this challenging new sexual environment. She looked around the room. Busts of all shapes and sizes were similarly being slathered in spunky liquid, an orgy devoted to the immortalization of blossomed womanhood.

'Once the molding agent sets,' said Ms Bach to the class, 'gently remove the hardened plastic from your partner's chosen body part, and set it to one side. I'm going to come round the room with small buckets of soapy water and sponges, so you can wash each other off. You'll be all greasy and covered in bits of the stuff, so you'll want to get that off before you put your bras and knickers back on.'

'I'm getting hard,' said Jill. Stephanie's eyes widened, then she realized that Jill was referring to the casting mould that housed her groin. Though she couldn't help but read innuendo into that and everything else Jill said to her. Around the room, ripening teen body parts were being released from their plastic casings. Stephanie watched as Emily's shapely breasts, liberated from constriction, resumed their state of constant wobbly activity. Emily's nipples, too, had turgidly erected themselves into the mould, and their thick, aroused state extended the size and shape of her boobs by a good inch. Stephanie wondered what it must be like to have such large, puffed up nipples. Her own, though quite small, were already proving something of a nuisance owing to their sensitivity, which increased daily. Were smaller nipples more sexually sensitive than big ones? Or did it make no difference? Was it the size ratio of nipple to boob? Emily's partner proceeded to lather up a big sponge in soapy water, and then to wash Emily's jiggly breasts. Emily, clearly ticklish, giggled maniacally as the slippery sponge made its way over, under, and between her animated mammaries, and the giggling soon gave way to what Stephanie recognized as mildly orgasmic hyperventilation. The blush in Emily's cheeks was unmistakable. The soapy stimulation of her dancing, swollen nipples was turning her on.

Turning her attention back to Jill's crotch, she carefully prised the hardened cast away. Jill winced slightly as the occasional pubic hair was plucked out in the process. Stephanie was startled to note that a hardened inch or two of silicone moulding had made its way into Jill's vagina, from which it emerged with little difficulty, slick with Jill's juices. This was going to be an explicitly detailed plaster cast indeed.

'Oops, it went inside me,' giggled Jill. 'I wondered what that was.'

With a grim smile, Stephanie soaked her sponge in warm soapy suds, and started to work on Jill's thighs, scrubbing off the combination of crusty plastic bits and baby oil. She worked her way up to Jill's lower stomach and upper pubic region, but there was no escaping the fact that she was going to have to venture into her most personal area.

'Go on,' whispered Jill.

Stephanie took a deep breath and applied the sudsy sponge to Jill's turgid labia. Jill's entire body shuddered. Stephanie couldn't believe what she was doing. How had she got herself into this position? She found it awkward enough touching her own vagina, and now she was touching someone else's, a fellow student whose attentions made her uncomfortable, and she was doing it in front of a room of her peers. Although with regards to the last point, at least the others were all preoccupied now with their own bosomy, bottomy, and vaginal mutual ablutions. She glanced across the room and caught sight of Esme's scarlet bullet-nipples poking through the ocean of soapy foam that covered her jutting, swaying young blimp-tits. Whatever issues Stephanie was having with her own G-cups, at least she didn't have ones like Esme. Yet.

Jill interrupted this busty train of thought. 'Don't forget that some of it went all the way up inside me, Steph. So I'll need a wash there.'

'You can't do that part yourself?'

'Ms Bach said we have to help each other in pairs. You don't want me to tell her you didn't do your bit, do you?'

Blackmail! Fuming, Stephanie attempted to wedge the sponge into Jill's cunt, but of course it wouldn't go. So, very gently, she slid a finger between the folds. The orgasm hit Jill instantly and she let out a squeal so badly suppressed that it drew the attention of everyone in the room. Stephanie was hugely embarrassed, having lesbian sex in front of the whole class.

'Stephanie!' barked Ms Bach.

'It... it was an accident,' protested Stephanie, swiftly removing her finger from Jill's trembling pussy.

'No orgasms in class,' said the teacher sternly. 'As you're new here I'll let you off this one time.'

The giggling class resumed their soapy activities, and Stephanie gave Jill a look.

'Sorry,' mumbled Jill. 'You touched my clit. It set me off.'

'It's ok,' replied Stephanie stiffly. 'Let's just get on with it.'

With an obedient nod, Jill carefully set to work removing the set mould from Stephanie's chest. Stephanie let out an involuntary gasp as she felt her freed bosoms balloon and surge forward. Her small erect nipples left the indentation they had made in the plastic with what felt to her like an audible pop. She gave her breasts a well-deserved shimmy, limbering them up after their time in the silicone prison.

'Feel good, does it?' pried Jill.

Too good, thought Stephanie, but she didn't let on. There was something about the heaviness of her wobbling boobs in motion that sent feelings, naughty feelings, coursing from the tips of her nipples, through her body and down between her legs...

The soapy sponge hit her left boob, stopping its careening motion dead in its tracks, and she savoured the feeling of the warm slippery water as Jill carefully cleaned her. Again, the electric tingle as the sponge, both slippery and abrasive at once, flicked her still-erect nipple this way and that. Her mind wandered, and wondered. What would a penis feel like rubbed all over her in this way? A flaccid penis at first, a penis that became steadily engorged as it circumnavigated her perfectly round domed boob. And then, like Jill's sponge was now doing, the penis would plunge greedily into the curiously sensitive region deep between her close-set breasts, into her cunt-like cleavage. Her breasts clutched the sponge, squeezed it together, forcing a jet of white soapy water upwards, which then ran down her heaving globes. The sponge made its way onto her right breast, repeating the ritual, but her left nipple was now cold and neglected, and by the time Stephanie realized that she had unconsciously raised a delicate finger to continue rubbing and flicking it like a third clitoris, the tsunami-like orgasm had already passed its point of no return, and came crashing down onto her body with devastating effect. Her face burnt hot and tears streamed down her cheeks as she suppressed each surge of pleasure with a violent shudder of her entire body. I'm not a lesbian, she repeated to herself in her mind, as full awareness gradually returned and the waves of ecstasy ebbed, I'm not a lesbian.

Heart pounding like crazy, her eyes darted around the room in panic. Jill was patting her chest dry with a towel, sending slow ripples through each post-orgasmic tit. The nipple-fondling climax had gone unnoticed, thank goodness. The girls around the classroom were drying off, dressing, and tidying.

'Don't worry,' said Jill softly, with a sly wink. 'Your secret's safe with me.'



First Term at Stonemere Park Ch. 10



Livid at having been tricked into participating in what amounted to full lesbian sex, Stephanie made sure she was out of the classroom the second the bell rang, well ahead of Jill. Thank goodness the next lesson was drama, she thought, where she was lucky enough to sit on the other side of the class from her obsessive sapphic stalker! Every heavy bounce of her buoyant, expansive young chest as she marched to her next class stirred memories of the orgasmic sensations that had coursed through it, and these were not recollections she wanted to dwell on, partly out of her own still largely prudish attitude toward sex, but mainly out of resentment for Jill's active contribution. Stephanie was still, she was certain, one hundred percent heterosexual, but given the choice did it really have to be Jill? Jill with her pockmarked skin, her mousy dry hair, her bifocals, her sopping, swollen labia? She seemed to have an ample bust, but who knew what it looked like naked? Sagging and shapeless no doubt. Couldn't it at least be one of the pretty girls obsessing over her? Sally? Or even the busty, leggy bombshell Angie Kenworthy? Surely there had to be some attractive lesbians that would take a shine to her. That Jill would even consider herself in with a chance dealt Stephanie's fragile self-esteem a shattering blow.

Stephanie stopped this train of thought in its tracks. She was starting to become judgmental. Perhaps thoughts like this were what had set Lowenna on her path toward becoming the horrid bully she was now. She decided that she would find a way to let Jill down kindly, and that would have to start with sending out the message that she was resolutely heterosexual. If only Jill had been on hand to witness that explosive handjob she had so deftly administered to Miss St John's nephew in sex-education, and the pride with which she'd worn the young man's torrent of seed on her wobbling bare bosom, like a milky liquid medallion.

'Wrong way, Steph!' called Sally, running past her in the opposite direction with some other girls from drama. 'Miss Winchester wants us all out in front of the school entrance!'

Intrigued, Stephanie span on her heel and, bust rebounding elastically in her new bra, she chased after Sally and the others, finding the class congregated on the front lawn, warmed by the clear autumn sun. Mrs Winchester was taking a register. Jill arrived last, out of breath, having been the last to get the message.

'Now that we're all here, we shall begin,' said Mrs Winchester. 'I suppose you're all wondering what we're doing out here in the school grounds. Well, we're going to take a trip into Stonemere village to carry out some research in preparation for our production of Lysistrata!'

The girls chattered eagerly. Stephanie wondered with nervous apprehension what might be coming next.

Mrs Winchester continued. 'You'll recall that over the course of the sexual strike imposed by the women of Sparta, their beleaguered husbands find themselves sporting permanent erections. But to keep this up is harder than it looks.' The girls giggled at the unintentional innuendo, and even Mrs Winchester smirked in spite of herself. 'Quiet girls, quiet. There will be no male actors in our production - we're a girls school after all. However, so that we may be sure that your performances in the play are accurate, I want you to go into the village in small groups, each find a man, and see how long you can keep him continuously hard, not drooping, not climaxing, just one long tortuous erection.'

'What if they refuse?' asked Jemima.

'I can guarantee you they won't refuse,' said Mrs Winchester insightfully. 'Let's get you into groups of two or three.'

Stephanie realised this was the perfect opportunity to demonstrate her arrow-straight heterosexuality to Jill, and rushed over to her. 'You want to team up with me?' she gave as convincing a smile as she could. Jill, unsurprisingly, didn't seem enthusiastic about this particular drama exercise, and shrugged, but Stephanie could tell she was secretly pleased about the attention she was being shown.

Mrs Winchester went around checking the groups. The cool girls were all huddled in one group, which the teacher decided to break up. 'Angie, you go over to join Stephanie and Jill.'

Angie rolled her big blue eyes petulantly and sauntered over the lawn on her absurdly stunning legs which in their gray tights extended for miles out of a daringly short navy miniskirt. 'Hey,' she said frostily to the two girls. 'Hey,' said Stephanie and Jill back.

'I want you all to time the length of the erections, and document the techniques you use to cause them, and the circumstances in which the men lose them. We'll then use this data to form the basis of our drama workshops.' Mrs Winchester distributed notepads and stopwatches.

'This is the 21st century, Miss,' said Angie. 'We can just use the stopwatches in our mobile phones.'

'Modern technology,' sneered Mrs Winchester. 'Don't trust it.'

The groups of girls set out into the town on their expeditions.

'What's the longest you've ever kept a man hard?' asked Angie as they walked.

Stephanie's experience in this department was limited. To an extent the question was unanswerable. For all she knew she had been the cause of hour-long erections in all manner of situations without having any knowledge of the fact. Perhaps not before the flourishing growth-spurt her chest had lately undergone though. There was Miss St John's nephew, but then she had been actively hastening him towards ejaculation, so that didn't count. There was the poor commuter on the train she had been forced to tease, that can't have been longer than five minutes before he soiled his underpants with copious spasms of cum. There was the man in the bookshop at the weekend, whose erection had been so conspicuous. Fifteen minutes perhaps? But she figured her personal best must have actually been back when she had been a C-cup, a year previously, when she had let her first and only boyfriend Adrian into her bedroom when her parents were out and had let him see her in her bra, but had been too shy and ashamed of her tiny nipples to go fully topless. 

She reflected with guilty feelings on the long evening she had led him on, his cock huge and stiff in his trousers the entire evening, until he'd had to leave to catch the last bus, awkwardly attempting to conceal an erection that was clearly driving him crazy. She had never got to see that cock, though if her recollection was correct, and the enormous bulge in his trousers was anything to go by, she had missed out on a whopper! In a letter to her afterwards he had described in great explicitly pornographic detail the wet dream he had experienced about her that night, during the course of which all the pent up sexual frustration had flooded out of him, and she had destroyed the letter in shock. The relationship didn't last. 'Three hours?' Stephanie replied with a guilty gulp. Poor Adrian.

'Wow,' said Angie. 'Really? You must be quite a tease.'

'Not any more,' said Stephanie grimly. 'Not since I got these things.' She gestured toward her bobbing bosoms. 'How about you?'

'I reckon about an hour,' said Angie thoughtfully. 'I have the same problem as you though, I've got to keep the girls covered up. Guys get very silly over them once they get to see a bit of nipple. And then, before you know it, jizz everywhere. Without even touching themselves.'

'So it's not just me then!' Stephanie said in annoyance. 'I wish you'd stuck up for me in the last lesson. Mrs Winchester made me out to be a freak!'

'Sorry Steph,' Angie picked her chewing gum out her mouth and flicked it into a hedge. 'You're on your own there. I don't get involved.'

Oh well, thought Stephanie. She's Angie Kenworthy. She can do whatever she wants.

'I don't think I've ever given a boy an erection,' said Jill, though no-one had asked.

'Well, between the three of us, perhaps that's the combination we need,' said Stephanie. She had intended that to be encouraging, but perhaps it came out wrong, as Jill didn't seem especially cheered by the thought of being the antidote to their climax-inducing physiques.

A sign by the road pointed to a garage workshop down a side lane, and while the other groups of girls headed into the village itself, Stephanie, Angie and Jill agreed that it might be worth evaluating the car mechanics as subjects for their erectile experimentation.

'Hello?' Stephanie led the way into the dusty workshop. A car chassis loomed over them on a ramp. The air reeked of a hazardous combination of cigarette smoke and engine oil. Work of some kind appeared to be in progress, but there was no-one around. 'Anyone here?'

'Guys,' said Angie. She pointed to a door labelled with a computer-printed A4 sign that said OFFICE. She rapped on the door. No response. She shrugged and pushed the door open.

The trio walked into the small, untidy office, where the smell of burnt coffee added to the pungent cocktail of odours. The first thing that caught Stephanie's attention was the calendar on the wall, where the month of September was depicted by an unseasonably bronzed young woman photographed on a tropical beach wearing nothing but a miniscule fluorescent thong. The model was proudly flaunting her bare breasts, in fact her entire posture seemed dedicated to emphasising them in all their ample, tanned glory, her puffed coral areolae swollen and shiny. Her blue eyes sparkled, and a friendly, accommodating grin dimpled her cheeks. Stephanie guessed the model was probably the same age as she was, and wondered how she had ended up posing so provocatively in this glamourous photograph, the car mechanic's eminently nubile object of desire.

'That's Jess Rider,' explained Jill, noting Stephanie's interest in the calendar. 'From Page 3.'

Stephanie's parents read the left-wing press, and such images still exuded a strong air of the taboo, although, ironically, in the past couple of weeks at Stonemere Park Stephanie had already seen and done things far more graphically obscene.

'Ooh, porn,' said Angie from behind the desk.

'Hardly,' said Jill, 'She's just got her baps out.'

'No, here.' Angie took a couple of periodicals from the desk drawer and held them up with a meaningful waggle of her well-maintained eyebrows. 'Porno mags.' She attempted to flick through them idly, but the pages were stiff. Jill and Stephanie huddled around. 'Some of the pages are stuck together, but I think it's obvious: This guy's into boobs. Big boobs.' She arrived at some pages which were still rather damp to the touch and began to slowly peel them apart. 'Eww,' she said, belatedly realising why the pages were so moist. 'It's cum!'

'Certainly smells like it,' said Stephanie, a fourth aroma now wafting through the musty air.

The pages parted fully to reveal an alarmingly explicit colour photograph of a pouting busty brunette, pillowy breasts held tightly together with her dainty hands while an unseen suitor's scarlet, veiny member was in the process of festooning her décolleté and throat with what Stephanie recalled Mrs Winchester describe as a "pearl necklace". The gelatinous white sperm in the photograph was brought vividly to life by the real-life man-smell that rose from the newly-anointed page.

'This could be a problem,' observed Stephanie.

'What are you talking about,' said Angie, 'We've landed ourselves a big breast fetishist, and the three of us are stacked. When he shows up we'll have no problem getting him hard.'

'That page is still wet with semen,' insisted Stephanie. 'It can't be more than an hour since he wanked onto it. Men cum and then instantly lose interest.' She proceeded, with added commentary from Jill who had been there aswell, to relate the sordid tale of how Monsieur Prevert had molested the lissom, wobbly-boobed Alex in their French class.

'Mr Pervert's an old man,' scoffed Angie. 'Younger guys can manage a few times before they get bored. We'll have to wait and see how old this guy is.'

'Twenty-seven,' came a man's voice from behind them.

The girls span around, startled, causing three magnificently-developed pairs of eighteen-year-old knockers to leap and jostle in surprise beneath their tight school sweaters. Standing in the office doorway was the car mechanic. Face and hands were grimy, but he carried the look off with effortless flair. His eyes were piercing blue, his jaw square. Blue overall sleeves were tied around his waist, and his oil-smeared white T-shirt clung to his chest in a way that seemed designed to confirm to one and all that, yes, he worked out.

'Enjoying the magazine?' he said. 'Surprising choice of reading material for schoolgirls.'

'We're eighteen,' insisted Stephanie. 'We're from Stonemere Park, up the road. They make us wear uniform all the way through our A-levels.'

'Yeah sure,' smiled the mechanic. 'Heard that one before.'

Angie rose from her seated position on the edge of the desk. Drawing herself up to full height, on her heels, she was every bit as tall as the strapping auto engineer, and as she threw her shoulders back, her sharply conical breasts protruded beneath her school knitwear in a manner next to which even the bust of calendar-girl Jess Rider paled in comparison. The man's eyes made the long journey from Angie's cherubic face down the mountains of her chest, all the way down to her feet, and then back up again.

'What-,' his mouth had dried. 'What can I do for you girls? Car broke down? You even old enough to drive?' He popped a cigarette in his mouth and patted his overall pockets for a lighter.

Stephanie grabbed the lighter from the desk, lit it, and, to the man's surprise, held it to the tip of the cigarette. 'More than old enough. You don't simply grow tits like these overnight.' She was lying, of course, not the part about being old enough to drive, but her C-cups had of course ballooned to G's from one day to the next. But she didn't like to confuse the issue. 'Do we look like kids? Look at our big bosoms.' He did. 

'Take a seat,' said Angie. The bemused mechanic took a drag of his Benson & Hedges and, with a smile, made himself comfortable in a tatty faux-leather office chair. 'I'm Angie, this is Stephanie and...' She snapped her fingers.

'Jill,' said Jill with a roll of her eyes. Forever doomed to be forgotten by the cool set.

'Yeah, that's Jill. And you are?'

'Darren.' He ogled Stephanie's bust as she walked to Angie's side.

Stephanie spoke next. 'We've been sent out on a school project, and we wondered if you might help.'

'Sure,' smiled Darren, cigarette dangling over his stubbled chin. 'What you after?'

The girls exchanged mischievous looks. 'Your cock,' said Angie plainly. 'Fully erect, for the next...' She consulted her pink G-Shock digital watch. '... Thirty to thirty-five minutes.'

Darren's jaw dropped, and it was with nervous difficulty that he fished the fallen lit cigarette from between his legs.

'Careful, Darren,' said Jill, 'You don't want to burn yourself down there.'

'Is this some kind of prank?' said the mechanic, who was rapidly losing his swagger. 'Someone set you up to this?'

'Mrs Winchester, our drama teacher,' shrugged Stephanie. 'She sent us here. We're researching our school production of the Classical Greek comedy Lysistrata - don't know if you're familiar with it - and without going into the reasons in detail we've been tasked with arousing and sustaining a gentleman's erection for as long as we can before we have to get back to school for the end of the period. So, if you're happy to cooperate we're going to have to pull down your overalls and get started.'

'Uhhh,' Darren was stuck for words.

'We'll take that as a yes,' said Stephanie. Angie knelt before Darren and, with his help, pulled down the overalls, beneath which his sizeable cock and balls bulged within grey Calvin Kleins. Stephanie couldn't help but notice Jill's conspicuous lack of interest in spite of the lurid scene that was unfolding in the dingy office.

Angie's manicured fingertips made for the waistband of Darren's briefs. Stephanie hastened a word of warning. 'Careful Angie,' she said. 'Remember we have to not just get him hard but keep him that way. Don't make him cum too quickly!'

'Alright, alright,' said Angie petulantly. With the dexterity of a bomb-defuser, Angie teased off the Calvin Kleins, and the girls laid their eyes on Darren's nude package. His thick penis, semi-erect, snaked from blond pubic curls to rest against his tanned thigh. Within his taut, wrinkly, fist-sized ballsack, testicles bloated in a way that belied an owner who had made so recent a mess of his big-boob jazz-mag.

'Now, Darren,' said Stephanie with this in mind. 'It has come to our attention, from the state of your reading material, that you have recently had a "wank". Is this likely to give you any performance problems?'

'Fuck no,' swore the semi-naked engineer. 'If it's a boner you want, it's a boner you're going to get.'

Angie took off her navy sweater and proceeded briskly to unbutton her school blouse. As it parted, and her warm, deep cleavage emerged from within the pink lace cups of her 34E brassiere, Darren's cock levitated from his thigh, blood rushing to its tip, rapidly adding a sixth inch to its length and visible extra circumference to its engorging girth. His scrotum quivered visibly in libidinous anticipation of the release that surely lay in store. 'They're E-cups,' yawned Angie, letting her blouse fall from her shoulders. 'Like them?'

Darren replied by taking a firm grasp of his cock and lightly guiding it to a more fully erect state, blue veins throbbing criss-cross along its expanding proportions.

'No no, we can't have that,' laughed Stephanie in mild panic. 'You'll wank yourself to completion in minutes if we let you touch yourself.'

'What?' Protested Darren as Stephanie took both his hands in hers and yanked them behind the chair.

'Jill, hand me one of those cable-ties,' Stephanie said, and, with Jill's assistance, tied Darren's wrists together behind the chair.'

'Hey, I'm not into that kinky stuff!' said Darren, his expression as angry as his still-growing penis.

'We don't care,' said Angie, her lacklustre strip tease now moving to her skirt, which she unbuttoned and carefully slid over her heels so as not to let it touch the filthy carpet. She was now in her bra and grey tights, and the cartoonish curves of her young body were now outrageously apparent.

'Jesus,' gasped Darren, as he beheld Angie's figure. Her hourglass form was effortless, her skin marshmallow-soft, her waist wasp-thin, her hips uninterrupted oval curves, her belly gently rounded, all perfectly-proportioned puppy-fat and no muscle.

'Well done Angie,' smiled Stephanie, 'I'd say he was fully erect now. Jill, start the clock.'

Jill pressed the button on the stopwatch, and the girls began their intense study of Darren's erection, which twitched and swayed helplessly above his agonised loin. It looked to be a good seven inches long, curved back towards his slumped chest like a banana. The purple head had emerged entirely from his foreskin, and the opening at its tip gasped wetly like a guppy's mouth.

'Let us know if you feel it starting to dissipate,' said Stephanie kindly to the trapped worker. 'I can appreciate that you probably want to ejaculate very hard, with Angela here slowly removing her clothes, but we ask that you keep this hardon just as it is until we go away, okay?'

Darren nodded reluctantly. It was clear that Angie's lazily gyrating body in its mismatched underwear was driving him crazy.

'What now?' Angie wondered aloud. 'Should I carry on undressing?'

Stephanie scrutinised Darren's erection. 'I'm not seeing any pre-cum yet, so I think we've still got some scope to take things further. Keep your bra on, though. Darren's a breast man, aren't you, Darren?'




First Term at Stonemere Park Ch. 10



Darren nodded.

'That model Jess Rider. Fabulous bosoms, hasn't she?'

Darren nodded again.

'Do bosoms make you get all hard?' She asked teasingly.

'Y-yes.' Darren was putty in their hands.

'Have you ever seen a pair as big and firm as Jess Rider's in real life?'

'No,' croaked Darren. Angie had her slender, slinky back to him, and was rolling her woollen tights down over the bountiful lines of her hips to reveal small black knickers that disappeared into the tight cleft between marvellously ample buttocks that quivered, pale and chubby, above smooth, long thighs.

'That's a lovely bum you've got, Angie,' remarked Stephanie. 'Has anyone ever ejaculated onto it?'

'My ex did,' said Angie over her shoulder, stepping out of her tights and placing them on the desk next to her other clothes. 'Although I could never be sure if that was because I'd already driven him so wild with my naked tits. He'd usually cum without touching himself.'

'Ooh, how about that, Darren,' said Stephanie to her hapless, sweating victim. 'Have you ever been so turned on that you've ejaculated without your penis being touched?'

'Um no,' Darren racked his brain. 'I don't think so.'

'Have your partners not been as sexy as Angie?'

'They certainly fucking haven't,' he moaned. 'Oh Christ, oh fuck.'

Angie had turned around again, now clad only in tiny black knickers that barely preserved her pubic modesty, and a pink bra, from out of which the tiniest hints of pale, swollen areolae bulged. 'We saw how much you spunked onto that magazine,' said the scantily clad bombshell. 'You must really, really love tits.'

Darren nodded eagerly.

'You must love the thought of spunking over them. Right?'

'Fuck yeah,' enthused the physically restrained car mechanic.

'Even bra sizes must get you going, am I right?' Angie winked at him. 'I saw how that cock twitched when I said this bra was a size 34E. Oops there it goes again! Poor throbbing cock. Girls, what size bras are you wearing? Come over here next to me, let's give Darren a boobie line-up.'

Jill, clearly uncomfortable, wrestled her way out of her school pullover. Stephanie was intrigued. Jill's chest was clearly generously proportioned, but she usually kept it shapelessly under wraps. But now the spotty, short-sighted schoolgirl was fumbling with her blouse buttons, until the garment parted to reveal an eye-opening expanse of beige bra cup material.

'Wow, you go girl!' drawled Angie somewhat patronisingly. 'Stand up straight, go on.'

Jill did so, and her conical mountains of tit lurched from within her shirt, absurd, obscene caricatures of Angie's similarly-formed jutting protruberances. The bra covered pretty much her entire chest, only an inch of tight-packed cleavage beneath her chin giving a clue as to the mass of titflesh that lay hidden beneath.

'Not much to look at otherwise, but what a pair, eh Darren?' continued Angue cruelly. 'Bet you don't care about the bad hair, spotty skin and bifocals, do you? You just want to get that stiff, throbbing dick into that cleavage and shoot big wads of that juicy cum of yours all over her face, right?'

Darren, clearly as democratic a tit lover as Angie had theorised, eyed Jill's unflatteringly-oufitted but clearly immense bosom with a leering lick of his salty lips.

'Can you guess my bra size?' asked Jill with sudden confidence.

'Ummm, forty... Triple D?' guessed Darren boorishly.

'Thirty-six double-L.' Jill's reply was deadpan. 

'Bloody hell. That puts even your 32G's to shame, Steph,' remarked Angie, studying Jill's beige bust with newfound fascination. The mention of Stephanie's measurements caused the horny car mechanic's aching erection to strain yet further towards the ceiling.

'Shall I take this off?' Jill motioned to finish taking off her blouse, but Stephanie noticed that their groaning subject's priapism had begun steadily to emit a thin stream of pre-ejaculate, which left a slick, shiny trail down the length of his shaft and collected like dew on his fair pubes. 'Careful, careful,' she cautioned. 'Let's keep the nips under wraps, girls.'

'You're not going to get them out?' wailed Darren, and his penis started to wilt a little.

'Fucking hell Steph, now you've done it,' shouted Angie angrily, 'He's losing his erection, do something!'

Stephanie was concerned that her breasts were too potent to be bared fully. 'Do you like jiggling, Darren?'

'Yes, of course I do,' he snapped.

Stephanie's school sweater joined the pile of clothes on the office table. Her blouse was tucked tightly into her skirt, and stress lines radiated from the taut summits of her breasts which were rounded and domed compared to Angie and Jill's pointy torpedoes. Darren's eyes bulged. Stephanie opened a few blouse buttons until a generous amount of cleavage was on display, and then she shimmied her shoulders. A gentle shake was all it took to then send her ample G-cup bust into haywire convulsions, slamming into one another within her bouncy elastic aged bra, the exposed cleavage lengthening and shortening as tit compressed against tit. Darren's erection not only returned, but extended further than it had before. It's head bulged painfully, and Darren winced in confused agony.

'Can you handle more?' asked Stephanie. It was a gamble, but when Darren nodded so eagerly, she carried on unbuttoning her shirt, and shrugged it from her still-shimmying shoulders. Her red corkscrews curls bounced happily over her shoulders as she exposed her sheer bra cups to Darren's disbelieving eyes.

'Oh fuck!' exclaimed Darren. His cock was bright scarlet, raw, and twitching. It was about to go off.

'Too much!' said Stephanie. 'Quick, cover yourselves up!'

In a panic, the busty trio turned their backs on Darren and scrambled to gather up their clothes from the desk. Jumpers and blouses huddled demurely to their ample chests, they scurried behind him and started to dress. The erection teetered on the brink of climax, testicles huge and blue, but Stephanie's intervention had been timely, and Darren was still in the game. How wrong Mrs Winchester had been in dismissing the power of the female breast alone to relieve a horny man of his spunky load! If only she could see how close this gentleman was to erupting unaided save for the visual stimulus of some busty schoolgirls in their bras!

'Please!' begged Darren, on the verge of tears, his erection clearly in need of immediate attention.

'Oh my goodness is that the time?' Stephanie, her blouse half buttoned-up, looked at her watch. 'We are going to have to rush if we're to be back at the school gates by the end of the period. Jill, how are we doing on the stopwatch?'

'Nearly forty minutes!' said Jill.

'How time flies when you're having fun!' laughed Stephanie.

'Fun?' Darren fumed, still trapped in the chair, hands tied behind him, his pants and overalls round his ankles. 'You call this fun? Look at my cock! Look at it! You're killing me!'

Stephanie looked at it, rigid, raw, furiously purple, thick with veins and throbbing, begging to stroked, licked, sucked, or fucked. 'We have to run,' she smiled sympathetically. Angie and Jill were already heading for the door, pressing her to join them. 'I don't know how to remove the cable tie, but you'll figure it out.'

'I don't care about the cable tie,' blurted the furiously priapic man. 'I need you to finish me off with your tits! Any one of the three of you!'

'Steph, we're going to be late,' urged Jill from the doorway.

Then, Stephanie had an idea. 'Just half a minute,' she said. 'Keep the stopwatch running, Jill. I want to prove to Mrs Winchester that I can finish him off just by showing him my boobs.'

Darren's cock lurched at the prospect. 'Oh yes! Yes! Do it!'

Stephanie hurriedly made her way back out of her blouse and ran back in front of Darren, her creamy young oversized globes wobbling excitedly in her new bra. 'Angie, quick, film this with your phone, make sure you get my boobs and his cock together in the frame.'

'Fuck sake Steph,' whined Angie, flipping open her mobile and getting into position.

Stephanie turned her back on helpless Darren, whose erection was by now verging on an urgent need not only for sexual but for medical attention. 'Ready, Darren?' She reached round and snapped open her bra clasp, shrugging the undergarment off and baring her soft, tapered back to the seated, erect young gentleman. 'One,' she began. 'Two.' Darren whimpered in desperation. Stephanie spread her arms. 'Three!'

With a flourish, she span around. Her extraordinary bare bosoms, globular, pale, lightly freckled with their characteristic small, puffed, dimpled nipples, danced and wobbled on her chest before Darren's crazed, horny eyes. Her red curls danced and bounced along, hair and tits a jaunty display of frolicking, bounteous sexual abundance.

'Aaaarrrgghhh!' roared Darren, as the spectacle finally drove him to the climax he had yearned for since he had stumbled upon the teenage trio in his office three quarters of an hour previously. A continuous jet of pent-up sperm erupted powerfully from the gaping tip of his throbbing erection, sailed straight upwards, narrowly missed the office ceiling, and pattered loudly onto the carpet behind him, some of it even landing on the unsuspecting knitwear-encased bust of Jill, still standing over by the door.. As Stephanie's beautiful young tits continued their sexy shimmy high on her chest, Darren's rigid cock pulsated forth second and third preposterous ropes of jizz that draped over his face and head and down the back of the chair. The fourth, fifth and sixth nutwads of long overdue orgasmic liquid relief merely extended to the chest and armpits of his T-shirt. And, as Stephanie's breasts wobbled to an unsteady resting position, so did Darren's penis finally wilt and retract into a pool of its own glutinous emissions. His bulging eyes rolled back in their sockets in a blissful daze.

They left him thus recuperating and made their way back to the school, making it to the gates as the bell rang in a bust-shaking sprint. The other teams were already back, milling about and exchanging excited stories of the erections they had inspired around the village.

'Mrs Winchester!' called Stephanie. 'Mrs Winchester! Please come and watch this video!'

The teacher crossed the gravel driveway and watched in silence as Angie played back the camera-phone.

'You see, Mrs Winchester?' beamed Stephanie. 'I was right. After forty five minutes of constant teasing, the sight alone of a naked pair of breasts can drive a man to orgasm.'

Mrs Winchester was deadpan. 'Not every pair of breasts is as alluring as yours, Stephanie,' she said finally. 'But I take your point. We shall certainly consider it in our drama workshops.'

Stephanie was over the moon.

'Nice one,' said Angie, high-fiving Stephanie.

Stephanie looked around for someone to celebrate her vindication with. Jill had sloped off wordlessly and was now making her way back into the school building alone. Perhaps, hoped Stephanie, Jill had now got the message: Stephanie was straight as an arrow and liked nothing more than making boys jizz with her big boobs!



First Term at Stonemere Park Ch. 11



'Look who I caught wanking into my bra again, girls,' announced Miss St John to the assembled after-school sex education club. Her nephew Luke stood, shame-faced, beside her, tear-stained face staring resolutely at the floor, hands deep in the pockets of his corduroy trousers. 'He forgot to lock the bathroom door when he was round for dinner, the silly boy, and imagine both of our surprise when I walked in on him filling a freshly-laundered padded cup with that thick young cum of his!'

The assembled members of the Friday afternoon sex-education club giggled rudely. Even Stephanie, who had sympathized with Luke when the same thing had happened the previous week, snorted in derision. Had not the ritual humiliation he had undergone at their hands (quite literally their hands) not taught him his lesson?

'So,' Miss St. John continued, 'I thought this might be a good reason to make the subject of this week's lesson bras themselves. What are their purpose, both in everyday life, and in the bedroom. And, a question for the class: what, do you suppose, is the fetishistic allure of the brassiere is to the stupid horny male brain? What made Luke wrestle his twitching young erection from his Y-fronts and rub it so furiously that his balls emptied themselves in such copious volume into the silky F-cup he was holding in his trembling left hand?'

'Don't you wear an E-cup, Miss?' asked one of the girls.

'Usually yes,' nodded Miss St. John. 'But as you will all know, bras are all tailored differently. Some styles fit me best in a 38E, others in a 36F.'

'Perhaps,' volunteered Stephanie keenly, 'He was turned on when he saw the larger cup size on the label?'

Miss St. John turned to her nephew. 'Well, Luke?'

Luke, crimson, nodded. 'I thought you just had E-cups, Aunt Coralie,' he confessed. 'And I saw that bra hanging up over the bath and... and I couldn't help looking at the label. And I saw the letter F and... I just needed to wank.' He blushed amid giggles from the assembled teenage girls. Stephanie smiled with pride at her correct diagnosis.

'First of all,' said Miss St John, 'Let's clear up all this confusion about numbers and letters. The letter on its own only makes sense in the context of the number. Girls, who among you is wearing an E-cup bra today?'

Three hands rose.

'Sally, Angie, and Joey,' said Miss St. John. 'The clue's in the names. To the front of the class, please.'

The girls sauntered and skipped to the front of the room and stood before Luke.

'Take a good look at these three busts, Luke. Very different, aren't they?'

Luke did not waste the opportunity to ogle the teenage chests which thrust toward him through taut pale blue cotton. Stephanie found herself wishing she was up at the front of the class having her tits scrutinized, instead she watched in envious fascination.

'Would you say,' continued Miss St John, 'That all three pairs of breasts are the same size?'

Luke shook his head.

'And yet they're all E-cup breasts. How can that be?' Miss St John was relishing this. 'Joey, give your bra to Luke and let him look at it closely.'

Joey blew a stray lock of chestnut hair from out of her blue eyes and unbuttoned her blouse. Luke's heartbeat was almost audible, his breathing accelerating. Her blouse was discarded to reveal a silky white brassiere, from whose shiny cups the substantial upper swells of healthy breasts rose proudly. With a practiced snap the bra was off and in her hand. It was the second time Stephanie had seen Joey's breasts bared, having been treated to an eyeful during the search for a temporary bra in her first week. But it was the first time Luke had laid eyes on them. Though it was the bra he was supposed to be inspecting, his gaze was obviously locked on Joey's bountiful bosom, from whose swaying summits small, erect, dark pink nipples stared back. Luke let out a whimper.

'Read out the label on the bra, Luke,' said Miss St John. 'Once you've managed to tear your eyes away from Joey's big bosoms!'

Luke fumbled with the various straps until he found the label. 'Th-thirty-six E,' he croaked.

Next, Miss St John asked Sally to hand Luke her bra for similar analysis. Stephanie watched with lurid glee as Sally's bra-clad bust emerged jauntily from her school blouse. Her bra, though sizable, was of unstructured cotton and girlishly flower-patterned. It didn't look as though it was contributing a great deal to the pouting thrust of her striking breasts - they hovered, miraculously, entirely on their own. Stephanie had seen one of them emerging rudely from a rudimentary toga in drama, but this would be her first showing of her classmate's fully bare chest. But as curious as she was to see Sally's impressive bust nude, she was even more intrigued to see its effect on Luke's stamina. If only the poor tortured boy was allowed to release that huge penis of his, which she fancifully imagined to be turgid, sore and begging to be unleashed so it could pump its uncomfortable backlog of semen gratefully in all directions. Off came Sally's flimsy brassiere, and Luke was confronted with a very different proposition. In contrast to Joey's warm, tanned, voluptuously heavy and mature globes, Sally's breasts were upward-curving porcelain-white cones, squinting outward with appealing asymmetry, her fleshy, puffy, generous areolae like swollen marshmallows at their tips, inverted dimples at their centres. They were more widely-spaced than Joey's naturally cleavagey bosom, and whereas Joey's swung lower above her stomach, the undersides of Sally's dense and solid breasts met her ribcage at what appeared to be perfect right angles. If the bra had been doing anything, it was merely aligning her breasts to a roughly symmetrical forward-facing position, gently restraining their now-apparent compulsion to swing out to both sides.

Luke's panting and whimpering escalated at the sight of these jutting, medium-sized torpedoes. Sally put hands on hips, raised her eyebrows and gave Luke a look. Stephanie wouldn't have been surprised if he'd already ejaculated into his pants, maybe twice already.

'Now, Luke dear,' said Miss St John, walking to her trembling nephew's side. 'Whose bosoms would you say were bigger? Joey's or Sally's?'

Luke's eyes darted greedily back and forth between both naked pairs of buxom schoolgirl breasts with which he had the tortuously good fortune to be confronted. He was also drawn to the still fully clothed bust of Angela Kenworthy nearby, and the apprehension of seeing Angie topless hung heavily in the classroom air. But, back to the task in hand: 'Umm, Joey's are bigger,' he mumbled. Then, clocking Sally's theatrical sulk, 'Sorry, Sally.'

'Feel them,' urged Miss St John. 'Feel the difference.'

Luke gulped loudly. Stephanie could see from where she was sitting, but in her mind Luke's trousers were fit to bursting with the raging pride of his lustful hard-on. Joey and Sally huddled together. He placed his shaking left hand on Joey's squidgy right boob, and his trembling right hand on Sally's firm left boob, and gave both a gentle honk. Both girls feigned comical arousal at the experience, and the rest of the girls in the class giggled.

Stephanie charitably wished she could yank that big willy from Luke's trousers and rub it back and forth to put him out of his spunky misery. She could picture the thick white river of semen geysering through the air as the boy continued to knead Joey and Sally's abundant E-cups.

As it was, all she could see was his back, elbows and the thin, sweaty hands that burrowed eagerly into the proffered breastflesh. The girls endured this with amused patience, and Miss St John looked on with interest. 'Look at the label on Sally's bra and tell us what size she is,' said the teacher.

Luke examined the label. 'Thirty-two E.'

'Both E-cups, but couldn't be more different.'

Luke nodded. 'Sally's are much firmer than Joey's,' he said, then apologised again, this time to Joey, who shrugged. 'And their nipples are so different.' His fingers circled the nipples before them, eliciting mild shudders from both girls. 'Sally's look like they'd barely fit in my mouth.'

'You're welcome to try,' teased Sally, but Luke's shyness overcame him and he went very quiet again. He let go of their breasts, allowing them to jostle and sway freely again. Stephanie considered her own bust in the context of her classmates'. She had the shape and breast-to-nipple ratio of Joey's, but the perky height and complexion of Sally's. And she was definitely bigger than both of them, she couldn't help but note with a flush of pride. Though she was about to get her first glimpse of the famous Angela Kenworthy's bare chest, so all bets were off.

'Angie,' said Miss St John. 'Would you be so kind as to give your bra to Luke, as a final example of how different an E-cup can be?'

'Sure,' said Angie, and lazily unbuttoned her blouse. As she shrugged it from her shoulders, the highly elastic straps of her lacy pink bra gave in to the momentum of her bouncing, protuberant bust to such an extent that her left nipple leapt into view in its entirety. The smooth, protuberant areola was a slightly darker shade of pink than the lace of the brassiere, with a duskier pink nipple at its epicentre. 'Oops,' she said. 'Having a bit of an F-cup day today, it seems.' Her breasts did indeed seem to be more than a match for the cups of her bra. 'The cups are E's but I'm spilling out today... I can feel the other one about to come out... let me give them a shimmy.' Angie wriggled her shoulders, and the gesture was indeed all the encouragement her puffy right nipple needed to join its counterpart out in the open. She snapped open the back band and let the entire undergarment fall from her body, down her arms and into her hand. Angie's breasts were really quite something. They fell more in the same category as Sally's - firm, conical, perky, fleshy-nippled - but her complexion was richer, and from a sheer size point of view they looked a damn sight bigger as, now liberated, they bumped lazily into one another.

Luke let out a helpless whine. Now three quite distinct pairs of breasts were bared in front of him, each beckoning his young cock to empty its rich seed upon and between them. Stephanie's imagination ran riot. But it was less, she told herself, dirty thoughts, and more sympathy with Luke's plight. She recalled how painful his engorged scrotum had looked, and her own breasts surged with aching throbs of empathetic pain. While a lustful part of her wanted to administer the necessary relief to Luke's tormented genitals, she had the suspicion the the sight and touch of Angela's cartoonishly erotic bare bosom would push the young man over the edge with or without manual intervention. Without invitation, Luke raised his hands and cupped Angie's jutting tits, gingerly at first, then manipulating them more confidently.

'Careful, Luke,' warned Angie. 'I have very sensitive niiiiiipppplles...' she trailed off as Luke's thumbs made their way over the electric summits of her glorious boobs.

'So, before you get too carried away dear,' interjected Miss St John, 'Let's take a step back and compare all three pairs of ample schoolgirl breasts.'

Luke relinquished his keen grasp of Angela's chest with misgivings that were plain to see in his body language. Stephanie craned her neck for a view of his groin, but her vantage point at the back of the room didn't allow for it.

'All very different shapes and sizes, aren't they?' said Miss St John. 'An E cup on a girl with a small ribcage will be correspondingly smaller than an E cup on a girl with a bigger back measurement.' She turned to the class. 'Do we have any girls here with a smaller band size and a larger cup, for comparison?'

Stephanie seized her chance, and shot her arm in the air, enjoying the satisfying sensation of her big wobbly boob jostling against its mate in her bra. Although she realised that Miss St John was making a point, this torture of her poor nephew had gone too far, and she ached to put him out of his misery.

'Stephanie, perfect,' said Miss St John, 'Come up to the front and take off your blouse and bra.'

Stephanie made her way up to the front, and turned to face the class and Luke, finally getting to witness the absurd, violent erection that prodded in throbbing desperation against his trousers.

'What size bra do you wear Stephanie, remind me?'

'It's a 32 double G,' smiled Stephanie, arching her back proudly and enjoying the sensation of Luke's horny gaze on her taut-stretched school blouse.

'Excellent,' said Miss St John. 'Luke, as you will see, although Stephanie's measurements are different from Angela's, you will find that both pairs of breasts are roughly identical in mass. Stephanie, please illustrate.'

'Before I do that, Miss,' Stephanie spoke up. 'Could we let Luke release his penis? He looks rather uncomfortable.'

Luke's eyes were a mixture of fear and delight.

'The discomfort is part of Luke's punishment!' gleamed Miss St John. 'He's supposed to learn about breasts without the satisfaction of wanking himself to completion. But then again, the humiliation is part of the punishment, too. So yes, Luke, go ahead and let that naughty member of yours out in the open. But no touching it.'

Luke went through the awkward motions of unzipping his fly and tugging down the elastic waistband of his boxer shorts, and in due course his thick, veiny, erect cock sprang free, bright scarlet, shuddering proudly to full height. It was a big one. Pre-cum was trickling from the opening at its tip in a continuous stream, and it twitched on the unnerving precipice of full climax.

Stephanie, in turn, began to remove her own clothes. Her blouse came off, and she let the sight of her rounded bust in its sheer black encasing register in Luke's mind. Angie took a discreet step back, anticipating what was about to happen.

Miss St John urged Stephanie on, oblivious to what the busty redhead was about to unleash. 'Go on, Stephanie, show Luke how your bosoms are the same size as Angie's despite the different bra measurement.'

Stephanie snapped open the fastener behind her back, and let the straps fall from her shoulders. The cups hung from her protruding pale domes, cleavage still naturally tight and deep. She fixed Luke with her green eyes and, with a mischievous smile, gave her shoulders a sharp shimmy. Her breasts wobbled in response, and threw the cups of the double-G-cup bra to the floor. And, for the second time, Luke feasted his eyes on Stephanie's bare bust.

Miss St John and the rest of the class gasped as Luke let out a pained whimper. He was cumming, cumming like the car mechanic had done in the garage earlier in the week: long liquid projectiles leaving Luke's pulsing cock, high into the air, falling freely to all sides. He stumbled backwards. his hands clutched a desk as his untouched cock wriggled and pulsed, expelling the creamy contents of his teenage testicles into the dusty classroom air. Cum landed with noisy spatters on Stephanie's tits, and on Angie's, some of it sailed high over Luke's convulsing head and onto the desk behind him, the rest puddled on the floor.

As the spasms finally subsided, Miss St John raised an eyebrow. 'Impressive, Stephanie,' she said. 'Luke, you can put that away now.'

Luke, pale as a sheet, fumbled with his subsiding erection, stuffing it awkwardly back into his pants.

'How about you, Miss St John,' said the still-topless Sally. 'Are you going to show Luke your own breasts by way of comparison?'

'Certainly not,' frowned Miss St John. 'That would be weird.'



First Term at Stonemere Park Ch. 12



'Bonjour la classe.' Monsieur Prévert deposited his scruffy leather satchel, cigarette lighter and packet of Gauloise on the desk. He was looking more gaunt and jaundiced than ever as he cast a leering gaze over the roomful of seated shapely schoolgirls.

'Bonjour Monsieur Prévert,' sighed the class in unison. The girls were resigned to yet another hour of being stripped, ogled, and groped by this shameless Frenchman.

But Stephanie wasn't going to take this any more. She wanted to learn, to excel in her studies, to go to university. All she was learning in these French lessons was how middle-aged men like to take advantage of attractive female teenagers, especially when in a position of power and authority. Now it was time to turn the tables on this gallic sex-pest. Stephanie had noted how Monsieur Prévert would invariably allow his orgasm to build up to the end of the lesson, whereupon he would either unload into his underpants, or even ejaculate freely into the room, in full view of the girls who were by now way past being shocked by this obscene regular spectacle. However, on the occasion where he allowed his arousal to get the better of him prematurely, Stephanie had observed that with his testicles now void of pent-up grey semen, he would lose interest in the firm young bosoms and bottoms which blossomed around him and return to his duty to follow the school curriculum.

This was a contrast with the younger male specimens Stephanie had encountered thus far, who seemed to stay hard of penis and swollen of scrotum after their initial release, spectacularly though she had seen them ejaculate. But in Monsieur Prévert's case, Stephanie realized she could get the better of him, and had been devising a plan she now intended to put into effect.

As it happened, it was Stephanie to whom the vile schoolmaster turned first.

'Comment c'est passé ton week-end, Stephanie?' he enquired.

Stephanie realized that he was asking her how her weekend had been, but she nonetheless misunderstood on purpose. 'You'd like me to take off my sweater, sir? Yes, of course.' Standing, she peeled the jumper off and dropped it onto her school bag. She threw back her shoulders and allowed her large, orb-like breasts to thrust outwards, violently straining the thin cotton of her school blouse.

Monsieur Prévert took an angry step forward. 'Non Stephanie,' he snapped, and rephrased his question. 'Je t'ai demandé de nous dire comment votre week-end était!'

'Why thank-you, sir. Yes I do have rather ample bosoms, don't I. Would you like me to take off my bra so you can get a better look?' responded Stephanie.

'Non!'

'You would? Very well then, Monsieur,' smiled Stephanie, and shimmied her way out of her blouse, allowing her luscious, semi-naked teenage breasts to wobble and careen under the leisurely support of the elasticated shoulder-straps of her sheer brassiere.

Monsieur Prévert reddened. A vein on his forehead twitched in time with the growing bulge between his legs. 'Par example,' he said through clenched teeth. 'Avez-vous aller au cinéma?'

'They're a size thirty-two G,' beamed Stephanie. The other girls were looking at her in visible confusion. Who was this stripping slut and what had she done with the class swot?

'Ou un concert avec tes amies?' Prévert continued his line of desperate innocuous questioning, presumably, thought Stephanie, to keep the orgasmic wolf from the door.

But she was in a hurry to get him off, and so the teasing would have to end very soon. 'Yes they're very bouncy, but no they certainly do not sag when I take the bra off. How dare you suggest such a thing, Monsieur!'

Prévert took another step forward. 'Pour la derniere fois,' he intoned, 'Parle-nous de ton weekend.'

'Well if you don't believe me then I shall have to take my bra off to prove it,' she shrugged, and snapped open the back-hooks and, with a defiant shoulder-shimmy, shook the cups free of her large yet gravity-defying young bust, which continued to wobble, unassisted and under its own considerable momentum. Her bare, pale nipples danced in lopsided figures of eight, high on the summits of her jostling, quivering globes.

With a French-sounding moan, Monsieur Prévert's knees buckled, and the prodding tent in his trousers throbbed and pulsed as his balls emptied themselves into his trousers.

'Are you okay, Monsieur?' asked Stephanie innocently, raising her eyebrows and cocking her head to one side as her naked pleasure-domes rebounding off one another as they settled to a halt. 'Did I misunderstand? Did you not want me to strip topless after all?'

The leering teacher's eyes rolled and swam, locked onto the sight of Stephanie's magnificent naked boobs. He was now nearly bent double, clutching one girl's desk for support. The now familiar musty fug of pent-up French cigarette-infused sperm floated on the air. Stephanie gave her big nude tits another little wiggle. Monsieur Prévert's face contorted in agony as his cock dry-heaved in his cum-soaked underpants, and he finally found the strength to avert his eyes. Drawing himself up again, he turned and made his way back to the front of the class, slicking his hair over with a yellow bony hand in pursuit of some shred of dignity.

Stephanie strapped her beautiful breasts back into her bra and found her way back into her blouse and jumper. Monsieur Prévert, now a withered husk of a man, sat at his desk and told the girls to open their textbooks. Stephanie grinned inwardly. All she had to do was make sure Monsieur Prévert was completely spent at the beginning of the lesson and she'd finally learn something!

'Oi you!'

Stephanie turned. She was on her way down the corridor to her next lesson, but she found herself slammed against a row of lockers, and a familiar, hate-twisted face was thrust toward her own. 'Yes, Lowenna?'

'Nice one, Stephanie,' seethed Lowenna, the tips of her full breasts making contact with the undersides of Stephanie's. 'You've done it now. He bloody set us homework! He's never done that! As long as we kept that horrible French boner of his stiff we never had to do any work in French! Until now! Make him cum like that again and you're finished! You hear me?'

'I... I misunderstood him,' pleaded Stephanie. 'I thought he was asking me to get my boobs out.'

'Even I knew that's not what he was saying,' growled Lowenna, and with that, she flicked open a small knife and pushed Stephanie roughly into an open broom cupboard by the lockers. 'Don't fucking scream,' Lowenna grinned.

Stephanie was too speechless to scream, and instead gazed in fear at the penknife that glinted in the half light of the small space.

Lowenna waved the blade idly. 'Take off your jumper. And your blouse.'

Trembling, Stephanie obeyed, hastily doffing both garments. Her round breasts quivered fearfully in their bouncy cradles of lace and silk.

Lowenna curled her lip at the sight of Stephanie in her bra. 'Ugly tits,' she sneered. 'Like balloons. They look fake! And one day I'll prove that that's just what they are. You've been under the knife.' She waved the Swiss army knife meaningfully. 'At least my tits look like tits. They're heavy and my nipples are dark and meaty. And when I take off my bra they fall out and bounce around, they don't just bob about like yours.'

'Well some of us don't need a bra,' stammered Stephanie.

'Then you won't be needing this one,' said Lowenna with a thin smile. And she slid the blade up between Stephanie's trembling globes, under the small strip of lace that held the cups together, and with a sharp motion that made Stephanie yelp, Lowenna sliced the front of Stephanie's bra open. The cups fell limply into Stephanie's armpits, and her globular breasts surged forward, bobbing weightlessly before her.

'Urgh,' retched Lowenna at the sight before her. 'Look at those tiny nips. So small and pale. Like alien nipples. You're a freak, Stephanie. Here, take a look at what a real pair of tits is supposed to look like.' Lowenna hastily unbuttoned her blouse. The heavily freckled tops of her large breasts rose from a strapless black balconette bra, which she tugged down. Stephanie looked reluctantly at the firm, sloping breasts which came tumbling out, sizeable reddish-brown areolae stuff and goosebumped, slightly uptilted. 'See?' Lowenna smirked arrogantly. 'Tits aren't meant to look like balloons. They're supposed to be substantial and meaty, and shaped like this, a straight line down to the nipples, and then curved underneath. Feel how firm they are.' She seized Stephanie's hand and forced it onto her tit. Stephanie was surprised at just how solid Lowenna's big tits were. 'Not all wibbly wobbly like yours. And compare my nipples to yours. No mistaking mine for nipples, is there? Yours are barely there at all.'

She flicked Stephanie's left nipple with a maroon-lacquered fingernail.

An electric tingle of what she reluctantly identified as sexual pleasure coursed suddenly and violently from the flicked nipple, radiated through Stephanie's jellying left boob, through her young body and down her tingling spine until her clitoris prickled in her pants, upon which she let out a small yelp which did not escape Lowenna's attention.

'Sensitive, eh?' smirked the bare-breasted bully, and allowed a finger to graze over Stephanie's right nipple, eliciting a similar if not stronger reaction.

Stephanie fought inwardly to resist arousal, but the physiological sensation was too powerful, even in these resolutely unromantic circumstances. Lowenna's fingernail drew wide, lazy circles around Stephanie's pale, dimpled little nipple, teasing, purposefully avoiding direct contact. Stephanie's breath quickened.

'Maybe I should give you a taste of your own medicine,' said Lowenna, pulling her bra back up over her breasts and buttoning her blouse shut. 'Making all those boys shoot their wads all over the place. See how you like it!' And with that, Lowenna extended her tongue and flicked it against Stephanie's electric nipple, cupping the big round wobbly tit upon which it sat and jiggling it softly.

'Oh God,' whimpered Stephanie in a hoarse whisper. 'Please Lowenna, stop!'

But Lowenna had no intention of stopping. Stashing the penknife back in her pocket, Lowenna deployed both her hands, planting them squarely onto Stephanie's buxom 32Gs and having her evil little way with them. She squeezed, caressed, jiggled, all the time studiously avoiding those supersensitive nipples for long stretches of time, then suddenly homing in on them, diving in with her lips and teeth and sucking and biting them. Explosions of pleasure reverberated through Stephanie's chest. Was she about to experience a breast orgasm? Was that even possible? Then Lowenna slid her finger deep into the creamy abyss of Stephanie's naturally tight cleavage. Those inner walls of boob flesh were every bit as sensitive as Stephanie's nipples, and a new and utterly overpowering sensation of pleasure seized the young woman's body.

'My... my goodness,' whimpered Stephanie, 'I'm... I'm...'

The school bell rang out in the corridor. Lowenna instantly released her grasp on Stephanie's tits and withdrew her finger from that achingly sensitive cleavage. 'Got to go,' grinned Lowenna wickedly, and backed away.

'But I was just about to... I mean I was going to...' Stephanie couldn't believe how cruel Lowenna was. First teasing her so wickedly, and then leaving her on the cusp of what was going to be an ecstatically powerful boobgasm.

'Cum?' said Lowenna. 'What am I, a lesbian? You really think I'm going to get you off? Do that yourself. Or get Jill to.' The ginger bully nudged open the broom closet door and peered out into the corridor. 'Coast is clear. I've a lesson to get to.' And with that, she disappeared off to join the other schoolgirls.

Stephanie looked down in dismay at her quivering, heaving bosom, naked, raw, red and scratched from the relentless treatment they had received at Lowenna's hands, the sensation within them balanced precariously on the brink of a debilitating climax. She looked around for her bra, then remembered that Lowenna had sliced the undergarment in two. She bent over to pick it up, causing her bare breasts to jostle and wobble against one another. The cleavage friction caused the orgasmic sensation to build further. If she had a need for a bra then it was not for shape, nor for support, but to keep her boobs from jiggling her headlong into constant orgasms! She packed the two halves of the bra into her satchel, and put her blouse back on, tucking it as tightly as she could into her skirt, the pale blue cotton taut over her round breasts, hoping at least that the tightness of the blouse would compress her breasts enough to stop them moving too noticeably.

The corridor was already empty when she stepped out. Luckily she had a free period now so there was no lesson to be late for. She decided she would head for the common room and study Aristophanes quietly before drama class. Closing the broom closet door behind her she attempted to regain her pre-orgasmic composure and took a few steps along the corridor. The tightly tucked-in bra unfortunately did nothing to constrain her luscious breasts, and with each careful step she took those wobbly melons collided with one another, her sensitive cleavage writhing, the cotton grazing her sensitive nipples, all this activity propelling her back to the cusp of orgasm. She considered simply holding on to them to keep them still - thankfully no-one was on hand to witness such a spectacle. But she feared that, once her breasts were in her hands the temptation to simply masturbate them would be too strong. Instead she continued to walk, every jostle and jiggle of her buoyant bosom sending confusing waves of pleasure through her body, tickling her from scalp to pussy, until after twenty or so paces the inevitable happened.

The boobgasm struck.

Forced to a halt in the middle of the deserted school corridor, Stephanie's body lit up inside, every nerve ending responding to the mighty orgasmic force that radiated from her jiggling breasts. She tried her best to remain silent, but a helpless, hoarse whimper escaped her lips and grew into a badly stifled scream. Her head span, she lost her balance and fell to her knees, scrunching her fists into her red corkscrew curls as her breasts bounced their way autonomously through this absurd sexual experience.

Panting, and by this point in tears, she collapsed forward in a heap on the polished floor, her quivering breasts smooshing heavily onto her thighs. So distracted had she been that she hadn't heard the sound of approaching footsteps, and when she opened her eyes she found herself looking at a pair of shoes and ankles. She craned her head up with difficulty and found herself looking up at Miss St John.

'How long have you been standing there?' said Stephanie.

'I saw everything, I'm afraid,' said Miss St John. 'But you don't have to worry. Come with me, I'll make you a cup of tea and we can talk about it.' She helped Stephanie to her feet and led her away.



First Term at Stonemere Park Ch. 13



Miss St John rummaged in her desk drawer while Stephanie sat on a classroom chair in the corner, bitterly holding back the tears of anger and humiliation that surged just beneath the surface. 'There there,' said the teacher with a smile, and took out a bottle of skin moisturizer. 'Let's take a look, shall we?'

As far as Stephanie was aware, Miss St John had only seen her braless boobgasm in the corridor, and not the ugly business with Lowenna. Stephanie was furious, but she most certainly wasn't a telltale, and tempting though it felt to relate what the bully had done to her in the broom cupboard, she decided it best to uphold her code of honour.

The teacher walked across the room and knelt in front of the trembling schoolgirl and shook the body lotion, causing her own bust to shake vigorously in her low-cut cream top. 'If your breasts have been rubbing against that blouse all day, they'll need some of this. Off with the blouse.'

Stephanie unbuttoned the school shirt and parted it, baring her tortured hillocks to the schoolmistress. They still ached and glowed red from the treatment meted out them by her jealous nemesis.

'Oh my,' gasped Miss St John, taking in the extent of Stephanie's scuffs and bruises. 'They've certainly been in the wars, haven't they? What on earth happened to your bra?'

Stephanie considered her story carefully. 'I breathed in too hard and it snapped open at the front.'

'You haven't grown again, surely?'

'I don't think so. I hope not. Maybe the bra was the wrong size to begin with.'

'Where did you get it?'

'Storm In A G-Cup in Notting Hill.'

'That's where I buy my brassieres too,' said Miss St John. If she suspected duplicity she didn't show it. 'They're normally very reliable. Was it a front-opening bra?'

Stephanie shook her head.

'Your breasts tore a back-opener in half? I'm impressed. I would suggest you buy a front-opener. You'll have more accidents, but at least you'll be able to quickly fasten it again. I'll find a safety pin and you can try effecting a temporary repair with that. In the meantime, let's see to these sore bosoms of yours.'

Miss St John splurged a dollop of white ointment into one hand, distributed it between her palms, and gently placed them face down on either of Stephanie's semi-spherical breasts. Stephanie shuddered. It felt cold but soothing.

'This will help with the rawness,' Miss St John said as she massaged the lotion lovingly into Stephanie's jellying boobs. Stephanie felt her nipples stiffen under the skilled manipulation, and was a little embarrassed, but the relief was so overwhelming she thought little more of it. 'And it will also help protect your sensitive breasts from further overstimulation. My breasts aren't particularly sensitive at all so I can go braless without turning myself on, but you should be more careful, young lady. And in any case don't let the headmistress catch you with your bosoms wobbling about unrestrained. Except tomorrow of course.'

'What happens tomorrow?'

'National No Bra Day. You didn't know?'

'Um, yes, of course, I just forgot.' Stephanie had missed the memo on that one, but it was good timing in that it gave her a day of legitimate bralessness before her next opportunity to get back to the lingerie boutique in Notting Hill on Saturday.

'If it's any consolation,' said Miss St John, applying another coat of moisturizer to Stephanie's pliant breasts, 'I've the same problem today. That horny nephew of mine ejaculated over my last bra, and that's in the wash.'

'You're not wearing a bra, Miss?' giggled Stephanie.

'Isn't it obvious?' said the teacher, stopping her lotioning for a moment, sitting up straight on her knees and pushing her chest out at the beige v-neck top. 'Well, I suppose the nips aren't poking out at the moment.'

'They must be so firm,' said Stephanie with glum envy. 'Do they bounce much when you walk?'

Miss St John smiled with gratitude at the compliment from a woman so many years her junior. 'Running for the bus is still a problem, bra or not, but over time I've learnt how to walk without jostling them too much. Here, have a look.'

To Stephanie's surprise, her teacher peeled her top off to bare a sturdy set of breasts, heavily teardrop shaped, ample and dense, with large, stiff, dark pink nipples. Very much like Lowenna's, Stephanie couldn't help but note. 'Oh Miss, they're very nice,' Stephanie gushed. 'I wish mine were so firm and robust. Mine are so wobbly and delicate, despite their size.'

'And I wish mine sat as high on my chest as yours. And, for that matter, that I could orgasm just using my boobs. But we have to learn to love our boobs for what they are, and to accept how different they are from other women's. That's why we support the No Bra Day initiative in the school, to come to accept our own bodies and those of our fellow women.'

'Still, I can see why your nephew is so obsessed with yours,' giggled Stephanie.

'He's a very silly boy,' sighed Miss St John as she rubbed. 'But he'll learn. It was reassuring to see how hard he ejaculated all over your breasts in the past couple of after school sex education clubs. And surely that must have helped you feel positive about your body? Not every woman can get that kind of a reaction out of a man, you know.'

'Yes, I suppose,' Stephanie looked coyly down at the floor, or at least the portion of floor that wasn't obscured by the jutting, lotioned hillocks of her abundant teenage chest.

The next morning, Stephanie snuck out of the house doing her best to conceal her wobbling braless chest from her parents and from the general public on her way to the railway station to catch the early train to Stonemere. She had become accustomed to taking this earlier service, at first to avoid the other girls, but now the appeal was the peaceful solitude of early mornings in Clapham, and the luxurious thrill of a train carriage all to herself, reading the far-fetched erotic science fiction adventures of her busty futuristic soulmate Phoebe Flynn. She did miss the timid, easily-flustered male commuter though, and now wished she would see him again so they could discuss their reading material. This morning, however, she took advantage of the privacy by opening her school blouse entirely to bare her delicious round tits, taking a bottle of body lotion she had purloined from home, and spending a few minutes thoroughly lubricating herself to insulate her sensitive feminine extremities from the abrasive friction of her clothing. The sensation was pleasant, but she was sensible enough not to get too carried away. With her bust acceptably oily and so shiny she could practically see her own face reflected in it, she fastened her blouse just in time for the train to pull in to Stonemere station.

In school, she joined the couple of hundred other bra-shunning students in the hall for assembly. Tits of all shapes and sizes careened and jiggled under pale blue blouses as the blissfully unconstrained young women took their seats and the headmistress took to the lectern for her daily address.

The headmistress was a tall, thin woman in middle age, every bit the strict stereotype: horn rimmed glasses, greying hair pulled tightly back in a bun. Her chest was small but pert. Stephanie had found the woman's rather frigid bearing perplexingly at odds with the school's extremely liberal attitude to all matter sexual, but presumed that this performed a very necessary function in maintaining some semblance of propriety in what could very easily spill over into wanton orgiastic frenzy on a daily basis.

'Good morning, girls,' said the headmistress in her crisp, clear voice. The school responded in unison. 'Today is the last day before autumn half-term, and the day we give our bosoms their annual day's respite from the shackles of the modern brassiere. As you know, girls, it is a school rule to have adequately supported breasts at all times when on the school premises, and when in school uniform in general, especially the more generously endowed among you. You not only have a duty of propriety to the school's reputation for turning girls into proud, upstanding, successful women, but also to the health and dignity of your own bodies. Your breasts are part of what distinguishes you as women, they identify you sexually and socially, and you have to take scrupulously good care of them. Some of you are already wearing bras with cup sizes of double D, E, F, and because you are still only eighteen years of age those ample bosoms are high and firm, so it can be tempting to dispense with undergarments altogether. You must resist that temptation, proud though you and your teenage busts may be. Others of you with large chests have the blessing of a shapely natural form, but without that solid density, and you will be experiencing jiggling.'

As the headmistress's eyes scanned the room her eyes met Stephanie's, whether intentionally or not Stephanie had no idea, but it still made her blush fiercely as she identified all too strongly with what was being described.

The headmistress went on. 'While it may be pleasurable for heterosexual men to watch, and indeed pleasurable for you yourself to experience if your bosoms are particularly sensitive, jiggling will in time take its toll on the ligaments and connective tissue in your breasts and they will sag and wilt, and will no longer be breasts worthy of a Stonemere Park girl. But for now you all have your lives ahead of you and can be afforded one day of liberal bralessness, especially as it is for a good cause. The one exception will be those of you playing sports today, where a sturdy sports bra is still strictly mandatory: performing athletic activity of any kind without a brassiere specially designed for the purpose can be dangerous for all manner of reasons. But apart from that girls, enjoy the freedom as your unfettered breasts jounce and jostle as much as they like.'

Assembly was thus concluded, and two hundred pairs of breasts, large, small, firm, wobbly, were set into motion as chairs scraped across the floor and the girls made their way to their lessons. Stephanie marveled at the sheer variety of breasts in the school, now really evident for the first time. With only the flimsy semi-transparent pale blue cotton of their standard-issue blouses to shroud them, the eighteen-year-old girls' tits, jugs, knockers, udders, bosoms, and boobs were next to nude, and without the homogenising effect of brassieres, each girl's unique breast-identity was readily apparent. It hadn't occurred to Stephanie the extent to which bras rob women of that identity, making all boobs look the same. And while she still envied girls such as Angela Kenworthy their supernatural firmness, Stephanie now more than ever appreciated how lucky she was that her breasts all by themselves boasted the shape and height which bras seemed designed to emulate.

Breasts, more than ever, were the focus of every girl's conversation today. Buttons were popping off blouses left right and centre as the sheer inertia of the bigger jouncing jugs made their autonomous bouncing bids for freedom. While the rule on bra-wearing had been relaxed, the rule about keeping blouses tucked in to skirts certainly hadn't, and so the tension the big-bosomed pupils' blouses suffered from on a daily basis was now exacerbated by the violent restlessness of their lurching chests. The really well-endowed girls like Esme and Elise found their shirts unbuttoned practically to the waist within seconds of running along the school corridors, the outrageous nude cleavages bared as a consequence leaving no doubt whatsoever to their bralessness. Elise's dark nipples, visible in any case through the thin, pale cotton, wobbled alternately in and out of view as her mammoth mammaries swung in and out of the open window in her shirt. Esme found herself constantly having to pull her torn-open blouse together over her cherry nipples, the blouse clearly having been too small a fit to begin with.

Members of staff were patrolling the school, carrying out spot inspections to make sure girls were all joining in the fun - after all it wouldn't be very sporting if one of them cheated and wore a bra when all the other girls were observing this special day. Stephanie witnessed the rather nauseating spectacle of Monsieur Prévert accosting Kaela, one of her drama classmates with particularly firm, pouting breasts, and instructing her to prove her bralessness first by groping her with his cigarette-stained hands, and when that failed to satisfy, to open her blouse for him and reveal her teenage buxomness in all its nude, pale-nippled beauty. Prévert nodded and moved on to his next victim, the erected tent in his suit trousers causing him to limp awkwardly.

Stephanie recalled Miss St John's words about learning to walk without jiggling, and found that placing one foot in front of the other when walking prevented her torso from rising and falling, though it did cause her hips to swivel in a way she feared might come across as a sexy sashay. Anything to stop her boobgasming in public though, she reasoned.

She saw Sally up ahead, and, steadying her heavy chest with one hand, hurried ahead to catch up. 'Hey Sally, looking forward to drama?'

Sally ignored her and pressed on ahead, making no effort to disguise the firm shudder of her pointy breasts with each defiant step toward the drama department. Stephanie slowed to a confused slower pace. Why was Sally not speaking to her? She watched as Sally pushed her way sulkily through a small throng of girls crowded around the drama department noticeboard, then approached the gathering to see what it was they were all looking at.

What Stephanie saw made her heart stop and her face redden with embarrassment. A typed sheet of paper had been pinned to the board. It read:

PETITION

We, the undersigned, petition the casting of Stephanie Fox in the lead role of Lysistrata in this term's school play.

Some girls had already signed it. Braless chests squirmed against one another as pupils surged forward to read, some signing, some not. Stephanie saw Jill approach, peruse the petition with interest and, unsurprisingly scribbling her signature herself, turning to beam encouragingly at Stephanie.

'I... I...' stammered Stephanie. 'I had nothing to do with this. Do you hear me, everyone? This... this wasn't me.'

Mrs Bach emerged from the classroom. The bell had already rung, and most of the drama group was still outside in the corridor. The teacher peered over the shoulders of the chattering girls, leaned across and tore the petition from the noticeboard, reading it and snorting.

'Stephanie,' she said, 'I can only assume this was your doing, and I must say I am very disappointed.'

'But Miss!...'

'We've all been impressed by and grateful for your contributions to the project so far, particularly with regards to your input on the sexual significance of the female breast in ancient Greece. But to try to steal Sally's role in this manner... well, it's just not right.'

Silence had descended on the bevy of schoolgirls in the corridor. Stephanie's face burned with anger.

'I've a good mind to remove you from the cast altogether,' said Mrs Bach. 'And move you to costumes, or props. But we've come so far in rehearsals, and I'll give you a second chance. Now, go and apologise to Sally.'

Sally was already seated alone in the drama classroom when the rest of the girls scampered in, discussing in hushed tones what had just transpired. Stephanie walked in miserable despair to her desk. As she did so, she passed Sally, who stared straight through her.

'I promise that had nothing to do with me, Sal,' she pleaded to the girl she had wanted so much to be best friends with. 'Honest.'

Sally stared away from her and out the window, her lips in a tight frown.

As it was the last day before the week-long half term break, Miss St John's after school sex education club was called off to allow everyone to get home early. The train back towards London was busier than usual, with many of the boarders going home to their families for the week. The smattering of male commuters was treated to a bawdy eyeful as bras were taken from satchels, blouses shed, and bare, wobbling breasts strapped securely back into lacy cups. Stephanie, sitting opposite her favourite young businessman, found that even the naughty thrill of letting her braless chest be jostled energetically up and down and side to side by the bumpy train carriage while he pretended to bury his head in his science fiction novel failed to cheer her up after the day's scandalous developments.

The next morning, her braless chest shrouded in a shapeless lumberjack shirt, Stephanie took the train back up to Notting Hill to return the bra to the Storm In A G-Cup boutique.

'What on Earth happened,' asked Nina, surveying the two halfs of the brassiere in surprise. 'Surely it didn't snap open by itself?'

Stephanie decided she could be honest with the shopkeeper in a way she couldn't with Miss St John, and told the full story of how the jealous school bully had cut it open with a penknife.

Nina brought her a cup of tea and the two sat down in her office. 'Now, that was an expensive bra, and you'll recall it was really just a loan...'

'I'll get the money, I promise...!' urged Stephanie.

Nina raised her hand. 'Now now, I wasn't finished. Do you remember the modeling proposition I made?'

Stephanie nodded, a little uncomfortable. She knew where this was going.

'If I'm right in thinking, next week is half term, is it not?'

Stephanie nodded again.

'I need pictures taken next week, in time for printing the new season's catalogue. I've still not found a model anywhere near as qualified as you, and the photographer and studio are both booked. Come in during the week. I'll pay you fifty pounds an hour, and let you have any bra you like. What do you say?'

After her bad couple of days at school, Stephanie decided not to look this particular gift horse in the mouth. It seemed to good an offer to refuse, and insecure though Stephanie still was about her body, she agreed.

'Wonderful!' grinned Nina, shaking Stephanie firmly by the hand. 'You'll have fun, I promise.'

What a term this was turning out to be!