by

This is the second, concluding part of a shorter-than-usual St Cat's story. If you haven't read the first part yet, please do so, or you won't have a clue what's going on. If you have, and you still don't, you should read the rest of the St Cat's stories, which will take you some considerable time. 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

In Part I, Emily Holdershaft, a student at St Cat's High School for Growing Girls is temporarily exchanged for Athene Billingsgate, from St Angela's Upper School for Girls, at Smokeston. While the staff and students of St Cat's lose no time in giving Athene a more socially acceptable bosom, Emily is persuaded to pass on to the girls of St Angie's her knowledge of Sexual Chemistry, which isn't very much at all...

St Angie's:
Year Ten Dormitory

"IT'S A PITY we used it all up on that shrimp Pottinger."
     "Never mind, Em. Now you've remembered how to make Sexual Chemistry, we can do it again and make lots of interesting things."
     "Yeah. It will be even better when we know what these things do."
     "Night, Em!"
     "Night, Carol."
     Soon, the only sounds were gentle snores and innocent snuffles. Then the window slid open, and Danny climbed through.

St Cat's:
The Fourth Form Dormitory

"We've got Sex Theory first, then a double period of Sexual Chemistry, then lunch."
     "I'm starving," said Athene. "What time do we get breakfast?"
     Gloria rolled over and stroked her lover's neck with a finger. "Eight o' clock. I usually get up at quarter to. So we've got another hour and a half. Hang on. Bury your head in the pillow. Cover your ears!"
     "What for?"
     "The quadrangle clock. It can hurt your ears."
     "It strikes the hour?"
     "Every quarter."
     "But I've been here a day and a night, and I've never heard it yet."
     "You're lucky. Touch me again down there, Feeny."
     "Down where? Down here?"
     "Wow, yeah! And there. At the back of my knees. Oooh, Fee-neeee!" She giggled. "It's a good job we don't have to call out our orgasm numbers any more. I'd be up in the thousands!"
     "What?"
     "We used to have to shout out a number every time we came. It was a school rule, same as wearing an adequate bra or putting your panties in the right slot. They stopped that when Miss Gruntworthy realised that if we all put our panties in the right slots, there'd be nothing for the sorters to sort. But those Juniors get it wrong on purpose just so they have to do it all again and again. They're perverts."
     "Did you do panty sorting when you were a Junior?"
     "No, I joined the school last year, in the Thirds. A pity, really."
     "A pity? You'd have wanted to sort out girls' smelly drawers?"
     "Yeah!" She ran a finger down the middle of Athene's knobbly breast bone, all the way down past her navel to her moist girlhood. "Can I have your old ones? Please? I won't tell anyone. I just ... want ... something of yours."
     "Yeah, but Glor! My panties! Yuck!"
     "Can I?"
     "If you like," said Athene, feeling strange inside. "I feel tingly. In my nipples."
     "Oh, goody! That means you're growing. Feeny, you know something?"
     "Yeah?"
     "Mine are tingling, too!"

St Angie's:
The School Canteen

"I had a weird dream last night," said Emily.
     The others stared blearily at her. Carol yawned and toyed with a slice of toast. Jan sat there scratching her armpits wth a crunching sound.
     Emily took their silence as permission to proceed. "I was buying a bra in a shop."
     "What's weird about that?" Carol picked her nose.
     "I never buy bras in shops," said Emily simply. "Shops don't sell Y-cups. Anyway, I was in this shop, Marks & Sparks, I think it was, and I was trying on all these bras, right there in the middle of the shop. They had some nice big sexy ones, but..."
     "I thought you said they didn't sell your size." Jan probed in her ear and squinted at something unpleasant beneath her green-painted fingernail.
     "This was a dream, Janet."
     "Oh."
     "And all these boys came up and started watching me trying bras on..."
     "Marmalade, Caz," said Jan. "I gotta eat something or I'm gonna throw up."
     "I can't eat breakfast," said Carol who said the same thing every morning.
     "Marmalade's okay. I dunno how she can eat eggs."
     "Scrambled eggs. They look like baby-poo."
     "And they smell like boys' farts."
     "Are you listening to my dream or not?"
     "Course we are."
     "Yeah, what happened?"
     "Nothing really. There was this boy who looked like Michael Owen, and he..."
     "Michael Who?"
     "Owen, Jan," said Carol. "He plays for Liverpool."
     "Oh, him. Does he go in Marks & Sparks, then? I'd a' thought if he got forty-five million quid a week, he'd..."
     "Not a week? Forty-five million a week?"
     "Yeah!"
     "I think that's what he gets a year," Emily interjected. "And he doesn't, anyway. It's wrong. They were guessing."
     "He could buy loads of cars with that."
     "He don't need to buy cars. They give him a car."
     "They give 'im a car? And he earns all that money as well? Danny has to buy 'is own cars, an' he only gets 'undred an' fifty a week."
     "That's 'cos he's never there. 'E's always late every mornin'. No wonder 'e keeps gettin' the sack."
     "That's all 'e ever finks about," sighed Carol dreamily. "Getting' in the sack..."
     Emily looked uncomfortable. How could Carol speak of her own brother like this? Another thought had occurred to her. About her dream...
     "What happened, anyway, Em? Did David Beckham shove his fat cock between your tits?"
     "It wasn't Beckham, it was Owen."
     "Beckham's got lovely hair. He could fuck my tits any time he liked..."
     "You ain't got no tits. Anyway, it wasn't Beckham. It was Owen, wasn'it, Em?"
     "No," said Emily, with a sudden chill of realisation. "It wasn't either of them. It was Danny. And when I woke up this morning, my tits were all stuck together."
     There was a moment of silence.
     "You fucking sneaky bastard!"
     "Carol!"
     But Carol was already off out of the canteen, sobbing into her hankie.
     "What did I say?"
     "Danny's her boyfriend, you shit-head."
     "But he's her brother!"
     Jan got to her feet. "So what? Nobody else loves her. Fuck me, you stuck-up St Cat's kids, you don't know jack-shit, do ya?"
     "Jan! Don't go rushing off. Jan? I don't know where the first class is..."
     Emily followed, abandoning her breakfast, scurrying to the door, her breasts feeling uncomfortably full and heavy.
     A hand came out and dragged her back.
     "I want a word with you, Holdershaft."
     "W-what? Me?"
     "A word. At lunchtime."
     "Virginia!"
     "You've been messing with my little sister. Lunchtime, in the spinney on the field. Twelve-oh-three, sharp. Don't be late, right?"
     "Okay. I'll be there."
     "And Holdershaft? Don't bring your cronies. You come alone."
     Alone? Emily had never felt so alone in her life.

St Cat's:
The Fourth Form Classroom

It wasn't just the rushed breakfast that was making Athene feel so uncomfortable, although she was highly aware of the scrambled eggs, crisply over-fried bacon and beans hanging somewhere in her stomach. Especially the beans. But no, it was the feeling in her crotch and even more so, in her tits. True, she hadn't really got any tits, but it felt as if she had, with these two water-filled balloons wobbling around in her ridiculously large bra. And the sick tingling behind her nipples. There was no relief from the tingling; she couldn't rub herself, not with those balloons in the way. And even the balloons hadn't been in the way, she still reckoned rubbing it wouldn't do any good, as the tingle was right inside.
     She sat at her desk trying not to fart. Certainly, some of the other girls had fewer inhibitions on this score. Ripe gases filled the air, and from time to time, a rip-snorting trumpet-call was cheered to the echo. Over in the corner, a small group of girls had a box of matches, and one girl was bent over a desk with her panties round her knees. There was a bright blue flash and a ragged cheer...
     "Somebody open a window before we're all gassed," Pansy complained. "And let that smell of burnt pubes out. You know what Miss Gruntworthy will do if she's in one of her moods. We'll all be writing out ten thousand lines about breaking wind in the classroom."
     "Not our fault they give us beans for breakfast, is it?" said Gloria. "They do it on purpose 'cos they know it makes us feel undignified."
     Athene felt undignified. What would she do if she had to ask to be excused to go to the toilet � the loo, the bog, whatever they called it here � on her very first morning, in Sex Theory, with the headmistress herself in charge? It wasn't just the breakfast � she had obtained some relief under cover of a burst of noise from the pyromaniacs at the back of the class � but the tingling had become a throbbing ache, filling her whole body from her neck to her groin and slightly beyond.
     "You okay, Feen?" Gloria asked solicitously, placing a cool hand on her forehead. "Wow! You've got a temperature. We ought to be in bed."
     "We? You've got it, too?"
     "Not as hot as you, babe, but if you go to bed, I'll be right there with you. But you mustn't get too high a temperature, or you'll get sent to see Nurse, and she doesn't allow girl-fucking in sick-quarters. She says it soils the sheets."
     Athene was beginning not to care. The feeling was definitely stronger now.
     "My tits are ever so full this morning," Gloria was saying. "I haven't measured them or anything, but I bet they're a couple of inches bigger, like at that time of the month. How about yours?"
     "I haven't got..." Athene started. She knew it wasn't strictly true any more. She certainly did have tits. She could feel them, even if they didn't stick out as far as the other girls in this room. "They feel funny, Glor," she admitted.
     "Don't worry, love. It means the stuff's working."

St Cat's:
The Fourth Form Classroom

I suppose I was in one of my moods. I get like it when I haven't had a good seeing-to for a while. I needed a man, or preferably a girl. A well-endowed girl with a long tongue. A girl who enjoyed having whipped cream licked from her navel and other places. A girl with a bit of devil in her. Alternatively, Jeremy would do, perhaps in the back seat of his Jaguar.
     I clutched at my Sex Theory notes and strode out down the corridor for my rendezvous with the Fourth Form. I hardly needed notes, after all this time, but I'm a firm believer in the maxim that you're never too old to learn, and it was a rare sex lesson when one of the more active girls didn't give me a helpful pointer to add to my notes.
     We had that exchange girl in this morning's class, too; the one from St Angela's. From the brief glimpse I'd had of her yesterday morning, she'd been sadly under-endowed in the shirt department, but you couldn't expect perfection from non-St Cat's girls, after all. As long as she didn't smell too unpleasant, she'd get a fair crack of the whip from me. Never let it be said that Chauntaille Gruntworthy was anything other than fair and even handed.
     I flung open the door and noted that the class was sitting rigidly to attention. At an unspoken signal, they rose to their feet, breasts bouncing nicely, and recited the mantra: "Good Morning, Miss Gruntworthy!" Then they all sat down again, their breasts settling down after a few seconds.
     "Who's farted?" I queried. Then I spied the St Angela's girl in the front row, next to that horny girl whose name I could never remember. "Is it you? Stand up! What's your name?"
     "Feeny Billingsgate, Miss."
     "Please, Miss, it wasn't her, Miss. We all had beans, Miss."
     "I don't remember asking your opinion, child," I retorted crushingly. This was excellent going; I now had two sobbing girls in the front row, and I hadn't been in the classroom more than thirty seconds.
     Pansy raised her hand. "We've all got it, Miss. They shouldn't give us beans for breakfast."
     "That's as may be, Pansy. Feeny, or whatever your stupid name is. Have you farted this morning?"
     "Yes, Miss."
     "Thank you. QED. Quod erat desperandum, as the Greeks used to say."
     "Romans, Miss."
     I spun round from the blackboard. The St Angela's girl was still on her feet.
     "It was Latin, Miss. And it's not desperandum, Miss, it's demonstrandum. Desperandum's summat else."
     "Oh, really?" I regarded her through narrowed eyes. "Open another window, please, Feeny. Now answer your names, all of you. Pansy Brooks, Suzanne Brooks..." The girls answered with grunts. "Anastasia Dawkes? No, sorry, she's over at Lord Ted's ... Elizabeth Mundy ... ah, of course, that was the name of the horny bitch who had stood up for the new girl just now. She was probably into her pants and her bed already. I realised why I could never remember her name; the girls called her something else entirely. "And finally, the new girl, Billingsgate, Athene. Is that your name? Athene?"
     She was struggling with the window, and turned round, surprised. "I already told you, Miss. Feeny Billingsgate."
     "No you didn't. You told me something beginning with F."
     "That's right, Miss." She wobbled over and sat down. Those weren't a bad pair of tits at all. Forty-something inches, perhaps, and the healthy St Cat's diet would soon build her up...
     A girl farted, unfortunately not the Billingsgate girl.
     "Sorry, Miss. It slipped out."
     Snorts and rabelaisian ribaldry greeted the girl's remark.
     "You'd better go to the lavatory, Anthea. And use the disposal bin on the way."
     "I don't need to go, Miss, honest!"
     "Not now, she doesn't," the girl next to her observed. "She's about twenty seconds too late."
     "SEX!" I yelled, bringing the class under instant control. "Let's talk about Sex."
     Mayhem ensued, with half the class singing what I understand was a once-popular song. The other half talked among themselves.
     "Athene!" I bellowed.
     "Yes, Miss?" She appeared to be the only girl paying attention. Even her front-row friend � Gloria or Elizabeth or whatever � was otherwise occupied, having undone her tie and the top four buttons of her blouse to peer down inside.
     "What do you know about Sex, Athene?"
     It brought instant silence and attention from the whole class.
     "Ask Gloria," sniggered one lone voice, but the rest of the girls shushed her.
     "Well, Athene?"
     "I've done it, Miss," she replied cautiously.
     "Good! What's your favourite position?" I find it helps to be blunt on these occasions. Girls appreciate forthrightness.
     "All of them, Miss. Of course, some of them would be no good for you, Miss, or for Pansy..."
     I perched my sadly large rump on my desk � I really am shamefully large, shameful � and crossed my legs. The front row girls tend to enjoy this and who am I to deny them a cheap thrill? Unfortunately, I was wearing my bra on rather a high setting, and Athene was invisible to me.
     "We're down here, Miss," said Gloria's voice. "Try letting your straps down."
     A single snap of the fingers was enough to bring a volunteer scampering out to the front of the class to lower my height adjusters and reset the jiggle dampers. A second girl stood by with a roll of industrial paper towel in case I became unbearably aroused. Unnecessarily, as it happened.
     "Doggie," continued Athene as if she'd never left off. "If your tits are too dangly, you'd kneel on them."
     "Very true, Athene." I was beginning to like this girl, despite everything. "Anyone else care to comment? What positions are an absolute no-no for busty girls? Suzanne?" I realised my mistake when the girls tittered and Suzanne blushed angrily. "Pansy, then?" I took up my notepad and pen. Pansy had had more fucks in three and a half years than I'd had hot dinners. What Pansy didn't know about sexual positions could be engraved on the head of a pin with a hammer and chisel.
     Pansy did not disappoint. I scribbled furiously for several minutes.
     "Thank you, girls. Next Tuesday, we'll be talking about..."
     "Miss?"
     "Yes, Gloria, or whatever your name is?"
     "You've only been in here ten minutes. This is supposed to be a forty minute lesson. What are we going to do for the rest of the time?"
     Girls can be so tiresome. I wanted to get away and try some of Pansy's recommendations with Jeremy.
     "What do you want to do?"
     "Can we practise, Miss?"
     "Fucking each other?"
     "Wanking, Miss?"
     "With toys?"
     "Vegetables, Miss?"
     I supposed I'd just have to sit and watch them for the next thirty minutes. I sent a girl to the kitchens for enough vegetables for twenty-seven girls. She was back commendably quickly, but all we could use was the carrot and the half cucumber. The rest of it: potatotes, a cabbage, some runner beans, mange-tout, sundried tomatoes, purple sprouting broccoli and a load of other fashionable garbage, had to be sent back with my personal thanks. If there'd been a marrow, I could have shown the girls a thing or two, but maybe they're out of season.
     "What can the rest of us do, Miss?" one girl whined petulantly.
     "Can we do Phone, Miss?"
     "Yeah, Miss! Let's do Phone!"
     "Oh, all right, then. The vegetable girls carry on, the rest of you can do Phone Sex. Gloria, or whatever your stupid name is, get the phones out and pass them round."
     She obeyed smartly, dragging the box of gaily-coloured children's toy telephones out of the cupboard and dumping them in pairs on adjacent desks. Fourth Form Phone is dead boring for the teacher, as you can't hear what the girls are whispering to each other through their intimate connections. Senior Phone is better as they use the apparatus Jeremy designed, which allows the teacher to monitor calls. In the Fourth Form, the only thrill you ever get is from occasional bursts of giggling and the sight of a whole classroom of girls with one hand up its skirts.
     Suzanne, as usual, took no part in Sex lessons, reading a History textbook in what I can only describe as a marked manner. But down in the front row, the girl known as Gloria was getting it on in no uncertain terms with Athene. They leaned close to each other, whispering into their handsets. Gloria's was pink and Athene's was blue. Both their faces were bright red. After half an hour of that, I was feeling quite drained.
     What was worse, I had this same group for the rest of the morning, in the lab. At least, I didn't have that wretched Emily Holdershaft girl to worry about. When it came to laboratory work, Emily was a walking disaster area.

St Angie's:
On The Way to the School Canteen

"What does she want to see you about?" Carol demanded. She seemed to have forgotten her outburst at the breakfast table. Perhaps it was a question of Year Ten standing shoulder to shoulder against the oppressor.
     "She didn't say. Something about messing with her sister."
     "You didn't even touch her piggin' sister. It was me rubbed her big tits for her. Why can't she ask to see me on the sports field?"
     "I don't know. She didn't say."
     "We'll protect you, Em," Jan declared.
     "You can't. She said I've got to go alone. It's like one of those gangster stories where they make you leave �450,000 in used banknotes in a telephone box, and not to bring the police or you're dead meat, matey-boy."
     "What are you talking about?"
     "The sports field is so wide open, if you tried to come with me, they'd see you coming a mile off."
     "What's that got to do with �450,000?"
     "That must be what Owen and Beckham earn in a week. She's obsessed with pretty footballers."
     "I'm not. I just dream about them from time to time, that's all."
     "Yeah, we know."
     "There's only one thing. Virginia said I have to be there at three minutes past twelve. If I go now, I'll miss my dinner."
     Carol snarled grimly. "Why did you think I wanted to go instead of you?"
     Emily made them promise to save her something to eat. Then at twelve noon precisely, she set out across the sports field. It started to rain when she was halfway across, and she was drenched by the time she arrived at the spinney. At first, she thought there was nobody there.
     "Well, come in out of the rain," drawled Virginia's voice, and Emily brushed aside a dripping wet branch and stepped into the shade of the trees. Remarkably, not a drop of rain penetrated the leafy canopy. Virginia and her girl friends stood around grinning at the drowned rat shivering in front of them.
     "It's raining," she said.
     "Then you'd better take your blouse off, hadn't you, Emily dear?"
     As gentle invitations go, it was a direct order. Emily fumbled with the buttons and peeled the blouse away. It clung to her like a second skin. The girls watched hungrily.
     "And the bra, too."
     The ScatBra joined the blouse on the ground, and three girls eagerly snatched it up and began inspecting it minutely.
     "That's better. Wow, Emily! You are a big girl, aren't you? You must be one of the biggest girls at St Cat's."
     "I'm not. Nowhere near it. My bust is eight inches below the school average."
     "Don't lie to me, Emily. It isn't nice."
     "I'm not, Virginia. It's true. There are two girls in my class with busts measuring over a hundred and thirty inches. And two more over a hundred. The average of the whole school is sixty-five inches, and that includes all the little kids."
     "Shall we slap her around a bit, boss?" one of the girls asked.
     "Not yet. We'll get her skirt and panties off first. So, all these giant girls of yours, what are they? Eight foot tall amazons?"
     "No. One of them in my class is as short as me. The Head Girl of the school is the always one with the biggest bust measurement. And the biggest bust in each form is the Form Head. Even the Juniors are huge. The Second Form Head is over eighty inches, and the Head of the First Form is even b..."
     "Shut up!"
     Emily stopped. "I thought you wanted to know..."
     "What did you do to my sister last night? She said you were dancing around with a blazing spoon. And that slut who fucks her own brother was rubbing cream all over our Wanda's tits."
     "I can explain..."
     "So you shall. But you'd better see what you've done to Wanda first, with your ridiculous black magic rituals. Come out, Wanda!"
     The young girl appeared from behind a bush. She seemed flushed, and somehow different from last night.
     "Show your tits to Holdershaft, Wanda."
     With a cheeky little self-satisfied smirk, Wanda shrugged out of her blouse, turning round to drape it on her bush. She wasn't wearing a bra. The reception which greeted her when she turned round made her grin even more. Emily joined in the general gasp.
     "So, what have you done to her, then?"
     "I ... we seem to have Grown her. Or Puffed her, more like. Maybe a bit of both."
     "You don't seem very sorry about it."
     "Well, I mean, it doesn't usually work. Specially not as quick as that. Nor as well. They're great!"
     Wanda evidently thought so, too. She paraded around the little clearing, making exaggerated turns and swinging her massive chest in great swooping circles. She was so abundantly firm, the absence of a bra hardly made any difference.
     "Wanda, stand still, please!"
     "You've puffed her, you say?"
     "It's something called Puff. Actually, I thought I was making Grow Cream Super XL Magnum Mega-Mammoth Mammavast Double-Strength Ultra Plus, but it seems to have turned into Puff."
     "And what does Puff do to little girls?"
     "It does that." Emily pointed to Wanda's improbable bosom, which pointed right back at her. "It makes their moons get bigger, then they start getting itchy, then they get all puffed up, then their whole tits get bigger."
     "I see. And when does it stop?"
     "It depends. It makes your tits itch so bad, the only way to make them better is to rub on more of the cream. And that only makes them bigger still. But sometimes they just keep getting bigger on their own. Miss Gruntworthy thinks it's..."
     "Who?"
     "Our headmistress. She thinks it's genetic. If your family's got big ones, sometimes all it needs is one little dose of Puff and ... they ... just ... get ... bigger and ... oh!"
     "Oh, exactly. You realise what you've gone and done, don't you, Emily?"
     Emily hung her head. "Yes."
     "What? Speak up!"
     "Yes, Virginia."
     "Right. I've got big tits. Our mother's got huge tits. All our aunties have got huge tits. Both our grandmothers have got huge tits. Little Wanda already had big tits. Now she's going to have even bigger ones. How big are they going to get?"
     "We don't know. As big as yours, maybe?"
     "She was already a couple of years more advanced than me before you Puffed her. She was going to be bigger than me anyway. But now, you're telling us she could end up with a hundred and thirty inch bust!"
     "Oh, easily! I mean ... yeah, I suppose she could."
     "Wowee!" Wanda was dancing around like an overdeveloped wood-nymph. "I'm gonna be huge!"
     "She's not!"
     Wanda lumbered to a halt. It had gone all quiet.
     "What do you mean?"
     "I've got another two or three years at St Angela's. If you think I'm having a little sister swanning around with bigger tits than me, you've got another think coming."
     "But what am I going to do about it?"
     "You've got three choices, Emily."
     "Three?"
     "Three." Virginia plucked Wanda's blouse from the bush and tossed it to her sister. "Come on, you lot, let's get some lunch." She nodded at Emily. "Bring her bra. We'll leave her with her skirt so she can get back to the school. You can think of those three choices, Emily. When you've decided which one, you can have your fancy bra back."
     "But you haven't told me what the three choices are."
     "Haven't I? Oh, dear. How forgetful of me!"

St Angie's:
Year Ten Classroom

"It was horrible!"
     "It was funny! Old Guildenstern's face when she saw you sneaking into the classroom with that curtain wrapped round your chest. She couldn't ask you what you had stuffed up your shirt this time."
     "'Ow many bras you got like that?" said Jan.
     "Four. Three now. I bet Virginia will be keeping that one for her little sister."
     "How little is she?" said Carol. "No, make that how big?"
     "We didn't measure her or anything. But you know how big her tits were when you rubbed the cream on them last night?"
     "I could 'ardly forget that, could I? The shrimp's only just eleven, but she's fucking huge!"
     "Right. Hold that thought." Carol held her hands the appropriate distance apart. "She's about this much bigger than that." Emily adjusted the position of Carol's hands by quite a surprising amount.
     The class gasped. "Bloody hell!"
     "And she's got these like puffy moons at the ends."
     "But they're like part of these like melon things, right?"
     "No, the like melon things are like still like melons. The like moon bits are like stuck on the ends."
     "Shit! And like how big are the like moon bits?"
     Emily looked round the classroom. Girls waited, open-mouthed, for her decision. One or two of them offered her small round objects: an artist's eraser, a screwed-up ball of tissue; mysteriously, a hard-boiled egg. Emily rejected them all. Then her eyes brightened. "Who's got a knife?"
     Jan produced a pocket-knife and opened the blade.
     "May I?" said Emily, and she reached into a girl's bag and brought out a large orange. It was almost as big as a grapefruit.
     "Hey, that's mine..."
     "It's okay. I'm only cutting it in half. There! Like that, stuck on the ends of the melons."
     "Fucking hell!" Carol stared at her hands, which were apparently frozen around a phantom melon. She accepted the halved orange from Emily and held it at the appropriate distance from her chest, shaking her head in disbelief. "At least," she said. "The shrimp's got no nipples. She's got big tits all right, but they're still only an eleven-year-old's tits."
     "Er, wrongggg!"
     "What? You don't mean she's got nipples as well?"
     Emily held up a finger, wrapping the fingers of her other hand round it, leaving the last knuckle sticking out. "This big."
     "Oh, God..."
     "And with moons like that, they haven't finished growing."
     "How big are they going to get?"
     "Nobody knows. They could end up as big as ... as beanbag chairs."
     The class looked puzzled. "What's a beanbag chair?"
     "It's like a great big cushion, full of crunchy bits, and you can sit on it. Big dogs can sleep on them, like Alsatians. They're big. Especially for a little shrimp like her to have two of them on her chest."
     "She'll be hellish if she gets bigger than her big sister. She's bad enough now."
     Emily shook her head sadly. "She'll be bigger than Virginia, all right. Pretty soon, too. But Virginia doesn't want her to be bigger than her either. She says she's at St Angela's for another three years, and she wants to be the biggest girl in the school for all that time. I don't count, she says, but Wanda, no way, Luis!"
     "Jose."
     "You sure it's not Carlos?"
     "Pedro?"
     "Miguel?"
     "Hernandez?"
     Carol dragged the conversation back on course. "So what's she going to do about it?"
     "I dunno. She says I've got to decide. She says I've got three choices and I've got to choose one."
     "What are they?"
     "She wouldn't tell me. She just grabbed my shirt and gave it to Wanda, then she nicked my ScatBra and went for her dinner."
     "The stupid cow! How are you supposed to do anything about it if she won't tell you what to do?"
     Jan put her thinking head on and concentrated. She looked really scary like that. "Right, let's think. This is called barnstorming, right?" Nobody corrected her and she held up a finger. "One. She wants you to murder her sister. Write that down, Caz."
     Emily looked worried. "She wouldn't want that, would she?"
     But Carol had already written it down. More suggestions followed thick and fast.
     "She wants you to develop an anecdote to the cream."
     "An antelope."
     "She wants you to make Wanda's tits smaller."
     "Virginia wants you to make her tits bigger."
     "She wants you to make her tits bigger and Wanda's tits smaller."
     "Virginia wants you to make Wanda so big she explodes, then she won't be as big as her any more."
     "She wants to go back to St Cat's with you."
     "Virginia wants you to take Wanda back to St Cat's."
     "How many choices is that, Caz?"
     "Eight. Nine if you include the antelope."
     "Virginia only mentioned three," wailed Emily. "How am I supposed to choose the right one out of nine?"
     "I'd go for the antelope, if I were you," said Jan. "You ain't got a chance of picking the right one. What's the lezzie bitch going to do to you if you get it wrong?"
     Until now, Emily's experience of girl-girl relationships had been wholly positive. Back at St Cat's, Gloria was a highly skilled and hectically enthusiastic lover. Somehow, she felt Virginia was not likely to be quite so gentle and considerate.

St Cat's:
The Middle School Common Room

Gloria, unusually, was out of breath. Athene was surprisingly powerful, and once she got on top, she was not to be denied. She got on top after about fifteen seconds and stayed there for two hours.
     The other girls plugged their fingers in their ears, and when that failed they took their homework and headed for the common room.
     "What's all the noise coming from your dorm?" several of the Fifth Formers demanded.
     "That new girl from St Angela's. She's giving Gloria what for."
     "What for?"
     "Because she's there," said Pansy. "They seem to have fallen in love with one another. But Gloria's met her match at last. Feeny's insatiable."
     "Is Feeny that girl with the round bouncy tits?"
     "That's her. Not that it makes much difference to Glor; she'd sleep with one of the St Cat's cats as long as it had a pussy."
     "And wore panties," Suzanne reminded her of Gloria's other fetish. "She collects soiled underwear."
     "Don't let old Mountains find out," said the Fifth Former, her voice practically drowned out by a tumultuous ullulation from the Fourth Form dormitory. "But if that row carries on, all the teachers will be over here anyway, begging to join in."
     Meanwhile, Gloria had just come for the billionth time. "Stop, please! Feeny, that's enough. I'm shagged out."
     Surprisingly, Athene rolled off, favouring Gloria's rampant clitoris with a final lick, then sat up, blinking. "What's the time?"
     "Just coming up to eight o 'clock," Gloria panted, and wrapped a pillow round her head. A minute or so later, she emerged. "I swear that clock gets louder all the time?"
     An icy chill crept down Athene's spine. "What clock?"
     "Funn-eee. Hey, have your balloons been leaking?"
     "I'm not wearing them. I took my bra off when things started hotting up, two hours ago." She looked down at her rumpled and juice-stained T-shirt. For the second time in a minute, the icy hand had a go at her back. Her hands moved slowly, as if of their own accord, to cup her chest. "I've got tits," she whispered, pointing to the twin mounds bulging the thin cotton.
     "You've stuffed something up there," accused Gloria, but her eyes were bright and her cheeks flushed. "Haven't you?"
     "When could I have stuffed anything up there? We haven't stopped sucking each other's cunts since teatime."
     Gloria plucked a curly hair from her tongue. "Show me them."
     Slowly, Athene raised the front of the T-shirt and eased it slowly upwards. "I'm scared," she said and dropped it again.
     "Pull it down tight like that again. Look at them, Feen!"
     Athene already was looking at them. But still she didn't dare lift up the shirt and look at them properly.
     "Can I have a feel?"
     "Gently. I've still got that tickle."
     "So've I." Gloria's hand crept across the space between them, then she snatched it away. "I'm scared. They can't be real. Not that size!"
     "They're not all that big, even if they are real," said Athene.
     "Considering they've only been there two hours, they're huge!" Gloria tried again, but her hand somehow landed on Athene's shoulder. At least, that was a bit closer. She looked deep into Athene's eyes. Athene swallowed and nodded. Still, Gloria's hand refused to budge, until Athene took hold of her wrist and quickly, before she could change her mind, she slapped the girl's hand on to her right breast.
     They both gasped.
     "It's real!"
     "Ouch! I know it's fucking real!"
     "Sorry. It's so firm. But so soft. And it's really big. Let's have a look at them now we've both had a feel."
     "They might look horrible."
     "No they won't. I can feel how beautiful they are. They're shaped like a First Former's."
     "Wow, thanks! That's all I need!"
     "They're only two hours old, Feen! If they could grow this much in two hours, they could be as big as mine by the morning. Nearly, anyway. Come on, get them out!"
     This time, Athene's resolve held. She pulled the T-shirt up, right up, over the peaks of her Junior breasts, up over her head, and dropped it on the floor.
     "Holy shit! Look at those puppies!"
     "They're not puppies, Glor," she said shakily. "They're tits. I've got tits!"
     "What are we going to do?"
     "I dunno. I was going to ask you the same thing."
     "We can't do anything. We've got to wait and see what happens to them. You'll still need to wear your balloons tomorrow. We'll just gradually use a bit less water in them, that's all."
     The door creaked open and Pansy followed her breasts into the dorm. "Have you two finished?"
     "Yeah, we got tired," said Gloria. "Didn't we, Feen? Feeny's going to bed, aren't you, Feen?" She tossed a sheet around Athene's shoulders.
     Pansy giggled. "It went so quiet, we thought you'd died. That was the best batch of Love we've ever made. Pity it hasn't made Feeny's tits grow. We might need to give her another dose."
     Gloria was still feeling utterly drained. "Not yet, Pan! She's worn my clit down to a stump. Give it a day or two first. She might be a late developer."

St Angie's:
The School Canteen

"Oh, you got your shirt and bra back, then," sneered the girl. It was one of Virginia's gang.
     Emily almost choked on her scrambled eggs.
     "What do you want?" Jan asked the older girl.
     "I'm talking to her. I want the organ grinder, not the monkey."
     "Who are you calling a monkey, you shit-head?" Jan came to her feet in a rush. The girl stepped back.
     "I wasn't calling you a monkey. I've got a message for her."
     "You can tell it to me. If it's important enough, I'll pass it on."
     "Okay. Tell her she's got until lunchtime to make her decision. Then ... oh, this is ridiculous! What am I telling you for? She's sitting there listening to us."
     "Emily's gone deaf," said Carol. "Can you do sign language?"
     "She's got to come and see Virginia at three minutes past twelve."
     "If Virginia wants to see Emily at three minutes past twelve, she'll find her in here," Jan snarled menacingly. "Now piss off and tell her."
     The girl paled. "Virginia's gonna go ballistic!"
     Carol laughed in her face. "Good. Where's her baby sister, by the way?"
     "She's unavailable," the girl was backing away. "She's not well."
     "What's she mean, 'unavailable'?" Emily stole a piece of abandoned bacon from Jan's plate. It shattered into a dozen high-velocity fragments as soon as she touched it with her knife.
     "You'll have somebody's eye out, doing that," Jan scolded. "Like she said, the shrimp's not well. Maybe she's started having her periods at last."
     "Maybe her tits have grown some more," suggested Carol.
     "I'd better go and see what Virginia wants," said Emily unwillingly. She was loading marmalade on to a slice of toast but it was so runny it trickled immediately through the holes.
     "You've got marmalade on your bust," Jan pointed out kindly. "And you are not going to see her. Make her come to you."
     "How?"
     "She'll come if she's desperate enough. And if it's as important as it sounds, I reckon she'll be here this lunchtime."

St Cat's:
The Fourth Form Dormitory

"I can't wear balloons on top of these things," insisted Athene. "They'll burst."
     "You've got to stuff your bra with something," said Gloria, struggling into her bra. "They're still not quite as big as they were when the balloons were rilly-rilly full of water."
     "Who's going to notice a few inches?"
     "You've got to be joking, right? This is St Cat's. Girls notice other girls' breasts here. If yours suddenly got three inches smaller, it would be the talk of the dorms within an hour. Please put your balloons in again, Feen! It won't be for long, the way you've grown overnight. With any luck, you won't need balloons tomorrow."
     "I can't wear balloons. My nipples are so sharp they're sure to burst them. Then the whole school will know."
     "Let's go and see Clit. Maybe she's got something she can stuff in there."
     "What about our classes?"
     "We're allowed to visit Clit at any time," insisted Gloria indignantly. "It's a school rule. She might have some foam or something she can use."
     "This is stupid! I've suddenly grown at least a forty inch bust, and now you're talking about getting the school bra-maker to find me a pair of falsies! What kind of school is it that has its own bra-maker, anyway?"
     "St Cat's High School for Growing Girls," said Gloria with deep pride. "We'll see Miss Clitress right after breakfast."

St Angie's:
The School Canteen

Jan had been right.
     The Year Ten posse occupied its usual table. "She's outside," Jan muttered out of the corner of her mouth. "She just looked in the window. Don't look now!"
     "Oh, shit!" Emily turned round quickly, her face burning. "She saw me. She had her nose pressed up against the glass."
     Carol laughed nervously. "And her tits. Don't worry, she won't start nuffin' in here. You'll be okay with us."
     "You don't sound too sure," said Emily. "Have you finished with your cottage pie?"
     "How can you think of food at a time like this?"
     "I'm always hungry," Emily complained. "Being scared doesn't stop you being hungry."
     "School dinners are enough to stop me being hungry," said Carol. "Hold tight, she's coming in!"
     Silence fell in the canteen. All conversation stopped. It was like when the sheriff confronts the baddies in the saloon.
     "I told you I wanted to see you!"
     "You can see her now," Jan advised. "Or is all that wanking making you go blind?"
     Virginia ignored her, although a bright spot of red flared on her cheek. "Are you coming, Holdershaft?"
     Carol was feeling brave. "No, she always pulls that face when she's eating."
     "What did you want, Virginia?" enquired Emily reasonably. "I don't want to miss my dinner if I don't know what you want to see me about."
     "You know what."
     "We couldn't work out what you meant about her having three choices," said Carol. "We wrote them down and there were nine, including the antelope."
     Virginia didn't even look at her. "Shut up, you! Well? You've made your decision?"
     "No. Like Carol said, we didn't know what you meant."
     Virginia grabbed an empty chair and spun it round with one hand. Two or three of the meeker members of Year Ten scattered, believing she was going to massacre them all right there in public. "Screw!" she advised them, and they fled, leaving only the Inner Circle of three. Virginia straddled the chair and leaned against its back, bringing her face closer to Emily's. "Now you listen to me and you listen good. We've got to get my little sister out of this school. Understand?"
     Emily swallowed. "Get her out of St Angela's? What's she done?"
     "You know what you've done to Wanda. And it hasn't finished. It's still happening. If you think I'm spending the next three years of my life being made to look flat-chested by my kid sister, you'd better think again."
     Even Jan and Carol were silent, open-mouthed at this admission. Virginia was clearly under some pressure.
     "You mean she's grown some more?" Emily asked in a stunned whisper. This must surely be the most successful batch of Grow Cream ever ever ever, and who had made it? Emily Holdershaft! She was assured of a place in the St Cat's Hall of Fame, assuming she survived. "How much bigger?"
     "You're going to find out tonight," snarled Virginia. "When you bring the antidote."
     Jan's and Carol's faces cleared. Antidote, of course.
     "There isn't one," said Emily. "It's just Grow Cream Super XL Magnum Mega-Mammoth Mammavast Double-Strength Ultra Plus, like I told you. Although I don't think it's called that any more. But there isn't an antidote for it. Why should there be? Girls want bigger tits, not smaller ones."
     "I want smaller ones. For Wanda. She mustn't be bigger than me!" Virginia thumped the table with her fist, and a fork whirled into the air. It landed relatively silently on the capacious bosom of a junior girl.
     "She won't get that big, she's only..."
     "She is that big! We measured her this morning before we hid her." Virginia's voice fell to a hoarse whisper. "She's ... she's fifty-nine inches!"
     "Wow!" said Emily.
     "She can't even wear that fancy bra of yours, she's so big."
     "Oh, she can. It's adjustable. What you have to do is pull these two straps here, and..."
     Virginia interrupted the ScatBra sales pitch. "She's not just bigger than me, and bigger than you, she's enormously heavy and dangly. They hang down to her ... her..."
     "Knees?" suggested Carol.
     "Don't be ridiculous!"
     "It's not ridiculous," said Emily. "We've got girls at St Cat's with tits so heavy they need wheelbarrows. It's ever so hard to steer. Even the good ones crash all the time."
     Virginia stood up and backed away, her face pale. "Come to the spinney after school tonight. You can bring your friends. You've got to do something about Wanda. If you don't, you're history."
     "I think she means Geography," said Emily shakily as the double doors slammed shut behind Virginia and the buzz of excited conversation started up again.
     "What are you talking about?" said Carol.
     "Virginia must be desperate," said Jan. "To come right out and say all that stuff in front of us. The shrimp's tits must be gigantic."
     "They are if they're bigger than mine. What are we going to do?"
     "What do you think we're going to do? We're going to see what your Grow cream has done to her sister," said Carol. "I'm not believing a word of what she told us until I've seen those things for myself. And maybe felt them, too."

St Cat's:
The School Restaurant

Gloria felt herself being grabbed by the wrist and dragged away from the restaurant. "Wow! Where are you taking me?" she asked, pleased and flushed with instant arousal. "We could have done it in there. Everyone knows we're an item."
     Athene pulled her friend up the grassy slope next to the sick-quarters. "I've got to get all this plastic foam stuff out of my bra. I can hardly breathe."
     "You've grown again? It doesn't show..."
     "You never told me how to adjust this thing."
     "It's self-adjusting when you breathe. As long as you've got the ... ah, I see. You haven't freed your growth locks. Silly!"
     "My what?"
     "Your growth locks. You pull these two straps here, and ... bloody hell, Feen! You're enormous!"
     "I know." Athene breathed deeply with sudden relief. She tore her blouse buttons open and began yanking out handfuls of plastic foam as if she were unstuffing a cushion. Gloria stared into the aperture with undisguised lust. Athene's bra cups bulged with soft creamy girl-flesh.
     "It looks as if you might need a larger size. Let's go and see Clit again..."
     "Not twice in one day. She gives me the creeps. Besides, it feels a bit better now."
     "The cups are still very full."
     "Of course they're full, with your hands inside them. Oh, all right, then! Just a quickie!"
     "Round here," panted Gloria, eagerly scampering round the corner. "We haven't got time to go to bed. I'd flood my pants before we got halfway up the stairs. She slammed her lover against the wall of Nurse's house and buried her face in her billowing cleavage. "God, these are amazing, Feen! How much bigger are they going to get?"
     "I think they've gone quite far enough. Your Clit woman said this bra goes up to about forty-eight inches. That's ridiculous on a girl my size."
     Gloria emerged and sneezed. "What are you talking about? I'm skinnier than you and mine are sixty-sevens." She buried her face again.
     "You girls! What are you doing?"
     "Oh, shit, it's Meadowlark!"
     They separated and stood there nervously, looking into the teacher's eyes, and further down into her startling cleavage. Athene hadn't been this close to Miss Meadowlark before. She could really have been one of the girls. In a most immodest T-shirt and a shamefully abbreviated skirt; with her hair down, swinging like a golden silk curtain around her hips, she could have passed as a Junior. And as for her tits...
     "Are you Athene? From St Angela's?"
     "Yes, Miss."
     "We haven't met," the teacher said, incongruously extending a little hand. "I usually like to meet girls on their first day, but things have been so hectic lately, I can only really get to see those with an S and M problem. Support and Mobility," she explained, seeing Athene's bemused expression. "Good to see you're filling out nicely."
     Athene's jaw dropped open. Was this a weird school or what? She had just been caught snogging with another girl up against a wall. The other girl had practically unloaded her bra and stuffed her face into her cleavage. The teacher hadn't even mentioned this appalling conduct. Instead, she had shaken hands. And congratulated her on her swelling bosom.
     "How big are they this morning?" said Miss Meadowlark.
     "Erm ... I don't..."
     "Forty-eight, Miss."
     "Thank you, Gloria. Kindly let Athene answer for herself, please. Is that right? Forty-eight inches?"
     "I think so, Miss Meadowlark. Miss Clitress..." It sounded so rude, that name. "...She said this bra will be okay up to forty-eight inches."
     "I was just showing her how to release her growth locks, Miss," said Gloria.
     "You don't need to undress her to release her growth locks. You shouldn't really be doing this outside, should you? Especially in late October. What will happen, Gloria?"
     "We'll catch a cold, Miss."
     "And it will go to your chest, and you'll be on the other side of that wall, in Nurse's sick quarters. What lessons have you got this afternoon?"
     "Geography, Miss."
     "Right, that's non-essential. You're excused classes. Go to bed at once, both of you. Tug and suck each other's nipples. Adopt a sixty-nine position and slurp each other's moist sex-parts with your eager little pink pointed tongues. Gently insert a probing finger into each other's bottoms. Kiss the backs of each other's knees." Miss Meadowlark suddenly flushed bright red and a pair of inconceivably thick nipples thrust out through her low-necked T-shirt. Her areolae seemed to have taken on a life of their own. "What are you waiting for?"
     "Yes, Miss. Come on, Feeny."
     "And in the morning, see Miss Clit at once, first thing, and get a new bra for Athene. I'll warn her you're coming." The teacher's breath was coming in short gasps.
     "Oooh, she'll hear us coming all right, Miss," Gloria grinned.
     "That's quite enough of that lewdness, Gloria," said Miss Meadowlark sternly, crossing her legs and holding her knees tight together. "Take Athene to bed at once."
     "Yes, Miss."

St Angie's:
The School Playing Field

The three of them plodded across the wet grass. "Why do they always hang out over here?" Carol complained. "My feet are soaked."
     "It's private over here. Nobody stops them doing what they do," said Jan. She was carrying her shoes, striding barefoot through the mud like a not too well-endowed African love-goddess.
     "What do they do?" asked Emily.
     "They do things to each other. Lesbian things."
     "Why do they need somewhere private to do that? At St Cat's, we just do it wherever we are. Mostly in bed, but the teachers don't stop us if we want to do it in the restaurant."
     "If the rest of the girls are anything like you, I'd have thought they'd be too busy eating."
     "Some of us are. But some girls have to watch their figures, or they get huge bottoms. That's shameful. Shameful."
     Jan looked sternly at her, not sure if the remark was intended to be personal.
     "The lookout should have seen us by now," whispered Carol.
     "The lookout is usually Wanda," said Jan. "They know we're coming, all right."
     As if to confirm this, a voice shouted to them. "Come straight in."
     "Just the three of them?" Virginia asked her henchperson.
     "Yeah, Boss."
     "Good. Shirts off, please."
     "Who, us?"
     "Better do as she says," said Carol.
     "I've only got three bras left," Emily moaned.
     "We won't keep your clothes," said Virginia. "We just want to stop you running off." She glanced scornfully at Jan's featureless chocolate-brown chest and Carol's grubby-looking if well-filled bra. Her study of Emily's bosom was altogether more detailed. "Yes, young Wanda's are definitely bigger than those."
     "Can we see them?"
     "Of course. All in good time. But I still want her out of St Angela's by the end of the week. We can't hide her for ever."
     A sob could be heard from behind the bush in the middle of the clearing.
     "I don't care how upset she is. We cannot accept an eleven-year-old girl having the biggest breasts in the school. Especially if she's my own sister. So you're going to make a phone call."
     "There's no phone out here..."
     "I've got a phone." Virginia reached into her drawstring purse and produced a handset no bigger than a packet of cigarettes. "Please be brief and save my battery."
     "Who am I calling?" Emily wanted to know.
     "St Cat's. You will speak to your headmistress. You will arrange for Wanda to join the school immediately."
     "But..."
     "I don't care how. Just do it. Or it will be the worse for you."
     "How's she supposed to tell a headmistress that she's got to enrol a new girl in her school?" asked Carol. "She's only fourteen. A headmistress isn't going to take any notice of her."
     "That's not my problem."
     "Why don't we look at this another way?" Carol jabbered. "We could make some more of that stuff and grow your tits bigger than Wanda's."
     Emily was shaking her head frantically.
     "Your friend doesn't seem to think that's a good idea," said Virginia. "I don't think I want dirty little Year Ten fingers rubbing cream all over my breasts, anyway. Mine are all natural, not chemically enhanced, like your Emily's here."
     "Mine are natural, too," Emily protested. "But I think you're right, Virginia, it doesn't always work the same every time. The chemicals might be different. Give me the phone. I'll try calling St Cat's."
     It was nearly five o' clock. Miss Gruntworthy wouldn't be in her office, and Miss Labia would have gone home. The phone rang and rang. Nobody answered.
     "You've called the wrong number," said Virginia. "You're trying to wriggle out of it."
     "It is the right number," Emily showed her the phone. "They've gone home."
     "Let me hear it ringing." Virginia clapped the phone to her ear. "There is somebody there! Answer it!"
     Emily took the phone back, staring at Virginia in confusion. Nobody had been answering...
     "Meadowlark, hello? Who's calling? Hello?"
     "Miss Meadowlark? It's Emily. Emily Holdershaft?"
     "You were lucky to catch me," said the tinny voice. "I was just going out on a date. I've met this boyfriend with a rilly-rilly lovely bum!"
     Emily blushed. There were some things she would really rather not know.
     "Hello?" squawked the phone again. "Hey, you wouldn't believe how pretty I feel tonight! I am going to get myself fucked something absolutely rotten! Hello, Emily? You still there?"
     Emily blushed even deeper. "Yes, Miss. I'm at St Angela's. We've got a bit of a problem. One of their Junior girls has grown."
     "Emily! What have you been doing?"
     "Sorry, Miss. I didn't really think..." She turned away from the other girls and whispered into the handset. "I didn't really expect it to work, Miss."
     "How big is she?"
     "Only about four feet six, Miss. She's a Junior."
     "No, you idiot. How big are her breasts?"
     "I don't know. She's hiding behind a bush. But she's only eleven and they're bigger than mine. They want me to bring her back to St Cat's. It's horribly complicated, Miss, but I'll be Geography if you don't enrol her at St Cat's this week."
     "History," Carol hissed fiercely at her.
     "Geography was this afternoon," said Miss Meadowlark vaguely. "I sent Gloria to bed with Athene from St Angela's."
     "To bed? Gloria?"
     "Oops, sorry, dear! You were sweet on her, weren't you?"
     "No!" Emily stamped her foot, to the surprise of her audience. "The two-timing little bitch!"
     "Who, dear? Look, I really must go. My date's blowing his horn. And that's really what I ought to be doing to him!"
     Emily blushed again. The thought of the prim Miss Meadowlark on her knees orally servicing an anonymous boyfriend was deeply disturbing.
     "Call again tomorrow, dear. And find out this Junior girl's bust size for me."
     "But they want me to do something tonight!" Emily pleaded.
     "So does my boyfriend. It will keep until tomorrow. Call me then and I'll have a word with..."
     "Hello? Miss?" Emily glared at the handset. The lights were out and the display was blank. "Your battery's run out."
     "What did she say?"
     "She's just going out to have oral sex with a boy with a lovely bum. Then she's going to get shagged something rotten..."
     "She told you that? I thought you said she was one of the teachers?"
     "She is. It was our S&M teacher, Miss Meadowlark. She only looks about twelve when she lets her hair down..."
     "Jesus, what kind of a place is it?" Virginia looked thoughtful for a moment. "They wouldn't have room for me there, by any chance?"
     "Yes, please," muttered Carol.
     "They wouldn't have her. Her tits are too small," Jan sneered.
     "If the teachers go around giving blowjobs to their boyfriends, I wouldn't mind going there myself," said Carol.
     Virginia stared glumly at her dead telephone. "What else did she tell you, when she wasn't planning her night of sex?"
     "She wants me to call again tomorrow. That's all she said. I had a feeling she was going to say more, then the phone died. But she wants me to find out Wanda's bust size before I call."
     "What fucking difference will that make?" Virginia stormed.
     "It matters a lot at St Cat's. It's a mammocracy."
     "Bloody hell! It's a madhouse! Wanda? Come out and show Holdershaft your tits."

St Cat's:
The Bra Facility

"I don't know what you've been doing to this poor girl," Clit whined, clutching at the crotch of her black stretch pants. "You've been rubbing stuff on her chest, haven't you?"
     "It was only cream," Gloria insisted. "And if any did get on her chest, it was no more than I had on mine. My tits haven't grown, have they?"
     "Yours wouldn't show if they did," said Clit, although she whipped her tape measure from around her neck and swiftly lassoed Gloria with it. "Sixty-nine?" she said with an enquiring lift of her eyebrows.
     "Not just now, Miss Clit. I'm in love with Feeny."
     "Cheeky little cow! Anyway, you're not. You're seventy-one inches. What were you before?"
     "Before what? Before I fell in love with Feeny?"
     "How big?"
     "Sixty-seven. But Feen's grown miles more than that. It must be something in the water. She was only about a thirty-four when you measured her the first time."
     "Thirty-four and three quarters," Clit confirmed. "And she's fifty-two now. And by the look of her moons, she's headed for the sixties."
     "Sixties?" Athene slumped into a chair, wobbling heroically. "Me? A sixty inch bust?"
     "The sixties doesn't mean a sixty-inch bust," Clit pointed out scornfully. "It means sixty-two, sixty-four, sixty-six, sixty eight..."
     "Wow, Feen! Nearly as big as me?"
     "Oh, no! What will my mum say?"
     "She'll probably kill you," said Clit. "And serve you right for messing about in Chemistry lessons."
     "I haven't been ... why do you keep touching yourself?"
     "I am not touching myself," Clit yelled, taking a generous squelching handful of her yielding groin. "You don't think the idea of young girls suddenly increasing by thirty inches is fucking exciting, do you?" And she reeled away to her work bench, pressing her crotch firmly against it until she came with a window-shaking howl.
     The girls waited with embarrassed grins for her to finish. Clit came back to them, her old businesslike self, if you ignored the appallingly shiny wet patch at the front of her pants.
     "An SBSMLLCW5 or 6 ought to do it for now, unless your moons are extra sensitive? Are they?"
     "Yowwww!"
     "Ah, they are. You ought to consider a FreeTips, let them out in the fresh air. Takes a bit of getting used to, but the appearance is intensely erotic. Wuh. Woo-woo. Uuuhhhn!"
     "Perhaps we'd better leave you to it, Miss Clit," Gloria suggested.
     Clit wiped the sweat from her brow. It was icy cold in the bra facility as usual, but she was so deeply turned on she was steaming up the windows. "No, take this one for now, and if she grows to more than sixty inches, bring her back to me straight away." She ushered the Fourth-Formers out of the door and shortly afterwards there was a ringing cry.
     "Sixty! Did she say sixty?" Athene clutched her head as they wandered off to classes.
     "You heard what she said. If you get to be more than sixty, see her again. The randy bitch, that bra will see you up to at least sixty-four inches. She just wants to get her hands on your tits again. She can't even wait more than a couple of days."
     "How long?"
     "Oh, you'll be up to sixty by Monday, don't worry."

St Cat's:
The Office of the Headmistress

"Did you have a pleasant evening, Cee?" I meant it to sound bitter, cutting, mordant. I could make this self-assured young woman shrivel up and crawl along on the carpet.
     "Not bad," she yawned. "He had a headache. I had to practically drag it out of his shorts for him. It was only about this long, too. Hardly worth the trouble, really."
     "That's men for you," I said heavily. "There were two girls missing from Geography yesterday afternoon. Do you know anything about it?" When badgering members of staff, only ask them questions to which you already know the answers.
     "I excused them. Geography's no use to growing girls, and these two are both very much growing."
     "Growing?" I remained cool and in command of the situation, despite falling off my revolving chair, colliding with the umbrella stand and sprawling on the floor with my shamefully fat arse in the air.
     Cee, to her credit, did not react. She languidly rose from her chair and offered me a helping hand. Her cleavage looked terribly tempting.
     "Cee, you're huge!" I scolded her.
     "Wasted on him, though, wasn't it. What's the point in flashing three feet of creamy cleavage at a bloke if he's hung like a peashooter?"
     I changed the subject as gently as I could. "Now, what about these two girls?"
     "Which girls, Shannie?" she asked innocently in her best butter-wouldn't-melt voice.
     "The two who missed my Geography lesson. Gloria Whatever-Her-Name-Is, and that Feeny girl from St Angela's."
     "Gloria's name's Mundy. Elizabeth Mundy. As in sic transit gloria. And Athene Billingsgate. Honestly, Shannie, don't you ever read the register?"
     "Of course not," I said, surprised. "This is a boarding school. We don't need a register. Girls don't bunk off classes. Not unless members of staff tell them it's okay to take the afternoon off. Those two young ladies will now go through life in ignorance of the formation of the Chiltern Hills."
     "I daresay they'll get by. Two young girls with a combined bust measurement of a hundred and twenty-three inches probably find the Chiltern Hills pretty insignificant."
     "There is nothing insignificant about ... how big?" I began rummaging through my desk drawer for a calculator, but my hands wouldn't obey simple commands.
     "I thought that would grab your attention. Gloria was sixty-seven inches. She is now seventy-one. Athene, you will gather, has increased from thirty-four to fifty-two."
     "She's only been here a week! Woo-woo-woo..."
     "Shan, stop getting so excited."
     "I want her."
     "You can't have her. She's not a real St Cat's girl. She's on exchange."
     "Let me see her, then. I have to see her. I'm headmistress."
     "Her mother's going to kill her, of course," said Corinne craftily. "And it will be your responsibility, as headmistress of her school..."
     Miss Labia came in with two mugs of coffee. She handed one to Corinne, opened the window wide and perched herself comfortably on the corner of my desk to sip the other. "You'll have to send her back to St Angela's," she said primly. God, when she screws her mouth up like that I could cheerfully deck the woman. I drew back my fist threateningly, but as soon as I swung the punch, at least one of Newton's Laws of Motion came into play and I spun helplessly round on the revolving chair. "Ouch, you bastard," I remarked as one of my breasts squashed against the desktop.
     "We've decided to send Athene back to her own school, Shan," said Corinne. "She can leave at the end of the week. I'll make all the arrangements."
     "You can't do this! They've got one of our girls. We can't send theirs back. It's against all the rules."
     "Miss Labia will look after it. Cassiopæia will give her a hand with the paperwork. In fact..." Corinne spoke quietly, placing one hand so that anyone with a spy camera on the roof of the dorms couldn't lip-read. "In fact, the Fuckh Machine has already taken care of it. The System has already presented us with a more than satisfactory solution."
     I'd heard it all before. "Oh, no! Not that damned computer again."
     "Ah, where would we be without it, Shannie? Don't you even want to know what the solution is?"
     "No! Absolutely not. I want no part of it."
     "Good. St Angela's will have their girl back. Athene won't mind. She thinks we're all a bit weird here anyway. She'll go back to St Angela's, where she will have easily the biggest bust in the school. This will deeply piss off the official current holder of the position, one Virginia Pottinger; aged almost sixteen, five feet seven inches, 49-24-36."
     "How do you know all this?" I shouldn't really have asked.
     Cassiopæia sailed into the office and handed Corinne one of those dreaded fan-folded wads of paper. Without so much as a glance at it, she pushed it across the desk to me. "It's all in here. I've marked the place. Just ... there."
     "Who's this Wanda?"
     "I was coming to that. She's the Fuckh Machine's solution. Wanda Pottinger is Virginia's little sister. You'll like her. She can join the Fourth Form instead of Athene, and the authorities at St Angie's won't be any the wiser. Their paperwork will all be in order. Wanda's bust size is already far more than adequate, and still increasing at a frightening rate. In fact, the Machine has so far failed to predict an end-point for her growth, but we can cross that bridge when we come to it."
     "You mean she's as big as Athene?"
     "Far bigger. Athene's set to level off somewhere in the mid-sixties. According to the Machine, Wanda's just passed sixty-four inches, heading north and going like the Flying Scotsman. She's got bigger moons than Jupiter. Perfect for you, Shannie!"
     "Well, I suppose..." Perhaps the Fuckh Machine could occasionally get things right. It was really a marvellous invention. All this stuff it churned out, all these pages of fan-folded paper. I read the piece about Wanda again. Suddenly, an icy hand gripped my spine.
     "I'd better take that print-out, Miss Gruntworthy," chirped Cassiopæia brightly. "I'm still collating the mass bilateral functions against the transitory heliotropic parameters. I'm using the Wanchope-Redknapp modus..."
     "The hell you are!" I blazed. "What's this, Meadowlark?" I tapped on the print-out with a fingernail. "Wanda Pottinger. Age, eleven! An eleven-year-old girl can't be in the Fourth Form."
     "She certainly can't be in the Firsts, can she?" Corinne pointed out patiently, as if explaining the Special Theory of Relativity to a particularly dim-witted Yorkshire terrier. "Her bust is so big she'd have to be Form Head. That would screw things up all down the line."
     "You can't do it, Corinne. I know how this machine works. You've got to go back and tell it to find an alternative solution."
     But then it found one. I realise now that's what caused the next improbable event; it was the Fuckh Machine putting its records straight. I know the average joe won't believe this, but that's not my problem.
     A terrible object came sailing in through the open window and landed squarely on the print-out. By the time we had beaten out the worst of the flames and dumped the smouldering coffee-soaked remains in the waste paper bucket, all references to Wanda's age had been destroyed. Meanwhile, Cassiopæia took the cause of the disturbance, a charred and blackened wooden spoon, and tossed it casually back out of the window.
     Then the phone rang. I went to pick it up, but Miss Labia slapped my hand away. "I'm the secretary," she snapped. "I answer the phone. Hello? St Cat's? What do you want? Yes, she's here. It's for you, Miss Meadowlark. It's some girl. She sounds as if she's on a mobile phone in the middle of a field somewhere."

St Angie's:
Outside the Main Entrance

Year Ten had turned out in force to say goodbye. In the background, a small group of teachers wept silently into their handkerchiefs. No doubt, St Angela's girls would pronounce it handkerchieves. Even so, Emily thought they weren't such a bad bunch after all.
     "Here's your taxi," said Carol. "Where's that shrimp Pottinger?"
     Jan nodded gloomily in the direction of the entrance to the dormitory block. "Here she comes. She's got a suitcase bigger than she is. Shit, man, look at her tits!"
     Everyone already was. Wanda was a deeply impressive sight. She would fit perfectly into the Fourth Form at St Cat's. Perhaps the hairstyle needed some attention. Twin ponytails secured with enormous bows of yellow ribbon gave her an unnervingly Junior appearance. She waddled across to where her sister and her posse were sheltering from the drizzle beneath a conker tree. The two of them exchanged a brief hug, and Wanda cadged a last drag on Virginia's Benson and Hedges. Then she joined the Year Ten girls. The suitcase, big as it was, was evidently too small for all of Wanda's possessions; half a dozen dolls were secured to the handle with string.
     "Why didn't St Cat's send Athene back in the same taxi that's taking us?" the child fluted in her most intensely annoying voice.
     Year Ten ignored her as usual. In fact, they weren't completely ignoring her; they were all staring at her bust, transfixed by its stupendous size.
     Emily felt she ought to say something to her new classmate. "Mr Jones does funerals," she explained without having a clue what she was talking about.
     "Emily?" Carol was tugging at her sleeve. "Have you still got your Sexual Chemistry notebook in your bag?"
     "I think so. Why?"
     "I just wondered. Could we borrow it? You could tell your teacher you lost it at St Angie's and copy out the notes from one of the other girls in your class."
     "Tell them the dog ate it," suggested Jan.
     "What do you want it for? You don't do Sexual Chemistry here."
     "We just want something to remember you by. You haven't been here long, but we've had some fun times. Please?"
     With a lump forming in her throat and a tear trying to spill out of her eye, Emily opened her bag and pulled out the exercise book. It was dog-eared and stained, and there was a burn mark in one corner of the cover. Carol took it eagerly and stuffed it down the front of her skirt.
     "Well, this is it, then!"
     Emily hugged Carol, and they exchanged almost chaste kisses in the rain.
     "Give my love to your brother. Look after yourselves. I wish I'd been able to stay longer, but you know how it is..."
     Actually, none of them knew how it was. They had simply been told that the student exchange scheme had been cancelled for this year because of a computer error.
     "We're getting Athene back," said Jan as she clasped Emily to her non-bosom.
     "Maybe she'll be able to help us with Sexual Chemistry and stuff," said Carol. "Now we've seen how that stuff works, old Pottinger's gonna have to watch out." She cupped her well-filled little bra and grinned. "I fancy a bigger pair than these myself."
     The girls all looked at Wanda, who was a couple of yards away in her own private world, taking deep breaths and trying to see her reflection in the glass walls of the school buildings.
     "Let's write to each other," said Emily desperately.
     Carol screwed up her little nose. "You mean letters? Write letters?"
     "Just short ones. Now and again?"
     "Okay. If we've got any questions about Love, or Puff."
     "Or Lube and Steam," said Emily.
     The driver had loaded his passengers' bags into the luggage compartment and was holding open the taxi door like a royal footman. He sized up the improbable little Wanda and opened it even wider. The two girls got into the back seat and the door closed with a solid thunk.
     As they turned out on to the main road to Borcester, Emily waved her handkerchief at the rear window, then had to pretend to blow her nose. Another taxi passed them on its way in through the gates of St Angela's.

St Cat's:
The School Restaurant

The Fourth Form didn't quite know what to make of things. They'd scarcely said bye-bye to Emily and now here she was, back again. Already they were missing Athene. Gloria was missing her most of all.
     "Where's Gloria?" Emily looked round the school restaurant in a vain search for her ex-lover.
     "She's gone to see Nurse," said Pansy.
     "She's not well," Suzanne added. "She's been all weepy. But it's not her period for another week at least."
     "Are you sure? Her tits looked a bit full last time I saw her," Pansy grinned and nudged her cousin.
     "I ought to visit her," said Emily. "Cheer her up a bit."
     "Is your friend in hospital?" Wanda piped. "I'll come with you. She can borrow one of my dollies to keep her company."
     The girls stared at Wanda. As she wasn't scheduled to see Miss Clitress until the morning, she still wore her unfamiliar St Angela's skirt and tie. Beneath her once-crisp, once-white blouse, a heavy-duty bra was fighting a losing battle with a pair of the most outrageously puffy-nippled tits. She had propped them on the table while she supported an angel-faced doll in the crook of one arm. She was feeding it rice pudding with a spoon.
     "Come on, Chauntaille, don't be a tiresome child. Eat up your nice pudding and you'll grow into a great big girl like Mummy, won't you?" The baby doll maintained a resolute silence. "You do want big boobies, don't you, Chauntaille? I'll give it to Corinne if you don't behave."
     The Fourth Form stared at Wanda in alarm. Not even Junior girls fed dolls in the school restaurant. The sight of this curiously childlike creature with twin ponytails and stupendous breasts filled them with a strange foreboding. Especially given the names of those two dolls.
     "Those are very unusual names your dollies have got, Wanda," Pansy said kindly. "Why did you call them Chauntaille and Corinne?"
     "Because those are their names, of course." Wanda resumed her feeding. Chauntaille had evidently had enough. The spoon went whirling away over the heads of the girls, scattering driblets of rice pudding in its flight. "Naughty, naughty, naughty Chauntaille! You'll get a sore bottom!" Wanda slid her chair back from the table, perched the doll on her knee, pulled down its panties and spanked it several times.
     "You mustn't do that in here," Suzanne objected. Girls all over the restaurant were staring and giggling.
     "Why not?" Wanda's face was flushed. She gave Chauntaille six more of the best. "She's been a very naughty baby. She wouldn't eat her rice pudding and she threw the spoon away!"
     The cousins rolled their eyes at one another.
     "Perhaps she's not hungry, Wanda," said Pansy. "She's had a long day. Why not go back to the dorm with Emily and put little Chauntaille to bed? You can let her have a suck of your titties."
     Wanda looked confused. "Why would Emily want to suck my titties, Pansy?"
     Pansy opened her mouth then closed it again. She could think of no valid reason for anyone to want to suck this appalling child's titties, gigantic though they undoubtedly were. Except perhaps...
     "You'll be getting your new bra tomorrow, Wanda. You'd better have an early night."
     "Don't want to!" Wanda stood up, stuffed her thumb in her mouth and wrapped the rest of her fingers round her nose. Petulantly she threw Chauntaille on the floor.
     "Pick that doll up at once," Pansy told her sternly.
     "Shan't." Wanda turned her toes inwards.
     "Do as you're told, Wanda!"
     "Waaaaaaaaaaaah!"
     The restaurant was in uproar. That new Fourth Form girl with what appeared to be at least a sixty-four inch bust had just thrown a baby doll on the floor and was now standing there bawling her eyes out. Suzanne and Pansy realised the need for drastic and immediate action. They stood up, seized the child's arms and frog-marched her backwards out through the jeering girls.
     Emily followed uncomfortably. She didn't know much about Sexual Chemistry, but she was beginning to wonder if that batch of Puff she'd made had been quite as successful as she'd thought.

St Cat's:
The Office of the Headmistress

"All's well that ends well, I suppose," I ventured cautiously.
     "The Fuckh Machine always comes up with a solution," said Corinne. She had her hands behind her back and I could have sworn she had her fingers crossed.
     "When can I interview this new girl, what's her name, Wanda something?"
     "Wanda Pottinger. She's with Clit this morning, then we're having her checked over by Nurse. You can't be too sure these days, especially as she's an ex-St Angela's girl."
     My head swam. "You don't mean she might have a ... a disease?"
     "Their morals leave a lot to be desired, Shannie. I've heard tales. I don't know how much truth there is in them, but boys have been getting into the St Angela's dormitories on a regular basis. And girl-girl relationships are almost unheard of. Apparently if girls want to exchange bodily fluids with each other, they are banished to a spinney on the far side of the sports field!"
     "That's shameful. Shameful! But surely Wanda hasn't done anything like that. She's only eleven, after all. And I did hear a little rumour that she likes playing with dolls."
     "There was an embarrassing scene at dinner last night. The Brooks girls had to drag her outside. She was trying to feed one of her dolls with rice pudding, but the doll didn't want any..."
     "Understandably enough, I'd have thought..."
     "...And she gave the doll a spanking."
     I felt my ears prick up. "A spanking? She spanked her doll?"
     "Yes. And strangely enough, she's given her dolls the must unusual names. Apparently they're called..."
     Miss Labia burst into the office. "We've just had a call from the Headmistress of St Angela's. The woman sounded hysterical."
     "What's wrong with the stupid bitch? Just because the girl she sent us has developed a little while she's been with us. That's nothing to get hysterical over."
     "That's not the reason," Miss Labia sneered. "At least, it might have had something to do with it. She was hysterical because of the orgy last night."
     My ears pricked up again. At least it was a nicer feeling than having an icy hand clutching at my insides. "An orgy? They had an orgy at St Angela's? I didn't think they went in for that sort of thing, Cee."
     "They don't." Corinne stood up and moved to the door. "I've just remembered something I wanted Cassiopæia to look at. A hypergolic parametric excursion. I'll see you later..." She fled out of the door and pounded away into the distance. I almost wished I could have been standing at the foot of the stairs watching her come down. Corinne was looking remarkable busty this morning.
     "And well she might run away," Labia muttered darkly. "Her and her Fucking Machine..."
     "What do you mean? She had nothing to do with the orgy at St Angie's. What happened, anyway?" I could tell she was bursting to tell me.
     "You don't want to know. They've had the police in. They even called the fire brigade, but it turned out it wasn't smoke, it was steam."
     The hairs stood up on the back of my neck. "Steam?"
     "Clouds of steam, pouring out of all the windows. And all the girls were howling like sex-starved wolves. The fire people went in with their hoses and their ladders and their helmets. They're still looking for some of them."
     "They've lost some firemen?"
     "They're called firefighters these days," Labia reminded me. "They've lost half a dozen male firefighters and three females. They think the girls have hidden them somewhere in the dorms, but the place is like a rabbit warren. In more ways than one, apparently. The headmistress had rounded up some of the girls for questioning, Year Ten girls, she said. Same as our Fourth Form at St Cat's. Apparently most of the steam was coming from their dorm."
     "The steam? You don't mean ... Steam? The kind of Steam that goes with Lube?"
     "Of course it is. What else would it be? That wretched no-good Emily girl you sent them has passed on the secrets of Sexual Chemistry. She's got St Angela's on full-time production of Lube and Steam, not to mention Love and Puff and whatever else. No wonder that new Wanda Pottinger girl's got a seventy-three inch bust this morning. You're always the same, Gruntworthy, totally irresponsible. You've got no more idea than..."
     "Seventy-three? I've got to see her! Send her up here at once! Woo-woo-woo-wow!"

St Cat's:
The Office of the Headmistress

"Who zat lady?" the child asked me curiously. Her big eyes never left Corinne, who was gaping at her as if she'd never seen anything like it in her life.
     "That's Miss Meadow-lark," I explained patiently. "She teaches Sup-port and Mo-bility."
     "Bility," Wanda echoed, satisfied, and she returned to twisting a strand of hair between her fingers and stuffing the end up her nose. "Mrs Lark."
     "Meadow-lark." I corrected her gently. "Lark is something else. And it's Miss. Corinne's not married."
     "Corinne doll," said Wanda, a sentiment with which I could only agree wholeheartedly. "Chauntaille doll, too," she added, which I thought was a disrespectful way to talk about one's headmistress. "Carry on with story."
     "Why's she talking like that?" Corinne queried. "She's a Fourth Former. Why can't she use properly structured sentences?"
     "She's behaving a little strangely. You'd never think she was eleven at all."
     Corinne agreed, and I could quite see her point. Wanda was curled up in the armchair, sucking her thumb. She wasn't exactly in the approved school uniform, but she looked relaxed and cool in a pair of abbreviated blue shorts with a repeating motif of teddy bears and railway locomotives. Unisex shorts, I imagine, although they were sorely stretched by the girl's somewhat womanly hips. Above the waist she wore a kind of tank-top thing, I suppose you'd call it, although it didn't fit too well either. She'd borrowed it from one of the other girls in the dorm and it would clearly never be the same again. About the only item of school uniform she was wearing was the statutory bra, which like the rest of her wardrobe was most interestingly overloaded. Wanda was spilling out of it in some truly unexpected directions.
     "Story!" she insisted, threatening to go into a sulk.
     "All right," I sighed. "One day, the bears had porridge for breakfast..."
     "Start beginning. Story prop'ly!" Wanda's lower lip trembled.
     "Oh, shit! Once upon a time, there were three bears: There was Mummy Bear, and there was Daddy Bear, and..."
     "Baby Bear!"
     "That's right! Good girl!"
     "Shannie," said Corinne. "I'd better have a word with Cassiopæia about Wanda's parameters. She's regressing in age as fast as her tits are getting bigger."
     "Oh, I don't know, Cee. She's only eleven..."
     "She's behaving as if she's four or five. And she's got tits like a Form Head. She'll be Head Girl of the whole school by tomorrow, the way she's going. And we'll be needing one of the lactating girls to feed her every four hours by then. You carry on telling her about the Three Bears, I'll get her trend reversed. You were right, as usual, Shannie. We should never have brought her to St Cat's at all. I should have asked the Fuckh Machine to think again." Corinne hung her head in deep shame.
     "Fuck the Machine," suggested Wanda. Then she disappeared in a cloud of steam as she dumped the contents of her bladder all over my best armchair. Labia opened the office door and ushered in half a dozen First Form girls carrying rolls of industrial paper towel. They immediately gathered round Wanda, cooing and clucking like broody hens. Just as well there were no boys available at St Cat's, or the whole lot would be well and truly pregnant by bedtime.
     The door opened again. It was like Piccadilly Circus in here this morning. This time it was Cassiopæia.
     "You rang, Cee?"
     "Ah, I was hoping you'd come. What can you do about this child's parameters?"
     "Which child?" Cassiopæia stared at the heaving mass of Junior girls.
     "Wanda. She's somewhere underneath all those First Formers."
     "Wow!" Cassiopæia looked eager to join in. "What are they doing to her?"
     "Changing her. She's done a pee in her pants. Can you log in and check her parametric age structure?"
     "Sure, Boss. I assume she's suffering from physico-mental divergence?"
     "Regressive-accelerative. The usual. Seems to be the standard piezo-Helmholz regression pattern, with overlaid Guggenheim hypertrophy up top."
     Cassiopæia laughed. "Half the bloody school's suffering from that!"
     "Wanda's case is more pronounced. You'll need to reverse the regression without her tits getting out of hand. You know what youngsters are like. Anyway, do what you can, okay?"
     "Can I borrow Miss Labia's computer?"
     "Go ahead. She won't mind."
     I wasn't so sure about that. How these two could have the sheer effrontery to stand here in my office spouting gibberish and gobbledegook I had no idea. I was sure none of it meant anything, but I didn't like to say anything in case it did.
     Cassiopæia, meanwhile, had taken over Miss Labia's chair, singing what I could only assume was a popular song, and was clattering away at the keyboard. The lamp on my desktop flickered. It hadn't done that for a long time.
     "There, done!" she announced, gliding back into the office, wanking absently with one hand up the front of her almost-crotch-length skirt.
     "Cassie, please don't play with yourself in front of the Juniors," Corinne reminded her with a sigh.
     "Okay," said Cassiopæia, reaching orgasm with an explosive grunt. "I'd nearly finished anyway." Two of the First Formers detached themselves from their child-minding activities and came over with fistfuls of industrial paper towel at the ready.
     But it was the other four Juniors who captured my attention. They suddenly stood back, wiping their hands, and filed out of the office, chatting happily amongst themselves. Wanda unwound herself from the armchair and stood up.
     "I'd better be getting back to my classes, Miss Gruntworthy. If Miss Clitress finishes that new ScatBra SuperMaxi FreeTips of mine, perhaps you could send her over to the Lab, right?"
     "Oh? Right-ho. Good idea. Erm, Wanda...?"
     She paused in the doorway. "Yes, Miss?"
     "Are you going to the lab dressed like that?"
     Wanda inspected herself and adjusted her teddy-bear and locomotive shorts with a tug of the crotch. "These things aren't much too small, are they, Miss? Miss Mountains told me to wear something comfortable until my new uniform is ready. In fact, these clothes are the ones she gave me."
     "Yes, they would be. Off you go, then."
     "My bum doesn't look too big in these shorts, does it?" she asked with a touch of anxiousness. Her thumb was thinking of going back into her mouth again.
     "How big is it?"
     "Thirty-seven. Isn't that just totally shameful? Shameful! But I suppose 77-21-37 isn't a bad figure, really, for a girl four feet six inches tall. It's just the way I am." And with a wiggle of her thirty-seven, she was gone.
     Corinne blew out her cheeks and rolled her eyes.
     "I may have overdone it a little, Cee," Cassiopæia explained. "She's about sixteen at the moment. Should I adjust her parameters again?"
     "No, we'll let her settle down for a day or two. Sometimes these things sort themselves out. A properly fitting bra can do wonders for a girl's parameters."
     The phone rang. Miraculously, Miss Labia wasn't around to answer it. I picked up the unfamiliar instrument and applied it to my ear.
     "Hello? Oh, it's you again, Headmistress. Isn't it strange, I hear nothing from you for years then you call twice in one day. How can we help you this time? Not another orgy, I hope?"
     I lowered myself into my revolving chair and gestured to Corinne to stop waving her arms about.
     "Already?" I laughed somewhat shakily. "Again? In broad daylight?"
     For a woman in such a responsible position as the Headmistress of St Angela's, she did seem altogether too excitable.
     "Pull yourself together, woman," I advised her calmly. "What do you mean, boys? St Angela's is a girls' school."
     She spoke at some length.
     "Wow!" I said. "Are you sure? Nine inches? Nineteen? God, woman, how thick was it?"
     She told me. I put the phone down.
     "Cee. Would the Fuckh Machine work over a distance of like a few miles, do you think? Like between here and St Angela's? They seem to be having a bit of trouble with Sexual Chemistry."

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

"You know why I've sent for you, Emily?"
     "No, Miss."
     Nor did I, now I came to think of it. It had seemed a good idea at the time. She was quite a big-breasted girl, but I'd never really fancied her somehow. That Gloria girl had been seeing quite a lot of her, apparently, until the exchange, but things were different now. Ah, yes; the exchange, of course.
     "How did you get on at St Angela's, Emily?" I can be a crafty old fox when I set my mind to it.
     "Okay, Miss."
     "Make lots of friends, did you?"
     "One or two, Miss."
     "Big girls, were they? Big tits?"
     Emily blushed prettily. "Not as big as mine, Miss. Except..."
     "Yes, except little Wanda. Strange business, young Wanda, don't you think?"
     "Her big sister had a big pair, Miss."
     "But not as big as Wanda's?"
     "They used to be, until Wanda grew bigger..."
     "She grew bigger? All on her own? Just like that? Overnight? Don't you think that was a little bit unusual, Emily?"
     "It happens all the time here, Miss."
     "And we all know why, don't we, Emily?"
     She hung her head. "I didn't expect it to work. Nothing of mine ever worked before. But this time, everything was perfect. Even the spoon caught fire the way it's supposed to."
     It seemed a good moment for me to raise a cautious eyebrow. If a spoon had caught fire, perhaps I had misjudged the girl. Despite her disappointingly smaller than average less-than-sixty-inch bust, she was not entirely unattractive. The waist of her school skirt was pulled unspeakably tight by a daringly non-uniform white plastic belt. The child was in acute danger of snapping in half. I touched myself beneath the cover of the desk. "What formula did you use, Emily?"
     "Just Puff, Miss. The stuff they used to call Grow Cream Super XL Magnum Mega-Mammoth Mammavast Double-Strength Ultra Plus, only they don't any more. It made Wanda huge, Miss."
     "I'll have a look at your notebook, Wanda, please."
     "You can't, Miss. I left it behind."
     "You left your notes at St Angela's? But this is appalling. How are we ever going to discover was in it?"
     "Just the usual stuff, Miss. We had to change one or two of the ingredients, 'cos we didn't have the real thing handy. And some plastic got into it from when the bucket melted, but what does it matter? It worked, didn't it?"
     "Stupid child! It worked too well. The night after you left St Angela's, the girls made some more. There was a huge orgy during which a hundred girls were probably impregnated, several fire-fighters have completely disappeared, a substantial number of girls now need larger bras and a quantity of boys have developed gigantic genitalia."
     Emily beamed. "Wow, Miss! Did I do all that?"
     "You did. And since we don't have your notes, we are unable to work on an anecdote."
     "Antelope, Miss."
     "Quite. We're probably going to have to get one or two of those boys over here for close examination by Nurse and evaluation by the teaching staff. Their mothers will probably kill them. We don't even know who they are."
     "Please, Miss. I know who one of them probably is. Carol's brother. She sleeps with him. He's got quite a big willie."
     "Don't be a disgusting little girl, Emily. How big?"
     She undid two of her blouse buttons and showed me.
     "You mean you let this boy put his willie between your breasts?"
     "Yes, Miss. It went nearly all the way in."
     I inserted a ruler to check. Even allowing for Emily's marginal size, that meant the boy had to be getting on for a foot long. And she had referred to it only as 'quite big'! What did Emily think was the average size of these things?
     "What did you say this boy's sister's name was? Carol?"
     "Yes, Miss. Carol Luckett. She's got quite tiny tits, but she's rilly-rilly nice."
     "I find that hard to believe, Emily. But possibly she has been affected by the Puff."
     "They don't call it that any more, Miss."
     "Be that as it may, I'm going to call my dear friend and respected colleague, the Headmistress of St Angela's Upper School. The miserable old cow. We need to discuss the question of your punishment. That will be all for now, Emily."
     I watched her leave the office. Her hips seemed larger than twenty-seven inches, although to balance this, her waist looked even smaller than its advertised sixteen inches. I almost wished I had thought of ordering her to undress for a full inspection. Just down to her flimsy underwear; one mustn't humiliate these impressionable Fourth Form girls, after all.
     Miss Labia came in, sighing heavily, and plonked a huge box of industrial paper towel on the desk. The woman does get above herself at times.