Floosie gathered up her bits and pieces and stuffed them back in her folder. "We have only two more formal periods over the next three weeks to prepare for these projects. Let's get together and do all the planning before we break up for Summer. Any help you need, you have only to ask. Use all your free study time. Then when the holidays come, you can really get those creative juices flowing!"

"Have you seen this?" Smegs rummaged in her pocket and handed me a sheet of computer printed paper. "I found it on the Net last night."

Let me try to describe our breasts, for the benefit of those readers who haven't had the pleasure. Althought we're all big from the same cause, we're all different. Mine are easily the smallest, because I only had the original dose. They're very heavy, and dangle down a long way, although they're still ever so full. My nipples are really embarrassing, they're so huge!

But tits or no tits, life goes on. We weren't making a great deal of progress with the film script, although Smegs had printed out a number of quite interesting pictures, some of which were more or less relevant to the project. We spent several minutes viewing them before I suggested calling the meeting to order.

A few days later, we split up at the station. "See you next week, Gin!"

"Yoy, I thought we'd never get away," Smegs sighed as she sank back in the seat. The train gave a hoot and eased forward in a cloud of smoke.

The sun had dipped below the rooftops of St Cat's as Moggie Anderson parked her Metro with its specially adapted small steering wheel in the deserted staff car park. She had informed the head teacher that she would be staying on in her rooms for a few days to prepare some project work for the next term, and the head teacher had been impressed with Miss Anderson's dedication.

Martyn had seen Moggie's car in the car park, and his heart began to thump faster. He knew she was due to be around the school for a few days. Recently, he had fallen into the habit of following the busty teacher about the school, keeping his distance, but maintaining an eye on her. He was obsessed with large breasts, and now that the school holidays had started and the girls had gone, especially those whoppers in the Fourth Form, Martyn had decided to make his big move.

Moggie had a nagging feeling she'd forgotten something as she drove into the town, but couldn't remember what it was, and dismissed the thought from her mind. She continued as far as the outskirts of the town, then turned off up a steep and unfamiliar street, looking for a house number. There it was! She carried on another thirty yards and stopped. Then she got out, locked the car, and walked back to number 69 Aspinall Street and rang the bell.

Martyn had finished the locking up. He sauntered back to his hutch by the main gate and hung up the keys. All this excitement and fresh air made you hungry. He opened the cupboard and took out his sandwiches, just in time to see a mouse scuttle away into a corner.

Crawshanks's performance hadn't dimmed since his recent illness. If anything, he was a new man. And he lasted for ages. Moggie hadn't had too many men in her life. In fact, until her breasts arrived, she'd had none at all. Not one.

The sunlight awoke Martyn. "Where the ...?" he sat up in the armchair. The television was showing an early morning news programme. "What...?" and Martyn peered at the clock. Six thirty in the morning? What was going on?

The sunlight awoke Moggie. She attempted to roll on to her back, but something stopped her. Crawshanks was still in there, somewhere. "Gerroff," she hissed at him, I need to go to the loo!" Crawshanks made no comment. Asleep on the job, the old bastard, and she thrust her elbow into his inert body.

Dad was waiting at the station for us, and he helped with our bags. One minor problem was that we'd forgotten that the last time he'd seen Smegs was at the end of the Christmas holidays. And she'd grown a bit since then! His eyes were like saucers as he caught sight of her titties when we walked out of the station.

The next day was Friday, and the local schools had broken up for the Summer. Up with the lark, we were, and down to the village, passing Baps's house on the way. Her mother was in the garden, hanging out the washing. "Hiya, girls," she shouted, "looking for my little slut, are you?"

We finished Baps's mother's shopping. "Let's grab a coffee or a Coke, I'm spitting feathers!" Baps said. There was a little cafe on the shady side of the village street, and it was nearly empty.

I even tried Suggy's number as soon we got home, but he was at work, of course. I'd forgotten.

On that same Friday morning, Moggie had fled without being discovered. Somehow, she had struggled behind the wheel of her Metro and zigzagged back down the road to St Cat's, where she let herself into her room and made herself a strong cup of coffee. Then she sat and thought for a while, the discipline of her scientific training coming to her aid as she made copious notes in her little book.

Moggie headed West. She forced herself to drive at a steady rate so as not to attract attention, although her instinct was to put as many miles as she could between herself and the various dead bodies littering the world around St Cat's.

Moggie somehow got away from the scene without driving into the first available ditch. She turned off the direct route a few times to throw off any pursuers, but always heading generally the right way, relying on her sense of direction. Before long, she had no idea where in the world she was.

We broke off when the church clock struck ten. Smegs and Baps caught the handles of the little roundabout and brought it a halt. We climbed off, still gazing at each other.

Adrian and the other boy called 'night' and set off home.

Indoors, Moggie put the cap on the aerosol, and dropped it back into its slot in the box. She had been reading the instructions again when she had spotted a wasp on the window-sill, and given it a good squirt without thinking. The wasp flew off, while the cloud of vapour had drifted out of Mrs Suggs's spare room window. 'I wonder if it was a queen wasp,' she wondered.

We took our supper up to the bedroom, and undressed. I was floating on air.

Jeremy Suggs woke up with a start. 'What was that,' he wondered. Something had woken him, but what? The church clock struck. One, two, three! Three in the morning. He wondered if Shan was awake, too, and his hand stole down under the sheet to cup his balls. "Shan," he murmured softly, then suddenly shot bolt upright. He sat for a moment, then leaped out of bed and stood shivering in his pajama pants.

"What's that," Smegs said. The phone rang again. "Oh, shit, it's the bloody phone!"

Of course, despite our disturbed night, we were out of the house and down to Baps's house by eight in the morning. Her mother was in the kitchen when we knocked. "You two don't lie abed, do you? She's up in her room, she hasn't showed herself yet. Go on up. Wait" She busied herself with the teapot. "Here, take her up a cup of tea, she'll need it." She'll certainly be needing something, I thought, grimly.

By eleven thirty that morning, we had more or less persuaded Baps that she couldn't stay in her bedroom for the rest of her natural life, and that her mother and her friends were going to have to know sometime.

Jeremy Suggs lay in bed, unable to believe the events of last night. He would have put it all down to a particularly vivid erotic dream, including the crisp and stained sheets on his bed. But then he had to get up and go to the toilet, and found his cock still every bit as big as it had been in the middle of the night. He ripped the sheets off the bed and bundled them up with his pajama bottoms, ready to go into the washing machine without his mother seeing the state of them.

We got home at lunchtime. Baps and her mother had gone off to town. Jeremy would be home from the garage in a short while, and I would give him a call when he got home. Mother had a couple of phone messages for me. "For me? Who?"

So I rang Jeremy's number after lunch. I rang it again every half hour until three pm, then every ten minutes until six. He wasn't there. I rang Fuller's. No reply. I looked up Mr Fuller's number at home. Jeremy had been in at work in the morning, but had finished his job by twelve and left straight away. He'd been doing that Miss Anderson's brakes. Metro it was. Bloody brakes were all over the place, pardon his French, they don't look after their cars, these days. Anyway, the car was scrap, back sub-frame rusted right through, so how was he going to get his money back on the whole morning Suggy had wasted doing the brakes, that was what he wanted to know...

"What are we going to do, Smegs?"

We still had no news of Jeremy by the time we went to bed, and Smegs wouldn't let me call his number again that night. "Leave it," she said. "You'll only make yourself more miserable. We'll find everything out in good time."

"My father's name was Armstrong Hercules. When he came over from Jamaica, he saw this friend who told him, 'You can't get on wid a name like Armstrong Hercules, man, dey'll tink yo jest a fas' bowler.'" She did the accent well. "So he got a job. He was selling brushes, door to door. He went to this big house, enormous, belonged to the ninth Earl of Somewhere-or-Other, and he says to himself, 'Armstrong,' he says, 'you goin up to dat daar and de first ting you see when de daar she open is what yo'r name gonna be!'"

Moggie Anderson switched off the television and peered around the curtains of her bedroom. The news bulletin had not been good. There had been a brief mention of her on the national news, but the local station had the full story.

"Should be safe, now," Moggie thought, and closed the bedroom curtains. Then she slowly peeled off her smock over her head, and dropped it on the armchair. She kicked off her shoes, and stood there in front of Jeremy wearing only her briefs. Lewdly, she plucked at the strings at the sides of the filmy garment, then tugged it down, an inch at a time, down her yielding thighs, down to her knees. Her breasts squashed against her legs as she bent to remove the panties altogether, then she stepped out of them one toe-nail painted foot at a time. Finally, with a lascivious expression, she tossed the fragrant garment on to the bed. It settled neatly across Jeremy's nose.

You could call them withdrawal symptoms.

I'd got around to showing Naomi some of the photos I'd taken of the girls in the Fourth Form. She was impressed, in fact, she turned the pile over time and again, shaking her head at the group photo I'd taken shortly before school had broken up for the Summer.

At last, Naomi had stopped asking questions. The tale was told. We also told her that the twins were 'natural', as, amazingly, was the freakish Tanya. And the twins knew nothing of our secret.

Naomi Greene-Hunter-Wellington looked fantastic when we had an undress rehearsal. Smegs was in the bathroom mixing chemicals, while I sat on the floor searching for a spare bra for Naomi. I found what I was looking for, and turned round, to see Naomi completely nude in front of me. Her breasts were competely flat, with just two nipples, the size of ripe blackberries, surrounded by purple areolae like halved Victoria plums.

She didn't come into the bedroom. Naomi was in the bathroom for ten minutes or so, then I heard her footsteps as she went back up to the attic. The door closed above our heads.

Dressed, she was even more devastating. She chose a simple white silk dress which would yesterday have swirled around her svelte hips and thighs. Today, the whole focus of her was changed, as the eye was drawn to the radial creases fanning out from her conical nipples, and the movement of the clinging material across the peaks of her breasts made for a constantly changing pattern.

Moggie heard the newspaper rattle through the letter-box and went downstairs. In the kitchen, she flipped through the pages. She was off the front page, now, and it took a few minutes before she found a small paragraph at the bottom of Page 5. Teacher Still Missing, it said.

I thought the afternoon went well. Even the crew had started pulling together as a team as we visited a number of locations around the village. The village children turned out to see the unlikely group of large-breasted teenagers as we appeared in various attractive spots, Viriginia holding up her fingers to form a frame and shouting "Like it, like it!" at intervals.

Moggie tried all day. She was nothing if not persistent. Well, she was something besides persistent, she was frustrated, horny, wildly desperate, gagging for it. She had an itch that needed scratching. And being a virtual prisoner in this house with only a spectacularly well-hung boy for company, she felt particularly hard done-by that he was apparently unable to produce a sustainable erection.

The chief reason they chose Hollywood and not Wiltshire as the centre of the film industry was that California has a rather greater number of hours of guaranteed sunshine at all seasons. That's what the Geography teacher told us. She was probably right.

Moggie had woken up early, wanting it.

"I've knocked her out, she's upstairs!" He was panting for breath over the phone.

I told Smegs everything Jeremy had said on the phone, the three-timing bastard, about the warming-pan and the woman who lost control and tied him to the bed. She looked thoughtful, as if there was something she was trying to remember, but couldn't.

We went round the side of Mrs Suggs's, and knocked at the back door. There was no reply. We went further round, and peered through the window of the scullery. Mrs Suggs was tied to a chair.

I do think those greedy pigs might have left us something. All that was left was a solitary corned-beef sandwich, and that had turned into biltong, or something. They'd fed all the cake to Jeremy, along with the last of the scones and the peaches and cream. They were all in a heap over on the grass, with Tanya sitting with his head in her lap � they both seemed to like that position � a twin on each side with their faces in his lap, Naomi Greene-Hunter-Wellington lying on her tummy sucking his toes, and Virginia filing his nails with an emery board. Jeremy seemed to be enjoying his tea.

Moggie leaned against a straw-bale, panting. She had heard someone crashing away at the back scullery door, then girls' voices in the house. She had tugged at the bedroom door a few times, in desperation, until it surprised her by suddenly opening. Quickly she pulled on her smock, cursing as she tried to haul it down across her bust.

She was so fast asleep in minutes, she didn't even hear the blaring ambulance siren as it drove back the way it had come, with Mrs Suggs safely inside.

I was not at all pleased with Jeremy Suggs. He had come back here with my best friend, Smegs; had offered not one word of explanation to me, and had thrown himself at my class-mates, charming them with his throbbing cock. I went indoors after Baps and the dog went home, and I could hear them all laughing and giggling in the garden like a bunch of stupid schoolgirls.

Moggie reached the Suggs's house without being seen by prying village eyes. Slipping around to the back door, she went inside, noticing the strings still tied to the chair where Mrs Suggs had been cut free. Evidence, she thought, and quickly untied the string, then found the gag on the floor and tossed it into the rubbish bin.

The others had hi-jacked the television when we got back in. Mother and Dad were keeping well out of the way in the front room, and we found Jeremy on the settee, with Tanya's breasts wrapped around his face, and a twin attached to each leg. Virginia was chilling out on the floor, rubbing herself between the legs and building up her strength for another assault.

Smegs and I sat talking for a long time. We heard Jeremy leave, and the other girls going up to bed. It occurred to us (a bit too late) that Jeremy didn't even know that we'd been to his house, freed his mother and sent her off to hospital; and that presumably, the mystery woman had fled. As far as he knew, she was still locked in her room. All he seemed to care about was getting off with a bunch of horny, huge-breasted schoolgirls. He didn't seem to be the boy I'd once fancied, not at all. Some experience seemed to have changed him.

Tanya hadn't come down to breakfast. Nor had Naomi. The twins, rather shiftily, said that Tanya had walked home with Jeremy to keep him company. It was all right, they maintained, she was sixteen after all, so it was perfectly legal.

Moggie couldn't get comfortable. The truck cab was luxurious, as truck cabs go, but the deep cloth passenger seat wasn't designed for a woman with such vast breasts. The driver had introduced himself the night before as Mitch. He had been going to London, he said, offering her a hand to heave herself up the three steps into the cab.

Virginia couldn't make it out at all, you could tell.

Jeremy and Tanya didn't wake up until after nine. They both felt deliciously fucked. Tanya playfully teased Jeremy's monster organ one more time as she rolled out of bed and bounced massively in search of the bathroom. Despite his efforts of the previous night, he felt himself becoming instantly ready for the vast-breasted girl yet again. 'God, she's even bigger than Mildred,' he thought, as she wobbled back in the door, holding her gigantic tits together to stop them colliding with both sides of the doorway at the same time. He pulled back the covers proudly, to show Tanya how ready he was for her.

Mr Fuller was surprised and pleased to see Jeremy. "Y'all right, then, Suggy? I read about your Mum in the paper, how's she doing?"

They left the van in the short-term car park and hurried into the terminal building, Tanya puffing and panting; trying to control her breasts with her free hand as she held Jeremy's with the other. People stopped in their tracks and watched the two youngsters as they skidded to a halt, looking helplessly up at the rows of screens filled with scrolling data.

By the time we'd done twenty-three takes of Naomi getting out of bed we were fairly close to getting it right. She was supposed to fling back the covers and throw her feet out of bed in one fluid movement. Somehow, she couldn't get the hang of it. A couple of times she almost made it, then pitched forward, off balance. I could see what the problem was. She was still growing, right before our eyes.

"At least, there's no topless stuff tomorrow, it's all on the catwalk. We'll probably get away with it, provided she doesn't get any bigger." Smegs didn't look too hopeful. "You must've had too much of the stuff," she told Naomi, sternly.

Meanwhile, at Heathrow, the police, both of them, had straightened their hats and entered the Departure lounge, looking for a woman answering Mildred Anderson's description. Her new description, with what had been described officially as extremely large breasts, and unofficially over the police radio as 'fuckin' great tits'. Someone's head would eventually be on the block for faulty radio procedure.

"It's no good, Naomi, you can't turn up looking like that!"

Time was getting on. We had to take a taxi to get back to Fillamore Deepleigh, and it meant walking to the station before we found one. Now, normally, when I walk through the streets of the town with my relatively new 32-E bust, I tend to attract appreciative glances and comments.

Listen. You remember at the start of this story I said how I was woken up by a tingling in my boobs? And how Smegs later said she had the same thing? And, since I remind you, I haven't mentioned it recently? Good.

"Where have you three been," Virginia exploded with her now-customary solicitude. The lights and camera were set up in the village hall, and the crew, the cast and the extras were standing around looking like spare parts. "It's eleven o'clock! We've been waiting hours."

Flight BA 294 landed at Miami, and the weary passengers, irritable after the long-delayed flight, filed into immigration. Moggie Anderson declared the purpose of her visit as holiday, and made her way with her single piece of baggage, to find a taxi.

We shot the rest of the film the following afternoon, down by the river. The new plot was that a swarm of wasps had zoomed in on the attack while the stills photographer had been photographing Naomi. We shot a few carefully framed shots of hands and spray-cans, and people waving and flapping their arms about in panic. It would all come together in the editing, Virginia said. Such blind faith the girl has.

We waved until the taxi disappeared round the corner at the end of the road. Tanya and the twins, and Virginia were on their way. I remembered Tanya's words before she climbed into the taxi. She leaned close to me, her vast breasts against my stomach, and whispered so the others couldn't hear, "He's a lovely boy, look after him. He worships you, Shan! Make him happy, okay?"

Moggie had unpacked her bag when she reached her hotel. Everything seemed strangely damp. Her entire stock of the 'Anderson' spray-cans had somehow become punctured during the flight. What had happened to the highly concentrated boob-gas, she had no idea. At a stroke, her hopes of becoming the Ms Big in the Bust-Enlarging scene in Miami were dashed.

The school holiday went on for another month. I'll skip that part of the story, if you don't mind. There are some sexy parts in it, more's the pity, but they're private, between Jeremy and me. We don't have secrets between each other, but we do between us and you!

Virginia disappeared for two days into the Audio-Visual Aids Department, where she edited the video with the assistance of the young technician, whose name was Norman. Apparently, Norman was a bit of a breast-person, and he nearly came in his pants when Virginia entered the editing suite and sat down beside him, her boobs resting on the desk in front of her.

Two other things happened during that first week.