This is a shorter-than-usual St Cat's story, which may make it more acceptable to readers with a limited span of attention, i.e. Americans. For the benefit of first-time readers, the author wishes to explain that the girls of St Cat's are perfectly normal English schoolgirls: their entire lives revolve around sex and the pursuit of pleasure, they form moist and loving relationships with other girls and they have huge breasts. If any of this offends you, don't come complaining to the author.
© 1999 Some Sort of Dog

St Catherine's High School for Growing Girls:
The Office of the Headmistress

I WHIRLED round in my revolving chair and fixed them all with a steely glare. "Where are they all?" I wondered aloud.
     Miss Labia burst in and cleared away the coffee cups; unnecessarily loudly, I thought. "They got fed up waiting for you to come out of your trance. They said they'd catch you in the school restaurant at lunchtime, if you'd woken up by then." She opened a window for ventilation, reminding me of the fact that I had ejaculated copiously in my panties again. I stood up with a squelch and prepared to take them off. "You're not fucking wearing any," the secretary pointed out with an unbecoming sneer. And to think this woman is a pillar of the local Methodist chapel. "You took them off half an hour ago. Miss Mountains put them in her purse."
     "The filthy perverted slut!"
     "That's what she said, too. I quote: 'What kind of a headmistress have we got at St Cat's High School for Growing Girls, who can't even think about the school's planned participation in a student exchange scheme without cumming in her knickers.' End quote."
     "Smegs said all that?" I mused. "She sounds like the opening paragraphs of a lewd story, as if she's trying to re-establish long-forgotten characters and set out the details of the plot in the first two hundred words."
     "Two hundred and twenty-five, counting 'long-forgotten' as a single word," said Labia "Although nobody will ever check, so I don't know why I bother." She bustled towards the door, dropping a mug off her tray and cursing as fluently as a sailor. Just a generic sailor, nobody you or I would know. Well, me, anyway.
     "Student exchange scheme? How did you hear about that?" I pursued Miss Labia to the office door. "You've been listening at the keyhole again."
     "Of course. Don't I always?"
     "Well, give me the details again. If the teaching staff aren't going to give me support, I'll have to do it without their help. It's just one girl they want, isn't it?"
     "That's right." She barricaded herself behind her desk and thrust a folder at me. "Go away and read that. It's all in there. But remember, I want the name of a suitable girl by lunchtime. We got to get her cleaned up and all her things packed ready to go tomorrow morning."
     "What's the rush?"
     "It's your fault. I only had two days off with flu and you threw out all the mail. I'm still finding vital correspondence you hid in that cupboard."
     I sneaked a furtive glance at the cupboard in question. It glared sinisterly back at me, full of secrets. It was time to deal firmly with Miss Labia once more. She was getting too big for her boots again. I put my nose in the air and stalked back into the office. That would put the bitch in her place.
     The folder contained a single sheet of paper, typed on both sides. I put my feet on the stained green leather of the desk, leaned back in my revolving chair and closed my eyes. I think better that way.

St Cat's:
The School Restaurant

"I've made my decision." Cee reclined in her chair and snapped her fingers at Cassiopæia Cassowary who peered out from beneath her dark hair and fluttered her long eyelashes. Smegs hid her face in her hands and refused to look at her. As far as Smegs was concerned, Cassiopæia was a figment of the Fuckh Machine's imagination, and not a real teacher at all. It wasn't enough to stop her falling madly in love with Cassiopæia, although she suspected that even this was just another of Cee's bits of fancy programming.
     Smegs took a deep breath. "What decision, Corinne?" she asked icily. If she didn't ask, Miss Meadowlark would tell her anyway.
     "My decision about the exchange girl. Actually, I've drawn up a short-list and Chauntaille will choose the right one. I have to give her the impression she's being given a choice in the matter: you know what she's like where girls are concerned."
     Smegs knew what Chauntaille Gruntworthy was like where girls were concerned. She was very similar herself. The words which immediately sprang to mind were 'horny' and 'lesbian'. Or at the very least, bisexual. She craned her neck to see the latest batch of new First Formers coming into the school restaurant. Not a bad batch of budding breasts; the school's recruitment policy was paying off at last. "Can't you get this girl off my lap?" she complained.
     "Get her off yourself. You're closer to her than me."
     This was true. Cassiopæia had perched her cute bottom astride Smegs's lap and was entwining her arms around her neck. Their breasts mashed titanically together as Cassiopæia showered wet open-mouthed kisses on Smegs's not altogether unwilling face.
     The younger girls were shocked, averting their eyes in shame. The rest of the school had seen it all before, many, many times. Teachers indulging in lesbian relationships in the school restaurant were a common feature of lunchtimes. Or any other mealtimes, for that matter.
     "I can't see through her," said Smegs. "And she's wet."
     Cee looked mildly interested. "Wet? Where?"
     "All the usual places, but mostly her mouth. Stop it, Cassie!"
     "All right," said Cassiopæia, obediently climbing down and hiking up her microskirt to fumble around her crotch with a generous handful of industrial paper towel. Her panties were disgracefully brief, especially for such a hirsute young woman. "Shall I type that list out, Cee?"
     "All right," said Miss Meadowlark with a sigh. "Show us your ridiculous party trick again."
     Cassiopæia stretched her arms above her head, long enough to display her black cat armpits, then proudly reached into her yawning cleavage and produced six copies of a neatly typed document. She distributed them around the teachers' table, tapping the name at the top of the list with an absurdly long green fingernail. "That's the one," she said. "Emily Holdershaft."
     Smegs tried to disregard Cassiopæia's microscopic waist around which her big, capable hands would probably fit with inches to spare. Instead, she felt her eyes being drawn to the side view of a pair of plump and improbably firm breasts easily big enough to belong to a student, even a Form Head. Almost. Smegs got up and made an excuse. "I've got to go," she said. "Work to do..." She loped away, following her nipples to the door.
     "She didn't read her list," Cassiopæia pouted.
     "You frightened her away," said Cee. "All this time, and we still haven't got your parameters right."
     "S'not my fault," said Cassiopæia, turning her toes inwards and disgracefully rotating her hips from side to side.
     "Stop behaving like a twelve-year-old slut, Cassie! You're twenty-four."
     "I'm only one year old, and you ought to know it. You wrote me."
     "Correction. I thought about you and you wrote yourself. And a lousy job you made of it, too. Now, piss off and make yourself useful. And do try to behave with a little dignity. Remember you're a teacher."
     "Okay!" Cassiopæia skipped away, bouncing extravagantly and displaying the creamy cheeks of her fur-lined bottom. She paused only to goose a devastatingly pretty Third Former at the door before lolloping away in the direction of the IT lab, masturbating energetically as she went.

St Cat's:
The Office of the Headmistress

"Meadowlark's already chosen a girl," said Smegs. "You can't let her get away with this all the time, Shan. She's running the whole school."
     "Who's she chosen?" I asked. "I'll stop her."
     "Emily Holdershaft."
     "That Fourth Former?"
     "You know the one?"
     "Not really. The name seems familiar, but..."
     "Shortish, skinny girl. Dark red hair, green eyes. Quite well-developed up top. Bra size SBSSLMCW7 or thereabouts. No hips at all."
     I took over the description. "Her parents are abroad somewhere, mother's a topless dancer, has to hide the shameful fact that her tits are all natural? Emily's four feet nine tall, fifty-seven-inch bust? 57-16-27? Been wearing a straight 32Y-cup? Hopeless at Science, makes a lot of elementary mistakes in Sexual Chemistry, can't spell, can't count, can't swim, can't act, trips over all the time. I think she needs glasses."
     "I thought you said you didn't know the girl."
     "No, I just wanted you to describe her for me. She sounds ideal as an exchange student. Of course, it's totally out of the question. Absolutely a non-starter. Who does Cee think she is, anyway? I'm the boss round here."
     "Good. I'll tell her you've asserted your authority. She'll be rilly-rilly mad."
     "Don't go upsetting her, you know what she's like. Let me break it to her gently. Have you thought about the girl we'll be getting in exchange? What do we want?"
     Smegs looked at me strangely. "Apart from her age, we don't get a choice. We just get whatever they send us. That's why I think we ought to choose our worst student, someone we want to get rid of for a couple of months."
     "You mean choose a complete and utter slut, a big-titted bimbo who can't keep her pants on for five minutes?"
     "Of course not! We'd send a girl who serves no useful purpose. One of those shy little blushing violet types who won't say boo to a goose and turns crimson every time a boy waves his cock at her on the bus to Borcester."
     "Boys do that to our girls?"
     "All the time. You must lead a very sheltered life, Shannie."
     "On the bus?"
     "Not just on the bus. Anywhere they happen to be. Boys just naturally get erections where St Cat's girls are around. It's something to do with the mammoth size of their tits."
     "It's a disgrace. They ought to do something about it."
     "Who, the boys? They're only trying to get laid."
     "No, the authorities. We didn't vote this government into power to allow boys to flash their penes at innocent barely-teenage girls with an average bust size of sixty-five inches on buses."
     "You didn't vote this government into power at all. You're somewhere to the right of Attila the Hun."
     I felt myself go pale. A strange feeling, like someone walking over your pelvic floor in patent leather dancing pumps. Or so I imagine.
     "What school will our girl be going to, Smegs?"
     "It won't matter to us, will it? She's just a girl. Expendable. It won't do her any harm if she goes to some run-down inner-city comprehensive."
     I shuddered at Megan's harsh words. "But what about us? We'll get a girl in exchange. A girl from ... where you said just now."
     "From a run-down inner-city comprehensive, you mean?"
     "Stop it, Megan! Don't even say it. What are we going to do if they send us a skinny tart with no lips and no breasts and no morals?"
     "One out of three's not bad, Shan."
     "But what about our girls? They are gently nurtured, sensitive souls who just happen to be blessed with immense breasts. How will they cope with a dog coming into their midst?"

St Cat's:
The Fourth Form Dormitory

"What are you packing for, Emily?"
     Emily placed an unopened three-pack of ScatBras in her bag. "I'm going to another school for the rest of this term. I'm an exchange pupil. How many panties will I need, Pansy?"
     "What are you asking her for?" grumbled Suzanne. "She never wears any."
     "I do, too. What school are you going to, Em?"
     "I dunno, why?"
     "They might not have panty-machines same as here. They might make you wash them and use them again."
     "Use panties twice?" said Emily, puzzled. "How?"
     "Some people do. They wash them, then they hang them up to dry, same as shirts."
     Emily shook her head firmly. "Panties are nothing like shirts, Pan. Panties are all filthy and crusted and covered in yellow and brown stains. And little curly hairs..."
     "Of course they are. But apparently it all washes off. Most of it, anyway. And when they're dry, you can wear them again."
     Emily had gone quite white with shock. "Yuck, that's horrible. Do they make you wash your industrial paper towel as well?"
     "I don't know. They might not even have industrial paper towel at other schools."
     "Not have industrial...?" Emily burst out laughing, then stopped abruptly. "You're serious?"
     "Look, where did you go to school before you came to St Cat's, Em?"
     "I didn't. I had a private tutor. My boobs were too big, you see."
     Pansy disregarded this heresy, as well as the fact that Emily was eight inches below the St Cat's average bust size. "So you went to school at home until you were thirteen?"
     "Of course. I thought I had big breasts until Mum discovered St Cat's and sent me here."
     "Yeah, well. You'll probably grow a decent pair, now you're here. But � it's just a thought I've had from time to time � it just might be that other schools aren't anything like St Cat's at all."
     "How d'you mean?"
     "It's hard to explain, really. But you know like when you go home for the holidays, you see other girls...?"
     "Yeah?"
     "Well, most of them have got rilly-rilly small tits, you know? Some have like no tits at all. I mean grown up girls, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen. No tits at all."
     "I've seen those," said Emily. "You see them in Borcester."
     "Right. And they go to school, don't they?"
     "I s'pose so." Emily didn't sound too sure.
     "Well, then. What if you go to a school with girls like that. Girls without tits."
     "Wow, Pansy! I see what you mean! Girls with no tits don't use industrial paper towel. And they wear secondhand panties. Still, I suppose that's what being an exchange pupil is all about. Learning how to live with strange and unusual kinds of girls."
     "When are you leaving, Em?" Suzanne was already poking around in Emily's empty wardrobe.
     "Tomorrow, Miss Meadowlark said. The exchange girl will be arriving in the morning."

St Cat's:
The Office of the Headmistress

"Who said you could tell her?" I stormed. "I make the decisions round here."
     "No you don't, Shan," Cee explained gently. "The Fuckh Machine makes the decisions. And it decided to send Emily on an exchange deal. She's all packed and ready. The taxi arrives in ten minutes."
     "This morning?"
     "Of course. Didn't Labia tell you?"
     I might have known Miss poxing Labia would be behind this conspiracy. "I don't believe this."
     "If you come to my office, you'll see the Fourth Form waiting to wave bye-bye to her."
     We hurried to Cee's office, which seemed to get bigger every time I went into it. Cassiopæia Cassowary was practising ballet steps, holding on to a wooden bar along one wall. She walked off in a tight-sphinctered little circle, her flat feet splayed outwards like a busty duck.
     "What's she wearing under those tights?" I asked Cee when my eyes ceased popping out of their sockets.
     "What? Oh, sorry. I must have been thinking stray thoughts." She reached down the front of Cassiopæia's tights and extracted a cucumber and two oranges in a string bag. "Back to your keyboard, Cassiopæia!" The girl tottered away on her tiptoes, then performed a soaring leap before slowly descending and coming to rest astride her typist's chair, her mammoth breasts rebounding like beachballs full of half-melted yak's butter. It looked painful but Cassiopæia seemed to enjoy it.
     We stood at the window and watched Jones's taxi weaving up the drive. It was too distant to hear anything, but it was nevertheless a poignant scene, the Fourth Formers lining up to hug and kiss Emily goodbye. At any other time, they wouldn't even have given her the time of day. The taxi meandered away between the trees, a pale handkerchief waving at the back window. I assume it was a handkerchief, anyway.
     "I hope she packed enough panties," I said. "Do you think they'll have the usual panty slot machines where she's going?"
     Cee gave me one of her old fashioned looks. "I doubt it, Shan. But she'll be looked after, don't worry. Ah, perfect timing, look!"
     "She's coming back already?"
     "No, Chauntaille. That's not the same taxi. This is the exchange girl arriving. Jones does funerals, you know."
     "What?" Corinne speaks in riddles sometimes. It comes of being a genius.
     "Jones's taxis. He also does funerals. That's why he's so good at timing like that. It wouldn't do for a new bunch of mourners to turn up at the cemetery before the last lot have gone away for their cold ham and pease pudding and pickles and moist chocolate cake, would it?"
     I supposed it wouldn't. "What's she like? Where's she from?"
     "What are you asking me for? I've never met her. There she is, though. Descending from the taxi like Lady Muck. Shannie, I think it's time for you to meet..." Corinne consulted her notes "...Athene Billingsgate, from St Angela's."
     I felt relief flood through me. "St Angela the Unwilling, at Thurston Sprocket, you mean? A decent school. I know the headmistress..."
     "No. She's from St Angela's Upper School for Girls, Smokeston."
     "Oh, God!"

In Mr Jones' Taxi (a Ford Granada 2.3GL)

Emily stretched her legs in the back of the taxi and relaxed. She was stiff and tired after last night's farewell party. It was a new experience for her to be the centre of attention in the Fourth Form dormitory at St Cat's. Usually the other girls ignored her.
     "I wonder if there's any of that cream left in my navel," she wondered out loud.
     "Sorry, Miss?" The driver peered at her in the interior mirror. He was not uneffected by the sight of a decidedly well-endowed teenage girl, even though the taxi drivers who served St Cat's were carefully hand-picked and vetted for suitability. "Did you say something about cream in your navel?"
     Emily blushed prettily, the way she had been taught. A shameful thought came into her mind. Shameful. Some of the girls last night had told stories of their exploits with taxi drivers, possibly even this very same one. He was ancient, at least twenty-three, but quite dishy in a footballerish kind of way. What would it feel like to have his tongue probing her navel in search of whipped cream, rather than Pansy's? Probably just the same, a slightly sickening feeling as if the tongue were licking her insides. Quite arousing, though. Especially when that blob of cream had slid down between her thighs and Gloria Mundy had chased it with her tongue. Emily squirmed in her seat and tried to come quietly. One hand stole up inside her brazenly short skirt. God, her panties were soaked already and this was only her first day! She had five more pairs with her, but if St Angela's didn't have panty machines, how long would they last? She might have to learn how to wash them herself, in the bath...
     "Noice mornin'!" The driver evidently felt like conversation.
     "Oh, yes, absolutely. I mean, yeah." Drivers probably didn't understand unless you spoke their language. "S'awrigh', innit?" Had she gone too far? His reflection looked surprised.
     "You en't from round 'ere, then?"
     "Nah!"
     "Oi can tell! Moy girlfriend used to go to this school you're off to. St Angie's. She got spelled."
     Emily wasn't sure what the man was talking about, and offered a non-committal reply. "Oh, yeah?"
     "Yeah. I s'pose they won't remember 'er now, though. It was a year or two since they frew her out. She was about your age."
     This was confusing. Did the taxi driver mean his girlfriend had been about Emily's age two years ago, or she was about Emily's age now. If that were the case, his girlfriend had been expelled from St Angie's when she was twelve; God alone knew what for.
     "They never caught me, though, I went out the window."
     Emily's eyebrows rose. Sexual indiscretion, then. She hastily revised her theory about the age of the girlfriend. Even so, a fourteen-year-old girl inviting a taxi driver into the dormitory ... it was a disgraceful state of affairs. It could never happen at St Cat's, thank goodness. What was she thinking? She, Emily Holdershaft, was going to this place, this den of iniquity, for two whole months. What would her mother think if she found out? It would be the talk of the American strip club circuit if the daughter of a respected exotic dancer should become involved in sexual goings-on at an English girls' school. The taxi driver was looking expectantly at her in the mirror, clearly awaiting a comment. Say something, Emily!
     "In the dorms at St Angela's. Did they have a panty machine?"

St Cat's:
Outside the Main Entrance

"What's your name?"
     "Billingsgate."
     Blank looks greeted her.
     "That's a fish market," said one girl. "Haven't you got a first name, then?"
     "Athene."
     The St Cat's Fourth Form girls looked at each other. They had never heard the name Afeeny before. There was something odd about this girl's appearance, too. Beneath her smart blazer with its unfamiliar badge, a crisp white shirt, a tie with an enormous knot which took up most of the available material so the business end hung down only about four inches. Beneath the tie, beneath the shirt, beneath the blazer ... something seemed to be missing.
     "What happened to your tits?"
     Athene stared at the young woman who asked the question. Not a young woman, she was wearing the St Cat's school uniform: slightly-heeled shoes, black fishnet stockings just about disappearing beneath a microscopically short skirt, which in turn was only just visible beneath a white shirt of truly epic dimensions. This woman-girl had a gigantic bust, accentuated by a school tie which must have been six feet long, judging by the amount of it hanging down the front of her shirt. Athene tore her eyes away from the girl's chest and studied those of the rest of the group. Theirs were even bigger. One of the girls had a bust so gigantic it hung way past the hem of her skirt, her heavily-laden blouse resting on her lower thighs. It had to be some kind of joke: a special reception committee. She laughed.
     "Nuffin 'appened to me tits. These is what I got given."
     The girls seemed to emit a concerted gasp and fall back a pace or two. At the same time, a distant bell rang somewhere, the horizon broadened, and Athene became aware of other girls moving around. The reception committee was even more organised than she'd thought. Every one of these girls had breasts. Huge ones. Helplessly, she looked around, trying to find somewhere to look that wasn't full of giant young breasts. At a window on the upper floor of the ivy-covered main building, two faces peered out anxiously at her. Teachers. She blushed. Teachers were dangerous. They were the Enemy. Teachers were Bad News.
     "The others had better go to our class," said the spokesgirl. "I've got to look after you. You're excused this morning. New girls have the morning off to get settled in the dorm, to have a look round, see where the machines are, get their new bra. Well, you won't need that, anyway. See ya later, you lot."
     The girls moved away, melting into the stream of colossally-endowed girlhood going up the steps into the main building, which had amazingly wide doors. Many of them cast curious glances at the newcomer and her uncomfortable escort.
     "My name's Gloria." The girl extended a hand which barely reached beyond her breasts. "Gloria Mundy. Come on, I'll show you the dorm."

St Angela's Upper School, Smokeston:
Outside the Main Entrance

The taxi drove off with remarkable speed, as if the driver didn't want to be seen on the premises. Emily stood looking up at the imposing entrance. St Angela's seemed to be made entirely of glass. There wasn't a soul to be seen.
     "You! Girl!"
     "Me? Miss?"
     "Of course. Who else would I be talking to?"
     Emily thought of pointing out that the teacher wasn't talking, she was bellowing at the top of her lungs, but it didn't seem to be a good way of starting her career at St Angela's. Besides, the teacher didn't appear to have any lungs. She certainly had no tits. Her tweed jacket was almost concave.
     "Who are you? Why are you wearing that fancy blazer? What have you got stuffed up your shirt?"
     "That's me, Miss. It's my bust."
     "Don't be ridiculous! What's your name?"
     "Emily, Miss."
     "Not your first name, stupid! Your surname."
     "Holdershaft, Miss."
     "What kind of a stupid name is Holdershaft...? No, wait a minute. Holdershaft? From St Catherine's, right?"
     "That's right, Miss."
     The teacher's expression softened slightly. She might even have smiled, although it could have been a grimace of pain. "Welcome to St Angela's. Come with me." She turned and stalked off into the school without a backward glance. They sped along a corridor and up a flight of stairs. Then another. Then three more. "In here. Dorm. Bed. Wardrobe. Yours for the duration. No boys, understand?"
     "No, Miss. I mean, yes, Miss. I understand. No boys. Isn't this a girls' school, Miss?"
     The teacher's face grew purple as thunder. "You will see me at four o' clock for punishment," she howled. "And take that damned pillow out of your shirt!"

St Cat's:
The Fourth Form Dormitory

"Here you go, Feeny. Fourth Form Dorm. Home sweet home. Panty machine's just inside the door. Bogs across the corridor. Nobody will bother you if you wank over there, but most of us just do it in bed after lights out. Do you need to go now? Piss? Poo? Anything?"
     "No, not yet."
     "Good. That's your bed. Wardrobe. Hope you don't mind if Suzanne and Pansy store those tubs of cream in the bottom. They're only Puff, Love, stuff like that, but Old Meadowlark shits herself if she thinks we're storing SCs in the dorms."
     This was a foreign language. "SCs? You mean St Cat's?"
     Gloria looked bemused. "No, Sexual Chemicals. Meadowlark's Support and Mobility. Mountains is English and History. She's okay. She won't bother you; she prefers them younger. Cuntworthy'll want to see you in her office..."
     "Who?"
     "Miss Gruntworthy. Headmistress. She's a nut-case, but she's a good laugh. Takes us for Sex, and Sexual Chemistry, but she's always cumming in her knickers. She takes them off behind the desk and chucks them in the bin. That makes Mountains mad, 'cos she's in charge of soiled underwear. She's got a load of Juniors who sort it out and it gets sold in Japan."
     "Oh." Athene looked uncomfortable.
     "You haven't done it in your pants, have you?"
     "Me? No!"
     "Sorry. You looked a bit as if you'd pissed yourself, or come. Panties are free, by the way. You get them out of the machine and post your old ones in the right slot of the disposal bins. Some of us go through a dozen pairs a day. Not me, though!"
     Athene wanted to ask Gloria why not her, but there didn't seem to be a way of bringing up the subject.
     Gloria was studying her face intently. "What are you?"
     "I'm a brunette." Not the right answer, obviously. "A girl? English?"
     "No. Are you bi or straight?"
     Athene felt some small relief. "Oh, that. I'm straight."
     "Good! Do you fancy me at all? I'm between girlfriends at the moment. That's why they let me show you round. I'm pretty good. Especially with the whipped cream."
     "No, I said I'm straight. I don't do it with girls."
     "But you said you're straight. Not bi. So you do it with girls, right, not boys."
     "No, I'm straight. I only do it with boys."
     "No shit! Sorry, my mistake! You don't do girls at all?"
     Athene was fast losing her patience. "Of course not! I'm not some kind of dyke."
     "You got a boyfriend, then?"
     "One or two."
     "They'll never get in here. They'd never get past the Seniors dorm. I wouldn't risk it; you'll only lose them. Some of the Junior kids get boys in over the roof and in through the skylight, but Juniors know if they get caught they'll only be put on panty-sniffing, so they get caught nine times out of ten. Jeremy, the caretaker, he's good, but he only does Seniors. Says it's more than his job's worth fucking girls under sixteen. Most of the bi girls get laid down in Borcester at a weekend, or they sneak over to Lord Ted's across the fields. Half of the Ted's boys are queer, though." Gloria pulled a face of disgust. "Imagine boys doing it with each other!"
     Athene was too busy trying not to imagine girls doing it with each other. St Cat's was a hotbed of lesbianism and sleaze. Not at all what she was used to. She took off her blazer and reached into the wardrobe.
     "No, you use a coat hanger," Gloria advised her. "Those hooks are for your bras."
     "I don't wear a bra."
     Gloria recoiled. "You have to. It's school rules. 'All girls will wear an adequate brassiere at all times.' They're free. Your first ones are, anyway. After that, they're added to the bill and your parents pay for them without knowing. What do you think of mine?" Gloria hoisted her immense breasts with both hands, raising them about eighteen inches before letting go. To Athene's amazement, they slowly slid down to their original height, coming to a halt without as much as a jiggle. The nipples slowly erected themselves and took careful aim. "Shit, that always happens. Nothing personal. Not bad, though. Sixty-seven inches. D'you want to see them? I mean, really see them?"
     "No! No!" The first 'no' was intended for Gloria, who had already undone the first three of an apparently infinite number of blouse buttons. The second was directed at herself. Athene couldn't believe it, but she actually found herself wanting Gloria to carry on until she was stark naked.
     "Okay. If you want to change anything else, panties or anything, you can do that before we go and see Clit."
     "What?"
     "Your panties. Do they need changing?" And Gloria scuttled behind Athene, whisked up her skirt and had a quick feel. "Wow, they do!"
     "Eeeek! Get off, you lezzie bitch!"
     Gloria rubbed her fingers together and raised them to her nose with every appearance of satisfaction. "But they're all wet, look. That must have been my tits that did that to you. Get those off while I'll get you another pair. Medium, I suppose?"
     Speechless with indignation and shame, Athene stripped her panties off. Gloria was right on both counts. Yes, they were wet, and yes, it had been the other girl's tits that did it.
     "They're always out of the size you want. Try these."
     Unwillingly, but unable to refuse. Athene tried them on. They were soft and sexy, but too tight around the hips. "These are too small."
     "Good. Try these, then. They'll be all right. Give me that other pair." The girl accepted the too-small panties and stuffed them into her cleavage. "You can keep your own pair, if you like. Unless you want to give them to me...?"
     "But they're mine!"
     "I know. That's why I want them. Go on, Feeny! I won't tell anybody. Wow, thanks!" That pair disappeared quicker than the first.
     Athene had only been at St Cat's for an hour, and already she was as perverted as the rest of them.

St Angie's:
Year Ten Dormitory

"Who are you, girl?"
     The voice came from behind a bed. A little rat-like face peered out at Emily, making her jump.
     "Fucking hell, en't you got fuckin' yuge tits?"
     "Hello." Emily decided to reply to the first question and to blush prettily at the second. "I'm Emily."
     "Emily what?"
     "Holdershaft. From St Cat's."
     "Holdershaft?" The girl stood up. She seemed to be not much taller than the bed, and was dressed only in a slightly grubby bra and pants. "Holdershaft?" She sniggered impolitely. "I was, when you come in wiv old Gildo."
     "I beg your pardon?"
     "Come on out, Danny." The diminutive girl bent and produced a semi-naked boy from beneath the bed. He was lacking trousers and was covered in dust. "Say hello to Miss Holdershaft, Danny." She giggled again as if the name was really amusing.
     "Is she a teacher?" Danny asked. His face was blank and unintelligent, but his face wasn't where Emily was looking.
     "D'you want 'im?" the girl asked. "'E seems to want you!"
     The boy's member had risen up, pushing his shirt out of the way. It was an impressive sight. Emily had never seen a real one before. Not in the flesh, so to speak. It looked dauntingly big.
     "I'd better not," she said.
     "'E's clean," said the girl indignantly, brushing some dust off the boy, and removing a ball of fluff from his still ascending dong with a delicately moistened finger.
     "It's my first morning, I'd better not. I'm already in trouble with that teacher."
     "You don't want to worry about her. 'Ave you really got a pillow up your shirt?"
     "No, this is all me."
     "How old are yer?"
     "Fourteen."
     "Bloody 'ell! Same as me." The girl emerged from behind the bed. She wasn't bad looking, Emily saw, apart from her pinched face. Her legs were shapely, her little bottom nicely rounded, and her small bra was well-filled. It was perhaps a size too small. "Let's see them, then!" the girl said.
     "See what?"
     "Your tits. Danny wants to see, don'cher, Dan?"
     "I s'pose so," Danny supposed. His prick had already made up its mind.
     Emily tried not to stare too hard. Had this petite girl actually been doing it with this boy? How could she...? "What if somebody comes in?"
     "It's a dorm, innit? You're allowed to strip off in the dorm."
     "Yes. Yeah. But there's a boy in here."
     "Don't worry 'bout him. He'll disappear if anyone comes. Get them out, then!"
     Emily saw no option. She loosened her tie, plucked all the buttons of her shirt loose, then quickly slipped the blouse off to stand there in her ScatBra and skirt.
     "Fuckin' arseholes! Look at her bra, Dan!"
     Dan was.
     "Look at her tits!"
     Emily was gratified by the girl's response. In a year at St Cat's, she had become used to being eight inches smaller than average. She slid down her shoulder straps and ripped the velcro fastenings apart. The bra dropped to the bed with a thud of Size Seven counterweights. The bed shook. So did Emily's released breasts, resting massively below her navel, her nipples expanding in the cool dormitory air.
     "Fuck me!" said the girl.
     This was not an invitation to Danny, who anyway was obviously no longer interested in his former partner.
     "Stick it between her fucking great tits, Dan," the girl urged.
     Danny needed no second bidding. Emily could only stand helplessly as the boy sprang lightly on to the bed and inserted his rock-hard probe between her breasts. Well, not entirely helplessly. With a low moan, she squeezed her tits together from the sides, giving Danny what must have been the unique experience of having his substantial manhood completely swallowed up by soft breast-flesh. He grimaced and withdrew, leaving Emily feeling aroused but somewhat unfulfilled. It felt just the same as the cucumber she'd used in Sex Practical classes. Except that the cucumber didn't squirt juice into her cleavage.
     "Use your towel," the girl advised.
     "Isn't there any industrial paper towel...?"
     "Use your towel. There. Now let Danny borrow it. Then he's got to go. He's late for work, ain'cher, Dan?"
     "Yeah."
     "Gissa kiss then, babe. See ya later, okay."
     The boy loped to a window, slid it open, glanced around quickly, then he was gone.
     Emily stared after him, until she was brought to her senses by the girl offering her a small hand to shake. "You can get dressed again now, thanks. I'm Carol Luckett. Not Fuck-it, Luckett. We're in the same class. Whaddya fink of my big brother, then?"

St Cat's:
The Quadrangle

"Where are we going now?" Athene was panting, just trying to keep up with the dynamic girl. How could she move so fast with all that tit on her chest. How could she move at all? And how about the other girls, even bigger up front?"
     "Clit's," said Gloria. "You've still gotta see her, even if you don't need a bra." They scampered down some stairs and out into the sunlight, in a broad open space with a round pond in the middle, with a fountain playing. Two girls plodded slowly across this area, pushing wheelbarrows which they steered expertly between the occasional slender trees.
     "Those girls...!"
     "Barrows, yeah. Miss Clitress hates barrows. She says they're a direct challenge to her skills as a bra maker."
     "But they were full of ... of..."
     "That's right. Those two were Seniors. Anastasia Dawkes uses her barrow to get backwards and forwards between here and Lord Ted's. She's in the Fourths, but she's our only barrow-girl. There are a couple of Middle girls who use them, and one or two Juniors. And there's Jenufa, of course."
     "Who's Jennifer?"
     "Jenufa. One of Nurse's girls. You should see the tits on that kid. Only nobody ever has, as far as I know."
     "You've got a girl here who nobody's ever seen?"
     Gloria stopped hurrying across the quadrangle, and Athene almost cannoned into her.
     "Of course. Why not?" She looked up at the clock tower. "Quick, we've got to get inside. In here!" She hammered on the door of a nondescript building on the opposite side of the square to the one they had come from.
     "Fuck off!" screamed a banshee voice from inside.
     "Oh, good. She's in. Please, Miss Clit, let us in."
     "Who is it?" The door opened an inch. "Gloria? Have you grown again?"
     "No. I've got a new girl."
     "A new girl?" The door opened fully and the girls hurried inside. "A new girl? What's your n...?"
     The spare-looking woman was dressed all in black, a black hairband, a black T-shirt, and black stretch pants with a well-handled baggy crotch. Her mouth hung open.
     "This is Feeny," said Gloria. "She's here for this term from St Angela's."
     "She's got no..."
     "That's right, Miss Clit."
     "She isn't wearing a..."
     "No, Miss Clit. But she still has to wear one, doesn't she? School rules."
     Clit dragged Gloria away to one side of the room. They engaged in a fiercely whispered conversation for several minutes before they came back.
     The woman in black addressed Athene sternly. "Nobody's seen you yet, that's right?"
     "Only you and Gloria. And a few girls from our class."
     "I'll fix those," said Gloria.
     "I don't like it," said Clit. "It's dangerous, very dangerous." She took a deep breath. "But I suppose it's the only way. Okay, Feeny, whatever your name is. Come over here."

St Angie's:
Year Ten Classroom

Carol leapt on top of a desk and addressed the class. "This 'ere's Em'ly Holdershaft. She's from St Cat's; we've got her in exchange for Feeny, 'til the end of term."
     "Hello," said Emily.
     The class gathered round.
     "Fuckin' 'ell, look at them."
     "Where'ja get them fings?"
     "She's huge!"
     "She's bigger than Pottinger."
     "Fuck me, nobody's allowed to be bigger than Pottinger."
     "She is."
     "What are we gonna do?"
     "Fuck knows."
     "She's a virgin," said Carol.
     "Fuckin' typical! We lose a goer like Feeny and they send us a fuckin' virgin."
     "Yeah, but look at 'er tits, Jan!"
     The girl called Jan looked at them. She seemed to be the acknowledged leader, the boss of the posse. She was a tall, handsome black girl. "'Ow d'we know they're for real?" she asked.
     "They're real, all right," Carol said. "I seen 'em. Me an' Danny."
     "Shit, man! You was fuckin' your bruvver, an' you...?" Jan stopped suddenly and her face broke up into a series of coded nods, winks and twitches.
     "I weren't fuckin' 'im," said Carol. "Just givin' 'im a ... you-know-what." It was Carol's turn to start twitching and winking.
     "Right, you just make sure you keep it that way. You know what..." Blink, twitch, grimace, wink...
     "That's okay. Anyway, Danny wanked off between 'er tits, didn'e?"
     "Between her tits? Danny?"
     "We learn it in Sex," Emily explained. "Don't you? It's called tit-fucking."
     "He done it right between 'em," gloated Carol."She just shoved her tits togevver and Danny's dick just disappeared. I bet nobody ever done that to 'im before. They're fucking huge, all right. They're right down 'ere without a bra."
     "Well..." Jan seemed to be pacified. "We'll talk again later. Look out! Sit down."
     It took Emily a few seconds to find her desk, by which time the rest of the class had already sat down. She scrambled into her seat, scraping back her chair because there wasn't room for her bust in the confined space, only to find that the rest of the class had now stood up and were reciting 'Good Morning, Miss Guildenstern' in a curious sing-song. Emily stood up, having to cling to the desktop and lean back, her breasts squashed against her tummy, her calves trembling.
     "Sit down, girl! What's your name?"
     Oh, no! Not her again!
     "Emily, Miss."
     "Not that name, stupid!"
     "Holdershaft, Miss."
     "Spell it."
     "Erm. H-O-L-D-E-R-S-H-A-F-T, Miss. Holdershaft."
     The class was having hysterics.
     "Very funny, Holdershaft. Sit down. Stand up!"
     Emily complied, taking about half a minute to complete the operation.
     "What have you got stuffed up your shirt?"
     "Them's her tits, Miss!"
     "She's a big girl, Miss."
     "I didn't ask you lot. I asked Holdershaft. Well, Holdershaft? You may answer. You're not pregnant, are you?"
     "It's my bust, Miss. I'm fifty-seven inches."
     Emily thought the teacher was going to burst. Instead she spun away to the blackboard and wrote YEAR TEN: HISTORY � THE ROMAN ROADS on it, sloping down to the right. The girls surrounding Emily all grinned at her and gave her thumbs-up signs. Carol even gave her a high five, freezing into an attitude of virtue and adjusting her hair just before Miss Guildenstern turned round.
     "Let's see what you know, Holdershaft. What can you tell us all about Roman roads?"
     The half-remembered words of Miss Mountains chased though her echoing brain. Centurions. Legionnaires. Watling Street. Amo amas amat. Amamus amatis a ... all roads lead to ... ah!
     "They all led to Rome, Miss."
     The class rolled around, giggling. The teacher looked startled. "What? All of them?"
     "Yes, Miss," said Emily, sure of herself at last. "Straight to Rome. They were all straight."
     "Apart from the bent ones," Carol hissed.
     "That was the Greeks," muttered Jan.
     "Quiet! Since you obviously know nothing at all, Holdershaft, you will write an essay tonight and present it to me in the morning."
     "Yes, Miss. What about, Miss?"
     "Sssshhh!" said Jan.
     "It don't matter," Carol muttered.
     "We'll tell you later, okay," hissed Jan. "Just agree wiv 'er."
     "Yes, Miss."
     "Right, Holdershaft! And don't you forget it."

St Cat's:
The Bra Facility

"They feel funny. Like wobbly."
     "Of course they do, they're full of water," said Clit. "You've got to adjust your JD's. Gloria will show you how. Now, you've got plenty of spare balloons? Enough to last you until this terrible Grow stuff starts working? Until then � schtumm."
     They staggered out into the quadrangle. Gloria automatically looked up at the clock. "Quick. Indoors!"
     "Why?" Athene found herself inside.
     "The clock. We mustn't be in the quad when the clock strikes."
     "School rule?"
     Gloria stared. "Of course not, you idiot. Come up to the dorm. You're going to bed for the rest of the day."
     Athene's hair stood on end. "Bed? Now, listen here. I've told you, I'm not that kind of girl..."
     "On your own. You've got to be kept out of the way until tomorrow morning. Clit will have your latex tits ready, you can glue them on, then you can come out. We'll work out what we do after that."
     "Whaddya mean?"
     "You've got no tits, right? You've got to have tits to be at St Cat's. But don't worry. I'll look after you."
     They had arrived in the dorm.
     "Right. Undressed, and into bed. I'll get in there with you if you li..."
     "No!"
     "Okay, okay. That bra doesn't look too bad with balloons in it. You'll be pretty tasty when you've grown some tits of your own. What are you waiting for?"
     "I'm not getting undressed until you've gone."
     "All right, I'm going." Gloria leaned across and kissed Athene lightly on the mouth. It was a wet one and there was more than a hint of tongue involved. She allowed her fingers to rest for a while on the side of Athene's neck. "Later, right? There's some mags you can read on the table through there. I'll bring you a sandwich at lunchtime. And we'll all be back at five."

St Angie's:
The School Canteen

"You just ignore her," said Jan. "She never remembers nuffin she tells us."
     "But she wants to see me at four o'clock. She'll remember then, for sure."
     "Don't go." Carol sniffed dismissively. "Even with tits like yours, she won't remember if she's seen you before or not."
     They straggled along the path to the school canteen.
     "The food's crap, but it's all there is," Carol said.
     "Is it? Isn't there a tuck shop here?"
     "A what?"
     "We've got one at St Cat's. You can get crisps and chocolate and stuff. And tampax and condoms and shoelaces."
     "What's the use of shoelaces to you?" Jan sniggered.
     "For our shoes. Why?"
     "C'mon. In 'ere. It 'elps if you 'old your breath."
     It wasn't the St Cat's restaurant, but it wasn't bad as school meals went. Emily polished her plate with a slice of bread.
     "Bloody 'ell. She ate the lot!"
     "That's where she gets her tits from. 'Er Mum told 'er to eat all her school dinners."
     "Wow! That was excellent!" Emily looked brightly round at the others, who were shuddering. "What lessons have we got this afternoon?"
     "Chemistry. It sucks."
     "We do Chemistry at St Cat's. We make all kinds of stuff."
     "You make things in Chemistry? They let you make things?"
     "Of course. We make Puff, and Love, and something called Lube and Steam." Emily had never had a hand in the production of anything even remotely successful, and the Lube and Steam episode was now nothing more than a distant St Cat's folk memory. But it was nice to fantasise now and again. The girls hung on her every word.
     "You make this stuff yourselves?"
     "Yes." Out of sight beneath the table, Emily crossed her fingers. In Sexual Chemistry lessons at St Cat's, the other girls in her group hadn't even let her write down the notes. Her task was to wash out the apparatus � under strict supervision.
     "What do they do?"
     "It's Sexual Chemistry. Of course, Lube and Steam is a bit complicated, but Love makes you kind of ... well ... horny."
     "We don't need chemistry for that," the girls guffawed lewdly and punched each other.
     "What's that other stuff? Puff?" said Carol.
     "It used to be called Grow Cream Super XL Magnum Mega-Mammoth Mammavast Double-Strength Ultra Plus, but it's not really called that any more."
     "Grow Cream?" Carol sniggered. "You put it on boys' cocks, right!"
     Emily frowned, puzzled, and pointed to the girl's chest. "No, you rub it on here. It makes your nipples grow. Those brown bits around your nipples, actually. Your moons."
     "What for?"
     "Just because. Why not? Girls like having bigger tits, don't they?"
     "Do they?"
     These were strange girls, all right. They seemed oblivious to tits somehow. Oblivious to their own tits, anyway. They noticed hers. Carol's were nicely rounded beneath her shirt but no bigger than oranges. Jan, despite her imposing stature, had nothing to speak of at all in her bra. One or two of the others had substantial busts, but they weren't being treated with the peer respect that big breasts ought to bring them.
     Carol glanced at her watch and got up from the table. "Let's get out of this stinking place. We've just got time to show her to Pottinger."
     "You sure, Caz?" Jan seemed strangely uneasy. She began one of those strange dialogues of nods and winks and facial tics.
     "What's going on? Who's Pottinger?" Emily demanded.
     Carol explained. "Virginia Pottinger's got the biggest tits in the school. She's nearly sixteen, but she's always had the biggest. Even when we first came here, she was only about thirteen, and she had the biggest tits then."
     "How big is she?" Emily asked.
     "Dunno about her size or nuffin. But not as big as you, no way." She opened a door and led the posse outside.
     "Where are we going?"
     "They always 'ang out in the spinney on the sports field. Pottinger and her bunch of lezzie cronies. They think the sun shines out of her arse. C'mon."

St Cat's:
The Fourth Form Dormitory

"What's all this stuff in this mug?" Athene slopped the unpleasant mixture around uncertainly.
     Gloria grinned encouragingly at her. "It's stew. It's quite nice. Lamb and stuff. Vegetables and potatoes."
     "In a mug?"
     "They won't let us take knives and forks out, for some reason. You can just sort of drink it, like lumpy soup."
     Athene poked it reluctantly with a finger. "What's this yellow stuff in there?"
     "That's custard. I'd only got the one mug, so I put your jam roly-poly pudding and custard in the bottom and the lamb stew on top. It all goes down the same way in the end."
     "I don't think I'm all that 'ungry."
     "I'll have it, then," said Gloria. She took the mug.
     "No, leave it there. I might get hungry later. Where are the rest of them?" She waved at the empty dormitory.
     "You'll see them all again tonight. They all know about your balloon tits, but they won't tell anybody. Suze and Pan are bringing some special cream."
     "Whipped cream?" said Athene nervously.
     Gloria looked pleasantly surprised. "We've got six boxes of that in here already if you're feeling horny. No, this is special cream to rub in. Suzanne says it's going to be very fast-acting. She's taken out all the slower-downer and put double the speeder-upper in it. A slight risk, she says, but not if you use enough on both sides."
     "Both sides of what?"
     "Your chest, of course. This is Grow Cream Super XL Magnum Mega-Mammoth Mammavast Double-Strength Ultra Plus � Advanced Formula, although they probably don't call it that any more. Just a little dob on each nipple is all you need. Suzanne's made a gallon."
     "Wait a minute..."
     "I'd better go. We've got Sex Practical this afternoon. It's Titty Fucking, so you're better off out of it for now. You're sure you want that mug of lunch?"

St Angie's:
The School Playing Field

They set off across the school playing field, heading straight for the spinney in the corner.
     Emily was puffing, trying to keep up with the others. Jan took long strides, causing little Carol and the others to hurry to stay with her. They trotted along happily without complaint but trotting wasn't part of Emily's repertoire. "Why are we going over here?"
     "'Cos that's where they hang out. They come over here for a smoke. Look, that little kid's Pottinger's sister. She's a lookout."
     "They make her be the lookout all the time. They give her a fag. She'll do anything for a Silk Cut."
     "There she goes; she's spotted us."
     The little girl scuttled out of sight, and two or three anxious faces peered out between the trees. There was a pause as the hidden smokers watched the little group approach, then the lookout suddenly strolled out into the sunshine, waving away a small cloud of smoke and coughing. She wasn't such a little girl, Emily observed, despite being recognisably a Junior. She would have been eligible for St Cat's. Not Form Head material, but decidedly stacked.
     "Hello," she piped as the group approached the spinney and stopped uncertainly. "There's nobody here but me." She had a curiously fruity little voice, at odds with the coarse whine of Emily's classmates.
     "Where's your sister?" said Jan, pushing to the front and standing squarely in front of Emily.
     "We know she's over 'ere," said Carol, advancing on the busty little girl and planting herself with hands aggressively on hips.
     "Who wants her?"
     "Tell 'er we've brought someone to see 'er."
     "Who is it? I'm supposed to tell Virginia who it is."
     "It's okay, Wanda," drawled an oddly cultured voice. Peering round Jan, Emily regarded the newcomer, who had strolled brazenly out of the little clump of trees. She was openly puffing on a cigarette. Whatever effects it might be having on her health, it certainly hadn't stunted her growth. She was taller than her colleagues who straggled behind her. She would have been graceful if it hadn't been for her bust, which gave her a dangerously top-heavy appearance. "Hello, Janet," Virginia oiled. "Come for some advice on bust-improvement exercises?" Virginia's friends giggled.
     "We've brought you a visitor," said Jan harshly.
     "Someone you really ought to meet," Carol added.
     Wanda, Virginia's little sister, had ambled around the side of the little group, who had clustered closer around Emily until she was almost having difficulty in breathing. "They're hiding somebody," the diminutive spy reported, her fat tits wobbling indignantly beneath her blouse. She tried to force her way through, but Emily's friends closed ranks.
     "What are you hiding her for?" sneered Virginia haughtily. "Or is it a him?" This time there was open laughter from her supporters, suggesting that theirs was a little group which had no need of boys. "Let her out before she suffocates. It can't be very pleasant in there."
     She was right, Emily thought. It wasn't. Standing only four feet nine in her slightly-heeled shoes, Emily's nose was not far above her classmates' armpit level. It had been a warm morning in the all-glass school buildings.
     "Let me out," she said. "I'll be okay."
     Jan and Carol wanted to build up the tension a bit more, but Emily was pushing from behind them. With a determined shove, she caught her protectors off balance and lurched out into the fresh air.
     The effect, as they say, was devastating. Gasps of horror and shock came from the older girl's supporters.
     Virginia, surprisingly, recovered first. She took a last deep drag on her cigarette, then tossed it on the grass and ground it under her heel. "Well, now! So, who's this? Where have you been hiding this little beauty, then?" She strolled arrogantly forward, ignoring Jan and Carol magnificently. Reaching out a manicured hand, she grasped Emily by the shoulder and turned her slowly round. Low moans reached them from the other girls watching from beneath the trees. "What's your name, little girl?"
     "H-Holdershaft."
     Virginia giggled delightedly. "Not that name, silly! What name do you use in bed?"
     Emily gulped and swallowed. "Emily, Miss!"
     Emily's supporters fell back, wailing piteously, while Virginia's girls recovered their spirits. They jostled each other with delight.
     "You don't have to call me Miss, Emily. I'm Virginia to my friends. And we're going to be friends, aren't we, Emily?"
     "I-if you say so, Virginia!"
     "Oh, I do, I do. You know, I've never met a girl with bigger breasts than mine. My little sister Wanda will have, one day, but she's only eleven at the moment. But you ... so young and pure, with such a big pair. And only in Year Ten, too! What are you, fourteen?"
     "Y-yes."
     "Fourteen! And how big are those, Emily?"
     "Erm ... fifty-seven inches."
     "Wow! Fifty-seven! You hear that, gang? Little Emily's got a pair of fifty-sevens. What's that in cup sizes, Emily?"
     "I don't know. All our bras are made specially..."
     "All our bras? You mean you've got sisters? Older than you? Younger? With bigger breasts?" Virginia hurried to wipe traces of saliva from her chin before her rising lust could embarrass her.
     "No, I haven't got any sisters. I'm an exchange student from St Cat's."
     "St Cat's? Well!" she called over her shoulder again. "Listen to the young lady, girls. She's from St Cat's. That explains a lot. An ... awful ... lot." Virginia punctuated her last three words by hoisting the nearer of Emily's breasts from beneath with one hand. "You sure you don't know your bra size, Emily?"
     "About a Y-cup, I think. But we don't use ordinary numbers and letters."
     "I'm sure you don't," Virginia purred. She shook her head in disbelief. Her features were those of a classical goddess. She was so beautiful she scared Emily out of her wits. "Thank your friends for introducing us," she murmured softly. "If you're here on exchange, we'll have lots of time to get to know each other better. Much better!" She turned and snapped her fingers, and a painfully pretty girl stepped forward with a pack of cigarettes. "This is one of my filthier habits," Virginia confided to Emily. "Maybe you're just the one to help me give it up."
     The school bell sounded across the field.
     "Go on, then, Year Ten," Virginia laughed, as Emily's classmates began edging away and looking twitchy. "Back to school!"
     And as Emily rejoined her dejected colleagues, helped on her way by a more-than-just-friendly little caress on the bottom from Virginia, the retreat began. Virginia's cronies followed at a distance, taking their time.
     "Well, that seemed to go pretty well," said Emily, as they rounded the gym and headed for the chemistry laboratory.
     Carol gasped. "Are you serious?"
     "The bitch walked all over us," wailed Jan. "She does that every time."
     Emily didn't understand. "I thought she was okay. She's rilly-rilly sweet." They streamed into the lab and sat down glumly at the benches.
     "What were you two whispering about?" Carol mumbled dejectedly.
     "Nothing much. Just girl stuff; bra sizes, things like that. Oh, yeah! And she's trying to give up smoking. She wants me to help her."
     It was the final nail in Year Ten's coffin. They had launched their secret weapon, and had been completely outflanked by the enemy.

St Cat's:
The Fourth Form Dormitory

Athene was bored. What was she doing, allowing herself to be confined to bed on a lovely afternoon? She got up, the water in her balloons slopping around in her bra cups, and wandered over to the end of the dorm. There was a fire door there, clearly marked:

"Just testing," she said to herself, banged the iron bar and swung the door open. Deliciously fresh air streamed in, blowing away the mingled odours of girls' juices. Down below, in the quadrangle, girls were hurrying to their classes. Although no wheelbarrows were in evidence, the St Cat's girls were almost without exception staggeringly developed.
     Athene cupped her water-boobs with both hands. They were big, but nowhere near the size of some of those giggling girls going about their business down there. What would it be like to be as big as that? That one, for instance. Or her. Or, God forbid, that one over there! She recognised Gloria among a group of girls, with the other two, Suzanne and Pansy, trailing along behind. Suzanne was carrying a heavy plastic tub in one hand. She had immense tits, but Pansy's were far, far bigger...
     The last of the girls disappeared from view, and Athene made her way back into the dorm, her eyes unaccustomed to the relative gloom. There was a table here, piled high with books and magazines. One pile was of dog-eared girl mags, their lurid covers offering advice on What To Do When You're Overdue, or How To Dump Him Gently. Next to them, two much taller piles of magazines, with Women's titles placed innocently on top. Athene noticed this when she idly picked up the top magazine and discovered that the rest of the stack was made up of what she had always thought of as men's mags. There were dozens of them, with busty bikini-clad girls pouting from brightly coloured covers. Inside, not a bikini in sight, just acres of tit, with occasional glimpses of other parts, both shaven and hairy.
     "Jeez!" she said aloud, about to rebuild the stack of magazines. Then one particularly well-endowed model grabbed her attention. Her breasts hung to just below her navel. Even so, they were clearly far smaller than most of the girls' breasts at this school. "They'd be big enough for me," she mused, turning a page. There, crudely scrawled across one of the pictures, were the words 'Emily Holdershaft'. What could it mean? Obviously one girl had the hots for this Emily Holdershaft, whoever she was, and had scribbled her beloved's name in a marker pen across the picture of a model who resembled her.
     The rest of the pages of the magazine were stuck together in a solid block.
     "Wow! Somebody's got it bad," she thought. What would it be like, doing it with a girl? She thought of Gloria, and found herself skimming through the pages of the magazines, faster and faster. None of the models even approached Gloria's size. And as for Suzanne. Or Pansy...!
     With a furtive glance round the empty dorm, Athene took a fistful of mags at random and hurried back to her bed.

St Angie's:
The Laboratory

St Cat's:
The Fourth Form Dormitory

Athene stuffed the magazines out of sight. Just in time. Gloria came bouncing in, strode down the length of the dorm, closed the fire door, wobbled back past the table, tidying the piles of magazines on the way, then perched her cute bottom on Athene's bed. She rested a hand on the covers and stroked Athene's thigh with uncanny accuracy.
     "Hello, you!"
     "Hi."
     "How was your day?"
     "Pretty quiet."
     "Prepare for a busy evening. The cream's all mixed and ready to go."
     "Look, I don't know if..."
     "It'll be okay. We've done this hundreds of times. Dozens, anyway. Growing girls is dead reliable. Not like Shrink, that's a real no-no. We'll have you filling a ScatBra in no time."
     "But you said yourself this is new powerful Puff, or Grow, or whatever it's called. How have you tested it?"
     "It doesn't need testing. You don't test shampoo every time you buy a new bottle, do you? And what's it say on the bottle? That's right. Amazing NEW Formula! Same with this stuff. We could try it out on one of the cats, but they won't come near the lab any more. What ya been doing? Reading?" Gloria glanced slyly at the magazine table.
     "Oh, just one or two."
     "I like those tit mags. All those models and none of them are anywhere near as big as St Cat's girls. Did you find the stories?"
     "Stories?"
     "The IT girls download them and print them out. Wow! If you want a good wank, read some of them. You'll know which ones are best, they've got mucky handprints all over them. I'll find you a hot one if you like." Gloria gazed longingly at the bed. "I could come in there and read it to you."
     "No!" Athene tugged the sheet right up to her chin and drew up her knees in a defensive posture. Too late, she realised that the sheet had pulled free from the foot of the bed. A blast of chilly air blew in and attacked her still-moist bottom.
     Gloria scuttled round to the foot of the bed and peered beneath the sheet. She emerged, flushed with excitement. "Wow! I can see right up there!" Athene straightened her legs again, keeping her knees together as her mother had tried to teach her. The dormitory door banged open.
     "What are you up to, you horny little bitch? Raping the new girl?" It was Pansy.
     "I'm telling Emily as soon as she gets back," said Suzanne, plonking a familiar looking white plastic tub on her bed, setting the springs bouncing. "This is good stuff," she gloated. "It's gonna blow your nips off!"
     "I'm not sure..."
     "She's got cold feet," said Gloria.
     "Get into bed and warm her up, then," suggested Pansy. "You know you want to. You haven't stopped talking about her all afternoon."
     "I haven't!" Gloria blushed exceptionally prettily.
     Athene had to look away before she started getting wet again. Too late, she already was.
     "You haven't eaten your lunch," Gloria babbled at her, trying to change the subject.
     "No, I ... I fell asleep."
     "We brought you something, anyway."
     "What is it?" She was starving.
     "Sausage and mash. No beans." Gloria dived into her bag and produced a pint mug with a pair of panties secured across the top with a rubber band. "That's all I could find to stop it spilling out," she explained.
     "It's still hot," said Athene bravely, plucking the damp undergarment from the mug and fishing a curly pubic hair out of the mashed potato. "And it smells very nice."
     "It must've turned upside down in my bag. At least, the panties kept it in. They were nearly clean." She took them away and dumped them in the disposal bin.
     Pansy laughed. "That will get the panty sorters guessing. Did you get all of Gloria's pubic hairs out of the potato, Feeny?"
     "Most of them." Gloria's panties didn't seem to have affected the taste too much at all, and the occasional curly hair was not enough to spoil the meal for a ravenous girl.
     "You could have brought her a fork, Glor."
     "Fingers were invented before forks. Feeny's doing all right. Aren't you, Feen? Gimme a bite of your sausage. That one there."
     Gloria held her mouth open and her eyes closed as Athene slid the sausage between the full lips. She let go as it threatened to disappear entirely.
     "Mnffflf," said Gloria, leaning forward with the sausage protruding lewdly.
     "She wants to share it with you, the horny cow," said Suzanne.
     "Mnffflf!"
     "You'd better. We won't get a minute's peace."
     Athene took the end of the sausage and tried to bite it off, but Gloria's mouth instantly closed on hers. The sausage became an innocent bystander as their lips mashed together. Gloria's hand came round the back of Athene's neck, gently, but insistently.
     "Wheee!"
     "Go for it, Glor!"
     "Yeah, give it to her, Feeny-girl!"
     They separated, panting, after about three minutes. Athene was flushed and her water balloons were heaving.
     "I've got to change into something more comfortable," Gloria muttered, as she fled to her bed and began rummaging deep in her wardrobe.
     "Wow! What did you do to her?" said Pansy admiringly. "You've made Gloria go all red!"
     "I didn't do anything. She was kissing me. With her tongue and everything."
     "Gloria's okay," said Pansy. "And she's incredible in bed. I've slept with her tons of times."
     "Oh-oh, no! Not me. I'm not a lezzie."
     "Feeny! Nor am I. But that doesn't mean I don't enjoy making love to other girls. I've had three babies, you know!"
     "You've ... babies?"
     "Yeah. My cousin's a virgin, but she wants to get married one day. I was unlucky the first time, and the two times after that. That's the best thing about doing it with other girls, it's safe sex."
     Athene sat and thought about that. A number of her friends at St Angela's had become pregnant, and most of the others lived in a state of constant tension and calendar-watching. She'd been late herself a few times. Over the other side of the room, Gloria was sitting on her bed wearing only a giant T-shirt, her face buried in a History textbook.
     Pansy noticed Athene's look. "Talk to her later. She really has been talking about you all afternoon. She gets it bad. Okay?"
     Athene swallowed. "Okay."
     "Good. Where's Suzanne with that cream."

St Angie's:
Year Ten Dormitory

"What's the use of a bunsen burner in a dormitory?" Jan demanded. "You need gas for a bunsen burner."
     "We've got to heat the ingredients with something," said Emily. She was staring with total incomprehension at a number of jars and packets liberated from the lab store room by the girls of Year Ten. She tipped the contents of several into the bucket and stirred the inert mess hopelessly with a wooden spoon. It did nothing. "We've got to heat it up somehow."
     "I'll borrow a blowtorch from the caretaker," sighed Jan. "Although why it always has to be me, I don't know."
     "He won't lend you a blowtorch. Not to take away."
     "He will," said Jan with certainty. "It will take me twenty minutes, though." The door slammed behind her.
     "Is it far?"
     "No, only just downstairs. Right inside the door."
     "Then why is it going to take her so long...?" Emily looked at Carol's face. "Oh, no! She isn't going to..."
     "That's the only way to get anything round here. Jan's good at it, though. The caretaker's ancient, but she still finishes him off in twenty minutes, every time."
     "It's horrible."
     "Don't knock it 'til you've tried it, kiddo! He's not a bad fuck, really. The trouble is, when you've had him, he falls in love and starts following you round all day like a dog. Until somebody else fucks him, that is. Right, what else goes in this bucket?"

St Cat's:
The Fourth Form Dormitory

"You've got to take it off. How else can we rub it into your breasts?"
     "Why does it have to be rubbed just there? I haven't got any tits anyway. You could rub it anywhere."
     A conference broke out, with the dormitory divided more or less evenly in three groups: those who thought it wouldn't matter where the cream was rubbed, as she would grow tits anyway; those who thought it wouldn't matter where the cream was rubbed, because the stuff wouldn't work; and those who thought it wouldn't matter where the cream was rubbed, as long as Feeny didn't object to having tits on her belly.
     "It has to be the nipples," Suzanne insisted. "It goes in through the nipples."
     "There aren't any holes in my nipples," Athene pointed out. "My insides would leak out if there were."
     "Your insides don't leak out of your other holes," said Suzanne. "Now stop pissing about and take that bra off."
     "I don't want you rubbing my chest."
     This, the Fourth Formers decided, was progress indeed.
     "I've got to rub it in. I can feel how much it needs."
     "You've got to rub it in 'cos you're a lezzie pervert," Athene retorted with spirit.
     "You were the one who wanted tits," Suzanne stormed.
     "I didn't. What do I want tits for? Especially fucking great things like yours."
     The poor girl was obviously delirious.
     Pansy spoke softly. "If Suze doesn't rub it on you, who can, Feeny?"
     Athene hung her head.
     Gloria was looking up out of the corners of her big eyes, peering over the History book. Pansy nodded to her, and she leapt up like an eager puppy and came squirming over to Athene's bed, her nipples like wine corks.
     "Will it be all right if Gloria rubs your chest, Feeny?"
     Athene nodded. Her heart was pounding against her ribs, vibrating her water balloons.
     "I'll give it a last stir," said Suzanne, prising off the lid and plunging a wooden spoon into the tub. She churned it round and round, watching as Gloria persuaded Athene to sit up and take her bra off. The St Angela's girl had nipples like a boy's, and no breasts at all. If ever there was a stern test for Grow Cream Super XL Magnum Mega-Mammoth Mammavast Double-Strength Ultra Plus � Advanced Formula, this was it, even if they weren't calling it that any more.
     She pulled out the spoon and held it aloft like an Olympic torch. Seconds later, the spoon realised what it was that Olympic torches did best and burst into flames.
     "Eeeek!" Athene scrambled off the bed. "It's fucking on fire!"
     "It's okay," said Gloria, holding her down. "It always does that. That shows it's working properly."
     "My tits will catch fire."
     "Of course they won't. Tits have never caught fire before."
     "But you said this is extra strong."
     "Your tits won't catch fire," Suzanne assured her. "At least, they shouldn't. If they do, we'll squirt the fire extinguisher on them."
     "If the extinguisher works," Pansy reminded her. "Remember last time?"
     "They won't catch fire. Trust me, okay?"
     Something about Suzanne's voice inspired confidence. Athene climbed back on the bed and lay on her back with her eyes closed. Gloria knelt astride her narrow belly and peeled off her T-shirt. A chorus of catcalls arose. Gloria really did have stunning breasts. The only problem was that they were very much in the way. They covered Athene's entire chest and most of her face as well.
     "Sit the other way round," Suzanne suggested helpfully.
     "What, like this? Now I can't see her chest. It's behind me."
     "Move up, then."
     "Like this?"
     "If you like. You're sitting on her face, though."
     "Oooh!" Gloria dismounted hurriedly and someone handed Athene a fistful of industrial paper towel.
     "How can we do it? I never thought my tits would be too big before."
     Suzanne's expression cleared. "I've got this great idea, guys. It might just work."

St Angie's:
Year Ten Dormitory

"So whose brilliant idea was that?"
     Year Ten surveyed the remains of the plastic bucket.
     "The blowtorch must have been too hot."
     "Stupid cow! You can't heat plastic with a blowtorch. And before you ask, I ain't goin' to the caretaker again tonight. It's Emily's experiment. If she wants a metal bucket, she can fucking go and fuck the fucking caretaker her fucking self."
     "She can't," said Carol. "She's a virgin."
     "So was I, once," said Jan. "Maybe I will be again, one day. Starting tonight."
     "Sod it, I'll go," said Carol. She stripped off her panties expertly. "Give me half an hour, it's his second time tonight."
     "Jeez, we'll be here all night at this rate!"
     "It's okay, Carol." Emily stood up. "Jan's right. It was all my fault the plastic bucket melted. I'll go and see the caretaker."
     Year Ten stared at her open-mouthed.
     "Just start scraping all that stuff out of the bucket, ready for when I get back."
     Emily didn't feel half so brave once she was out of the dorm and advancing down the stairs. There was a light shining out from under the caretaker's door. She knocked softly.
     "Oo is it?"
     She pushed the door open and looked inside. The caretaker was sprawled in an armchair with a tatty porno magazine open on his lap. Emily recognised the cover as one of Gloria's favourites. The man's eyes settled on her majestic bust and his jaw fell open.
     "Could I borrow a bucket, please?"
     "What for?"
     "Oh, half an hour or so."
     "Oh, very funny. A joker. You come down here with a pillow stuffed up your shirt, messing around with a poor old man's tools of the trade..."
     "Only to borrow, sir. Please?" Emily leaned forward and took a deep, deep breath. She felt her ScatBra creak as it adjusted itself, and the top two buttons of her blouse sprang open.
     "Borrow? A bucket? What's it for?"
     "We're measuring the weight of my breasts," Emily purred. She shook her shoulders slightly and felt the next button come free. "It's the only way to measure the weight of very big breasts. Archimedes' Principle."
     "Is that a fact?"
     "Ooh, look. You've got lots of buckets under the bench. Can I have one of these?" She bent really low and three more buttons let go in a rush. She breathed in again, and felt the cool air as the pebbly upper half of one fat moon peeped out of bra and blouse.
     The caretaker seemed to be having a seizure of some sort. His breathing was coming in gasps, the magazine fell to the floor and Emily realised exactly what he had been hiding underneath it.
     "I'll get one of the girls to bring it back later," she gabbled, seizing two buckets and escaping out of the door, clanking up the stairs and into the dorm, red-faced and breathless.
     Her classmates stared at her yawning cleavage. "Shit, what kept you?"
     "She's only been gone three minutes. What did you do, hit him on the head?"
     "He accidentally saw my tits," Emily explained. "I think he's fallen asleep."

St Cat's:
The Fourth Form Dormitory

"It's working!" Suzanne danced a cumbersome jig. "It's working."
     Athene raised her head to see. "They can't be growing already?"
     "Not for a while, no. But my idea's working. It's going on rilly-rilly evenly all over your chest." She bent down to watch the process. Gloria was sitting astride Athene's hips again, a position which she evidently relished. She was leaning forward, compressing her magnificent breasts against Athene's bare chest, gliding forwards and backwards and moaning softly. The moaning probably had no effect, apart from on the spectators, who were now becoming deeply aroused. "Stop a minute, Glor," said Suzanne. "Time for more cream." And to the sound of ragged breathing, Suzanne leaned across and plastered a handful of the cream across Athene's chest. "Carry on," she sang out.
     Gloria bent to her task with a will and an audible squelch, bending to deliver a moist kiss on Athene's open lips, then settling into her smooth rhythm once more. Her fat breasts slurped and slithered in the sticky cream, her pert bottom rose and fell gently. It escaped no one's notice that Athene's hips bucked clear of the mattress in an effort to stay in firm contact with her loving partner's backside. There was no doubt about the relationship of these two girls now. They were bestest friends. They would finish up in bed together after this. The only doubt was whether they would be getting up in the morning.
     As so often in the Fourth Form dormitory, the ripe scent of sex hung heavy in the air. Several couples had already drifted away to make an early night of it.
     "More cream!" Gloria demanded. "Give me more cream."
     "More cream!" Athene echoed. "Put it all over me."
     "Yeah, rub it all over her," cried Gloria. "Put some under my arse." She obligingly raised her bottom in the air, and Suzanne flopped a dollop of Grow on to Athene's eager pudenda.
     "You shouldn't put it on there, Suze," Pansy whispered anxiously. "You don't know what it might do."
     "It's going to get in there anyway," Suzanne pointed out. "The way these two are going at it, they might as well bath in the stuff. A handful of cream in Feeny's pussy's not going to make any difference one way or the other. She was right about one thing: that handful of cream was already working its way into the interiors of both girls, just as Gloria's breasts were now slithering liquidly all over Athene's shoulders, neck and face, and down past her waist to her flat tummy.
     "Sit on my face again, Gloria!" she whimpered, and Gloria hastened to do as she was told. If she hadn't, a dozen other girls would have been ready to climb aboard in the hope of feeling Athene's tongue probing their lower regions.
     Gloria shrieked and sat up straight, her breasts lifting and bouncing together in the air. Whatever Athene had just done to her, it was certainly effective. Down she flopped again, swiftly burying her face in Athene's love-cavern; their movements slowed and ceased, and soon only a faint bubbling sound came from both ends of the battlefield.
     "I think they've gone to sleep," said Pansy. "Okay, you lot. Nothing more to see over here. Bedtime."
     "Can we have some cream, Suzanne, please?" A dozen girls pleaded with her, but Suzanne was unmoved. Whatever it did for a maiden's breasts, this stuff was an excellent batch of Love. Pansy was already writing just that on a sticky label and sticking it on the side of the tub.

St Angie's:
Year Ten Dormitory

Emily whipped the wooden spoon out of the bucket and held it aloft in triumph. This was her big moment.
     "What are you holding it up there for?" Carol asked after several minutes of silence.
     "Just waiting," said Emily.
     "We can't wait all night. Are we going to use this stuff or not?"
     "We can't use it. We don't know what it does."
     "We'll never know what it does unless we use it, will we?"
     "Who can we use it on?"
     "Not me," said Jan. "You can go fuck yourselves first. No way in the world is that stuff going anywhere near Janet's tits."
     "We need a guinea pig," said Carol. "Let me think..."
     Which was when the door opened and a strangely cultured voice fluted into the room. "Anybody there?"
     "Don't you just love it when that happens," Carol crowed. "Come in, Wanda!"
     "What are you doing?"
     "None of your business, Junior. Whaddya want up here, anyway? You'll get stuffed alive if the prefects find you."
     "I'll set Virginia on to them," the child remarked. She remembered her errand and tried to see past the bigger girls. "Is that new girl in here? The one with the big boobies?"
     "What's it to you, shrimp?"
     "I may be only four feet six," declared Wanda, "but I do wear a J-cup bra. Not bad for eleven, okay?"
     "She's over there," said Carol sourly.
     "Thanks. I knew she was there all the time." Wanda smirked and wobbled across to the St Cat's girl. "Emily, my big sister says she wants to see you tonight in her dorm."
     "Tell her you're too busy, Em."
     "I am rather busy, Wanda. Couldn't it wait until tomorrow?"
     "When Virginia says she wants to see somebody tonight, tonight is what she means. I could go back and tell her you said you were too busy to see her, but she wouldn't be very pleased. I could tell her you're playing with chemicals and buckets and blowtorches, too. And I could tell Miss Wagstaffe you've all been fucking the caretaker..."
     "How does she know all that?"
     "Shut her up, the fat-titted little cow."
     "I've got an idea," said Carol. "Wanda. Come here a minute, love."
     "What do you want?" The child approached, curious as a cat. "What's in that bucket, anyway?"
     "Cream."
     "That's not cream. Cream's not bright yellow like that."
     "This is special cream. It's specially for breasts."
     Emily gasped. "Carol, no!"
     "What about breasts?" Wanda was extremely interested in anything to do with breasts. She leaned over the bucket and sniffed. "It smells okay. Like strawberries."
     "That's right, Wanda. It's for young girls whose breasts are growing. Like yours. And mine. But especially like yours, 'cos you are only just eleven and your breasts are so enormous."
     "What's it do?" Wanda dipped a finger in and sniffed it. "It's warm."
     "That's because it's fresh, you see? It stops you getting nasty stretch marks. You know when a woman's skin stretches, like when we have babies?"
     Wanda swelled with importance. Year Ten was treating her as a woman. "I know, yes. Like every month when my boobies get so fat."
     "That's right! Yours get so much fatter than ours, of course, because you're such a sexy young woman, aren't you?"
     Wanda was almost inflating before their eyes.
     "This cream stops you getting stretch marks. You have to rub it on the breasts just before your period is due."
     "Let me try some! My period's in three weeks' time."
     "Ooh, no, Wanda. There's only just enough for me. Your beautiful breasts are so much bigger than mine, if I rubbed it on yours � rubbed it well into your lovely big, soft breasts with both my busy little hands � there wouldn't be enough left even for little me, would there?"
     "There's quite a lot in there," said Wanda. "Please, Carol!"
     Carol weakened. "Okay. Maybe there is more than I thought, after all. Take your shirt off..."
     But Wanda already had. Year Ten's astonished gasps greeted the sight of the eleven-year-old's braless exuberant breasts, leaping from her slender body, ridiculously too large for her small frame. "What do you do with it? Ow. Ow! Carol!"
     Carol got quite carried away. She had honestly intended to use only a little of the cream on Wanda, leaving the rest to play with later, but the diminutive girl's big breasts just seemed to soak up the stuff. Several handfuls of yellow cream simply disappeared without trace. Carol's eyes were bright with excitement. So were Wanda's. She cupped her breasts, which were flushed and engorged.
     "Wow! It's all tingly and warm."
     "Is it supposed to get tingly and warm, Emily?" Carol asked.
     "It's only getting warm 'cos you've been rubbing her tits, that's all. I doubt if it's doing anything to her..."
     "Eeek!"
     "Emily! Look out!"
     "Wow! It worked!" Emily rushed around the dorm, finally hurling the spoon out into the night through an open window.
     "The spoon's supposed to catch fire?"
     "Yeah. I didn't want to mention it in case it didn't work. That means ... where's Wanda gone?"
     "Where'd the shrimp go?"
     "Out the door without her shirt," said Jan. "Why, what's going to happen to her?"
     "We don't really know," said Emily. "But it shouldn't take long before we do. You're supposed to let it cool down first."

St Cat's:
The Fourth Form Dormitory

"Will we know by morning?" Pansy asked, not really expecting an answer from her cousin.
     Suzanne drew the sheet over the two sleeping girls. The overhead lights were out now, only the small night-light casting a glow across the dorm.
     "They'll keep waking up and getting horny again, like they did an hour ago. Wow, that was hot! It's an excellent batch of Love. We'll have to see if it makes any difference to Feeny's tits. Like she said, she hadn't really got any."
     "There's only one thing. What about Gloria?"
     "Glor's already got tits."
     "Yes, but..."
     "They might grow a bit, but she's so huge, it won't show. She won't ever be as big as Anastasia or us. Not even as big as me."
     "I s'pose not. Night, then, cuz. Doncha wish you had someone to cuddle, like all the others?"
     "I've got my teddy bear."