MORE NEW GIRLS AT ST CAT'S

by Some Sort of Dog



WARNING: This story features schoolgirls with large breasts. Sorry to come 
out with it like that and shock you, especially if you have had a sheltered 
upbringing. If you don't want to read about such things, you know what to 
do. If you are a minor, wherever you live, read no further. It is probably 
against the law for you to read this material.

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


AUTHOR'S NOTE: Many of the characters in this story have appeared 
before. Although it is not strictly necessary, it might help if readers are 
already familiar with some other stories: 'Big Little Sister', 'Grown-up Girls' 
and the earlier 'St Cat's' stories by the same author. One character, 
Grandma Trudy, first appeared in 'Trudy - A 50's Romance' by Road Dog. 
Although for a long time, the characters existed in parallel and almost self-
contained universes, they converged in the previous story 'New Girls at St 
Cat's' as Trudy's great-granddaughters entered the hallowed halls of St 
Catherine's High School for Girls. Neither the school nor the girls knew 
what they were in for, but they soon found out. Here they are again, and 
trouble is never far away.





MORE NEW GIRLS AT ST CAT'S

by Some Sort of Dog





Part I





Chapter 1:- Love Potion Number One


This is the bit I'm not very good at. You know when you read a story, and 
it says you should really have read such and such a story before you read 
this one, but since you didn't and you're too sodding pig-headed to go and 
read the other one first, you have to read a dozen paragraphs at the 
beginning explaining what happened in the story you should have read in 
the first place. I mean, if you can read the whole story in a dozen 
paragraphs, why did the author take a dozen chapters to write it last time? 
And it always ends the same way. It says, 'now read on'. Well, now read 
on.

I'm Chauntaille Gruntworthy, as you ought to know already, if you can 
read. And I came back here to St Cat's after two years at teacher training, 
to do a bit of real life experience. As if St Cat's was anything like real life! 
Especially since the Headmistress turned out to be the appalling Moggie, 
now known as Ella Wheeler Thunderbolt. Look, don't blame me for her 
name. And don't blame me for Smegs becoming her Deputy Headmistress, 
either. You can't even blame me because my bust has grown to a 
circumference of ten feet: it was all down to the boob-juice. And although 
we all thought boob-juice had become nothing more than a frightful 
memory, it has once more raised its ugly head.

Clarrie, Sir Roger Pym's serving wench, will never be the same again, nor 
will young Curse, which is a more or less polite name for Kirstie 
Wykehame-Arthurstone-Smythe, who became an unintentional guinea pig 
when she fell in a giant vat of boob-juice while she was running away 
from a white mouse. Don't ask, okay?

Tell you what. I'll get on with the story, and if anything happens that you 
don't understand, just shout. And I promise to do the same.


**********

The girls of the First Form were in the lab again. I had learned to keep an 
eye on them since the Curse incident. No good trusting Darren or the disco 
lad, they nod off and before you know what's going down, some kid's 
grown a pair of seventies. And that upsets Smegs. She hates anyone having 
bigger tits than her, it undermines her authority as Deputy Head. And it 
makes her jealous as hell.

At least, now that we had progressed beyond the first half of the term, I 
didn't have to sit and watch them learning how to boil water any more. 
They had progressed to more useful tasks, and were doing some fairly 
advanced work on pheromone additives for the Dr Valentine range of 
Sexual Chemicals. That was another very good reason for excluding Darren 
and the disco lad from the lab. Although we took every precaution to avoid 
the escape of fumes, only last week some of our more overtly lesbian girls 
had run amok in class after getting a whiff of something or other.

And somebody, no names, but I know who it was, smuggled a sample out 
of the lab and just happened to wander down in the direction of the 
caretakers' shed. She allowed some of the concentrated gas to leak out into 
the atmosphere where it would be drawn into the shed through the 
ventilation system, then casually walked in.

"Oh, sorry, Miss," she cried, in embarrassment, finding Moggie 
spreadeagled on the workbench with Jeremy more or less completely 
inside her. The headmistress's presence undoubtedly saved an unpleasant 
incident of statutory rape. The girl in question wrote up her notes very 
nicely, claiming that the scene she witnessed was proof of the effectiveness 
of the chemical, but I gave her a D-minus on the grounds that Moggie was 
already three-quarters fucked when the girl decided to lend Nature a 
hand.

Moggie, though, to be fair, did mention that Jeremy's performance showed 
a great improvement over his customary lacklustre wham-bam, thank you, 
Miss.

I wouldn't know, I never use him these days.

I adjusted my gas mask. It was a hot afternoon for October. There were 
two reasons for wearing it. One: in the event of a toxic leak, I would remain 
unaffected. If I was to come under the effects of the gas, I would be unable 
to prevent myself going down on every girl present. This would be in 
breach of the teachers' equivalent of the Hippocratic Oath. Two: one or 
more of the girls seemed to be subsisting on a diet of beans and reheated 
cabbage. It was pretty nauseating, although the rest of the class seemed 
not to notice it, or of they did, they actually enjoyed it. That's First Formers 
for you.

Suzanne came up to the desk and rapped on my visor with a ruler.

"What is it, Suzanne, I can hear you perfectly well. The only effect of the 
respirator is that I can't smell you."

"It's not me, Miss. Well, a bit of it was. But most of it was Mandy, Miss. 
And, Miss?"

"Yes, Suzanne?"

"When I say it *was* Mandy, Miss, that's what I meant. She tried extra 
hard to do a fart and did a dump in her pants, Miss. I don't like to tell 
tales, Miss, but it's true."

"Thank you, Suzanne. Go and sit down, please. Mandy, would you come up 
here."

The girl approached the desk, walking with extreme care.

"You are excused, Mandy. Don't come back. And don't go straight to the 
restaurant, have a shower first."

"Oh, MISS!" She shuffled away, her legs moving only from the knees 
downward.

"Eureka!" shouted Pansy, from the front row.

"Pansy, must you do that?" I asked. I had a headache coming on.

"But I've found it, Miss. You said that Greek bloke shouted that when he 
farted in the bath and the bubbles rose upwards and he discovered 
gravity."

"He wasn't Greek, he was Latin, wasn't he, Miss?"

"He was German, wasn't he, Miss?"

"What have you found, Pansy?" I persevered.

"This, Miss." She brought a bubbling beaker up to the desk and placed it 
carefully in front of me. "There," she said, "sniff that!" The stuff was fizzing 
like that stuff that cleans you out in the mornings. The stuff Mandy 
definitely didn't need.

"You can not be serious," I said.

"It's all right, Miss, look!" and she bent over the beaker and inhaled noisily. 
She went cross-eyed for a few moments, then said, "there!"

"Well, what does it do?"

"Wait a minute, Miss, and just watch." So I did. The class went silent, 
waiting. Then the door opened, and Darren strode in. He looked around the 
class, took a deep breath, spotted Pansy and walked straight up to her.

"Hi, Darren, do you want a bit?" she leaned against his chest, her 
substantial breasts squashing themselves surprisingly flat against him. He 
took her in his arms and swept her off her feet, covering her face with 
burning kisses. Pansy returned them with considerable interest. The 
dialogue was fascinating.

"Oh, Pansy, how I have waited for this moment ..."

"Darren, my darling, my love, my sweetness, take me, take me now ..."

"Pansy, I burn for you, I yearn for you, I ..."

A pity he had to stop, I was wondering what the third rhyme was going to 
be. Darren released Pansy and stood back, looking around the lab. He 
sniffed the air, gagged and said, "corrr, bloody hell, which one of you kids 
has shat in here?" And he glared about him and fled.

Pansy adjusted her bra and picked up the beaker, swirling the contents 
round. It had stopped fizzing.

"That's the trouble with it, Miss. It only lasts about a minute so far. It's an 
improvement on last week, we were stuck on ten seconds for ages."

"But what is it, Pansy?"

"We call it Love Potion Number One."

"Number One? Not Number Nine?"

"No, Number One. Why call it Number Nine, if it's only the first one we've 
made?"

I was forgetting, they're only ten years old, they don't know any songs 
from that far back.

"What's the range of this stuff, Pansy?"

"It's good for half a mile, so far, Miss, depending on the wind. And it's pure 
love, not sex and stuff."

"Yes, Pansy, I could see that."


**********

I reported the little scene to Moggie and Smegs. They were sceptical.

"What's love got to do with it?" Smegs sneered.

"What's love but a second-hand emotion?" jeered Moggie.

"I watched it with my own eyes. This kid took a sniff of the stuff and we 
all waited. Then Darren came in, looked around, picked her out, and started 
snogging her. And they were talking like a forties film script. It was 
spooky."

"And what happened?"

"Nothing. They stopped, just like that, and lost interest. Darren came to his 
senses and dashed off. Pansy carried on explaining the results of the 
project so far."

"Well, I think it stinks," said Smegs. "What's the use of a brew that turns 
you into 'Brief Encounter' for a whole minute?"

"Last week, it was ten seconds," I said. "Next week, it might be up to six 
minutes, the week after, twenty-four ..."

Moggie nodded. "Shan's right, Megan. What if the kids do get the stuff 
working for long periods. It will be a winner."

"Will it? They'll all be getting married to Darren and settling down."

"We don't know how it will work over a longer period," I said. "They got 
straight down to serious snogging as it was. If they get it up to an hour or 
more, a lot of girls could be seriously ravished."

"And a lot of boys," Moggie reminded us. "Our girls can be quite 
determined when they know what they want. But I still think we should 
let them carry on with their research. Keep a close eye on it, though, Shan."

"Huh," Smegs grunted. "We've got important work to do here, and having a 
bunch of First Formers doing sloppy love scenes all over the place is just 
tying up valuable facilities."

That's Smegs. She has no soul. Just because she can't find true happiness, 
nobody else can have the chance either.


**********

I kept an eye on it. I had to insist on the stuff not being used on boys, 
though.

"Oh, MISS!" Pansy wailed. "We've got it up to twenty-four minutes, but you 
won't let us test it properly."

"I let you do it on other girls, didn't I?"

"I don't *like* other girls, Miss. It's all right for you, you're bi ..."

"Leave my sexuality out of this, Pansy."

"Well, I don't like snogging this lot in here. I mean, I've got tits, so I'm a 
girl, but they've got no willies. If I press my hips against them, I can't feel 
their throbbing manhoo ..."

"Pansy!"

"Well, I'm not swinging both ways, for you or anybody, Miss. I refuse to 
work on this project a moment longer!"

"So do I, Miss!" Her cousin had joined us.

"You too, Suzanne?"

"Yes, Miss." The two big-busted girls stood shoulder to shoulder.

"Right then! We'll go and see Miss Thunderbolt."





Chapter 2:- Suspension Of Disbelief


Sir Roger's Range Rover came down the drive to St Cat's. Clarrie, the 
serving wench sat in the back. For physiological reasons, Clarrie no longer 
drove Sir Roger everywhere. He was thinking of having a car built which 
would accommodate a driver with a 150-inch bust. Meanwhile, Sir Roger 
drove himself. His eyesight, which had been his excuse for having Clarrie 
as his chauffeuse in the first place, had made an excellent recovery.

Sir Roger still brought Clarrie along, to minister to his needs during the 
day. But with Sir Roger in the school, hard at work as a breast enlargement 
consultant, it was Clarrie's needs which were in greater need of 
ministering. That was where Davie came in. At first, Clarrie smuggled Davie 
into the car and hid him under the seats until Sir Roger was safely out of 
the way. One day, though, Sir Roger had returned unexpectedly to the car 
park during the day and found some pretty advanced sexual relations in 
progress on the back seat. He watched for some time, then sneaked away 
to change his underwear in the staff toilet.

After that, Davie came along every time, twice a week, and Clarrie's needs 
were taken care of. Her life was getting complicated. Being by far the most 
overdeveloped woman Sir Roger had ever seen in his life, she received his 
undivided attention whenever he was available and capable. That was fine, 
as far as it went, but as Clarrie's already hyperactive libido had increased 
dramatically along with her breast size, she needed almost constant sex 
throughout her waking hours. Davie took the brunt of her needs. He was 
there, he was available, and he had only ever known one woman, Clarrie. 
That meant that he had only ever known one position, with Clarrie on top. 
As far as Davie was concerned, there were other ways of doing it, but they 
were academic.

Every now and again, he thought back to the innocent days of summers 
past, when other girls, far less heavy than Clarrie, had done it to him the 
other way, and had sat on his face. He could still just recall the scent and 
flavour of Pansy's and Suzanne's bikini pants as they sat on his face. They 
could do it again any time they felt like it, as far as he was concerned, but 
these days, he never had a minute to call his own.

The thought that his little girlfriends were just across the car park thrilled 
him, but they might as well be at the South Pole, as all day long he lay 
beneath Clarrie while she pleasured herself. Until, one day, his opportunity 
came. It was pure luck, the way these things always are.

It was a Thursday morning. Sir Roger had enjoyed a swift screw in the car 
park before dashing off to his Fourth Form Breast Enlargement Studies 
class. Clarrie had immediately clambered on top of Davie and started her 
practised and economical action. Davie had a mouthful of nipple and a 
bellyful of sweet milk. Until Sir Roger became available again 
unexpectedly. He pounded on the window. 

"Clarrie? I need your body again, now!"

Clarrie was thunderstruck. Sir Roger had never managed it twice in a 
morning. Was this a new lease of life for the old boy? She slipped herself 
off Davie and scrambled out of the back seat.

"It's too cold outside, come into the staff room," Sir Roger insisted, dragging 
the maid away by the hand, her unfettered breasts flopping around like 
young hippopotami inside her custom-knitted sweater. Davie watched 
them disappear inside the school. He was at a loose end, an alien 
experience for him these days. Then an amazing thing happened.

He could smell something. Well, not exactly smell it. He couldn't smell 
anything inside the car apart from Clarrie's juices, but he had become 
suddenly aware of something making his nostrils twitch. And it was 
strangely exciting. It made him think of sunny meadows, river banks, 
fresh young girls - and fragrant bikini crotches! As if in a dream, he 
opened the car door and stepped out into the fresh air. He was being 
drawn in the direction of the school.

The smell, or taste, or sensation, whatever, was getting stronger. It drew 
him in through the school doorway, it made him turn sharp left and hurry 
down the corridor. He passed groups of curious girls, who stopped, open-
mouthed and watched him scurry past.

"It's a boy!" he heard them whisper to each other.

"A boy?"

"A boy!"

He had no time for them, even though he was aware that most of these 
girls were incredibly beautiful and desirable. They had long, soft hair, 
creamy thighs, soft breasts in a bewildering range of shapes and sizes. But 
there were more urgent matters. He reached a door marked 'Science 
Laboratory', opened it and went inside. Here, the sensation was so 
overpowering that he had difficulty telling where it was coming from, then 
he felt almost a suction pulling him in the direction of a bench at the front 
of the lab. And there, in front of him, was Pansy!

He opened his arms to enfold her, and she did the same, and they collided 
softly.

"Pansy, Darling!"

"Sweet Davie, darling!"

"Oh, my darling sweetness!"

They rained kisses on each other's eager lips and faces, they kissed each 
other on the eyes, their tongues probed each other.

"How did he get in here," I asked. "Pansy, did you do this?"

Pansy was far too busy to answer, I could tell. Suzanne consulted her 
stopwatch and made notes on a clipboard. "Three minutes," she sang out. 
"Go for it, Pan!"

Pan needed no encouragement. She was doing perfectly well on her own. 
Something had to be done. If this went on, they would be on the floor 
within minutes, and there would be no telling what they would be up to. 
Yet they had made no attempt to get undressed. Pansy was rubbing her 
more than generous breasts against Davie's stomach and chest, yet he 
made no effort to unbutton the girl's school blouse and explore inside. 
Similarly, Pansy showed no inclination to get into the boy's pants.

They snogged away, past thirty minutes, watched by an appreciative 
audience, as Suzanne called out the elapsed time and made copious notes. 
The script was lousy; full of 'darlings' and 'sweeties', but it didn't seem to 
offend the other girls. They nodded approvingly when one of the couple 
came up with a particularly corny expression of undying love or a 
squelchier than usual kiss.

Then it stopped.

Just like that, they released each other. Pansy took the clipboard from her 
cousin and started consulting the notes. Davie straightened his rumpled 
shirt and stretched. He looked around, seeing the rest of the class for the 
first time. Then, without a word, he lay on his back on the bench. Suzanne 
watched him, licking her lips, then climbed up on the bench, smiling down 
at the boy. She placed her hands lasciviously beneath her enormous 
breasts and offered them to him. Davie reached out for her, then began to 
fumble with his belt.

Suzanne reached beneath her skirt, and in a moment, had yanked down 
her pants, kicking them away. They fluttered to the floor unheeded. The 
other girls had lost interest and wandered away to their places. And 
Suzanne began to lower herself on to Davie's face. I rushed round the 
bench to intervene, but too late. Davie's face had already disappeared 
beneath the girl's skirt, and she was bending forward to take him into her 
mouth. I heaved her off him by brute force. She was heavy. Mostly tit, I 
supposed.

"Suzanne!"

"Oh, Miss, you rotten spoilsport!"

"You can't do that in class, Suzanne."

"Where *can* I do it, Miss?"

"You can't do it at all, Suzanne, not at your age!"

"I can't?"

"Of course not. It's against the law. I think. It must be."

Davie had sat up, looking from one of us to the other. None of the other 
girls in the class was paying the slightest attention to the conversation.

"You simply *can't* sit on boys' faces, Suzanne. And you *certainly* can't 
suck their cocks, either. And Davie, I don't know how you got in here, but 
go back to where you came from."

"Bye, Davie! See ya later," Suzanne called cheerily as the bewildered boy 
slunk out of the room. She turned her attention back to me. "I won't get 
pregnant, Miss. Not if I don't swallow."

That had a certain logic. It was probably true.

"Who else is pregnant," demanded Pansy, taking a sudden interest.

"I'm not," Suzanne pouted, "Miss won't let me."

"Oh, Miss!" said Pansy. "You never let us do *anything*."

It was time for another interview with the headmistress.


**********

"You'll never be a teacher if you don't control your class better than this, 
Chauntaille," Moggie told me sternly.

"We're completely unsupervised, Miss. She lets us do anything," Pansy 
reported.

"It was all her fault about Curse getting those enormous tits," Suzanne 
weighed in.

"And she's simply obsessed with sex, all day long ..."

"Not just with boys, either. In fact, not with boys at all."

Smegs was sitting with a smug smile on her face. "I warned you, Moggie, 
didn't I? But you wouldn't listen. Don't trust her, I told you, she's an unfit 
person to be placed in charge of kids. Even First Formers."

"Have you anything to say, Chauntaille?" Moggie looked grave.

"No, Headmistress."

"Then I think it would be better if you ceased to teach here. You are 
suspended. I will send a report to your college and they will decide what is 
to be done to you."

"Who's going to do her job?" enquired Smegs.

Suzanne and Pansy both put up their hands, hopping about excitedly and 
wetting their knickers slightly.

"Please, Miss, let me, Miss!"

"No, not this time, girls. You must go back to your class and continue your 
work on the Love Potion. It is a potential money-spinner."

The girls looked glum.

"Bor-ing, Miss! It only makes you want to snog. Can't we make it really 
powerful, so it makes people want to fuck?" Pansy implored. 

"And sit on boys' faces!" insisted Suzanne.

"Not us, of course," Pansy conceded. "People!"

"You speak for yourself," Suzanne muttered.

"Absolutely not. You're far too young to be working on sex projects. We're 
talking pure young love, here. It's a market we haven't attacked before, 
and you're making exciting progress. Back to the lab with you, and carry 
on!"

The girls grumbled, but picked up their clipboard and squeezed past me to 
the door.

"Right, Chauntaille," said Moggie, when they had gone. "What are we going 
to do with you?"

"She'll have to go," gloated Smegs. "She's just a great big useless pair of 
walking tits."

I was beginning to wonder if she was really my bestest friend any more. 

"Come on, Chauntaille," said Moggie, handing me a hankie. "It's not the end 
of the world. There'll be other jobs. Typing: well, maybe not, you can't get 
near the keyboard. You could earn a good living as a whore, perhaps. It 
would mean you would have to fuck men, of course. See? You don't have to 
be a teacher. How about exotic dancing? You could have your tits reduced a 
bit. Although, thinking about it, you're not a lot of use at all, are you?"

"No, Miss," I agreed.

"You don't even give milk," said Smegs. "If you did, Baps might have taken 
you on. Whether your milk would be any good is another matter. Probably 
be sour."

"Probably."

"It would be okay for yoghurt, perhaps."

"Yes, it might," I said, feeling better.

"But you don't give milk anyway, do you."

"No, Smegs."

"Well, come on then, get your gear off. Let me feast my eyes on those 
gigantic tits one last time. Let me bury my head in your huge and fragrant 
love-tunnel. You up for it, Mogs?"

"Oh, yes, count me in," said Moggie, looking at her watch.

I stood up and began to unfasten my buttons, slowly, one at a time. But I 
left my shirt on, so it hung open, revealing just a shadowy promise of the 
delights within; the massive Mark XXII version of the Ultra-Boomer, which 
I was beta-testing for Mrs Boothroyd. It was only a plain vanilla one, but 
quite exciting for all that. My hands slid down my sides to the fasteners 
which held up my skirt. Leaning forward slightly so that the weight of my 
breasts swung away from my waist and stomach, I quickly slipped it 
down. Once it was past my knees, I kicked it into the corner of the room. It 
was time for the shirt now, and as my audience watched, spellbound, I 
wriggled out of it, first one sleeve, then the other, letting it fall behind me 
as I pulled my shoulders back with an effort. A tremendous effort. Moggie 
and Smegs licked their lips as the Ultra-Boomer was exposed in all its 
considerable splendour. The preposterously huge cups descended so far 
that they covered the filmy decadence of my brief panties, so I turned 
sideways, slipping a pair of fingers inside the elastic and rolling them 
down the soft pillars of my thighs. At last, I turned my back on the two 
watching women and began to release the hooks of the bra.

"One!" they said.

I released the next.

"Two!"

"Three, four, five, six ...!"

I paused. It was a great strain, reaching round behind my back. Better to 
pause now, with just a few of the hooks undone, than to risk damage to the 
bra if my breasts burst free before the hooks were all freed.

"Seven, eight, nine, ten ..."

I found the counting exhilarating. The suspense was building up in the 
stuffy little office. Risking a glance over my shoulder, I could see that 
Moggie had started to undress, while Smegs had spread her legs obscenely 
and was busy doing something fairly labour-intensive beneath her skirt. 
Whatever it was, it took both hands.

"Carry on, don't stop!" they wailed. "Eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, 
fifteen ..."

I realise now, I shouldn't have taken a deep breath just then. Mrs 
Boothroyd recommends lowering them on to a table at this stage, or 
bending from the waist and lowering them to the floor. With a great 
RRRIPPP the last eight hooks tore loose from the body band and my 
breasts flopped out of the cups one at a time. A total shambles. You'd think 
I would have learned to take off a bra by now. All I could do was to shrug 
out of the three-inch wide shoulder straps with their lambswool padding, 
and hope to avoid total destruction of the Ultra-Boomer. Too late.

A sigh escaped the watchers as I bent to pick up the remains of the bra.

"Fuck me, Chauntaille, you've buggered that, haven't you!" said Moggie, in 
awe.

"Told you she was useless, didn't I?" crowed Smegs. "Can't even take her 
bra off without dropping her tits through the floor. Look at them, the size 
of beanbags!"

"Fridges," said Moggie, although I couldn't see the resemblance myself.

"Couches!" exclaimed Smegs. "You could sit on those."

"Just you dare," I warned her. I'd had enough for one morning. Raw sex in 
the First Form classroom, suspension from my duties, now the total 
destruction of my new bra. Mrs Boothroyd would go ballistic. "Sit on my 
tits, and you're history!"

Smegs recognised the hidden menace in my voice.

Moggie had gone very quiet. I assumed she was having one of her more 
private orgasms, but she suddenly spoke. "I've had an idea, Chauntaille. 
There may be a place for you at St Cat's after all."





Chapter 3:- The Appliance Of Science


"Foundation Studies?" Smegs said in disbelief.

"Head of the Department of Foundation Studies," Moggie confirmed.

"But she's useless, we already decided that."

"Can you think of anyone who might be the new Head of Foundation 
Studies? Would *you* rather do it? It would be a demotion, of course."

I sat on the edge of the desk, swinging my legs, my breasts resting on the 
green leather on either side of my bottom. One of them slid off the 
desktop, with a horrid tugging sensation. It didn't hit the floor, of course: 
just how big do you think I am? In fact, it might have been better if it 
*had* been big enough to hit the floor, as then it would have gone squish 
on the carpet, instead of going doinnggg, the way it did. But having said 
that, if my tits had been long enough to reach the floor while I was sitting 
on top of a desk, they would have been pretty inconvenient in everyday 
use. They'd have been under my feet the whole time, unless I wore very 
high heels indeed. And Mother always says very high heels are bad for a 
girl's posture.

Meanwhile, Moggie and Smegs considerately picked it up and heaved it 
between them back on the desk. I reached across and hugged it closer to 
me in case it happened again. "Thank you," I said, and I really meant it.

"Our girls are going to find that their brassieres play a vital part in their 
lives as they go through St Cat's," Moggie panted.

"Not just a supporting role," said Smegs.

"A starring role," insisted Moggie. "They need advice from someone who 
knows the pitfalls. Someone who can advise them, offer them a helping 
hand, support them when their whole world seems to be about to crash 
down around their ears ..."

"Or their knees ..."

"... or their knees. Someone intimate with the arcane mysteries of bra sizes. 
Seventy per cent of women in this country do not know their correct bra 
size, believe it or not. We need someone the girls can come to, quietly, in 
the middle of the night, if necessary ..."

Yes, I was beginning to like the sound of this job.

"... and ask about shoulder straps, front fastenings, velcro, underwires, 
those little flaps that open up to let your nipples out to feed baby ..."

"Baby! Aaaaah! Wuz-a-wuzz! Ooz a lickoo Baby, den? Yesss!"

"... someone who can hold a girl's breast in both hands and make her feel 
she is not a freak, but a real, warm, living being, a woman!"

Fair enough, I thought. You just talked me into it, Moggie.

"Start tomorrow. Miss Albatross can take over Love Potion development 
with immediate effect ..."

"Er ... excuse me ... is that the best idea in the world, Mog," said Smegs. 
"Fanny's even more of a raving lezzie than Shan is."

"Even lesbians bleed," said Moggie obscurely. "Fanny Albatross will take it 
over. You, Chauntaille, will assume the role of Comptroller of Bra Studies."

"Was that Comptroller with a 'p'?"

"Naturally. Work closely with Sir Roger. His Clarrie can help. We'll take her 
on as a trainee. You'd better get that bra replaced; take the afternoon off 
and go see Mrs Boothroyd. She'll be coming in as a consultant. But to stop 
her getting ideas above her station, we'll get a few more custom bra 
makers in as well. Do them good to have a bit of competition. Speak to 
some of the bigger girls and see if they know of any good bra makers they 
can recommend. Take my car," she ended with spectacular generosity.

"I can't drive. Not with these."

"Of course. No. Labia will drive you. In fact, I don't need a secretary, she 
can be your full-time driver. Even better idea, I'll find a new secretary. 
One with gigantic tits, so big she has to dictate her letters to a typist. Either 
that or a man. A young man. Hung like a stallion. Off you go, then!"

"COME BACK!"

They helped me dress and I swept out to the car park, with the dreadful 
Miss Labia tagging along behind, trying to say something. We arrived at 
Moggie's BMW and I tossed her the keys.

"That's what I was trying to tell you, I can't drive," said Labia. Stupid bitch.

It was an eventful journey into town, but I parked the car at last in the 
middle of Well Lane, outside Mrs Boothroyd's shop.

"Get behind the wheel," I told Labia, "and if the law comes along, tell them 
your disabled mistress is in the bra shop. No, make that 'differently 
abled'."


**********

By the end of the day, I had spoken to several more custom bra makers, 
and arranged for three to come along to St Cat's the next day for informal 
interviews and discussions. There were a couple more I would have liked: 
a powerful-sounding Ms Shaw, and a little Spanish lady from Florida, but 
they both seemed pretty tied up with something big of their own.

Mrs Cooper was a little mouse of a woman. Victoria, Pansy's Third Form 
sister, had recommended her. She said that she and her mother and her 
Auntie Tanya all had their bras made by her, as well as her sister and 
cousin Suzanne. Can't be bad, I thought, that's more than twenty-four feet 
for starters. She obviously knew a bit about it.

Confusingly, Suzanne had recommended someone called Sandy. She said he 
(he?) made bras for her Nana Trudy, and for Clarrie, as well as for herself, 
Pansy and Victoria. That can't be bad, either, I reasoned, that's another 
thirty-one feet.

And there was Mrs Boothroyd.

We had the makings of a strong team, if they could work together. Mrs 
Boothroyd knew all about the potential of the St Cat's boob-juice, and 
swore by her Junior and Ultra-Boomer range as being set to carry us 
forward into the Twenty-First Century. Brave words indeed.

Mrs Cooper maintained that good old-fashioned methods worked for her 
mother and they would work for our girls. "The secret's in the cut," she 
said. "Put your breasts in my hands. Not literally, girl," she snapped,  when 
I took her at her word. I put them away again, feeling unfulfilled.

Sandy was a queer one, and no mistake. "I trained as an engineer with the 
Marines," he revealed. "I use methods developed for bridging uncrossable 
ravines and chasms. If you need proof of my methods, take a look at young 
Clarrie."

I looked out of the window and - just like in the movies - at that very 
moment she was crossing the car park. Her breasts were supported in a 
most improbable manner, the nipples fully three feet in front of her. She 
came to a halt, puzzling how she could reach the handle of the door. 
Finally, she solved the problem by approaching in reverse. Fortunately, 
they were double doors.

"How do you do that?" I asked him.

"Engineering," he replied. "Counterbalance weights hanging down her back. 
I used kevlar bags filled with bismuth. It's a problem, with her bra on, she 
weighs an extra 140 pounds, but Clarrie's a good strong country girl."

"How about sex?"

"You're very kind, but not just now, thank you. And as for Clarrie, she 
always does it from on top, she tells me, so the extra weight is someone 
else's problem."

Poor Davie, I thought. Still, he's a good strong country boy.

I addressed all three of them. "You all know enough about St Cat's by now. 
It is only a matter of time before a number of our girls become much 
larger than the national average. I would like you to submit your designs 
for a range of sophisticated, cost-effective foundation garments aimed at 
the modern young woman. Our facilities are at your disposal. Already, I 
believe, some of our Fifth Form girls have done some computer-aided 
design work on moulded breathable fabrics for bra cups. The Lower Sixth 
Form Lactation Studies Group has published a paper on Maternity Bras for 
the Modern Schoolgirl. Sir Roger Pym has some advanced ideas he tells me 
he would like to see brought to fruition. The sky's the limit. But growth, 
when it comes, will be sudden and staggering in its immensity. We must be 
ready! That is all, I thank you."

There was a standing ovation lasting several minutes, during which I took 
my leave, waving to the three bra makers extraordinary. Some of them 
more extraordinary then others.


**********

It was Friday before they came to me, all together.

"We have collaborated, after the manner of international aircraft 
manufacturers," said Sandy, acting as spokesman, although in his case, 
'spokesperson' would have been more accurate a title. "We have allocated 
different areas of responsibility. Mrs Cooper is acting as design authority 
for the body band. She has an excellent background on elastic materials 
and is an acknowledged expert on multiple hook release assemblies." Mrs 
Cooper gave a little bow of thanks.

"Mrs Boothroyd's is a world-renowned leader in expansive cup assemblies 
," said Sandy, and Mrs Boothroyd lowered her head modestly. "Her 
pioneering work with velcro has reached its pinnacle in the Ultra-Boomer, 
with which, if my hands are not mistaken, you are yourself familiar, Miss 
Cuntworthy."

"Grunt."

"Sorry?"

"It's Grunt. You said 'Cunt'."

"I did?"

"Yes. He did, didn't he?" I appealed to the others as women. They shrugged 
and held out their hands.

"Never noticed," said Mrs Boothroyd.

"Wasn't listening," said Mrs Cooper.

"You did, anyway. And it's Gruntworthy."

"Must've been a slip of the tongue. I can't imagine 'cunt' passing my lips."

Nor could I, for that matter.

"Finally," Sandy seemed to swell like a mating bullfrog, "I will be overall 
Design Co-ordinator, with special responsibility for shoulder straps and 
materials."

"Excellent. Have you produced a prototype?"

"We have. Our seamstresses assembled it minutes ago. As in the case of 
aircraft manufacture, the various components were produced separately 
and shipped here just in time for final assembly. In fact, you will note that 
the assemblies are in different colours." He raised his voice and cried out in 
ringing tones, "send in Kirstie!"

There was a dramatic pause, then the door burst open and two shadowy 
figures thrust the recently enhanced First Former into the room. She 
spoiled the effect somewhat by tripping over the mat. She was still finding 
her feet. They were down there somewhere.

"It's certainly pretty," I remarked. The body band was kingfisher blue, 
with a row of twelve heavy duty hooks.

"The hooks came from a manufacturer who is new to the field. They were 
intended for a military application, which explains their olive drab colour. 
Now, note the cups."

They bore the hallmark of Mrs Boothroyd, dozens of velcro straps covering 
the crimson material of the cups, which appeared to be of an unfamiliar 
material.

"The cups are made of a material developed for aerospace applications, and 
have a bursting strength of 500 per cent above the anticipated load," 
announced Sandy. "Breathe in, Kirstie, please!"

Kirstie began to inhale, and the bra creaked a little, before expanding 
before our very eyes. I touched one of the cups, now drum-tight and 
extremely full of girl. "It's amazing," I said, and sank my finger deep into 
the soft material. It yielded, the finger disappearing up to the knuckle in 
firm rubbery flesh.

"Note the crossed velcro supports, the subject of a patent application. Now, 
watch this ... you may breathe out, Kirstie."

She did, not before time. Her eyes had glazed over and she was turning 
blue. As her chest returned to a relatively normal size, the velcro 
readjusted itself so that the cups still fitted perfectly.

"Remarkable!"

"And finally, note the shoulder straps. Only two inches wide, but inflatable. 
If the weight of the breasts increases while the garment is being worn, the 
straps automatically inflate to spread the load across the shoulders. A boon 
to lactating women, or women whose breasts expand suddenly and without 
warning. Walk around, Kirstie, let's see it in action."

She did, falling over less frequently now, and breathing occasionally to 
demonstrate the cup technology. There was a future for Kirstie in 
specialised modelling, I could see that.

"How's the milking going, Curse, is Miss Baps looking after you all right?" I 
asked her.

"Oooh, yes, Miss! And the other girls are brilliant. Some of them are on five 
gallons a day. I thought I had a big yield, but I'm only average. Miss Baps - 
ain't she HUGE, Miss - says it's the country air, but I think it's something in 
the water down there. And the dairy! It's fantastic! They've got music and 
videos, and special vibrating seats at every milk station, and boys if you 
want them. She wouldn't let me have one, not even just a little one to try, 
I'm not old enough, but all the older girls have their own boy! Just to use 
when they're being milked. I get off just watching ..."

Obviously, Curse was doing fairly well at her new vocation.

"What size is this bra," I asked Sandy as Curse continued her monologue in 
the background.

"Basically, it's a 32. We don't use cup sizes at all, they only cause confusion, 
and the self-adjusting cups make them irrelevant anyway. This one goes 
up to about a hundred, but Kirstie doesn't get near that, even when the 
milk comes in. Anywhere from fifty inches upwards, it will fit and 
compensate automatically."

"It sounds brilliant. Congratulations, team!"

"Actually, we're glad it works. We were worried until we got it all fitted 
together. It's a great relief, especially as we're on television with it 
tonight."

"You are? But wait a minute, St Cat's commissioned and funded this project. 
I hope you've cleared it with Moggie."

"All done. She said to tell you, we're going to call it the ScatBra!"

"Scat? Is that a happy choice of word?" I wondered out loud.

"I did wonder, myself," said Sandy, looking a little worried. "But she said 
she was thinking of linking it with the release of St Cat's ScatPants, 
whatever they are."

"I don't think I really want to know! I said.





Part II





Chapter 4:- The ScatBra


"You can't let her call them that, Smegs! Use your influence. ScatPants, for 
God's sakes! It will attract entirely the wrong type of clientele. What are 
they, anyway?"

"They're just ordinary panties with the St Cat's logo on the front. It's short 
for St Cat's Pants, what did you think?"

"I didn't know what to think. It sounded to me as if they'd be heavily Type 
'C' stained."

"You really are GROSS, these days, Shan. Thinking such filthy things. You 
aren't the girl I used to admire so much in the Fourth Form."

"Oh, Smegs! Did you really? I really fancied you, too."

"You'd fancy anything with tits, perve."

"Anyway, could you persuade Moggie to change the name of those pants. 
Please?"

"Too late," she said briskly. "The bags are all printed. They're going to be 
very big in Japan."

"Even unsoiled?"

"They can have them soiled for an extra charge, of course. But basically 
they're aimed at the man who wants to wear what the daughters of 
Britain's most discerning parents are wearing beneath their skimpy little 
pleated skirts."

"Perverts! Why panties? Why can't they wear St Cat's T-shirts, sweatshirts 
and stuff?"

"They're not big enough!"

"We could make them bigger."

"We can't make our customers bigger, Shan. Especially the Japanese ones. 
They're too far away. Are you wearing one now? A ScatBra?"

"No, this is the Ultra-Boomer Mark XXIV. They've only made one of the 
new ScatBras, and that was a small size, it only goes up to about a hundred 
inches. Curse modelled it. It looked great."

Smegs gnashed her teeth. Perhaps I shouldn't have referred to a 100-inch 
bra as a small size. I suppose it just sort of slipped out. She's so sensitive 
these days.


**********

But I was able to try a ScatBra in my size - the label said 'medium' - later 
in the day. They had obviously done a lot of work on production 
engineering since the first appearance of the prototype. This one was all 
the same colour, a lurid green which reminded me of Kermit the Frog.

But I am getting ahead of myself. I had been sketching some ideas for 
marketing when the phone rang. It was Sandy.

"Miss Cuntworthy, get your arse down to the assembly area, the girls are 
just finishing something off for you."

There were a number of words in that sentence which caused me some 
pain and confusion, but I decided only to deal with the more important 
ones.

"Assembly area? Girls?"

"Miss Thunderbolt has assigned us a room off the pantie soiling plant. We 
hope to get air conditioning later in the week. And the girls are our 
seamstresses. Tell them I sent you."

So I knocked on the door of the assembly area. It was certainly warm in 
there, but the smell wasn't as bad as he had made out. I mean, you could 
tell that someone was soiling panties in a pretty intensive way next door, 
but it wasn't too oppressive. In fact, I found it quite pleasant. Certainly 
arousing. But then, I am easily aroused.

Perhaps that was why I was even further aroused by the sight of the 
seamstresses. Two of them, they were the shadowy figures who had thrust 
Kirstie into the room earlier. They were undistinguished-looking women, 
clearly of working class origins. Perhaps if they had been dressed, I would 
never have noticed them at all.

But they were naked. Because of the heat, I supposed. The nearer one 
looked me up and down as I came in.

"'Ere she is, Clit," she shouted, flicking her lank, greasy-looking dark-brown 
hair back from her face with a bony hand. "Sand said she 'ad fuckin' great 
whoppers, we'd be sure to reckonnise 'er!"

Her companion, Clit, was blonde, mostly. She scrutinised me as well, while 
picking her nose. At last, she inspected something attached to her finger 
and flicked it away. It stuck to the ceiling above my head. "Well, 'e was 
right, Flaps. Corr, look at the soddin' fings. You got a licence for them, 
lovey?"

I ignored her, sniffed, and introduced myself as Comptroller of Bra Studies.

"Wiv a 'p'?" asked Flaps, who obviously had the benefit of an education.

"Naturally," I told her.

That was when Flaps stood up. Until then, both women had been sitting 
behind their sewing machines. I could tell they were naked by their bare 
shoulders. But standing, Flaps made me feel weak at the knees. "Fuck me!" 
I said, and those who know me well will be aware that such words do not 
pass my lips lightly.

"You seen summat, 'ave yer?" asked Flaps, rudely. "You'll know me next 
time yer see me, yeah?"

I thought I probably would. Flaps was a skinny woman, in fact, her 
shoulders and arms were positively bony. But her tits! How can I describe 
them. Remember Miss Dumbo? Donna Dumbo. the Queen of the Inserts. 
who was probably teaching the finer points of exotic dancing to our Fourth 
Form at this very moment? Well, Donna's aren't real. Flaps's were. They 
wobbled with passion as she awaited my reply.

"Fuckin' HELL!" Shan, I thought. Is that really the best you can manage?

I know, I know! With the benefit of an expensive education, I ought to 
have been able to express myself more adequately. But while I was still 
trying to get over the impact of Flaps's tits, Clit chose that moment to stand 
up as well.

I had to sit down. I found a chair and dropped into it gratefully. Clit and 
Flaps stood shoulder to shoulder in front of me. I've never been any good 
at descriptive passages. My old English teacher used to despair of me. 
'Chauntaille,' I remember her saying. 'Let it flow, release it.'

As I said to her then, I'll do my best. Clit was a little taller than Flaps, 
about five feet one, perhaps. It must be the inner-city working class 
conditions that stunts their growth. Why doesn't it affect their tits, then? 
Flaps's weren't completely visible, now that I had slumped into a chair. 
That, and the fact that they descended to below her navel. You remember 
Belinda Balloons? Yes, her, the one with the giant Dunlop rubber breasts? 
Well, Clit's were real. I knew they were real because they went in and out 
as she breathed.

"I reckon she's one o' them lezzies, Flaps," she grated, elbowing her partner 
in the right breast. "She can't take her eyes off of our boobs."

"I'll give 'er lezzie if she comes over 'ere," said Flaps, "I'll get my Kevin on 
to her, give 'er a good nine inches up her slot, that'll cure 'er little 
problem."

I could think of worse cures for my problems.

"Nine?" Clit was looking at her friend with one eyebrow raised.

"Well, seven and an arf, then. All right! Six. It's what 'e does wiv it that 
matters."

I'd gone off Kevin. I stood up again, feeling slightly recovered. "Sandy said 
you had something for me."

"Oooh, Sendy sed yoo hed something FAW me!" Flaps mimicked.

Did I really sound like that? Gosh, quite pleasant, really.

Flaps reached into a box beside her machine and produced a bile green 
bra. My heart leapt at the sight of it. The ScatBra! For me?

In seconds, I had stripped off my blouse and the huge heavy-duty 
creaking Ultra-Boomer. As music swelled and birds sang, I took up the 
featherweight ScatBra and began to lower my breasts into the cups. I had 
unexpected help. On my right, Flaps, her tiny, skeletal fingers lifting and 
stroking one breast into its cool silken cup; on my left, Clit, caressing my 
gigantic orb as she eased its bulk into the other one.

Their fingers were cool and practised. The soft kisses they placed on my 
nipples before loading them into the bra and tucking them away out of 
sight were moist and hot. They eased the inflatable straps over my 
shoulders, touching rather more than was strictly necessary, I noticed. I 
didn't object to that in the slightest, especially as the bits of me they were 
touching seemed to be suddenly erogenous. In fact, I was erogenous all 
over.

The last of the twenty heavy duty hooks was fastened and Clit and Flaps 
stood back briefly to study the effect.

"Come over to the mirrow," suggested Flaps, her voice sounding somehow 
more musical than before. She led me by the hand, and we floated on 
winged feet across the room.

Clit appeared behind me as I studied our reflection. I looked staggering, I 
have to admit with all due modesty. The two seamstresses thought so too. 
They squirmed against me, their tits hot and squashy, thrusting their 
unclothed loins forward in curiously naive motions, like wild animals, 
completely without inhibitions.

I didn't reach the position of Comptroller of Bra Studies without 
recognising an imminent orgy. Nor did the seamstresses. They kindly gave 
me a hand or four to get the ScatBra off and back into its box before diving 
in with working class abandon.

A bit of rough never hurt a well-brought-up girl, I always think. The 
thought did occur to me that these two had been responsible for getting 
Curse ready for her fashion display earlier, but I am sure they wouldn't 
have despoiled a First Former.

But they certainly despoiled me.


**********

"Phworr, who have you been with?" exclaimed Smegs, flinging open a 
window and leaning out.

"Sorry," I said. "I was trying on the new ScatBra with Flaps and Clit, the 
seamstresses, and things got a bit out of hand."

"I could have guessed that much."

"We started off in the assembly area, but we sort of rolled around a bit on 
the floor, and next thing we knew, we were in the pantie-soilery."

"Cor, abandoned sex, or what!" Smegs sounded envious.

"Yes, and the girls doing the soiling got a little excited, too ..."

"They do, working in there, I've noticed ..."

"... and they started throwing the panties around ..."

"I'll sack the lot of them," shouted Smegs, getting up and grabbing the 
phone.

"... and we were wiping ourselves with them, oooh, everywhere, you 
know?"

"Everywhere?" Smegs sat down. "Maybe we'd better run a special batch. 
Charge an extra 50 per cent. Did they ...?"

"Yes. The foreman ... foreperson ... foregirl ... she put them in a separate 
plastic bag after we'd finished with them."

"She's a good girl, that one," said Smegs, "she'll go far. But don't let me stop 
you, carry on." Smegs resumed the position, with both hands exploring her 
intimate regions. I lent her a hand, and she obligingly made room for me to 
kneel between her thighs, spreading her legs even wider.

"Well, where was I? We'd rolled into the soilery, and unfortunately, a 
container of girl-juice got upset. It was on the hot-plate, just simmering." 
Smegs's eyes began to water at the thought. "And it fell off, and spread all 
over the floor, and we all rolled in it. It's ever so slippery, you wouldn't 
believe!"

"I tried it once," sighed Smegs, "but we only had a gallon. Not fifteen. I 
hope they mopped it up afterwards."

"Oooh, yes. They wiped it up carefully, and squeezed it back into the 
container. We didn't lose much. In fact, funny thing. There seemed to be 
more there than when we started."

"Excellent!" Smegs seemed pleased. In fact, she came, fairly energetically, 
at that moment, so it was difficult to tell whther she was just pleased, or 
positively ecstatic. She came again, wetly, and I removed my fingers and 
sucked them. "Put them back, you bastard," she screamed.

It's good to see Smegs back to something like her old self. When I left the 
office, she was on her hands and knees, mopping up something with her 
discarded knickers. I hope she sent them down to the pantie soiling plant 
afterwards.


**********

I bumped into Moggie a moment later.

"Phworrr, who have you been with?" she said, most originally, staggering 
to an open doorway and fanning her face with her panties, which she 
plucked from her sleeve. I looked at them in a marked manner and she 
realised her mistake.

"Smegs," I said. "Well, Smegs most recently, but it was the new 
seamstresses before that, we had an orgy in the assembly area, but it sort 
of spread into the panty soiling plant, and a few fluids became spilt."

"I bet they did," said Moggie. "Seamstresses, eh? A bit working class for 
you, aren't they?"

"Well, yes, actually, but they've both got the most tremendous tits 
considering how petite they both are. Would you like me to descibe them 
to you?"

"I'd love it, but sorry, no time. I'll try and slip down there later and see 
them for myself. Is the air conditioning working in there yet?"

Moggie keeps a finger on the pulse.

"No, that's why Clit and Flaps are both working without any clothes on. 
Stark bollock naked. Not a stitch. Absolutely starkers. Not even a pair of 
knickers between them."

"Is that their names? You know, I think I've just got time to nip down 
there now and meet the workforce. Show the flag, don't you know?"

"I'm sure you'll be pleased with them. Honestly, their tits are immense for 
such small women. You know Belinda Balloons and Donna Dumbo? Well, 
they're not real. Clit and Flaps are just as big, but they're one hundred and 
twenty per cent solid woman. And they won't even have dried out yet 
from my session with them earlier ..."

I was talking to myself. Moggie had suddenly clutched at her groin and 
rushed off.





Chapter 5:- Victoria


I felt on top of the world. It was a crisp Autumnal day, the sun had driven 
off the mist, and the nip of frost had turned to beads of water on the grass 
and flower beds. I greeted Jeremy as he pottered amongst the rose bushes. 
He stared at me, open-mouthed.

One gets used to this reaction, but Jeremy knows me of old. We were each 
other's first lovers, after all. We had almost grown up together since then. 
Or grown out in my case. The only difference between today and last week 
was the ScatBra. It was certainly an experience for the wearer. Once you 
got used to the noise of the cups constantly altering their size to 
accommodate the tiniest fluctuation of your breast size, it was just like 
wearing any other bra, if you ignored the sixty pounds of counterbalance 
weights slung down your back.

It wasn't as bad as it sounds. The weight was carried in a special section of 
the body band, which was understandably deep to make room for the 
twenty heavy-duty hooks. It made you feel tired for the first hour or so, 
but personally, I told myself how much more I would appreciate it when I 
took it off at bed time.

I stopped next to Jeremy and raised his lower jaw. He thanked me, and I 
said he was welcome.

"You're looking particularly gigantic today, Shan ," he said, and I blushed 
prettily at the compliment.

"It's the new ScatBra," I said, unbuttoning my blouse to show him. The 
cups groaned as they accommodated my swelling nipples in the chill air.

"Bloody hell!" he observed, and touched one areola cautiously. I gave a low 
moan of ecstasy. These cups were so strong, yet as thin as tissue paper. It 
was all I could do to keep away from him, I wanted to have him there 
among the leaves on the ground. I apologised as I climbed to my feet, and 
he said he fully understood.

As I moved on my way and thanked the polite girls who opened the 
double doors for me, then, I felt, as I said, on top of the world.

"Good morning, Miss!"

I turned round. It was Victoria, the cousin of Suzanne, the elder sister of 
Pansy. "Good morning, Victoria," I said.

"You're looking particularly gigantic today, Miss," she said.

"Why, thank you, Victoria," you're looking quite huge yourself!" She 
blushed prettily at the compliment, and looked down at her feet. She could 
just see them. She obviously had something else she wanted to say.

"What is it, Victoria?" I asked, softly.

"Oh, Miss." She was silent for a long time. "Miss. I want you to review my 
role."

"Your roll, Victoria?"

"No, Miss, my role." This time, she rolled the 'r' in the French manner.

"Excellent pronunciation, Victoria," I said. "But what do you want me to 
do?"

"Well, Miss, my sister and cousin. They're younger than me, but they've 
been in about six chapters lately, and I haven't had more than a passing 
mention. I want a bigger part."

"Victoria," I warned her sternly. "Our readers' suspension of disbelief is at 
risk if you talk like this. They have enough trouble as it is, without you 
talking about your part in this narrative."

"Sorry Miss, but I feel strongly about it. Couldn't I take part in one of the 
orgies you keep having? Or you could make me sit on Jeremy's face, or 
something?"

"No, you're far too young for explicit action of that sort. You will have to 
wait until you reach the Lower Sixth."

"Don't talk to me about the Lower Sixth," she muttered fiercely. "Load of 
huge-titted cows."

"Do I detect that you would like bigger breasts, Victoria?"

"I wouldn't mind, Miss," she said, blushing and looking down at her chest.

"They're quite big already, Victoria."

"Shit, Miss. Sorry Miss, but they're not even as big as that Suzanne's. I bet 
you're going to make *her* bigger again!"

"You're both growing girls, Victoria. Anything might happen."

"Don't give me that crap, Miss. You could let me fall into that vat that's still 
in the lab. I could trip over my shoelace, easily. Or I could be overcome by 
fumes."

"No. Out of the question. And if you carry on talking like this I will write 
you out permanently and send you to study breast development in the 
rain forests of South America. Or among those South American Indians 
who play those pan pipes and things. Is that clear? Right! How about a 
spell in the pantie soiling plant? It's quite horny in there."

"It stinks, Miss. It's tits I want. Like yours, or Clarrie's new ones. They're 
ridiculously huge."

"That's not my fault," I reminded her. "It was the brew the First Formers 
mixed up. It was too strong."

"See? The First Formers again. They get into everything. Please think of 
something, Miss, please."

She was pressing herself against me in a strangely arousing manner. Other 
girls were beginning to stare. "Stop it, get off," I told her, and she stood 
back reluctantly. "But I promise, I will try and think of something."

"Ooooh, Miss. Thank you!" She placed a wet kiss on my cheek, standing on 
tiptoe and balancing by holding on to the side of one of my breasts with 
both hands. She turned to go. "Must dash," she said, "we've got Miss 
Balloons for Primary Solo Wanking. And Miss! You can call me Toria. It's 
much easier to type!"

I shall decide later whether to send her to Peru or somewhere more 
uncomfortable.


**********

Strange that she should have come into the story the way she did, because 
later that very same morning she became involved in it again.

Belinda Balloons burst into the staff room.

"Ere! You're the bleedin Controller of Bra Studies, ain't yer?"

"If you mean Comptroller, with a 'p', naturally," I replied.

"Well, look what some kid in the Thirds has done to my breast!" She raised 
her sweater over her elephantine mounds and showed me.

"One's bigger than the other," I observed.

"No, it fuckin' in't, see? One's smaller than the other, that's wot! I've got a 
puncture. Me first in three years."

"Well that's not bad. I bet in the old days, they used to get a flat every 
twenty miles. We've come a long way since ..."

"Spare me the 'istory of road transport, kid, and tell me what you're going 
to do about the girl who stuck a pin in me breast. It must have been an 'at 
pin, it went right froo me breast and stuck in me tit! I felt it!"

"That's serious. Who was it?"

"It was that Victoria. The one with the biggest tits in the class."

"Oh, that one. I knew we were going to have some trouble with her before 
long. Is she?"

"Is she what?"

"The biggest in the class?"

"Easy, the little slag. Tits like melons on her. Bloody disgustin' great things."

Well, there it was, straight from the horse's mouth. Just let Victoria 
complain to me again, that's all.

"I'll see her, straight away. I know her aunt. We're very close". Well, we 
used to be, but I'm thirty inches ahead at the moment. "Are you going to 
see the nurse about that?"

"No, I'm going down the garage. They can get one of the boys to put a patch 
on it and pump it up again. It'll be a fiver at least, and I bet they ask if I 
want 'em balanced and the tracking adjusted."

And off she went. The sooner we have Belinda's bust naturalised the 
better. It must be hell in those things in summer. I stormed into the Third 
Form's Primary Solo Wanking class, abandoned by Belinda, and now 
engaged in Free Studies.

"Attention, please, girls. Quiet please!" They stopped what they were doing 
and looked up at me. "Right, Miss Balloons has had to go to the garage for 
treatment. I want you to carry on from where she left off. How far did you 
get, Toria?" (She's right, it is easier to type).

Toria sat up on her desk and her skirt fell down over her thighs. "We'd got 
our panties off, Miss. One or two girls didn't like to, but we sorted them out 
when Miss Balloons had gone. We'd done the bit where you lie back on the 
bed. We're using our desks instead of beds. And we were just going to start 
running our fingers up and down our rapidly moistening slits, Miss."

Some of the girls gasped and blushed, I noticed. I would mark them down 
for extra homework. Toria carried on, with a little grin on her face. "And 
that was when Miss Balloons had her unfortunate accident, Miss."

"We'll discuss that later, Toria. Meanwhile, girls, let me see you leaning 
back on your desks." They complied, some with more agility than others. I 
walked up and down the desks, adjusting a posture here and there. "Right, 
then. Fingers ready. Anyone left-handed?" Three girls put up their hands. 
"Use whichever hand is more comfortable. Okay? Now, using the middle 
finger, just gently rub it up and down the front of the slit ... WAIT FOR IT, 
ANTHEA! God, girl! A video has to last thirty minutes or the punters don't 
get value for their fourteen-ninety-nine! Make it last. Gently, now ..."

And away they went. One or two moans went up from around the room.

"Hold it. Who moaned then?" Other girls giggled and pointed out the 
moaners, who blushed. "We're not doing moaning until we've got the 
fingers right. When I tell you, that's when you can moan, but not until 
then, understand? Right, up and down, up and down. Good! Now, then, 
without losing the rhythm, introduce another finger, let it slip just inside, 
feel that? Good! Keep going. Faster. Now get your thumb and just let it 
press lightly against your clitoris. That's your love-button, Toria!" The 
giggles had a more urgent note to them now. "Just touching it lightly, keep 
those fingers moving. Put the tip of your tongue out, and just touch your 
lips. That's great, lovely!"

I watched the class hard at work, all of them concentrating deeply on the 
task in hand. Heavy breathing was breaking out. "Keep at it through this 
bit," I warned them, "you still have five minutes to last out. Now, go for it. 
Moan if you like. If you come, KEEP GOING!"

And they did, their fingers became a blur. Some of them introduced little 
refinements of their own, but I let them get away with it, just this once. In 
a crescendo of moans and howls, the Third Form reached its first massed 
orgasm, and subsided, panting. Then they sat up on their desks, chattering 
and discussing the experience.

"That was excellent, girls," I congratulated them, "especially for a first 
attempt. It will get better, believe me!" The buzz of conversation grew 
louder at that.

"How was it for you, Miss?" asked one skinny girl in large spectacles.

"The earth moved, Saskia," I told her, and she lay back with a contented 
smile.

"Toria, I will see you outside," I said. "Girls, you may carry on. Phillipa, 
would you try not to fake it this time!"

The door closed behind us and we stood in the corridor.

"Thanks, Miss. That was wonderful!" She had a dreamy expression on her 
face. She was extremely pretty, as well as being the biggest breasted girl in 
the class.

"There you are, Toria. Don't say I never do anything for you. I have made 
you the prettiest and biggest breasted girl in your entire class. You've had 
an entire chapter devoted to your little game, you have punctured your 
Masturbation Techniques Mistress and, with one exception, your entire 
class has attained an orgasm simultaneously."

"Thank you, Miss."

"You are happy now?"

"Ooooh, yes, Miss. Except ..."

"Yes, Toria?"

"You don't fancy a good spanking, do you, Miss?"


**********

I can draw a veil over the rest of the conversation. As it happened, the 
massed orgasm had excited me almost to the point of spontaneous 
ejaculation. A good spanking might calm my tattered nerve-endings a 
little. We did it in the staff room, which was fortunately unoccupied, 
because by the time I dragged Toria in there by her hand, we were 
unstoppable.

She used the flat of her hand, and when this became too painful for her, 
she found a metre long ruler and wielded that. It left some most amazing 
red marks, and I knew I wouldn't be able to sit down for the rest of the 
afternoon.

At last, I told her to stop.

Some twenty minutes later, she gave me one more for luck and told me to 
get up.

"Thank you, Toria," I said.

"Thank YOU, Miss!"





Chapter 6:- The Number Of Characters Is Getting Out Of Hand


"What was all that noise just before lunch, Chauntaille?" Moggie grabbed 
me in the corridor as I was hobbling carefully to my study for a lie-down. 
It wasn't going to be easy. I couldn't lie on my back after the spanking 
from Victoria, and I couldn't lie on my front, period, unless I let my tits 
dangle over the edge of the bed.

"What noise?" I said, feeling guilty and going bright red. Which noise did 
she mean, was it the Third Form orgasm or me getting a good thrashing?

"Ah, you obviously know something about it. You look as guilty as hell. 
Well?"

"Er. Was it a sort of moaning noise, building to a climax. Lots of young 
female voices?"

"No, you fool! That was the Third Form Primary Solo Wanking class. They 
sounded nicely together, from what I could hear with a glass pressed 
against the wall."

"Oh, yes, Moggie, they all came within seconds of each other. One faker."

"Only one? Not bad. Philippa?"

"Yes."

"She needs extra tuition. I'd thought of giving it to her. *Very* nice 
bottom!"

"Oh, excellent. Firm, yet surprisingly large for her build," I enthused. "Very 
fleshy down there, as well."

"Down where? There?"

"Aaaargh! No, a bit further to the left. No, *my* left! THERE! Ooooh, Miss!"

"Ooooh, Chauntaille! But I was getting side-tracked. That noise. It sounded 
more like corporal punishment, except that it went on for hours!"

"Forty minutes, Miss," I blurted, then buried my head in my hands.

"So it was you, Chauntaille. So, who was the child, and what had she done? 
This is a serious matter. If it came before the European Court of Human 
Rights, we would be in deep shit, I need not remind you."

"It was Victoria, Miss," I admitted.

"That quiet girl. Very pretty? Biggest tits in her class? Hasn't said anything 
for a dozen chapters?"

"That's her!"

"What did she do, to deserve a spanking?" Moggie looked excited beyond 
measure.

"She was building up her part. Wanted bigger tits, more action. All that 
stuff."

Moggie nodded. "So, you beat her for forty minutes?"

"No, Miss. She beat me."

"My God, Chauntaille. I never suspected you were into this sort of thing. 
You should have said sooner."

"Honest, Miss, I didn't know. Victoria suggested it. She asked if I fancied a 
good spanking, and I thought, shit, why not? You know me, I'll give 
anything a try!"

"And how was it?"

"For me? Fantastic. I shan't sit down for days. I came about twenty times! 
In fact, I still am, slightly."

"Sounds like a good one. But I would appreciate it if you didn't involve the 
girls again, Chauntaille."

"Not even Toria?"

"I'm afraid not. Although I may have a word with her myself about the 
matter, some time." She made a note on a piece of paper. "No, if you need a 
good thrashing, any time, night or day, see me."

"Thank you, Miss!"

"My pleasure. And you may call me Moggie again now."

"Thank you, Miss!"

"And there was a message for you. From Megan. Apparently the twins are 
arriving for a visit this afternoon. Does it mean anything to you?"


**********

Did it mean anything?

The twins! Cindy and Melanie, our friends ever since the First Form at St 
Cat's! Coming here to see the old school, and to see us! A proud moment for 
the Deputy Headmistress and the Comptroller of Bra Studies of St 
Catherine's High School for Girls. I found Smegs in a state of high 
excitement. I coughed politely before entering the office.

"Oh, hi!" she said, not bothering to pull her skirt down as it was only me. 
"Just finishing, if you don't mind watching ...? Take a seat."

"Go ahead, don't mind me. And I'll stand if it's all the same to you." I 
watched until her eyes closed in sheer pleasure. She moaned softly, then 
finally withdrew the cucumber and laid it on the desk.

"That's a big one," I said admiringly, picking it up and licking the excess 
juice off it.

"I was lucky. It was the last one they had. Nice curve to it," she said, taking 
it from me gently and holding it up to the light to look along its splendid 
length.

"It's a bit like Darren's. Could I borrow it later?" I said.

"For a little while. I know you won't damage it, a vegetable marrow is 
more your size."

I didn't argue with her. It was true, I could manage a marrow, although I 
could squeeze myself tight enough to make a cucumber's eyes water, if 
necessary, and Smegs knew that as well as I did.

"What about the twins, then, when are they coming?"

"They're arriving tomorrow morning. We'll be able to show them round the 
classes. A pity old Sir Roger's here, randy old bugger, but Clarrie will keep 
him sedated. And the twins will love seeing the old place again, even if it is 
all brand new. Some of the new classes are going to get them going! Exotic 
Dancing!"

"Third Form Primary Solo Wanking!"

"Lactation Studies!"

"Breast Enlargement!"

"Fruit and Vegetables as Sex Objects!"

"What's that one?"

"I just thought of it, I'll suggest it to Moggie."

"Are they bringing the babies?"

"All of them, they said."

"All? How many have they got, for crying out loud?"

"Quite a few, apparently. It was a bad line, but Cindy said something about 
twins."

"Gosh!"


**********

"Is that them?" I asked. Smegs was looking out of the window into the car 
park.

"Don't think so," she said. "It's some sort of bus. A little bus, but still a bus. 
There's somebody getting out. It's a big woman in an apron. And another, 
and another one. They look like nurses. Bloody hell, look at the tits on 
them!"

"I can't see, you're hogging the window. And anyway, I'm not tall enough."

"Look out the other window, they're heading this way. Shit, it's the twins! 
But who are all those others? It's a coach party. They can't bring all their 
friends."

"Smegs," I said. "They've all got babies. And there are a whole bunch of 
toddlers with them. Dozens of them. They're still getting out of the bus!"

The last one got out, and the whole party stood around, as if wondering 
where to go. I counted them. The twins, plus four big-busted young 
women, each holding what seemed to be two babies, one in each arm. Then 
there were at least a dozen little kids running around. Too many to count.

"Shit!" said Smegs in admiration. "They've been busy since they left school! 
We'd better get out there and meet them."


**********

"Multiple births run in the family," said Cindy, bouncing a child on her 
knee. "So we were always likely to have twins."

"And triplets," Melanie reminded her. "We've had three sets of twins and 
one set of triplets each since we left St Cat's! Not bad?"

"I'll just introduce them," said Cindy. "My oldest are Vanessa and Virginia, 
Melanie's oldest are Veronica and Vanda, they're all two and a half, they 
were born during the exams, remember? Then there were my Sharon, 
Shelagh and Samantha, and Mel's Stephanie and Scarlett, they're nearly 
two, then there was my Theresa and Tabatha, and Mel's Tamsin, Tara and 
Tonya, and ..."

"Perhaps we'll meet them all later," said Smegs, although I was doing my 
best to write them all down. I thought I might have missed a few already. 
"How many altogether?"

"Eighteen. Can't you count? said Melanie.

"And the nurses are Petra, Petronella, Pauline and Paula."

"Yes, they would be," said Smegs. "Tremendous tits, though, girls!"

The nurses thanked her politely.

"Don't you recognise them?" grinned Melanie. "They are all from the old 
Junior IT Studies Group. They save us so much trouble feeding this lot. 
They're all still on the breast, and the four P's have more than enough milk 
to go round."

"Well, it's lovely to see you again," I said. "What a surprise, so many kids. 
And all girls, too!"

"It was a surprise to us as well, some of them."

"The ... erm ... the father? Is he ...?"

"Could be almost anyone," admitted Cindy. "I know, it sounds terrible, 
doesn't it. But the first lot were all Jeremy's, or Darren's or the disco lad's, 
we know that. After that, it gets a bit vague. We could narrow it down to 
nine or ten boys, I suppose, but it seems so unfair, really, to spoil their 
enjoyment by singling out anyone for the credit."

"Who thinks of the names?" Smegs asked.

"We've got a computer program that spews them out as fast as we need 
them. Well, almost as fast."

"Well, you certainly look well on it! You've kept your figures beautifully."

They had, too. The twins were always well-endowed, without being 
ridiculously so. And of course, being related in some way to Tanya and her 
sister, and thus to Toria, Pansy and Suzanne, you could expect them to 
have a fair ration of breast. And although Sir Roger would have no way of 
knowing, they were his granddaughters, as well! It might be as well not to 
tell him!

"Well, since you mention it, Shan, so have you," laughed Cindy. "Those are 
without doubt the biggest tits I have ever seen in my life. They are 
gigantic." It seemed like another one of those times to blush prettily. I'm 
getting quite good at it.

"Thank you, Cin. You're so sweet."

I suppose it was the noise of all the children that attracted Moggie's 
attention. She came in and looked around in amazement. The twins 
recognised her and their jaws hit the floor.

"Miss Valentine! We thought you were dead, burned to a crisp," Melanie 
said with a nice turn of phrase.

"It's Miss Thunderbolt," she said. "Headmistress. But it is a delight to see 
you again, looking so fit and so hugely well-developed. Are these all your 
children?"

"Yes, Miss. These here are the oldest, they're ..."

"No, please, let us," I said, "Tarantula and Tuna ..."

"... and Torquemada and Testarossa," said Smegs. We were prepared to 
introduce the rest, but Moggie had spotted the four P's.

"It's Petra and Petronella, isn't it? And Pauline and Paula?"

"Yes, Miss."

"Bloody shit, look at the size of you."

"We're four months pregnant, Miss."

"Ah, that would explain it. You always were among the smaller girls in the 
Junior IT Studies Group."

"How big are your busts now, for the sake of Chauntaille's American 
readers?"

"Sixty-nine inches, Miss."

"Seventy-two, Miss."

"Seventy-six, Miss."

"Seventy-nine, Miss!"

"Well done, Paula. Pregnant, then? What are you hoping for? Boys or 
girls?"

"Girls, of course, Miss. Then they'll grow up into huge-breasted teenagers 
for someone to write about in ten years time."

"How thoughtful of you."

"We've left our other children at home, Miss, to avoid confusion. We're 
always leaving them behind all over the place. We've got two each, Miss. 
Their names are ..."

"Hang on, girls, I've run out of paper," I told them.

"Anyway, girls," said Moggie, "Lots to do. I'll see you before you go?"

"Yes, please, Miss." Cindy fumbled nervously with one of her babies. "We 
were wondering. Now the children are all grown up and thinking about 
leaving home, if there was a job we could do here?"

"We might be able to fit you in part time. What subject were you thinking 
of?"

"We'd rather thought about Birth Control."

"Sounds like an excellent idea, Cindy. See me before you leave."

"I'll see you later as well, Twins, in the lab. I've got First Form Sexual 
Chemistry."

"Things are looking up, Shan, by the sound of it," said Melanie.

"You don't know the half of it!"





Part III





Chapter 7:- More Sexual Chemistry


"How's the Potion going, Pansy?"

"Oh, it's you, Miss. We thought you'd been fired."

"Not quite, Pansy. I'm the new Comptroller of Bra Studies."

"Is that with a 'p', Miss?"

"Naturally. Right, then. Update me on this Love Potion. You were up to 
thirty-six minutes, and as far as we could tell, it was pure innocent love, no 
sex?"

"Yes, Miss," she said, glumly. "You're sure you won't let us put a bit of fuck 
into it? Just a little bit?"

"Pansy! No fuck, understand?"

"All right, Miss," she said happily. "Suze," she yelled across the lab. "We've 
got to take the fuck out, we're not allowed!"

"Who says?"

"Miss!"

"Oh, fuck!"

"Language, Suzanne," I said. This was not at all nice, coming from First 
Formers.

"Sorry, Miss." 

They seemed to have learned their lesson. They had stopped arguing with 
me. They agreed with everything I said. I knew they were good girls deep 
down, once I'd shown them who was boss.

I moved off around the class, where the girls were working in twos and 
threes on various projects. The first group were the Advanced Breast 
Enlargement Group, who were improving the boob juice we had produced 
earlier in the term.

"We've made it more consistent, we think, Miss," said the leader, a totally 
flat-chested girl called Anastasia. She polished her spectacles on her 
blouse. "But we've reached the limit of what we can do without a human 
subject."

"That's a problem, Anastasia. Our hands are tied. We can't just choose a girl 
at random."

"No, Miss. That's why we advertised on the school notice board."

"You did WHAT?"

"And we got seventy-seven replies. We're interviewing every evening this 
week, Miss, in the dorm. We hope to make an announcement by the 
weekend, and enlarge our chosen girl on Sunday. Then she can order her 
new bra and stuff on Monday morning."

"How thoughtful, Anastasia. Anyone we know among the applicants?"

"One or two, Miss. There's Victoria, in the Thirds ..."

"I've already told her she's having no more tit than she's got. She's already 
the biggest in the class ..."

"And a couple of the Lower Sixth ..."

"But they're all gigantic already ..."

"Not big enough, apparently. They're jealous of you and Sir Roger's Clarrie, 
Miss. One or two of them are setting their sights on the magic two hundred 
inches, so we heard. Oh, and there's Miss Thunderbolt, of course!"

"Miss THUNDERBOLT!"

"Yes, Miss, hasn't she told you? Ah, obviously not ..."

Moggie! I moved on in a daze. Moggie, wanting to get bigger again? 
Wanting it so badly that she would trust herself with Anastasia's First 
Form brew. I hadn't realised how jealous she was of us. I would have to 
tell Smegs about this.

But, meanwhile, life goes on. The next group were working on a synthetic 
girl-juice substitute for use in the tuna cannery.

"It tastes right," I told them, after a cautious sip; there's an awful lot of girl 
in there. They looked pleased, grinning at each other and wriggling. "But 
the colour needs some work. You won't be able to sell bright green tuna."

The girls looked crestfallen and poured their mixture away, then sat in an 
unhappy little group, sobbing quietly. I hardened my heart against them 
and moved on.

The last group were working on a pantie project. The leader, a chubby, 
bright-eyed blonde called Shona described it to me.

"You know babies, Miss?"

"Yes, Shona, I've met one or two. Noisy creatures, inclined to smell."

"Well, their nappies, disposable ones, let the water through when they piss, 
so baby stays dry. Well, our panties work the other way. Our girls stay 
wet."

"Do they really?" I knew how they felt. All I needed was a good spanking 
and I stayed wet for the rest of the day. "I'm sure the soiling plant will be 
interested, Shona. How is it working?"

"We've all been wearing the same panties for a week, Miss, and they 
haven't dried out yet."

"I see," I said, moving away several paces. "Carry on, then," I shouted.

I went in search of Pansy and Suzanne. I had just remembered to tell them 
that their mother's cousins were coming round on a visit. But there was no 
sign of the girls. They were nowhere to be seen. 

"Has anyone seen Pansy and Suzanne?"

"No, Miss."


**********

We pieced it together afterwards. The two stacked First Formers had 
walked boldly into the Lower Sixth classroom, where Belinda Balloons was 
doing spontaneous orgasms without the use of hands. Pretty advanced 
stuff: even Belinda herself couldn't guarantee a finish more than four times 
out of five.

"'Ere y'are. Grab yourselves an orange each out of the basket. You've got to 
come while you're eatin' the orange. Right? This will be useful for when 
you've got a bloke, or when you get married."

The girls took their oranges and got down to it. One or two of them got the 
knack of it straight away, others resorted to fingers, and had to be chided 
by Belinda. She bent low to study the girls at close quarters, shouting 
encouragement.

"That's great, kids, yeah. This is 'A' level wankin'. Go, go, go!"

Pansy and Suzanne slipped into the room unobserved and stood watching 
as the Lower Sixth girls came, with grunts and sighs, amid the slurping of 
oranges. Swiftly, the two youngsters selected a suitable group of drained 
and exhausted subjects and moved in, holding out a beaker full of a fizzing 
liquid.

"Here, sniff this. It's like smelling salts. It will help you recover quicker."

Three of the Lower Sixth took a deep breath of the mixture, their 
enormous breasts expanding like balloons as they sucked the vapours into 
their lungs. Than, as suddenly as they had arrived, Pansy and Suzanne 
disappeared, to watch from behind the teacher's desk. Pansy had her 
clipboard ready, and Suzanne clicked a stopwatch. They didn't have long to 
wait.

The classroom door burst open, and in came Jeremy, Darren and the disco 
lad. They breathed in deeply and homed in straight away on the three girls 
who had sniffed the beaker. And they wrapped their arms around each 
other.

"Darling!"

"Oh, my sweet!"

At this point they departed from the script. All three boys literally ripped 
off every stitch of their clothing. The girls took a little longer, as their 
brassieres had at least a dozen hooks each. Then they grabbed each other 
again.

And lo, they made babies.

Belinda Balloons and the remainder of the class stood in an admiring circle 
and offered encouragement. The boys showed imagination in their choice 
of position, which was appreciated by the onlookers.

The disco lad and his girl went for an straightforward but well-executed 
missionary.

Darren, always more outrageous, stood up against the wall while one of the 
more flexible of the Lower Sixth girls wrapped her legs around him and 
lowered her upper body backwards to the floor, her breasts falling over 
her shoulders. This brought frenzied applause.

Jeremy, perhaps remembering his inauguration all those years ago in 
Fuller's Garage, Fillamore Deepleigh, chose a doggy approach, well suited to 
his selected partner, whose breasts dangled below her and flattened 
themselves against the floor.

All six of the participants came within ten seconds of each other.

Pansy noted the fact triumphantly on her clipboard and nudged Suzanne in 
her plump thigh. They left, silently.

"What did they think they were *doing*? I thought you said you'd put 
plenty of fuck in it," said Pansy.

"I did. It was double-strength fuck, too. I can't help it if they don't know 
how to fuck, can I. You'd think they'd know how to do it by now."

"They didn't even do it the other way, sitting on their faces."

"There was only one pair of them had any idea, that was the disco lad and 
Tricia Horrocks, and they'd got it upside down!" Suzanne sounded 
disgusted. "It's been a complete waste of a whole load of Potion."

"We won't waste it on *them* again," said Pansy. "I'm only a First Former, 
and even I know how to fuck better than that lot!"

"Yeah, but who could we do it with? Miss would kill us if we did it with 
Jeremy and that lot. Not that they know how to do it anyway."

"Davie. He knows how to do it. I'm going to use Davie."

"Hang on, Pan. You can't have him all by yourself. I'm having him, too!"

"All right, Suze. We can both get on top of him at the same time. Clarrie's 
twice as heavy as us, so two of us will be just like him having one Clarrie."

"When can we do it, then, Pan? I can't hold out much longer."

"We'll mix some Potion, and keep it in the dorm. Then at the last minute, 
when Davie's around, we'll pour the fuck into it, and take a sniff. Then 
we'll wait for him to arrive, and we'll do it," she ended simply.


**********

"Where have you two been? You missed seeing your mothers' cousins. 
They asked after you."

"Oh! We were doing some research on the Potion, Miss."

"Yes, we're arriving at a conclusion, Miss."

"Never leave the class without asking me first, do you understand. For all I 
knew you might have been starting an orgy in the Lower Sixth or 
something!"

"Oh, Miss! You say the stupidest things sometimes."

"What's this stuff in this beaker," I asked, swirling it round and sniffing 
cautiously. It fizzed a bit, then died down.

"Dunno, Miss!" said Suzanne.

It was just at that moment that the mouse escaped. It was Adeline, our 
white mouse, who was assisting Anastasia and the Breast Enlargement 
Group. I didn't really blame her for trying to get away.

"There she goes, Miss, under your desk."

I gave chase, on hands and knees, calling, "Adeline? Adi, Adi, Adi? C'mon 
Adi! Gotcha you little bast..."

Adeline crept on to my palm and swished her tail happily. I withdrew my 
hand and prepared to stand up. That was when I felt my panties being 
moved gently to one side. I recognised the touch instantly.

"Jeremy?" I said. "Is that you, darling?"

He entered me, as they always say in women's romances. I know, it's a 
horrible expression: it makes me sound like the Channel Tunnel. Well, yes, 
I would be the first to admit that there are certain striking resemblances, 
but if the Channel Tunnel was as wet inside as I was, people would refuse 
to travel through it, and I, for one, wouldn't blame them.

Meanwhile, back at the entrance, things were warming up nicely. It was 
quite like old times back there. I could almost smell the Connolly leather 
seats of the Jaguar. "Ooooh, Jeremy, yes!"

"Ooooh, Shan, YES!"

Smegs, I thought, you can keep your cucumber. You are welcome to it.

The First Formers gathered round to watch. One or two offered advice, but 
mostly they were silent. Several were making notes. As if in a dream, I 
could hear distant voices.

"How's it going, Suze?"

"Nine minutes. Not much longer. She had the dregs that were left over in 
the beaker. Most of the fuck will have evaporated. Maybe another minute 
or so ..."

She was surprisingly close to the mark. We came earth-shatteringly. 
Adeline had escaped again, I noticed. Either that or I had crushed her in 
my fingers.

"It's all right, Miss," said Pansy, after Jeremy had withdrawn from the 
room, "I've caught Adeline. She's a bit scared, but she's okay."

"Good, thank you, Pansy."

"Miss?" Her cousin was grinning at me, head tilted on one side.

"Yes, Suzanne?"

"You know what you were doing just then, with Jeremy?"

"Yes, Suzanne?"

"What was it called?"

"That was called sexual intercourse, Suzanne. Some people call it fucking! 
Your mummy did it with your daddy, whoever he might be."

"What, like THAT?"

"There are hundreds of different positions. What you just saw was only 
one way of doing it. That's the position we call doggy fashion."

"Doggy fashion!" gurgled Suzanne. "Oh, that's a great name, Miss!" She and 
Pansy were falling about helplessly. After a few minutes, Pansy stopped 
laughing and wiped her eyes with a hankie.

Shaking her head sadly, she said, "Oh, Miss. Whatever are we going to do 
with you!"


**********

It was a slightly uncomfortable walk back to the office. Meeting Moggie on 
the way was the last thing I needed. I could feel something trickling down 
the inside of my thigh. I wanted to wipe it off my leg and lick it off my 
finger. She wanted to talk.

"Ah, Chauntaille, I think the twins's Birth Control suggestion is excellent. 
It's only right and proper that our girls should learn this stuff from people 
who practise it at first hand, every day of the week. So I have engaged the 
twins for the next two terms. Unfortunately, by April or May, they will be 
getting rather large. They are two months pregnant at the moment, of 
course."

"Oh, of course."

"But it will show the girls what happens at first hand if you don't take 
precautions. An ideal object lesson. Still, I mustn't let you keep me hanging 
around here chatting all day, Chauntaille." She pushed me playfully in the 
shoulder, and I reeled back against the wall. "I have to get away and see 
one of your First Form girls, young Anastasia. It's a rather important 
matter. You will excuse me?"





Chapter 8:- Cocktail Time


I made it to the office and got rid of most of the seepage. I won't describe 
the process: some things are better left unsaid. Smegs watched with 
interest.

"Is that semen that you're wiping off your inner thigh with your fingers 
and licking off with such an expression of lascivious relish?"

I offered her a finger to taste.

"Hmmm! Not bad! Whose is that?"

"It's mine now," I sighed, dreamily, "someone gave it to me."

She savoured it again. "Jeremy?"

"Yeah! He doggied me in the lab."

"Doggied you! What about the First Formers?"

"No, just me. They all stood and watched. Their turn will come all too soon. 
Meanwhile, for us older ones, time is a-wasting."

"We're only twenty-two, Shan!"

"You've seen some of these kids coming up behind us? I mean, it's not too 
bad for me, being incredibly attractive, with a ten-foot bust, but if I was 
six feet tall and only sixty inches, I'd be getting distinctly worried by now."

You can always tell when Smegs is upset. God knows what it was this time. 
The door slammed behind her and a girlie calendar fell of the wall. I 
picked it up. "Ah, July, I remember you well," I said, aroused despite 
myself, and hung the calendar back on its hook.

She came back in. "I wonder what Moggie will think when I tell her you've 
been getting doggied instead of teaching First Form Sexual Chemistry."

"It was part of the lesson. I took a sniff of Love Potion. I'm pretty sure 
they'd put some fuck into it."

"You trying to tell me there's some substance called 'fuck' that the girls add 
to their pure innocent love potion?" Smegs was becoming animated.

"That's right. I told them to take the fuck out, and they said they would. 
Obviously they didn't."

"Just as well they didn't!" Smegs was pacing around the room excitedly. 
"This is great stuff. It's obviously a related substance to the Uncontrollable 
Horniness hormone that contaminated our boob-juice! These kids have 
isolated the mystery substance. They've got it in a bottle. They even call it 
'fuck'. We'll make millions." 

God, she's so mercurial. She hadn't finished.

"We'll bottle it, sell it direct to the public, cut out the middle-person. 
ScatFuck!.'ONE SNIFF AND YOU'RE LAID!' It can't miss. Think of it. Saturday 
nights. Half the population is sitting at home gagging for it. They grab this 
bottle, open it up, and sniff. Minutes later, a knock on the door, and wha-
hay!"

"It has to be a woman who does the sniffing. It wouldn't work if men 
sniffed it."

She looked at me pityingly. "So what? The woman takes a sniff. 
Somewhere within range is a bloke who wants it as well. So they both get 
it. What could be simpler? Right! Which girls are working on this stuff, 
Pansy and Suzanne?"

"Of course, who else would it be?"

"You're right. Nobody. Let's get them in. It's time to take it out of their 
little hands. They are not fit persons to have control of fuck."


**********

Apparently, Moggie hadn't entirely trusted Anastasia's group to produce a 
safe, workable boob-juice. And once she discovered she was only one 
applicant out of seventy-odd, she took direct action. She walked into the 
lab and approached the cowering Anastasia.

"I'll take charge of that," she said, seizing the spray bottle the girl was 
holding.

"But, Miss, we ..."

"No buts, Anastasia, I am taking this bottle away for safe keeping. You will 
agree that it is highly dangerous to have this sort of thing floating around 
on the loose. I know this from personal experience."

"But it's not ..."

"I know you're worried about the work you've done already. Don't worry, 
you will all receive A-plus for this project. Now, I will just test the spray 
for evenness and consistency." She looked around for a target. "Just undo 
your blouse, Anastasia, will you?"

"Miss, please, I was trying to ..."

Moggie helped the girl with the buttons. The rest of the group watched 
with horror as the headmistress pumped the spray handle. Nothing came 
out. She tried again. "It's blocked," said Moggie, inspecting the nozzle. 
Again, she aimed at Anastasia's concave chest and pumped vigorously. Still 
nothing.

"You shouldn't have used a second-hand bottle, girls. I will mark you down 
to a B-minus for this." She inspected the nozzle again, and pumped the 
handle furiously. "Come out, you fuckin' bastard!" she howled. Obviously, 
she had hit on the magic words. It gushed out in a drenching spray, 
soaking Moggie to the skin, straight through her blouse and bra.

She stood looking down at herself stupidly. "Very clever, Anastasia. You'll 
get a D for this!"

"I tried to tell you, Miss. You wouldn't listen. That's not boob-juice in that 
bottle."

"It's not?"

"No, Miss. We tried to stop you ..."

"What was it in the bottle, Anastasia?" Moggie's voice quavered with 
emotion.

The girl mumbled.

"WHAT?"

"We don't know, Miss," said Anastasia more loudly. "There's everything in 
it. A bit of boob-juice, a bit of Love Potion, some milk-stuff, an awful lot of 
fuck ..." She shook her head. "We were going to throw it away, Miss. After 
we'd tried it out on Adeline."

"Now you've tried it out on ME," squealed Moggie. "Anything could happen. 
Where's the antidote?"

"There isn't one, Miss. If we don't know what it's going to do to you, how 
can we stop it?"

"It's starting to work," Moggie whispered. "It's tingling. It's started!"

She was right. Her soaked blouse, clinging to her like a second skin, began 
to stretch as her breasts started to swell inside her bra. The girls watched 
open-mouthed. "Help me get this stuff off," yelled Moggie, and Anastasia 
went in search of a knife. The other girls struggled with the buttons of 
Moggie's blouse. It was difficult with the soaked material clinging to their 
fingers. By the time they wrestled it off and dropped it on the floor, 
Moggie was bulging dangerously out of her bra cups.

"Hold still, Miss," said Anastasia, and she slipped the knife under Moggie's 
bra strap. She sawed through the wet elastic, which eventually let go with 
a subdued twang. Two more slashes severed the shoulder straps. Moggie 
let her breath go with a rush, and tore the remains of the bra off. Her 
breasts wobbled massively, and the class applauded politely.

Then the door opened. Darren and the disco lad burst in, breathing deeply. 
They advanced on the horrified head-teacher, and while the disco lad 
whispered sweet nothings in her shell-like ear, Darren thrust his mighty 
prong into her aching snatch.

That was the point where I arrived at the lab. I had only wanted to invite 
Pansy and Suzanne up to the office for preliminary discussions on 
ScatFuck. Instead, I was confronted by a howling mob of First Formers 
gathered round their headmistress; who was topless and magnificently 
overdeveloped, swearing undying devotion to the disco lad while 
enthusiastically pleasuring herself on a sweating Darren.

History may repeat itself, but life is never dull at St Cat's.


**********

The headmistress reclined on the green leather top of her desk. Miss Labia 
tutted and moved various papers away from the spreading pool of juices 
forming around Moggie's upper thighs. Her breasts had ballooned 
spectacularly, quivering above her chest.

"They're nearly as big as yours, Suze," whispered Pansy, as the girls 
inspected them critically.

"Who made up this awful cocktail?" said Smegs, holding up the almost 
empty spray bottle.

"It wasn't us, Miss. It was Anasta..."

"No tales, Suzanne," I told her. "What we want to know is what is in it? The 
hospital will want to know..."

"And we may want to market it ..." interjected Smegs.

The story came out. The cocktail consisted of chemicals which hadn't quite 
turned out to plan. The boob juice had been far too strong, Moggie would 
probably start giving milk an a couple of hours. The Love Potion and the 
fuck had not been the final, definitive version. "We were going to throw it 
away, Miss," Pansy ended forlornly.

"And Miss Thunderbolt *did* grab it out of Anastasia's hand. It's her own 
fault, Miss," said Suzanne.

"Hey, look," whispered Pansy. "They're even bigger than yours now!"

Suzanne pouted petulantly. "Why does *everyone* have to get bigger 
boobs than me?" she complained, bitterly.


**********

Sir Roger loved the new Moggie. He had turned up at St Cat's on his own.

"Clarrie's indisposed," he explained. "She's staying in bed today."

Poor Davie, we thought.

But Sir Roger had found a substitute; a new, improved Moggie. Although 
she still didn't have even remotely the biggest breasts in St Cat's - at least, 
not yet - she nevertheless seemed to him to exude rampant sexuality. We 
didn't tell him it was all due to sexual chemistry. First Form Sexual 
Chemistry. At first, we tried leaving someone on guard every time we left 
the office, but in the end we left them to it, sending Suzanne and Pansy 
away in case they saw something they shouldn't.

Myself, I found the whole thing disgusting, and stayed away.

Smegs had the cocktail analysed and a sample made up for testing on the 
public.

"See," she said to me, "even the darkest cloud has a silver lining! Some 
good will come of this near disaster."

"Nearer than you thought. Moggie was trying to spray it on Anastasia!"

"Urgghh, that would have been too terrible to contemplate," Smegs said 
with a shudder.

"Yes, my readers shouldn't even have to think about the likely effect of 
this ghastly cocktail on an innocent young girl like Anastasia. Imagine, if it 
had been her, instead of Moggie."

"Don't even think about it, Shan."

"I won't," I said. "How are the love-birds?"

"Sir Roger took her over to the Fifth Form as a living demonstration of 
modern breast enlargement techniques."

"A bonus. How's it going?"

"Not too bad, apparently. Moggie still wants to fuck the whole time, but Sir 
Roger can't manage it all that often. She moans and groans a lot, and lies 
there thrashing about, but the girls are getting used to it. One or two 
sympathetic orgasms, but most of them are concentrating hard on the tits. 
They're still growing, by the way."

"Good. It's what she would have wanted."

"She hasn't died, Shan."

"No, it's what she *does* want. She was one of seventy-seven applicants to 
be a guinea-pig for Anastasia's boob-juice."

"Who were the other seventy-six," asked Smegs, whipping out a note-pad, 
"will they pay for a dose, do you think? A tenner each would be seven 
hundred and sixty pounds. Keep us in Tampax for a year or two."

"Smegs! Don't you dare. The applicants were all pupils of St Cat's, you can't 
extort more money from them. Breast enlargement is specifically included 
in their school fees."

"Oh, come on!. The bloody parents never read the small print. I mean, 
there's nothing in the rules that gives us the right to use the girls' bodily 
fluids and secretions in our pantie soiling plant, but we still do."

"I don't think that's the same thing at all. Those juices and secretions are 
waste products. All we're doing is tidying up after the girls."

"Tidying up to the tune of four million a year, Shan. We'll be able to BUY St 
Cat's in another year. Then we'll write our own rules."

Me, I think I'll take my share of the money and retire somewhere quieter.


**********

"Moggie! You're up and about." She shouldered her way into the office and 
slumped down into her chair, her breasts splodging against her thighs.

"Cor, I'd forgotten what it was like, carrying these things around. I don't 
know how you put up with it, Chauntaille!" she steadied them with her 
hands.

"Last we heard, you were with Sir Roger's BE class, getting fucked."

"He's useless. We've managed it twice all day. TWICE! I ask you. How can a 
healthy woman in her prime survive on sex twice a day? I'm frothing!" She 
raised her skirt, and Smegs took a look herself.

"Gosh, you are frothing, as well. I know I do, sometimes, but it's the first 
time I've actually seen it. I feel privileged. Shan, have you seen this, come 
and have a look."

I joined her on the floor, peering into Moggie's moist interior. "Golly, yes. 
I'd never have believed it."

Smegs dipped her finger into the froth and tasted it cautiously. "I wonder 
if this stuff would sell," she mused.

"What are you two up to down there?" Moggie demanded. We stood up and 
smiled reassuringly at her. "Anyway, I've decided. Sir Roger can't handle 
the workload. I'm getting some more men in. They'll be my personal 
assistants, but we'll need to describe them in the books as teachers. We 
may need to lose some of the existing teaching staff, but so be it."

"Did you have anyone in mind," I asked.

"It will have to be Fanny Albatross," she said. "It's a pity, as she's the only 
teacher we have for conventional subjects, but I'm sure the girls would be 
happier if we didn't have all that Maths, English, French and stuff."

"Not French," said Smegs, running a finger down a list. "Miss Dumbo has 
taken over French. Apparently it's a speciality of hers."

"Is that a fact?" Moggie raised an eyebrow. "I might have to give her a test 
on it. Nothing written, just an oral test."

"I already did," said Smegs, "but don't let me stand in your way. She has 
the longest tongue I ever saw, by the way. She tickled my tonsils with it, 
anyway."

"I had my tonsils out when I was five," I told them, but they didn't seem 
interested for some reason.

"Right, then." Moggie was in a businesslike mood. "Delegation! Smegs, you 
get an ad in the local papers. Chauntaille, you can go and fire Fanny 
Albatross!"





Chapter 9:- The A Team


"So, is this, then open rebellion? Is that what it is?" Moggie stood behind 
her desk with her clenched fists resting on the green leather top. She 
glowered at Smegs and me.

"Not per se. More a spirit of openness and consultation. Glasnost and 
perestroika," said Smegs.

"That won't get you anywhere. You just want a slice of the action, that's 
all."

"That too. Why should you get to have all the fun? A short list of sixty 
men, of all shapes and sizes, to judge from the Polaroids, and you want to 
interview them all yourself. We want to help you, that's all. Is it much to 
ask?"

"But they're *my* men," Moggie whined. "It was my idea to employ them. I 
know what I want from them. Nobody else can do this for me."

"What happened to delegation round here? We're putting our foot down, 
Mogs. We help with the interviews or we're out of here."

"Go on, then. See if I care!"

"If we go, the pantie soiling plant goes with us. They're behind us one 
hundred per cent. So is Scat Enterprises, and the body of the teaching staff. 
Balloons, Dumbo, Sir Roger and the twins."

Moggie bit her lip. "I still have the final say in the selection?"

"Of course you do. You're still Headmistress for the time being."

"And you don't get to screw any of them?"

"Don't push it, Mogs."

"All right, you can screw them, but it's got to be straight. Nothing fancy."

We let her have her way on that one. Fanciness is open to interpretation. 
An industrial tribunal could take years to decide on it.

"Can you hear a noise?" said Moggie. "Shouting?"

"Sounds like the girls." Smegs went to the window and peered out. "It is 
the girls. They've got banners. They're chanting something. Sounds like, 
'WHAT DO WE WANT? INTERVIEWS WITH ALL PROSPECTIVE APPLICANTS 
FOR NEW MALE TEACHING POSTS! WHEN DO WE WANT IT? NOW!'"

A catchy slogan. Original. Trips off the tongue.

"This is Pupil Power, Mogs. They want to screw the new teachers, too. I 
don't think you have a choice in the matter. Look at that banner. 'WE FUCK 
OR WE WALK!'"

"That's a bit rude," I said, "which girls are they?"

"Bunch of Second Formers, nobody vital to the plot," said Smegs, and I gave 
a sigh of relief.

"Who's the ring leader? Take her out!" Moggie shouted.

"Seems to be that Victoria girl from the Thirds. Pretty little thing. Lovely 
pair of tits on her."

Oh, no. Not her again. I should have sent her to Peru while I had the 
chance.


**********

Each of the applicants was to be vetted by a selection committee, a cross-
section of the school staff and pupil body. The committee's brief was to 
narrow down the field to a short list leading to a separate final selection 
process.

The committee consisted of Smegs and myself, Belinda Balloons and Donna 
Dumbo, plus two girls each from the First and Third forms. 

We held a meeting to decide on our strategy. How did I know that the First 
Form representatives would be Pansy and Suzanne? And that Victoria 
would get in on the act as one of the Third Formers? The other one was 
Nesta Meiss, a curiously slender girl with the biggest pair of spectacles I 
had ever seen. I suppose her parents thought she'd grow into them.

"Who's she?" I asked Victoria in a stage whisper.

"That's Nesta, she's part of the Junior IT Studies Group."

"Gosh, have we still got one of those? But what is she doing on the 
interview panel for new male teaching staff? What does she know about 
sex?"

"Everything, apparently! She's the Firewall Database Stuffer."

"The what?"

Victoria looked at me pityingly. "The school's computer system has a 
firewall to prevent pornographic material getting in via the Information 
Superhighway," she explained, speaking clearly and distinctly, like a social 
worker. "There's a filter system to stop any messages which contain 
anything rude. Filthy pictures of ladies, little boys, people sitting on other 
people's faces, stuff like that. And naughty words."

"Naughty words, too?" Is there no end to the lengths the school would go to 
in protecting the gently-nurtured from the hard world?

"Nesta sits at the computer and reads every message on the sex 
newsgroups. If she finds a rude word, she adds it to the database, and 
from then on, any message containing that word is automatically barred. 
So, she knows all the rude words, which means she knows everything 
there is to know about sex. Simple, Miss! I bet she even knows some words 
you don't."

I wandered over to the girl, who was cowering in a corner with a 
frightened expression on her glasses.

"Hi, Nesta, how's it coming?"

"Oooh, Miss!" she whispered and blushed deeply, studying her shoes.

"What did I say?" I asked Victoria.

"You have to be careful what you say to Nesta. Just because she's exposed 
to sex all day long doesn't mean she doesn't get embarrassed by it. Think 
before you speak."

That's put me in my place, I thought. I'd better stick to safe subjects.

"Weather looks chilly out there," I said, nodding to the window. "Cold 
enough for snow."

Nesta looked blank, her mind searching for something. "Snow?" she said at 
last.

"You know, that white stuff?"

"White stuff!" She went scarlet. "Ooooh, Miss!"

"What is it this time?"

"I think you mentioned white stuff, Miss. You know, the incestuous baby-
making sperm that Daddy pumps into his little ..."

"... I think I get the picture, Victoria, thank you. I'm sorry, I didn't think." 
Nesta had her hands clamped to the sides of her head in case I spouted 
any more filth. I hoped she would get through the meeting without being 
traumatised.

Smegs called the meeting to order.

"Right, we've got a lot to do, so let's get on." Nesta, I noticed, had her head 
buried in her arms.

"There are sixty men to get through this week. We'll be interviewing today, 
Wednesday and again on Friday morning. Now each of us is aware of a 
different need to be filled by the applicants, so each applicant will need to 
be interviewed by one of the Juniors, one of the Middles and one of the 
Seniors as well as two of the staff. We will thus be divided into two teams, 
Team A and Team B. Team A will consist of myself and Miss Gruntworthy, 
Galia Melons from the Sixth, Victoria from the Thirds and Pansy from the 
Firsts. Team B, obviously, will be Miss Balloons, Miss Dumbo, Fionnuallagh 
O'Graodeiagh from the Fifth, Nesta and Suzanne. Any questions so far?"

Suzanne had her hand up. "Please, Miss. After the first interviews, when 
we're all together, we have to go off and see the men one at a time?"

"That's right, Suzanne. We will see the applicants in batches all together, 
then when each team has seen five men, we will split up and take one each 
individually. As soon as we've finished with each one, we will pass him on 
to the next available interviewer who is available. Happy?"

"Sort of, Miss. But what if some of us take longer to do our interviews than 
others?"

"Good point, Suzanne! Some of the men may finish more quickly, as will 
some of us. Or some of you. It will be acceptable to find one of the men you 
haven't yet seen and take him out of turn. So, as soon as you've finished 
with a man, send him back to the waiting room. We'd better have several 
waiting rooms available, we don't want them comparing notes."

Several of the girls shook their heads wisely at that.

"Now, a few house rules, unfortunately." Groans went up. "The Junior and 
Middle girls will not be allowed to screw the applicants ..."

"Oh, rotten, Miss!"

"... but you will have a free hand short of actual penetration."

That shut them up at least. Pansy and Suzanne giggled and nudged each 
other, and mimed sitting on someone's face. Victoria looked apprehensive, 
and Nesta went scarlet and wrote the word 'penetration' on a small 
notepad.

"The Fifth and Sixth Forms may operate in the missionary position, but you 
will not be allowed to move during the performance ..."

"Missionary, Miss? Oh, Bor-ing!"

"Done properly, there's absolutely nothing wrong with the Missionary 
position, Fionnuallagh, as you should know with your background," chided 
Smegs. Nesta was writing furiously, her face now crimson.

"The rest of you will have free rein up to the limit of your imaginations." 
Belinda and Donna Dumbo had their heads together, perhaps planning a 
double act.

It was going to be a gruelling selection process. I felt nothing but the 
deepest sympathy for the applicants. It was a sign of their true dedication 
that not one of them dropped out when told the details of the selection 
procedure.

"We don't *have* to screw them all, do we?" I asked Smegs.

"I suppose not." She looked at me strangely. "Although it would be rude 
not to. They might even complain of discrimination if they didn't get 
shagged by the entire panel, especially if it was the one with the biggest 
tits who claimed she had a headache."

"Oh, shitting hell. That's all I need. I'm not doing anyone I don't fancy."

"Look, it's not too late to replace you. We would have women falling over 
themselves to take your place."

"It's a violation of my human rights, making me shag some of them. Have 
you seen them? Yuck!"

"You can always turn the lights off. Or do it doggy fashion, so you can't see 
them. Then you could pretend it's Jeremy!"

Bitch.


**********

"Send in the first applicant, please, Pansy. Mr Absolom."

Pansy stood up and wiggled seductively to the door. I watched her bottom 
with interest, although her older sister seemed less pleased, and Galia 
Melons looked as if she was about to protest. The First Former came back 
into the room, leading Mr Absolom by the hand and gazing adoringly up 
into his eyes. Even I felt she was overdoing the Lolita bit.

With a final squeeze, she released his hand, ran her fingers down the 
middle of his back to the cleft of his buttocks and sighed, "This is Mr 
Absolom, Miss!" before slithering back to her seat. We all leaned forward 
across the desk. I wasn't sure whether we were trying to appear attentive 
and eager, or we were attempting to see his groin. At least, I can't speak 
for the others.

"Good Morning, Mr Absolom," oozed Smegs, "I hope you had a pleasant 
journey. You've already met Pansy and you seemed to have got on fairly 
well ..." and she introduced the rest of us, one at a time. There was some 
hot competition here, I noticed, looking round the panel. Apart from the 
two Juniors, who were almost panting for some non-penetrative action, 
Galia Melons, sitting next to me, had loosened her tie and unbuttoned her 
blouse to reveal the top of the cups of her burnt orange Junior Boomer. I 
peered down into her cleavage. I was sure I could see clear down to her 
knees.

And there was Smegs. I was disgusted at the way she was simpering and 
sucking up to this nerd. God, Smegs, where's your dignity? She rested her 
breasts on the desk and tilted her head to one side like a cute little puppy 
dog as she asked questions. Yuck!

"Right, no further questions, team? Then if you would wait in waiting room 
number eleven for a short while. You will find erotic reading matter and a 
coffee machine. Victoria will escort you out."

She certainly did. As Pansy rose to fetch the next applicant, Mr Ackroyd, 
Victoria was determined not to be upstaged by her younger sister. Her 
skirt was hiked up almost to her creamy upper thighs as she smiled at Mr 
Absolom and heaved him to his feet with her moist little hand. Then she 
guided him to the door, plastered against his thigh. The poor man was 
having difficulty walking. As he went out, Pansy led the next one in.

"Ah, thank you, Pansy, Mr Ackroyd, I hope you had a pleasant journey ..."

And we all leaned forward across the desk.


**********

"Right, that's the first five done," said Smegs, "time for the individual 
interviews". She stood up, unbuttoning her top and moving purposefully 
toward the door. "May the best man win."

It degenerated into an ugly scramble to be first. I managed to get Mr 
Baker, whose bottom had rather caught my eye earlier, although I was 
forced to elbow Galia in the stomach and kick her on the shin when she 
threatened to beat me to the door. Sobbing, she ended up with Mr 
Absolom. Smegs cornered her Mr Ackroyd, Victoria pulled rank on her 
younger sister to get Mr Clark, leaving Pansy with Mr Carter. She had 
finished wih him in three minutes, and had to hang around the waiting 
room chewing her nails until another became available.

The system had its disadvantages. By the time I received Mr Ackroyd to 
my bosom, he had already been thoroughly sluiced by Smegs and 
popsicled by Pansy, and he was in no condition to take any more. And 
when Mr Carter, my fifth applicant, finally staggered into my arms, he fell 
asleep on the floor and I had to award him 3 out of 10 for technique and a 
5 for artistic interpretation.

So much for the morning. With a fresh batch in the afternoon, we found 
the same problem. One of mine (no names) couldn't get himself ready for 
action although he was only my second. Victoria had drained him 
immediately before: God alone knew what she had done to him. I made a 
mental note to ask her later. But at least, we had a set of marks, and we 
found ourselves broadly in agreement. It had been a triumph for Smegs's 
organisational ability, she told us.

Later, we compared notes with the B team. With their different 
personalities, they evolved a different technique from ours. The two 
teachers worked as a pair, which saved time - in theory, at least. 
Fionnuallagh's Missionary position became more freely interpreted as time 
wore on, although by managing to observe the no-movement rule, she no 
doubt saved herself several Hail Marys. Nesta spent her whole time 
writing down filthy words, which left Suzanne to deal with three men at a 
time. She did her best, while staying strictly within the laid-down 
parameters.

The week wore on. Wednesday's men were hard-working and most of 
them stayed awake throughout, and Friday's batches brought a holiday 
atmosphere to the place as we bustled through our morning's work in a 
thoroughly professional manner.

On Friday afternoon, we met up in Moggie's office and handed her a short 
list of five names.

"Choose any three. We couldn't separate them," said Smegs. Moggie's eyes 
lit up at the crystal clear Polaroids taken by Pansy and Suzanne.

"Excellent quality pictures. Congratulate the girls concerned. Look at the 
fine detail. Every hair shows so clearly, every wrinkle. Look! You can even 
see right into the ..."

"... yes, we've seen them, thank you!"

"Who's this girl sucking Mr Absolom ...?"

"Sorry, Mogs. You can't see her face."

"Just as well, perhaps. You never know where these pictures might turn 
up."

She continued to study the photographs. Finally she put down her 
magnifier. "Have them all in next week. One a day ought to do it. Then I 
can give them a thorough going over."

Yes, she probably could.





Part IV





Chapter 10:- Invitation


"When is the new man going to start?" I asked Smegs. "Will he be here 
before Christmas?"

"Not officially, although he might come along. Apparently he's at a loose 
end."

"Strange how the other four on the short list all turned us down after 
Moggie's final vetting."

"And the other fifty-five asked not to be considered. Most odd. I've got 
some of their replies here; various excuses ... double hernia ... sudden 
recurrence of flat feet ... complete nervous breakdown ... loss of self-
esteem ... jail ... male menopause ... chronic diarrhoea ..."

"How does he spell that?"

"Correctly. He must have looked it up. I suppose he'd have plenty of time 
while he was sitting there. So they all have watertight excuses, apart from 
Mr Frazer, whose colostomy bag burst while Moggie was interviewing him. 
It's a wonder he got through the first vetting. Who saw him?"

"The B Team. Suzanne had her hands full and didn't look too closely. But 
she's inexperienced, she'll improve."

Moggie burst in excitedly. Her breasts seemed to have reached their 
intended size, as they hadn't grown any more since I last saw her a few 
days before. And the lactation scare seemed to have passed; the 
headmistress remained mercifully dry. Smegs looked at her with sadness. 
Smegs now had easily the smallest breasts in the room.

"This ScatBra really does wonders," Moggie enthused. "Truly a boon to the 
well-endowed. I shall not hesitate to recommend it." She breathed 
experimentally a few times before clutching at the desk and sitting down 
hurriedly.

"Mr Ackroyd is in the area and will be dropping in next week. I invited 
him to our Christmas celebrations and a glass of something afterwards at 
my place. His name's Desmond," she said dreamily.

"How nice!"

"I hope so. I thought perhaps he could meet a few of the girls, unofficially, 
before he takes up the reins, as it were."

"Or the sword of office," suggested Smegs.

"Or the cudgels," I said.

"Sorry?" Moggie doesn't always understand such references. "Perhaps a 
few of the girls from each year, informally. We could have it at my place 
after the Christmas Party and Disco. No booze for the girls, of course, but 
plenty for the grown-ups. Who knows what might happen. Anyway, you're 
all invited: and Sir Roger and his Clarrie; Miss Balloons and Miss Dumbo; 
the twins, without their nannies; and Jeremy and Darren. The disco lad will 
be there in his official capacity, of course."

"Just the four of them?" Smegs looked aghast. "Only four men, and all those 
girls?"

"Five," I said, "you forgot Sir Roger".

"How did you know it was Sir Roger I forgot?"

"It ought to be enough," said Moggie. One for me - that will be Desmond, I 
suppose - one for Balloons and Dumbo if they want him, and one each for 
the twins. Sir Roger will have Clarrie."

"What about me?" Smegs wailed.

"I suppose you could bring your own, but there'll be plenty of girls if you 
feel like a bit of sex. Not that we're having an orgy. Just a few friends 
round for drinks and maybe a spot of fucking."

"Oh, that's all right then," said Smegs, "I thought I was going to be missing 
out."

"Good!" Moggie rose to leave, her breasts showing their relative 
inexperience by carrying on upwards after she reached her normal 
standing position. They nearly lifted her off her feet before they started 
going down again. She staggered a little. "Oh, and by the way. It's fancy 
dress. The theme will be a Harem, you know, eunuchs, belly dancers and 
things, flimsy clothes for the girls, the usual. I've told Desmond he has to 
come as the Pasha. Right, no time to hang around here with you lot. There's 
work to be done. See ya!"

The door closed behind her.

"Oh, so it's Desmond, is it? Sodding Pasha! Harem! Fancy bloody dress? 
Shitting hell!" Smegs seemed unhappy about the idea somehow.

"Oh, it won't be too bad," I said, unconvincingly. I was wondering about my 
ten feet of bust in a filmy harem costume. "Don't modern harem girls just 
wear their ordinary clothes nowadays? Cut-off jeans and low-necked T-
shirts and stuff?"

"I'm bolloxed if she thinks I'm coming in five yards of muslin to a lezzie 
orgy," Smegs insisted anti-socially. She can get stuffed."

"Oh, come on, Smegs, it won't be too bad. And if the worst comes to the 
worst, we can always do it to each other. Or I can get Jeremy for you."

Sometimes there's simply no talking to Smegs. She gave me such a look. I 
made an excuse and left.


**********

It was a fait accompli. That's one of those things radio presenters always 
get wrong; they always say fate accomplay. They have the same trouble 
with day boo and day-jar-voooo. But I digress. It was a fait accompli.

A notice appeared on the school notice board. I happened to be passing 
and saw the excited crowd hanging around it. A short-sighted girl was 
standing very close to the board like a cat in front of a television screen.

"It's not Sam Tretowall is it?" I said in disbelief, coming up behind her.

The girl turned round. "No, Miss, she's my sister. She remembers you, 
Miss."

"Yes, she probably does. Well, what's it say?"

"A fancy dress party, Miss, after the Christmas Disco. You've got to come as 
a harem girl, it says. I don't think I'll go, Miss."

A girl spoke up from the crowd of girls who were still hanging around. 
"How many of us will be allowed to go, Miss?" It was Toria. She might be in 
Peru by then, with any luck.

"Oh, no more than half a dozen from each year. There's not much room. 
You'll have to draw lots for the privilege, won't you?"

"We'll think of a way, Miss. Some of the girls won't want to go, anyway. 
Will there be boys, Miss?"

"Not many, Toria. This is a girls' school."

"May we invite one, Miss? Just one?"

"You'd have to ask Miss Thunderbolt, Toria." Either that, or let him turn up 
as a fait accompli. I had a feeling of deja vu all of a sudden. (You'll just 
have to imagine the acute accent over the 'e'. Not to mention the grave 
accent over the a.)


**********

As I made my dignified way up the corridor before the admiring gaze of 
the Third Formers, I heard Toria say "I'll be going, and three of my bestest 
friends. And my boyfriend, Davie!"

The response was gratifying. Gasps were gasped, lower lips were bitten. 
Nipples became erect, panties suddenly moist and Nesta went crimson and 
wrote 'boyfriend' in her notepad.

A similar scene was being played out in the First Form classroom.

"We're going!" announced Pansy, her arm around Suzanne's plump 
shoulders.

Suzanne looked round the other girls, selecting suitably flat-chested 
candidates. "You can come, Anastasia," she said considerately, "and you, 
Shona!"

"And we're inviting our boyfriend, Davie," sighed Pansy, feeling her loins 
melt at the very mention of the name.

The response was gratifying. Gasps were gasped, lower lips were bitten. 
Those girls with nipples erected them. Panties became suddenly drenched 
and everyone in the room, including Pansy and Suzanne, went crimson.

The two girls moved away from the group, satisfied with the effect of the 
announcement. "Those harem clothes are really thin and see-through," 
whispered Pansy. I'm going to leave my bra off!" Once again, the effect of 
what she was daring to say was wreaking havoc down below.

"So am I," breathed Suzanne. "Davie will never have seen anything like us! 
Gosh, I've gone all wet!" She dragged her cousin closer and whispered hotly 
in her ear. "What about splashing some of the Love Potion around at the 
party, Pan?"

"Ooooh, Suze! Oh, golly! Vee! With Davie there? He might ... Ooooh! Shall we 
put plenty of fuck in it?"

"We'll put plenty of everything in it. Double strength everything. It will 
work on everybody!"

"Ooooh, SUZE! Shit, I think I just went."

"Went?"

"I've BEEN!"

"Pan! Without using your fingers?"

"Yes. Well, mostly."

"You should tell Miss Balloons. She'll give you an A, same as she gave me."


**********

Meanwhile, the Sixth Form were holding a conference. Rotunda Ampleforth 
stood on a desk, squinting round at the lesser beings about her. "I will be 
going to the fancy dress party. As the most well-endowed girl in the class, 
it is only right and proper. I will allow some of the smaller ones to 
accompany me."

She turned her head again, then waited for her breasts to stabilise."Galia 
Melons and Lascivia Sparstead, while not even approaching my stupendous 
size, you will represent the Sixth admirably. You shall go to the ball."

"She's better leave before midnight," muttered Galia to her neighbour. 
Lascivia was a late developer, so the generous bosom she had received 
from the boob-juice back in the Junior IT Studies Group was now becoming 
miraculously enhanced as if by a get-a-life nerd armed with a computer 
graphics morphing program. Rotunda might have to look to her laurels 
before long.

"Fat old cow," said Lascivia, a girl of few words, most of them of three 
letters or less.

Rotunda hadn't finished. "I intend to have a man. Naturally, once I have 
made my choice, I will not be denied. I have unfinished business with Sir 
Roger, but if I see anything else which takes my fancy, I may take him. I 
am only telling you this to avoid disappointment and embarrassment."

"For you, yer moo!" grunted Lascivia.

"Did you say something, Lascivia?"

"Sod off!" she said under her breath.


**********

Belinda Balloons and Donna Dumbo were discussing the party in the staff 
room. "You fink there'll be any blokes worf 'avin, Don?"

Donna was getting used to Belinda's speech patterns. She couldn't always 
understand what she was trying to say, but since it was usually about sex, 
she generally managed to work it out.

"We'll get by. That new teacher, Ackroyd, he'll do. We'll work him over. 
And the other three kids. You seen that Darren? He is HUNG!"

"I been tryin' to get him in one of me videos, but the camera bloke says he 
can't take any new talent, he's all booked up wiv 'is mates. Load of 
wankers. Can't act for shit."

"So long as that Sir Roger's not gonna be there. If he is, he might just find 
himself dressed as the Chief Eunuch."

"Cor, that'd get young Clarrie goin'! Still, she'll be takin' care of Sir Roger all 
night. We'll 'ave all the rest of the blokes. Includin' Desmond."

"Desmond. Hey, Moggie won't get a look-in, even if she does have eighty-
inch tits."

"Breasts," corrected Belinda automatically.


**********

"Well, the arrangements seem to be coming along well," I said to Smegs. 
"When the Disco ends at eleven-thirty, the girls will go to bed, apart from 
the fifteen or twenty who are coming to the fancy dress do. You done your 
costume yet?"

"I already told you, I'm not coming. Wild horses wouldn't get me to 
Moggie's orgy."

"I've bought the material for mine," I told her, "That Sandy's making it up 
for me. Baggy pants, all loose, so you can see through them, but only just. I 
might wear pants, or I might just let people see my pussy if they choose to 
get down on their hands and knees and look through the material at close 
range. And the top ..."

"I don't want to hear about your soddin' costume."

"... will be sheer transparent gauze, so you'll see every detail of my breasts 
and nipples. It will be almost like being nude, except that there'll be this 
fine clingy material draped across my tits. I tried it in the bedroom the 
other night, just draped a bit of the stuff across my chest, and the old 
nipples sprang to attention like the Grenadier Guards ..."

"Shan ..."

"... I got so wet, well, you're my bestest friend, so I can tell you, I sat on the 
bed and brought myself off ten times in succession. Just remembering it 
has got me all wet again. Excuse me a minute ..."

Even as I pressed myself against the corner of the desk, I heard Smegs say 
that she wouldn't go to Moggie's party for all the tea in China. I finished 
myself off and sat down again, my knees like young rope. "If Jeremy and 
Darren and the disco lad are busy, I fancy some of those Sixth Form girls. 
Or that Fionnuallagh from the Fifths. She's an ex-convent girl, and you 
know what they say about those."

"No, what?" Smegs was interested despite herself.

"I don't know. I've had a sheltered life, Smegs. But everybody always says 
you know what they say about convent girls, and they touch the sides of 
their noses and say 'Nudge, nudge, say no more', but nobody ever says 
what convent girls are really like."

"I suppose they mean they go a bit. That they're hot."

"But we all are, aren't we?"

"Of course. I don't know a single girl who would pass up the chance of a 
good fuck, whether she was taken in hand by nuns from an early age or 
not."

"That's what I thought. So you'll be coming to the party, then?"

"Chauntaille, for the last time, I am not coming to Moggie's party."

When Smegs grits her teeth and says it like that, she could almost convert 
me to full-time lesbianism.





Chapter 11:- Too Many Cooks


"Can I come in?" Anastasia looked both ways and slipped inside the lab 
door. "Shona couldn't make it, she's gone to see Matron with her itch."

"Come in and close the door," said Suzanne. "The key's on the inside, you 
can lock it, we're all here."

Anastasia turned the key and tiptoed over to the bench where the Bunsen 
burner glowed under a bubbling flask. Pansy turned down the flame and 
carefully tipped the contents of the flask into a large container. She 
stepped back in alarm as steam rose and the container fizzed aggressively.

"How much are we making?," Anastasia whispered.

"A small batch this time." Pansy was preoccupied, watching the contents of 
a pipette disappear into the hellish brew. It turned bright yellow. "Bloody 
hell. It's never done that before," she gasped.

"It's too strong, I told you," Suzanne said. "You'll need to put some more of 
everything else in to make up for having too much love in it."

"It's only got twice as much love in it as last time. And we were going for 
extra love. We agreed. Plenty of love."

"You'll still need more boobs. We agreed we were going to leave the milk 
out, but plenty of boobs. And loads of fuck!" Suzanne waved her arms in 
agitation. "It's for a party! It's got to be special. And it's no good not 
making it strong enough. The party's tomorrow night and we won't have 
time to mix any more." She poured a generous slug of an oily liquid into 
the container, which gave a belch and issued a small cloud of greenish 
steam.

"You're going to end up with too much," Anastasia argued, "it won't all fit in 
that bucket thing."

Pansy looked at the bucket doubtfully. It was two thirds full. "What's still 
to go in?" she asked Suzanne, who was studying the recipe.

"Not a lot. The rest of the boobs, a little bit more love, the fuck, the go-
faster and the slow-downer, and the water. About ten more litres."

"Ten?" Pansy looked horrified. "We'll never get it all in there!" Suzanne 
came over and looked into the bucket. They all stood around it. Pansy was 
right. It wasn't going to fit in there.

"What are we going to do, then?" said Anastasia.

Suzanne had the answer. "Easy. Just pour a quarter of that brew into 
another bucket, then we'll divide all the other ingredients by four. Go on! 
We haven't got all night."

Pansy slopped the bubbling yellow mixture into another bucket. Suzanne 
quickly added some of the contents of three other containers, stirred the 
bucket briskly and added water. The mixture had stopped fizzing. It was 
still bright yellow - almost fluorescent - and a greasy scum was beginning 
to form on top. "What's the time?" she said urgently.

"Half past," said Anastasia. "What time do you have to get to the meeting?"

"Now! We're late. Right, Pan, we'd better go. Anastasia, you can finish 
mixing this lot. There's just the go-faster and the slow-downer to go in. 
Shona will be here soon, won't she?"

"Yeah, ten minutes. "Go on, then, quick. You'll get into trouble."

"We're gone!"

Anastasia locked the door and returned to the bench. She stirred the 
bucket carefully, watching the last of the powder dissolve. Leaning over it, 
she took a cautious sniff. Mm, nice, like strawberries. They'd said they 
were going to make it smell nicer. She sniffed again, then resumed stirring.

Three minutes later the disco lad came sprinting up the corridor and 
scrabbled at the lab door. It was locked. He rattled the handle frantically. 
Anastasia looked up in panic, then ducked down behind the bench, 
trembling. The disco lad ran his hands all over the door frame, looking for 
a gap he could climb through. He had to get in, it was becoming desperate. 
It was no use. He banged his head against the door, sobbing in frustration, 
and slid down it until he was sitting on the floor.

It had gone very quiet. Anastasia risked a look over the bench. The 
shadowy figure was no longer there, trying to get in. Who had it been? 
Shona would have given the secret knock, not tried to tear the door down. 
She stood up, picked up the stirring paddle, to give the bucket a final stir 
before adding the go-faster and the slow-downer. The bucket. There were 
two buckets, both half full of bright yellow liquid. She sniffed them both in 
turn. They both smelled of strawberries. She sniffed deeper, trying to tell 
them apart. The more she sniffed, the more they smelled the same.

Anastasia didn't want to be here any more. She began to cry. Outside the 
door, the disco lad scrabbled at the handle again. That was when Shona 
arrived.

"Gosh, hello!" she said, in her friendly puppy voice.

"Oh, hi," said the disco lad, looking up at the dumpy First Former and 
trying to hide his tears.

"Are you waiting to get in?" she asked him.

"Yeah, I've got to get in. It's urgent." He began to scramble to his feet.

Shona gave the secret knock. They both waited. The door opened a little 
way.

"Come in, quick," gulped Anastasia. She caught sight of the disco lad. 
"What's he want?"

She soon found out. As Shona looked on in astonishment, the disco lad 
folded Anastasia in his arms.

"Darling," he sighed.

"Oh, my darling," cried Anastasia. They began to rain burning kisses on 
each other. Shona's astonishment had turned to envy. She began to pull 
and tug at the furiously snogging couple. Anastasia, who had taken a big 
sniff of the concentrated love bucket and another one at the love bucket 
with added fuck, began to experience strange new emotions. She was 
practically climbing the dicso lad's leg, rubbing herself against him. He was 
not made of stone, although part of him might well have been, the part 
that Anastasia was trying to get herself impaled upon.

They stopped, stepped back, and dusted themselves down. The disco lad 
turned without so much as a thank-you-ma'am, and shot away down the 
corridor. Anastasia took Shona by the arm and led her into the lab, locking 
the door behind them.

"There's a bit of a problem," she started to explain.

"Wha ... what was all that about ...?" Shona wanted to know.

"We've got two buckets, and I don't know which is which. One's pure love, 
one's got extra fuck and stuff. I can't tell them apart. There's going to be a 
row when Suze and Pan find out."

Shona was not going to be fobbed off with no answer. "But, you and the 
disco lad. You were snogging with him. Have you two got something going, 
then?" It seemed unlikely, but Shona had seen what she had seen.

"Was I?" Anastasia clapped her hand across her mouth and turned so 
bright red she  would have glowed in the dark. "Oh, no! I must have 
sniffed the love."

"And a bit of the added fuck, as well, if you ask me," said Shona with deep 
respect. "You were nearly shagging him out there."

"But I couldn't have been, I'm a vir ... Oh, no! How will I be able to face him 
again?"

"He might not remember," said Shona, soothingly. "Hey, look at the time. 
You've got to go. What do I have to do?"

"There's just the go-faster and the slow-downer to go in. Suze and Pan will 
be back in ten minutes, you'd better get on before they come back." And 
she was off, flying down the corridor.

Shona looked at the two buckets, remembering not to sniff at them. If she 
didn't know which was which, why not mix the two together in a bigger 
bucket, then pour it equally into the two buckets again. Then they'd both 
be the same. Simple. 

She went in search of a bigger bucket, found it and plonked it down on the 
floor. She picked up the first of the two identical buckets and poured its 
contents into the bigger one. Then she heard the secret knock on the door.

"Pansy, come in. Where's Suze?"

"She's just finishing her prep. Ten minutes. Have you put the extra fuck in 
it yet?"

"Anastasia never mentioned extra fuck. She said it was just the go-faster 
and the slow-downer to go in."

"That goes in last of all," said Pansy. "Give me that flask there. That's the 
fuck." She poured the contents into the bucket. There was not much left in 
the flask. She upended it into the bucket, and gave it a brisk stir. "I'd 
better give it a bit more boob. Give me the boob flask, Sho."

"This one?"

"No, that's not it."

"It's the only one there is."

Pansy came over to the bench and looked. "I must've put the wrong one in. 
I thought I was putting in extra fuck, and I think I put boob in instead." 
She considered for a moment, then tipped the last flask into the bucket as 
well. "It's all right, we can compensate by putting a bit more love in, and a 
bit more of the go-faster and the slow-downer."

Ten minutes later, the job was done. Pansy took a spray bottle and a 
funnel and carefully decanted some of the mixture. Everything was ready 
to go.

"C'mon, Sho, I hid the buckets, we'll clear up in the morning." They slipped 
out and headed away down the corridor with their spray bottle.

Not ten seconds later, Suzanne appeared from the other direction with an 
empty spray bottle. She nipped into the lab, searched around for a minute, 
then found the mixing bucket and sniffed it cautiously. Quickly, she mixed 
a handful of ingredients, tossed them in the bucket and stirred for a 
moment. At last, looking round anxiously, she filled her spray bottle, ran to 
the door, looked both ways, and headed for the junior dormitory.


**********

I was down to supervise the Third Form in the Chemistry lab. They were 
working on a substance designed to control down-time between orgasms in 
rats. The work was progressing reasonably well: we now had one male rat 
who was ready, willing and able within ten seconds of coming; and another 
who had come tumultuously three weeks ago and hadn't managed it since, 
despite the girls showing him pictures of female rats snipped from 
magazines.

"What's this in these two buckets, Miss?" A rangy girl called Edwina was 
sniffing at two buckets which had been placed under the bench. There was 
a large bucket, half full, and a smaller one, almost full, with a green scum 
on top.

"Place them in the waste disposal room, Edwina. Carefully. Get someone to 
help you - Sally-Anne? Here a minute!" Sally-Anne was a tiny dark-haired 
girl. They weren't the best match for each other as they picked up the first 
bucket between them and staggered away to the waste disposal room. I 
followed with the other one.

I'm still not sure how it happened. I blame Sally-Anne for getting under 
Edwina's feet. There was a shriek, and the two girls lost control and began 
trotting at ever increasing speed in the direction of the huge stainless steel 
sink. Edwina tried to lift the bucket up so it would go into the sink, but 
Sally-Anne wasn't tall enough. It all seemed to happen in slow-motion, like 
the replay of a goal, the only difference being that it only happened once.

Once was quite enough. Sally-Anne sat down hard on the tiled floor, 
drenched from head to foot in yellow liquid; while I came along behind, 
slipped on the wet floor and dumped my bucket over her as well. She took 
it quite sportingly, really. She was just recovering from the first soaking 
when my load hit her, and she didn't cry or anything, she just sat there 
with green steam rising from her, and all her school uniform turned bright 
yellow. I remember thinking her parents would have to make an insurance 
claim for a new blouse and skirt.

Well, I made her take all her clothes off and sit there while we poured 
gallons of clean water over her, which got rid of some of the yellow, and 
she never cried once. "That's a brave girl!" I said, and invited the rest of 
the class into the waste disposal room to see how brave girls behaved in 
the face of adversity. They studied Sally-Anne with interest and respect.

"She's very hairy, Miss," said Toria, wrinkling her nose. "I don't think I've 
ever seen a girl as hairy as that!"

"Don't make personal remarks, Victoria," I rebuked her sternly.

In fact, Sally-Anne was very hairy indeed. She was one of those girls with 
the sort of dark hair that shows. Her forearms were noticeably downy, and 
so were her legs. And when you looked at her from the right angle, so 
were her other bits as well. I hadn't seen so much body hair since the 
previous headmistress.

"God, you *are* hairy, Sally-Anne, aren't you!" I said to her. She looked 
down at herself as if noticing it for the first time, and nodded at me.

"She's got boobs, too," Toria pointed out. Sally-Anne gave a gasp and 
cupped her hands across her chest. Plump little bosoms had swelled into 
being, you could see them between her fingers.

"What was in those buckets? Does anyone know?" Nobody knew. "More 
water! Throw some more water over her." The girls obeyed with relish.

A dozen or so bucketfulls later, Sally-Anne looked like a drowned rat. Her 
breasts had become fuller; they were now about the size of those bread 
rolls they offer you in restaurants with your soup. At least, they seemed 
not to be getting any bigger. She was still very hairy, too, as we saw when 
I helped her to her feet. Gasps of revulsion rang out from her classmates, 
although I admit to finding it quite arousing. She'd need a bit of tidying up 
before she could wear a bikini, but that wasn't a major problem in 
midwinter.

We managed to get the girl dried off and wrapped her in a technician's lab 
coat, which came down to her ankles.

"Take her back to the dorm, three of you, and find her some clothes." I 
picked out two girls who matched Sally-Anne in more or less vital 
dimensions and sent them off with Toria to make her look more 
presentable.

"We'll get her dressed in time for the disco, Miss," promised Toria. I'd 
almost forgotten about the disco. And the fancy dress party afterwards. 
It's funny how little incidents can drive important things clean out of your 
mind.


**********

"I couldn't get in," Suzanne told the others. The bloody Thirds were in 
there. And when they'd finished, and I snuck in, the buckets had gone. 
They were in the waste disposal room.

"Well, that's all right, somebody disposed of the mixture." Pansy produced 
her spray bottle. "No harm done, I've got the stuff here, ready for tonight!"

"You stole that from my wardrobe," Suzanne accused her. "You rat."

"No I didn't, I filled this bottle myself, last night."

Suzanne rummaged in her wardrobe. "Where's my bottle, then? Ah, here it 
is ...!" She proudly held up her own sample of the brew. "So did I!"

"We don't need two bottles," Pansy snapped, "there's more than enough in 
mine."

"But your formula isn't right. I went to the lab and put the go-faster and 
the slow-downer in before I bottled mine."

"Mine had everything in it, I checked it myself," Pansy assured her cousin. 
They looked at each other, and at the two bottles they held in their hands.

"Mine's better than yours," said Suzanne, with a hint of desperation.

"Yours is all wrong," said Pansy with growing lack of confidence.

That was where I walked into their dormitory to ask if anyone knew about 
the buckets in the lab. I saw the two cousins start guiltily and place 
something behind their backs out of sight.

Of course, nobody knew a thing about the buckets.

And after I'd gone, the two girls picked up their bottles from the bed and 
decided that since both were mixed to the perfect formula, they would 
take one bottle to the party as planned, and since they had a spare bottle, 
they'd take it to the disco.

And talking of the disco, if they didn't hurry up and get changed, they'd 
miss the non-alcoholic punch.





Chapter 12:- Party Time At St Cat's


All-girl discos are always a bit of a dead loss when it comes to getting laid. 
Even at St Cat's, it's no different. A sprinking of girls in their interpretation 
of harem costume moved sinuously among the rest of the school, who were 
wearing their school uniforms. So it looked rather like a fancy dress ball 
anyway.

Budding, growing and already grown breasts of every imaginable shape 
and size wobbled, jutted and jiggled beneath white blouses or filmy, gauzy 
tops. Miles of sweaty cleavage gleamed in the primary colours and the 
strobing ultra-violet. The disco lad was at his smarmy best. He appeared 
not to recognise Anastasia, who had dressed herself inside her wardrobe, 
mortified to discover two plump mounds on her chest. She danced with 
extreme care, to try and stop the things jiggling. It wasn't working.

Here and there, adults could be seen, squirming embarrassingly to the 
approximate beat of the music. The girls tried to avoid looking at them, but 
still suffered bouts of nausea when one of the grown-ups lurched into their 
line of vision, arms raised, hips thrusting, and actually *grinning*. Did they 
have no idea what they looked like?

Sally-Anne was dancing with a little group of Third Formers. They had 
failed to find a school uniform to fit her, as her breasts had regrettably 
grown again in the dormitory. By the time they had stopped, her 
classmates realised helplessly that the only blouse which would go round 
her exuberant bust had arms which reached down to her knees.

So they had swathed her in left-overs from Victoria's harem costume, and 
it had almost worked. "We'll get away with it, it will be fairly dark in 
there," Victoria had said, surveying the deeply arousing sight in despair. 
Sally-Anne's breasts refused to lie down, and thrust themselves into the 
fresh air every twenty seconds. "You'll just have to keep tucking them in," 
advised Victoria.

The harem pants, too, were rather more transparent than intended, and 
the rich shadows of Sally-Anne's pubic thatch lent an air of Middle-Eastern 
mystery to her nether regions. Victoria's best advice was to make sure that 
she stood with her back to the light. "And keep your arms by your sides!" 
she said, "you look as if you're carrying a pair of ferrets under there." 
Sally-Anne felt much more confident after that.

The music swelled and became more frenetic. Non-alcoholic or not, the 
punch was certainly effective. Giggling broke out on the dance floor. 
Meanwhile, up in the balcony, Suzanne and Pansy crouched out of sight 
with a spray bottle.

"How much do we need?" asked Pansy, uncertain for once.

"Well, normally, we'd give it about three squirts per girl. How many down 
there? Three times ... oh, give them two thirds of it. Down to there. We've 
got a whole bottle left for the fancy dress party later."

Pansy squeezed the trigger hesitantly at first. A fine mist drifted down 
over the dancers, twinkling briefly in the lights. She sprayed again. Then 
she moved to one end of the balcony and cranked the handle a dozen more 
times. She rushed to the other end and did it again. She almost completely 
emptied the bottle into the arena and stood back, beaming at Suzanne. 
"There! How long will it take before it starts working?"

"It depends on the go-faster and the slow-downer. I asked Miss why it 
needs both, and she said the go-faster makes it start working quickly, then 
the slow-downer takes over and keeps it going at a constant speed, so it 
doesn't sort of burn up. Once it starts, it will keep acting for twenty 
minutes or so, and the effects will last for an hour".

"Should be about right, then," said Pansy, leaning over the balcony, looking 
for signs of activity. "Nothing yet," she said.

"Give it a few minutes. They've got to breathe it in first, then they start 
pumping out the pheromones, then the boys will arrive ..."

"What boys, Suze?"

"Well, there's Darren and Jeremy and the disco lad. And Davie should be 
here soon."

"Davie? We don't want Davie snogging that lot down there! He might fall in 
love with one of them and get married, and we'll never have sex with him 
tonight then ...!"

Suzanne bit her lip. "Maybe if we wait outside the door, we can grab him 
when he arrives and drag him straight up here. We can lock him in that 
little room over there until the love wears off."

"We could lock ourselves in there with him," suggested Pansy, and Suzanne 
couldn't fault the idea.

"Come on, then, let's lie in wait."


**********

"Can you smell strawberries?" I asked Smegs, as we gyrated our hips in 
front of each other. We were in a prominent position by one of the big 
louspeakers, illuminated by a huge spotlight. We had to communicate by 
shouting, as although our nipples were touching each other, we were still 
several feet apart. The girls glanced at us occasionally, but mostly they 
averted their eyes in respect.

"Strawberries? No. But I'm a bit bunged up. I've got a cold coming on."

"Sniff harder! Oooh, yes, it's definitely strawberries. Must be one of the 
girls who's got strawberry-flavoured sebaceous glands. I wonder what she 
tastes like! God, I'm getting moist just thinking about it!" Smegs moved 
away a few paces.

"Don't get your moisture all over me," she complained grumpily, and 
sniffed, with her nose in the air, the way she does. I swung my mammoth 
breasts the other way and worked my lithe hips into a sinuous squatting 
motion."

"For fuck's sake keep those things under control," hissed Smegs, grabbing 
my arm and hauling me to my feet. "They're all looking at you!" I smiled at 
the crowds and waved, but nobody waved back. They all looked away. "I 
feel really horny!" I whispered in Smegs's ear. She looked absolutely 
horrified.

"Christ, not here," she muttered fiercely. "Think of the girls!"

"I am, that's why I feel horny. Hey, look at that little one over there. Sally-
Anne. You like female body hair, get a load of that lot! And her tits!"

I felt Smegs pulling me out of the room. Ah, well, I thought, maybe she's 
not in the mood.


**********

So we missed the action. Well, not all of it: we made quite a lot of our own, 
on the wet grass round the back of the disco, which was as far as we got 
before we were overcome with mutual lust. Meanwhile, back inside, 
Jeremy and Darren suddenly stood up, put down their glasses and set off 
across the room. As they passed, girls thrust out their hands and other 
parts to touch the boys' faces, or anything they could reach.

As they were dragged unprotesting to the ground, they uttered words of 
love.

"Darlings, I love you all so much!"

"Oh, Jeremy!"

"Oh, DARREN!"

That last one was when a Fifth Form girl accidentally found herself with a 
hand inside his jeans. She tried to keep her discovery a secret, but the 
truth slipped out somehow. Another girl, called Sharon, went down on it 
with commendable accuracy. In no time she began to swallow, her eyes 
glazed and staring. Others watched her performance critically, counting the 
gulps. She sat back, her mouth full of something tasty, dribbling slightly.

"Oh, come on, Shaz, leave some for us!"

"Oh, you ratbag, Sharon, it'll be ages before he's ready again!"

"Give us a kiss, Shaz, I want a taste of him at least."

Similar dramas were being played out with Jeremy and the disco lad in 
various parts of the floor. Mounds of girls of all ages swore their undying 
devotion to the unfortunate young men who were being crushed to the 
floor beneath the overwhelming weight of soft nubile flesh. Warm breasts, 
plump buttocks and soft puppy-fattish tummies pressed down on them. 
They made their peace with their maker and prepared to die happy.

Elsewhere, those who hadn't managed to get a slice of boy were doing their 
best with what was to hand. Cool, practised fingers released buttons and 
bra clasps and breasts of every description flopped out into the 
strawberry-scented air. Tongues, nipples and lips of every sort came 
together in feverish union. Orgasms broke out and juices began to flow. 
One or two girls experienced their very first orgasm, and immediately 
followed it with their second and third.

It ended as suddenly as it began. People stood up and began searching for 
their clothes, comparing blouses and exchanging brassieres. The 
atmosphere was cordial. Jeremy, Darren and the disco lad climbed back 
into their clothes and went back to their half-finished drinks. The music 
started up again with something Christmassy by Slade, a group of singers 
from the West Midlands who are only ever heard for two weeks every 
year.


**********

"Dav-eee, move your nose like that again, pul-lease!" Pansy adjusted her 
position. "You were right, Suze! This is brilliant. It feels just like wanking!"

"Mmmnph, blblppnfm!" Suzanne confirmed, nodding her head.

It had taken several yards of rope to restrain Davie once they had dragged 
him into the little room and locked the door. Suzanne dropped the key into 
her bottomless cleavage, then liberated Davie from his restricting pants.

Gradually, the boy's struggles died away as the effect of the pheromones 
from the assembled girls was overwhelmed by those of the two voluptuous 
and horny cousins. He even began to enjoy it. The two of them, one sitting 
on his face, the other astride his legs with her crotch wrapped round his 
feet, were nowhere near the weight of Clarrie, and their pleasingly plump 
breasts didn't soak him in mother's milk either, which certainly made a 
agreeable change. He reached out and found one, and held it in both hands 
- or at least, as much of it as he could - making Pansy moan in delight.

And when the effects of the spray wore off downstairs, Suzanne and Pansy 
just went on and on from strength to strength. It was an hour later when 
they stood up, stretched, and released Davie from his bonds.

"Hello, Davie," said Suzanne, wiping Pansy's fragrant juices from his face 
with her hankie.

"Oh, hi, Suze! Hi, Pan!"

"Hi, Davie! It's nice to see you again."

"Yeah, same here."

"You going to Miss Thunderbolt's party later?"

"Yeah, you goin', Suze?"

"Yes, we'll be there."

"I like your fancy dress things. Like slave girls."

"Yes, we made them ourselves. They show our titties off nicely, don't 
they?"Suzanne gave a thunderously cautious little twirl. "What are you 
going as?"

"Clarrie says I've got to be an Enoch."

"Gosh!" said the girls, impressed. "We'll see you later then!" They reached 
up and kissed Davie one at a time, on his cheek, then stepped back, 
blushing.


**********

It was much quieter in Moggie's house. The music was more soothing and, 
I suppose, sexy. The lights had all been replaced with red bulbs, giving a 
brothel-like glow to the place, rather like the inside of a submarine, I 
imagined.

My bottom was drying out after our session on the wet grass. Smegs had 
consented to come, but staunchly refused to wear fancy dress. A right 
party-pooper. I hoped she would have to pay a forfeit later. Perhaps she 
would be made to strip on the table. Serve her right, the shitty cow. From 
which you will gather our sexual liaison behind the disco hadn't been 
altogether satisfactory for me. The moans and howls of the lusty girls 
inside the room had mocked us as we sprawled on the wet December grass. 
I had mud on the seat of my pants, and they were even wetter on the 
outside than the inside.

I took a large swig from my drink, and belched in the general direction of 
Smegs, then took a look around at the rest of the guests to see what was 
available. Fionnuallagh O'Graodeiagh and Galia Melons were getting very 
friendly indeed over by the fireplace. As far as I could tell, the Fifth Form 
girl had lowered one of her nipples into intimate contact with 
Fionnuallagh's clitoris, but it wasn't easy to be certain at this distance. I 
was too disgusted even to go over and join them. I sniffed and looked 
elsewhere.

Sir Roger and Clarrie were quite unashamedly humping on the couch. 
People had made room for them, and towels were available to mop up the 
stray splashes of milk and love juice as Clarrie bucked and squirted on top 
of the supine knight.

Elsewhere, a small group of Senior girls sat in an attentive circle round 
Belinda Balloons, who was guiding them through a spontaneous orgasm 
purely by hand signals. And Donna Dumbo was lying on her back with her 
legs clasped behind her neck, while the Third Form girls tried to copy her. 
Sally-Ann seemed to have recovered from her earlier incident with the 
buckets in the lab, although her breasts seemed to have grown rather 
larger in the last hour or so, and her attempts at imitating Miss Dumbo's 
pose were perhaps unwise, given the embarrassing amount of 
Mediterranean-looking fur which was waving in the breeze between her 
creamy thighs.

Where were the First Formers, I wondered. Up to no good, certainly. I 
would have been far happier knowing where they were. But just then they 
came in, the chubby Shona, little Anastasia, who seemed to be stuffing her 
bra this evening, and bringing up the rear, Pansy and Suzanne, clinging to 
Davie in a most unladylike fashion. Jeez, they looked as horny as goats, as 
their hands wandered all over the boy's body. He was dressed as a slave of 
some sort, naked to the waist, oiled and gleaming. The line of his baggy 
pants was only slightly marred by the erection which protruded naughtily 
at the front. Presumably it was either the cause or the effect of the two 
cousins' intimate attentions. A pity, really, as it spoiled the effect; he would 
have made quite a credible eunuch apart from that.

But the entrance of the First Formers was immediately overshadowed by 
the arrival of Moggie and her escort. "Ladies and Gentlemen," she 
announced in ringing tones. She'd been at the gin bottle, without a doubt. 
"Pray silence for the Pasha, Desmond Ackroyd!"

Well, if she'd expected a round of applause, she shouldn't have asked for 
silence. Everyone looked up, in an embarrassed kind of way, and Desmond 
managed to look even more embarrassed than we were. Perhaps the bare 
chest wasn't Moggie's greatest idea of the evening. Not hers, Desmond's. 
Even young Davie's looked better than his. Mr Ackroyd was a sort of 
bluish-white colour, and his curiously patchy chest hair looked as if 
someone had thrown a mangy cat at him, and it had stuck. His pantaloons 
fitted where they touched, and a rather unlovely little paunch protruded 
just above the waist line. I took a critical sip of drink and wondered what I 
had ever seen in him.

Moggie led her Pasha unsteadily across the floor, stepping on stray couples 
from time to time, until they ground to a halt in front of the couch. 
Fortunately, Clarrie was just finishing. She held up an acknowledging hand 
and came magnificently with a whoop of uninhibited joy, before planting a 
kiss on Sir Roger's nose and climbing off. It was like the climax of an act in 
a Wild West Show.

She shook hands with the Pasha, reaching around her breast to do so, and 
causing a squirt of milk to strike him squarely in the chest and trickle 
down through the hair to his belly, where it divided and set off for points 
South. Clarrie apologised and licked it off for him. After that, it only took 
half a dozen teenage girls to remove Sir Roger's snoring corpse - they 
propped him up in a corner out of harm's way - and Moggie and her 
Master could take the throne.

"So good of you all to come this evening," her voice rang out, before she 
collapsed.


**********

It saved Belinda Balloons and Donna Dumbo a lot of trouble, anyway. As 
soon as Moggie became unconscious, they moved in on Pasha Desmond and 
hauled him away to their chosen corner of the room. There, they went to 
work on him like a well-drilled team.

Almost as well-drilled as the innocent First Form cousins, who summoned 
their two classmates and dragged Davie round behind the couch, away 
from the clutches of Clarrie, who was on the prowl for a stiff and rampant 
manhood. She thought it was all her birthdays and Christmas rolled into 
one when she discovered Darren in the toilet,inspecting little teethmarks 
on the length of his prong.

"Who did that to you?" she sighed in his ear, scaring seven shades of shit 
out of him.

"Aaargh! Who are you? Omigod, tits!" They were the biggest ones he had 
ever seen. "Clarrie!" he said at last, finding her lurking somewhere behind 
them.

"Let me have a look at it," she said softly. "Mmmm, nasty bite. That's the 
trouble with schoolgirls, no finesse when they get excited." She licked along 
its length, with satisfying effect. "Here," she said, "slip it in here," and she 
offered him the use of her cleavage.

"Bloody hell, Clarrie, that feels great." The tip of it suddenly plopped out of 
the top of Clarrie's amazing cleft, and she tried in vain to reach it with her 
tongue.

"Oh, sod this for a lark," she sighed, losing patience, and hoisted one 
muscular leg up, placing her foot on the washbasin. "It's down there 
somewhere: if you can find it, feel free!"

It was an offer Darren could hardly refuse. He slithered in up to the hilt. 
Even Clarrie gasped, and that didn't happen very often. A second or so 
later, her eyes crossed, which happened even less. "Help yourself to a 
drink," she said kindly, tweaking her nipple and aiming it in roughly the 
right direction.

"This is just like the old days in the milking shed," Darren said, then his 
head jerked back as a jet of Clarrie-milk sprayed into his mouth. "Well, 
maybe it's not, come to think of it ..."


**********

Davie rolled from side to side, and First Formers fell off him on all sides. 
They giggled and climbed aboard again. Shona and Anastasia were getting 
quite a taste for this activity. They had no idea what it was called, but it 
was great fun. Suzanne and Pansy watched their clumsy first efforts with 
smiles of condescension.

"Have your titties been growing, Staze?" Suzanne asked, during a lull in the 
action. Anastasia blushed and tried to hide them. It was getting more 
difficult. "Let's have a look," insisted Pansy, jerking her hands away.

"Bloody hell, where'd you get those?" Suzanne gasped, and Anastasia 
looked down. She gasped as well. They were as big as large grapefruit now, 
and as she thought about it, they seemed to be tingling inside. Not an 
unpleasant feeling, she thought, squeezing them gently.

"WOW!" she squealed, feeling an electric shock run through her fingers to 
her nipples.

"You're getting huge, Staze!" Pansy told her, as if she didn't know. Shona 
was gazing at the smaller girl's chest with amazement. What was 
happening? Yesterday she was snogging the disco lad, now she was 
growing this great big pair of tits. Davie had seen them, too.

"Those are nice little ones," he said. Compared to Clarrie's and Suzanne's, 
and even Pansy's, they were, but they were certainly coming up fast on 
the outside. He found his way into her filmy top and applied his lips to her 
nipples. Anastasia swooned. She was the sort of girl who swoons when her 
tits grow five cup sizes in twenty-four hours and a gorgeous boy sucks the 
nipples.

"What's this lumpy thing I'm lying on?" said Davie suddenly. He fumbled 
around beneath him and found a plastic spray bottle. "What's this, weed-
killer?"

"Well, sort of," said Suzanne. "It's Love Potion, actually."

"Love Potion? Oh, come on, Suze, you don't expect me to believe love 
potion. You little girls - I don't know!"

"But it is, Davie," Pansy insisted. "You know when we locked ourselves in 
the little room upstairs and sat on your face?" She blushed at the memory, 
and Shona gulped at this latest revelation.

"What about it?"

"Well, all the other girls downstairs were getting horny, and you wanted to 
get at them, you remember?"

"I couldn't, you'd tied me to the table legs."

"That was the love potion," said Suzanne, simply, "it made you want to do 
the fuck!"

"Do the fuck?" Davie wrinkled his nose.

"We'd sprayed the bottle all over the crowd from the balcony. That's this 
stuff!" Suzanne shook the bottle. It fizzed.

"Let's try it," Davie made a grab, but Suzanne snatched it away.

"No, we've got to be careful where it goes. At this close range it could be 
dangerous." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "It's got extra fuck in it ...!" 
And even Suzanne went red. Under the red lights, it didn't really show, 
fortunately.

"C'mon, Suze! Let's try it out!" Davie wheedled.

"Oh, all right. I'll tell you what. I pull the trigger, but you can tell me where 
to point it!"

They all peered out from behind the couch, on hands and knees.

"All ready, then? Let us spray."


**********

Smegs had nodded off to sleep, and I didn't want to disturb her. I saw the 
twins come in, and waved to them. They looked relieved, and made their 
way over.

"Sorry we're late, feeding problems. Where's Moggie?"

"She's passed out on the couch." I mimed swigging from a bottle and they 
nodded sadly. Cindy and Melanie looked magnificent. Pregnancy suited 
them, and had been suiting them for the best part of three years. Their 
harem pants bulged over their little bellies, and their full breasts hung 
heavily inside the almost transparent tops.

"Any blokes we can shag?" asked Melanie bluntly. She hadn't always been 
as rude as this, I remembered. She chewed her nails nervously, and her 
hand strayed into her pants as if it had a life of its own.

"Not many, you should have brought your own. There's Jeremy, of course, 
and the disco lad. I haven't seen Darren for a while. Sir Roger's in the 
corner, asleep. And Pasha Desmond is getting it from Balloons and Dumbo. 
Davie's around, somewhere, but the First Formers are getting off with him."

"First Formers?" Cindy looked amazed. "Can't we stop them?"

"Old friends, apparently," I said. They looked around helplessly, hungrily.

That was when I spotted Davie, on hands and knees beside the couch. 
Suzanne was with him, her eyes bright and sparkling with excitement and 
arousal. The little slut was up to something. Davie pointed to the twins, and 
Suzanne raised ... a gun ... ? No, a love potion bottle. Before I could 
intervene, she sprayed both twins with a fine green mist.

"Coo, that smells nice." Melanie sniffed deeply. "Strawberries!"

Suzanne watched her victims for a few seconds, then ducked down out of 
sight again. If my tits hadn't been so huge, I'd have got up and chased 
after her. And Smegs had her head on one of them.

The twins sat down next to me. "I feel quite wuzzy," said Cindy. "Must have 
been that strawberry stuff. What was it?"

"Dunno," I admitted. I was trying to see Suzanne and Davie again, but 
they'd disappeared. The next time I saw them they were over by Pasha 
Desmond and his artificial harem girls, Balloons and Dumbo. I saw Davie's 
oiled torso, then Suzanne's arm came up, and the spray hissed as a green 
cloud settled over the loving threesome.

They made their way back to the couch again, with a brief token spray at 
the sleeping Moggie on the way, then dropped out of sight. What were they 
up to now? They stood up, looking  round at us all. Suzanne looked puzzled, 
as if she was waiting for something to happen. Surely it should have done 
by now? Why hadn't a boy appeared and started snogging the twins. And 
Balloons and Dumbo, why weren't they climbing all over Pasha Desmond? 
Why was nobody making love to Moggie. Well, at least, that was 
understandable.

Suzanne ducked down again, shaking her head.


**********

"It didn't work. That must have been your brew, Pan. It was dud. Nothing. 
Look at them, they ought to be fucking by now." She flopped down in 
disgust. "What did you forget to put in it? No fuck, no love, even. Not even 
love!" She pointed the spray at Shona and emptied half the bottle over her.

"It smells nice, though," said Shona. "Strawberries!"


**********

Melanie noticed it first. "Oh, shit, the milk can't have come in already. I feel 
enormous!"

"So do I," said Cindy, "I thought it was just me feeling funny."

"You look funny, Sis, you're ever so full, look at them."

"You can talk. Look at your buggers."

I looked at both of them. They were bigger. Bigger than I'd ever seen 
them. I suppose they had loads of milk, they must get huge at feeding 
time. They were both moaning now, and rocking from side to side, holding 
their tits.

"Oh, Sis, they're getting gigantic!"

"And mine, what's happening? They've never been this big before!"

The moaning was attracting attention. Girls were looking at us, and 
beginning to stare at the twins. Suzanne's head popped up again, her eyes 
grew as big as saucers, and she dropped down out of sight.


**********

"Their tits have grown. Those twins. They've nearly doubled in size! That's 
what you put in it. You left out the love and the fuck, and put tits in it 
three times over!"

Pansy rounded on her cousin with spirit. "I bet *you* did that, you great 
Bonzo. Mine was the other bottle, that made them all fall in love with each 
other. *Yours* has gone all wrong. Yours is all TIT. But then, it would be, 
wouldn't it? You're all tit YOURSELF!"

A fight broke out behind the couch. It only stopped when screams echoed 
from the corner of the room. Pasha Desmond had stood up and backed 
away against the wall. He pointed at Balloons and Dumbo in horror. The 
two artificially enhanced women had struggled somehow to their feet. 
Their breasts, or in Belinda's case, her tits, had become gigantic. They were 
a funny shape, as Donna Dumbo's implants now formed only the extreme 
tips of her fantastic watermelons. Belinda's rubber balloons suddenly 
hissed and deflated as her real ones took over. She screamed, quite 
genuinely. It sounded nothing like one of Belinda's video orgasms.

"Look at Miss Thunderbolt," somebody yelled. And Moggie, still blissfully 
asleep and snoring gently, had doubled in size. At least, her boobs had. 
Serves her right, I thought.

A wail came from behind the couch, and the fighting stopped.

"Shona! Look at your tits!"

A pretty stupid thing to say, really. Shona was already looking.


**********

I suppose I ought to be flattered that the girls bring their troubles to me. 
Auntie Shan. Miss Gruntworthy Will Know What To Do.

"Look at Shona, Miss."

"I'm looking, Suzanne."

"She's growing, Miss. She's bigger than Anastasia already."

"I can see that, Suzanne."

"She's bigger than Pansy!" Pansy began to cry.

"She's bigger than you, Suze!" she sobbed. Suzanne joined her.

"She's bigger than Miss Mountains!" they both wailed. The noise woke 
Smegs up.

"What the fuck's happened to that kid?" she asked, most impolitely. She's 
always like this when she wakes up. Like a bear with a sore head. "Oh, no! 
You've really done it this time, Shan!"

Why is it always me?