The St Cat's Puffies
by Some Sort of Dog
With invaluable assistance from the Team
Dedicated to Bo
Prologue
THIS STORY FOLLOWS on chronologically from The St Cat's System, a novel filled with novel events. Although many strange things had happened at St Cat's High School for Growing Girls over the years, these had always remained unexplained. Not any more.
The arrival at St Cat's of Corinne Meadowlark's brother, Michael — an academic just as frighteningly brilliant as his sister is in real life — resulted in the gradual unfolding of a story so startling that it almost beggars belief, even now.
Everything that went on at St Cat's until then: the bizarre obsession with sex; the 99% rate of bisexuality among the students; the events of years before when the school operated a girl-dairy, manufactured and marketed Sexual Chemistry and sold used panties world-wide; above all, the staggering breast development of staff and students alike: everything was explained.
It was all controlled by a single, mind-blowingly all-powerful computer, financed by a completely unaware department of the British government and situated on the remote Scottish island of Fuckh — the Fuckh Machine, as Anastasia Dawkes named it, although she might have been thinking of something else. Michael Meadowlark was justifiably proud of his achievement in developing the computer system and was only too pleased to demonstrate the power of the Fuckh Machine to Corinne and Headmistress Chauntaille Gruntworthy, after a few bottles of wine.
Matters got out of hand when Michael became transformed into Corinne's younger sister Michaela. Control of the Fuckh Machine passed into the hands of Corinne and Anastasia, the spectacularly-endowed Third Form girl. Neither Corinne nor Anastasia could resist the temptations of having such power at their fingertips. Only by a minor miracle of diplomacy by such unlikely diplomats as Chauntaille and Smegs was the destruction of the Universe as we know it averted.
All might have been well if the St Cat's System had not, like many others before it, possessed a number of undocumented features. The computer itself took a hand, shutting itself off from those who crouched over the keyboards, and taking orders only directly from the subconscious mind of Corinne Meadowlark herself.
As all events have to have a logical cause, all changes made by the Fuckh Machine have a firm basis in history. Once a change is made, it becomes a matter of historical fact: it has always been like that. If a girl gets a 100" bust, it comes as no surprise to anyone: all her friends know she was a bit of an early developer.
If a girl becomes pregnant, there has to be a father. The computer is quite capable of providing fathers for babies — after all, at St Cat's, it gets plenty of practice — but it tends to seek the simplest and most logical solution. The concept of Family Planning takes on hideous new implications. When a misguided daughterisation scheme goes awry, a number of totally interchangeable new girls appear at the school.
This is only one of the appalling loose ends which Corinne eventually hopes to be able to clear up when she gets round to it. Others are the problems with the school's grand piano, which finds itself in a constant state of repossession; and the inflatable dolls of oriental appearance with an identity crisis.
Many of these things came to a head at the end of The St Cat's System when the girls held a costume party. Perhaps it would have been better if Corinne had not drunk quite so many beers that night. At least, Michaela is no longer a dairy cow and Smegs has stopped being a dog, although she is quite capable of being a bitch at times. But there is still some confusion over which of two busty Eastern girls is the Real Thing and which is inflatable.
More worrying is the effect on the female population of Japan, which is now considerably more well-developed than it used to be. Fortunately, they have always been that way. Or at least, that's what the rest of the world thinks.
The St Cat's System took place at Easter. St Cat's Puffies starts in September of the same year, when school reassembles after the summer holidays. As ever, your Narrator is Chauntaille Gruntworthy, Headmistress of St Cat's High School for Growing Girls.
Part I
Chapter 1:— New Girls At St Cat's
THERE IS always something special about the start of a new school year. Summer holidays have been and gone, Autumn is on its way and it is a long way to go to Christmas. But there is a special thrill in meeting all the old faces again: the teachers, the girls.
Not just the old faces either. There are always thirty or so new faces, the brand new First Form, stiff and crackling in their unfamiliar uniforms; looking around them in wonderment at the ancient ivy-clad buildings, the lush, spreading, forested grounds of the school and the gargantuan breasts of the students.
The returning girls always looked somehow different. They were tanned and fit. Many had that indefinable well-fucked look. Some appeared more grown-up. They were only six weeks older than they had been, but some of them had evidently put their holidays to good use. I noted with pride and pleasure that despite the annual influx of young First Formers, the average bust measurement of the students was continuing its inexorable rise.
There would be new teachers, too, for this, my first experience of a new school year in my position as Headmistress of St Cat's High School for Growing Girls. Sadly, I had not been involved in the selection process. The all-male Board of Governors had ridden roughshod over me, and interviewed the applicants themselves. But the Chairman of the Board of Governors, no less a figure than the Mayor of Borcester himself, had been mercifully reassuring.
"It is for the best, Shan, dear. As outsiders, as it were, we will bring a fresh dimension to the selection of your new staff. We are deeply aware of your needs."
So had I been. The mayor had insisted on another meeting just to tell me of his decision. Naturally, he had insisted on all seven Form Heads and the Head Girl of St Cat's being present. There being no spare male for me, I had as usual been banished to the minibus to shag Jeremy.
By the time I returned to the Mayor's Chambers, the Board had been fucked to a frazzle, my poor girls were dewy-eyed, moist-lipped and languid — and the decision had been made.
It was Monday evening. With the new term starting tomorrow, the girls were already here, unpacking, settling into their new dorms.
"I'd better just slip across and see how they're getting on, Cee." I began edging away toward the door.
"What's the rush? You'll be seeing more than enough of them over the next year."
"But they're all moving into strange beds. And those poor little First Formers, it will be their first ever night away from home." My hand was already on the door handle.
"Megan will see to the First Formers."
"That's what I'm worried about! She'll give them all a good seeing-to before I get a look at them. You know what she's like, she'll grab the best ones for herself."
"They're only children, Shan! If you must have sex with girls, go and see the Fifth Form. They're far more experienced."
"It's not sex I want. If I only wanted to get laid, I would see Jeremy. Or you, of course."
"Gee, thanks!"
"I'll go and take a stroll round the dorms. It's my duty, as Headmistress of St Cat's High School for Growing Girls." As an afterthought, I returned to the wardrobe I had installed in Moggie's ex-office and fished out my academic gown and mortar board.
"You're not going to wear that. You look ridiculous enough as it is, without dressing up as a school-marm from the 1920's."
Corinne can be so unkind, so unthinking.
But she let me go. My gown flaring out behind me, I waddled as fast as I could to the dormitory floor, then pounded along the corridor almost to the far end, where a distinct smell of Juniors still hung in the air, despite six weeks of emptiness and a thorough cleaning and repainting.
Out of breath, I stopped outside the double doors, with their label:
First Form Dormitory
NO Boys!
I knocked politely. The faint sounds from within died away. They would be appointing a spokesperson. Finally, the doors opened about three inches and a little face peered through.
"Yeah?"
"I'm your Headmistress, may I come in?"
"Oh, yeah. I s'pose so." The doors opened grudgingly a few more inches and the girl goggled at me before she remembered her manners and her place and stood aside. I swept past her and stood in the open area just inside the door.
A word of description here. The dorms were all identical in construction. They differed only in their scheme of decoration and their smell. They say you could blindfold anyone who had been at St Cat's for more than a couple of weeks, lead them to the dormitory corridor and ask them which dorm they were in — and most would get it right first time.
The Senior dorms smelled unashamedly of sex, with a hint of tobacco smoke, well-disguised by a haze of cheap fragrance. The Middle dorms smelled unashamedly of cheap fragrance, with a hint of sweaty socks, well-disguised by a haze of sex. The Junior dorms smelled of young girls, with a hint of sex, well-disguised by a haze of sweaty socks. I always found the absence of cheap fragrance somehow refreshing.
Inside the door — the necessarily wide St Cat's-style double door — there was an open area without beds. There was a small table there with half a dozen chairs, in case any girls wanted to do homework or writing, without going to the Junior Common Room at the very end of the corridor.
Further into the room, there was a division down the middle, so both halves of the room had beds down each side. In the middle, the beds backed on to the dividing wall.
From all of the beds, girls looked up at me curiously from their unpacking. So curiously did they look that I wondered if I had accidentally come out wearing a false moustache and Groucho Marx glasses.
"Thank you, Corinne," I muttered angrily, gathering my academic gown about myself. It covered my panties, but my ScatBra-supported breasts still thrust mightily out through the gap at the front. I began to fumble for the lowering straps at the back.
"Are you looking for these, Miss?" One of the girls had approached and yanked at the straps. With a sound of rending velcro, the height adjusters shuddered and slipped to a position three notches lower. My breasts plummeted massively. Several girls gasped. I have that effect on girls.
"Thank you, dear. You know about ScatBra controls?"
"Yes, Miss. My sister showed me hers."
I looked blankly at the girl for a moment. "Your sister?" Somehow, she looked familiar, although it was difficult to place her.
"I'm Valentina Nightingale, Miss. You remember me? Nurse's girl. Jenufa showed me her ScatBra. It's a ScatBra MaxiLift UltraBust SexiPlus JuniorMiss PreTeenStonker �. You should see the tits on her, Miss!"
Many of the girls looked shocked and blushed deeply at this display of industrial language. One or two were fumbling ineptly with their genitalia in an untutored manner. Valentina grinned slyly at them.
"I'm pretty big, though, Miss. I'm looking forward to getting my own ScatBra MaxiLift UltraBust SexiPlus JuniorMiss PreTeenStonker � tomorrow." She pulled aside the front of her dressing gown to reveal a more than well-stuffed flannelette nightie.
Wretched child. At least, she hadn't brought her baby into the dorm with her. Young Arthur would not be a good thing to have around. He would make the other girls broody.
"Thank you, Valentina. You can put your breasts away now and sit down. Gather round, girls. We're going to have a little chat."
Obediently, the girls from the far end of the dorm came and sat in an attentive semicircle at my feet. Some brought their own pillows to sit on. One or two had already made friends and sat on them. Those girls whose beds were at the nearer end of the dorm wrapped themselves in their bed covers and made themselves comfortable. A companionable silence settled on us all.
"Well, any questions?" I asked. I had been so anxious to get over here and meet the new First Form, I had completely forgotten to prepare a speech of welcome.
They looked puzzled. At last, one of them spoke up.
"Who are you, Miss?"
A babble of young voices broke out. "Yes, Miss. Who are you?"
"She's Miss Gruntworthy." Valentina's voice was scornful. "She's the headmistress." There were one or two satisfyingly respectful gasps. Girls nudged each other and blushed. The genital fumbling increased. Nipple arousal became noticeable beneath the tautly stretched nightdresses and T-shirts.
"Who's our teacher, Miss?"
"Is it you, Miss?"
"Who takes us for Sex, Miss?"
"Are there any boys we can use, Miss?"
"What time's breakfast, Miss?"
"What's your bust measurement, Miss?"
"How soon do we get our bras, Miss?"
"One at a time, girls, please! Now, your teacher. You'll meet her in the morning. It's Miss Mountains. She's a very nice lady and I've known her a long time. We used to go to school together!"
Several girls said, "Ahhhhhhh."
"Yes. Here at St Cat's. Miss Mountains will take you for most of your classes, including Sex, Theory and Practical. At first, while you are Juniors, most of the Practical is fairly ordinary — how many of you have done it before?" A forest of hands shot up. "Let me put it another way. How many of you are still virgins." Another forest of hands. Some of them, I couldn't help noticing, were the same ones. I sighed. Megan had quite a task ahead of her.
"We don't learn about boys, then, Miss?" It was a large, wide-mouthed, friendly-looking blonde girl who seemed to be about fifteen. The others gazed at her in awe, as if they had never seen such a big girl in their lives.
"What's your name?" I asked her.
"Helvetica Bold, Miss. I'm nearly eleven, Miss."
Gasps greeted this astonishing confession. Helvetica was one of the youngest girls in the class.
"You won't be getting to use boys until you are in the Middle school, and even then there are some things you will not be allowed to do to them."
"Oh, Miss!"
"I'm sorry. It's not my fault. It's the law. But never mind. Time will soon pass, and by the time you are old enough to do it properly, you will have had the benefit of the finest training available in the country, possibly in the world." I watched them swell with pride. This, I decided, was what teaching was all about. Their swelling reminded me of another of the questions. "Now, your new bras."
Silence fell instantly. Thirty eager faces were giving me their full attention. "Some of you wear bras already, I assume?" From the expressions on their faces as they stared round at each other's chests, most of them did. Those who didn't were trying to look invisible. "You will all be measured in the morning. Those of you without immediate need of support needn't worry. You will soon grow. Even some of our most well-developed girls were completely flat-chested in the First Form. Even myself," I added with becoming modesty, "and I'm more or less ten feet now."
Chatter had broken out again, and I waited for silence. "There is another reason for measuring you all tomorrow. We have many old traditions at St Cat's High School for Growing Girls. Actually, this one is a brand new tradition, starting this term. From now on, each Form will have a Form Head. In accordance with our rules for appointment of the Head Girl of St Cat's, it will depend on bust size. Just as the Head Girl is the girl with the biggest bust in the school, the girl with the biggest bust in each Form will be the Form Head."
They were all looking round, comparing, sizing each other up. Valentina let them talk amongst themselves for a while, then spoke up. "It looks like me, Miss." And she rose to her feet and took a dangerously deep breath. Valentina was right. It did look like her. Her T-shirt creaked as her generous cantaloupes strained at it, each one crowned by an absurdly large areola the colour of dark chocolate, clearly visible through the white cotton jersey material. "I seem to be easily the biggest." She turned slowly, to leave no one in any doubt as to her size.
It certainly impressed me. Breast feeding suited Valentina. "You are certainly a very big girl, dear," I said. None of the other girls were rising to the challenge. I looked around the semicircle, then broadened my scan area to include the four girls who had stayed wrapped in their bed covers. Over to the right, one of them hesitantly raised her hand. It was a diminutive girl of Chinese appearance. She brushed her black fringe out of her eyes as I nodded to her. "Yes, my dear? What's your name?"
"Sally Chung, Miss." Somehow, I had expected her accent to match her exotic appearance. Oddly enough, she seemed to come from Yorkshire: as near as I could tell, from Leeds. "Ah was woonderin', Miss. Is it size of uz boost, Miss, or just t'size of uz boobs?"
A number of the girls looked confused. There would be plenty of time later for them to learn such subtleties. Their very first Maths lesson would deal with the question of bra sizes. "That's a very good question, Sally. It is the size of the bust, rather than the breasts themselves. We have to make a rule, and it is easier to measure the bust than it would be to weigh the breasts individually. Any further quest...?" I had already turned to the class.
"Only, yer see, Miss." Sally continued. "Ah was woonderin' if my boost were bigger than Valentina's."
Thirty heads swivelled in Sally's direction. Those without a degree in mathematics should note that this was twenty-nine girls and one headmistress. We were not disappointed.
Sally Chung had thrust a slender naked leg out of bed, feeling for the floor. Then she had stood up, shedding bed covers around her, and wobbled towards us. I gulped. I suppose in outright terms, and by St Cat's standards, Sally wasn't too remarkable, but as I glanced from her to Valentina and back again, I realised that there was simply no contest. The First Form had a Form Head. As far as Form Head contenders were concerned, the rest could just pack up and go home.
Sally walked right up to me. Valentina had sat down again in a hurry. "Gosh, Sally," I said, with great originality. "You will be a worthy recipient of the White Sash of Office of First Form Head!"
"Me dad's gorra fish an' chip shop in Leets. He always said I et too mooch, and I'd get fat. Ah s'pose he's reet."
Her dad was perfectly correct, partly. Sally wasn't really fat. She was pleasingly rounded, as far as I could tell. Her bottom was a couple of generous double handfuls without being even remotely shameful. More or less all of Sally's dad's fish and chips seemed to have ended up in her bosom. At a cursory glance, Sally seemed to be an SBSSXLCW4, or thereabouts, although no doubt Miss Clitress would confirm it in the morning.
Meanwhile, I had urgent matters to attend to, back in my bedroom.
"What do you mean, the First Form Head has already been selected?" Smegs placed her hands on her powerful hips and glared at me truculently. "That's my job."
"It's not your job. It goes automatically to the girl with the biggest tits."
"But I get to measure them all. They're my girls."
"You don't need to measure them. The biggest is the biggest. And she is, by about a foot."
"I don't care. I want to find out for myself. And the girls have to help me. It teaches them mathematical skills, use of measuring devices, estimation and quantity surveying."
"It gives you a chance to get your sweaty hands all over their tits."
"I'm not sure I want to touch them now you've been mauling them about."
"I never touched them. Sally got out of bed and showed me hers."
Smegs clapped her hands over her ears. "I don't want to know who was biggest. I want to find out for myself."
"You can't. I already told you. It was Sally. Sally, Sally, Sally, Sally..."
I paused for breath and we circled one another like wild animals, nostrils flaring.
Smegs admitted defeat. "Sally who?"
"No. Sally Chung. A Chinese girl from Leeds. She pronounces 'boo-ubs' with two syllables. Her dad's got a fish and chip shop. That's why she's got such big tits."
I thought Nurse's Valentina was in the Firsts."
"She is."
"And Sally's bigger than her?"
I nodded, satisfied, like the cat that got the cream. "Miles bigger."
Smegs moaned softly and clutched at her groin with both hands. A sheen of sweat broke out on her brow. "Describe her to me, Shan!"
"Sally? Oh, she's just an ordinary First Former. Chinese-looking. Black hair. Very pretty little thing. Not skinny, more rounded..."
Smegs seized on that. "More rounded than who?"
"Oh, I don't know really. Not as shameful as me. I suppose she's about a thirty-five, thirty-six hips..."
"Ooooh, wow! How tall, how tall?"
"Five one or so..."
"Aaargh!"
"Her waist is about twenty-six, maybe twenty-seven."
Woo-woo-woo..."
"And her bust..."
"Yes! Her bust! Her bust!"
"About a foot or so bigger than Valentina's. Difficult to say, really."
"Say it, say it!"
"Well, if Valentina's is about forty-what?"
"Woo-woo..."
"Forty-six, seven?"
"Woo-woo-woo-woo-woo-woo..."
"And Sally is a foot or so bigger? Maybe a bit more. She'd be, I don't know..."
"Woooooooo-woo-woo..."
"Sixty-ish, I suppose!"
"... woo-woo-woo-WOW!" Splwoosh! It was a biggie, even by Smegs's exalted standards. I laid her inert body gently on her bed and tiptoed out, my bare feet squelching on the soaked carpet.
"What do you mean, the First Form Head has already been selected?" Corinne placed her hands on her sweet hips and glared at me truculently. "That's my job."
"It's not your job. It goes automatically to the girl with the biggest tits."
"But I get to measure them all. I'm the Support and Mobility Mistress."
"You don't need to measure them. The biggest is the biggest. And she is, by about a foot."
"I don't care. I want to find out for myself. And the girls have to help me. It teaches them mathematical skills, use of measuring devices, estimation and quantity surveying."
"It gives you a chance to get your sweaty hands all over their tits."
"I'm not sure I want to touch them now you've been mauling them about."
"I never touched them. Sally got out of bed and showed me hers."
Corinne clapped her hands over her ears. "I don't want to know who was biggest. I want to find out for myself."
"You can't, Cee. I already told you. It was Sally. Sally, Sally, Sally, Sally..."
I paused for breath and we circled one another like wild animals, nostrils flaring.
Corinne admitted defeat. "Sally who?"
"No. Sally Chung. A Chinese girl from Leeds. She pronounces 'boo-ubs' with two syllables. Her dad's got a fish and chip shop. That's why she's got such big tits."
I thought Nurse's Valentina was in the Firsts."
"She is."
"And Sally's bigger than her?"
I nodded, satisfied, like the cat that got the cream. "Miles bigger."
Corinne moaned softly and clutched at her groin with both hands. A sheen of sweat broke out on her brow. "Describe her to me, Shan!"
"Sally? Oh, she's just an ordinary First Former. Chinese-looking. Black hair. Very pretty little thing. Not skinny, more rounded..."
Corinne seized on that. "More rounded than who?"
"Oh, I don't know really. Not as shameful as me. I suppose she's about a thirty-five, thirty-six hips..."
"Ooooh, wow! How tall, how tall?"
"Five one or so..."
"Aaargh!"
"Her waist is about twenty-six, maybe twenty-seven."
Woo-woo-woo..."
"And her bust..."
"Yes! Her bust! Her bust!"
"About a foot or so bigger than Valentina's. Difficult to say, really."
"Say it, say it!"
"Well, if Valentina's is about forty-what?"
"Woo-woo..."
"Forty-six, seven?"
"Woo-woo-woo-woo-woo-woo..."
"And Sally is a foot or so bigger? Maybe a bit more. She'd be, I don't know..."
"Woooooooo-woo-woo..."
"Sixty-ish, I suppose!"
"... woo-woo-woo-WOW!" Splwoosh! It was a biggie, even by Cee's exalted standards. I laid her inert body gently on her bed and tiptoed out, my bare feet squelching on the soaked carpet.
"Who are you?" I had just collided heavily with a young woman. A most striking young woman. We had picked each other up off the floor and looked each other up and down. I saw a woman of my own height, quite buxomly voluptuous, milk chocolate complexion, long hair in braids that must have taken for ever to do, and dressed entirely in black. Well, as much as I could see was black. I had to guess at the bra and pants.
She didn't have to guess at mine. She saw a naked headmistress. Well, not entirely naked. I had lost my bra and panties along the way, together with my academic gown, but somehow I had managed to retain my mortar board.
She spoke.
"I was looking for the headmistress."
"You just found her." I indicated my headgear, resisting the temptation to give a military-style salute.
"You're Miss Gruntworthy?" I felt her eyes running up and down my breasts. It was quite a pleasant sensation on the whole. "No shit!"
This is an American expression, I suppose. I find it vulgar, personally, but that's just me. Apart from anything else, I never know how to reply to it.
"No shit, indeed," I said without conviction.
The woman stuck out a hand. She obviously misjudged her distances a little as she stuck it in my left breast. It sank in almost up to the elbow and we both stepped back politely.
"Ouch!"
"Pardon me!"
"Sorry?"
"No, my fault. You were bigger than I thought. Your br... boo... ti... that thing."
"They are, yes. Not as big as some, but very large."
"Don't you have a bra?"
The conversation was taking an unusual course so early in a relationship. "Who did you say you were again?"
"I didn't. I'm the new teacher. Angelica Grimbeau."
"You are? Golly! You're American!" Not much gets past Chauntaille Gruntworthy, I can tell you. "You'd better come to my room and we'll have a chat." I led the way down the corridor. "I've just been over seeing the First Form girls, selecting their Form Head. There was a little Chinese girl from Yorkshire who won it by at least a foot. Her dad's in fish and chips, so I suppose that explains everything. I told Smegs and Cee and they didn't seem too pleased that I'd sneaked the first peek. Smegs is the First Form teacher and Corinne is Support and Mobility. That's bras and wheelbarrows. Here we are." I flung the door open and ushered Miss Grimbeau inside. She looked a bit bemused, but I suppose it was jet-lag or something like that. "Grab a chair. Take your clothes off, if you like."
She seemed reluctant, for some reason, so I set a good example by removing my mortar board and tossing it across the room to land on its hook on the hat-stand. It missed by a yard and sailed out of the open window into the night. Jeremy could find it for me in the morning.
Now that I was completely naked Miss Grimbeau would no doubt feel more at her ease. "When did you arrive?"
"Half an hour ago. I took a cab from the airport."
"All the way from Heathrow? A taxi? What did that cost?"
"Sheesh, I dunno. I charged it to the school."
"Oh." It seemed to sum things up fairly well. It was as well the bed was behind me. I crashed back on to it, my legs rising into the air. What the hell, let her look. She'd see it soon enough anyway. I regained my equilibrium and looked at her, resting on my elbows. She had obviously caught a glimpse of my womanhood. It has a certain effect on first-time viewers. Not that she was exactly blushing, as far as I could determine, but it seemed a couple of degrees warmer in the room.
"It's not as cold as I thought it would be over here."
"No, very seasonable for the time of year. They say we may have a spot or two of rain before the weekend."
"Oh, really?"
"Still, the gardens could do with it."
"Sure."
Enough with the small-talk already.
"So where are you from? New York?" I always find it helps if you show these people that you have an encyclopaedic knowledge of their country. It keeps them in their rightful place.
"No, Florida."
"Oh, that's nice."
"Kissimee."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Kissimee."
"That's what I thought you said. This is a bit sudden...?"
I suppose it was Miss Thunderbolt's interest in globe-trotting which was the reason for her having one wall of her old bedroom completely covered with a map of the world. As I scrambled off the bed, Miss Grimbeau slithered from my clutches and slunk over to the map. For a voluptuous and broad-hipped woman, she moved with lithe, animal grace. I reached for her. Already, my breath was ragged, my pulse racing.
"Now, let's see," she mused, languidly trailing a long fingernail across the map. "Kissimee, Kissimee, Kissimee..."
She was soft and warm, but not exactly yielding.
"Yes!" she exclaimed excitedly. "Kissimee, down there!"
Ever willing to oblige, I slithered down her generous black-clad curves and attempted to bury my face in her intimate femininity. I always think Americans have a refreshing directness. No beating about the bush, if 'bush' is the word I am fumbling for. Yet sadly, Miss Grimbeau had moved away, leaving me groping at thin air.
"There it is, see? Kissimee, Florida." She was pointing a green-varnished talon at the map.
"Oh, yes. I see." I scrambled to my feet. Fortunately, Miss Grimbeau had apparently not noticed my fumbling attempts at seduction. I stumbled back to the bed and lay down, surreptitiously blotting myself dry with a length of blue industrial paper towel. We always keep a roll or two around the bedroom. There's nothing quite like it, I always say.
She returned from the map and sat down in the chair, gazing at me respectfully.
"So," I panted. "What subjects will you be teaching?"
"You mean you don't know? I thought you were supposed to be in charge here."
"I am. Whatever I say, goes. But I can't be expected to keep my finger on every little thing that happens round the school. I am like the nerve centre, from which radiates a network of tiny wires carrying vital information; the main root of a plant from which spring hundreds, thousands of little rootlets, branching hither and thither through the soil, sucking in goodness and moisture to foster growth and nurture the main body of the plant reaching out for the sunlight which brings life to all things. You see what I mean?"
"I think so." She seemed to be grinning to herself.
That was a relief. Although I thought I had explained my role as headmistress fairly well, there were some people I could think of who are unable to grasp such simple concepts. Miss Grimbeau should go far at St Cat's.
"I thought, since I will be teaching from tomorrow, there might be a timetable or something, so I would know what to prepare."
"Plenty of time for that, dear. There's a whole year ahead of us. The girls will help you out. I think there is a timetable here somewhere." I riffled through the pile of papers on the bedside table. "Mmmm-yes. You'd better go with the Firsts tomorrow. Officially it's General Studies in the morning, but the whole morning will be taken up with measuring them for bras and stuff. Valentina Nightingale knows the score: she has a couple of older sisters. And the Form Head is going to be Sally Chung, she's easily the biggest. But Clit will keep you honest. She'll be measuring them all. And in the afternoon, it's Sexual Chem..." I stopped. Miss Grimbeau was looking bemused. Panic-stricken, even.
"Clit?"
"What?"
"You said Clit?"
"Miss Clitress. Our corseti�re. Foundation garments specialist. Over in the Bra Facility. We make all our own ScatBras, ScatBra FreeTips, ScatBra MaxiLift UltraBust SexiPlus JuniorMiss PreTeenStonker � and ScatBra MaxiLift UltraBust SexiPlus JuniorMiss TeenStonker �'s on the premises. What size are you, anyway? You can get measured at the same time as the girls. It will do them good to see a proper woman from really close up. Some of them have big sisters, but the others have only seen their mothers..."
"36D."
"You what?"
"You asked my size. Although I don't really see that it's necessary. I have a perfectly good bra, and several spares which all fit me very well."
"At the moment, they do," I explained patiently, as if to a child. "But you aren't going to be a D-cup all your life, are you? That's smaller than most of our Second Formers. If you are to maintain any sort of credibility, you will need to be much larger. You can wear a standard ScatTrainer to start with, and as you fill out you can move up the range. But it's not a problem. Sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof. Shakespeare," I informed her. "One of our better known writers."
Chapter 2:— To Your Classes, Ladies
I OFTEN THINK the Bra Facility ought to have been much bigger. With a full class of thirty First Formers in there, plus Clit, there wasn't a great deal of room. Add a couple of the seamstresses scurrying round noting the measurements, and add Miss Grimbeau to keep an eye on her flock, and there was even less available space.
So perhaps Corinne and Smegs and I ought to have made an excuse and left. We could always have gone outside and pressed our noses against the windows, but Smegs said the atmosphere just wasn't the same outside. True enough: there are few atmospheres quite as powerful as that generated by thirty half naked First Formers. I made a mental note to have an urgent word with the restaurant manageress about baked beans on the breakfast menu.
Clit had them well organised. As fast as she had measured the girls, she passed them through into the bra manufacturing room, where standard sized girls were fitted then allowed to get dressed and go outside. With a kind of primitive herd instinct, they immediately crowded back inside again, posing and giggling and sticking out their pointy young chests.
Non-standard girls were divided into three streams: I estimated them roughly at Too Big, Much Too Big and Fucking Enormous. They waited in docile groups at the end of the room, wobbling gently as only really well-developed young girls can.
"You don't really need to be here, Shan." Smegs can be such a spoilsport.
"I'm the Headmistress," I reminded her sharply. "Why aren't you supervising your own class?"
"This is my class. It's the First Form."
"But you've got the Thirds for Basic Fetish Studies this morning."
"They've gone down to the village with their clipboards."
"What for?" I was aghast.
"Information gathering. They're conducting house-to-house enquiries into bedroom habits. They'll be back for lunch. Anyway, Cee doesn't need to be here."
"I do, I'm Support and Mobility Mistress. This is Support and Mobility." There was no arguing with that. The group of Much Too Bigs and Fucking Enormouses was decidedly mobile and in need of support before something got damaged.
"Who's looking after your Fifths for Advanced Bikinicraft?"
"Miss Malone. I've delegated it to her. She's in my department, so she's standing in. Literally standing. She can't sit down."
"But she's PE Mistress. What do you mean, she can't sit down. There no such word as can't."
"There is for Molly Malone. She's got a bad back. She can hardly move."
"We get a PE Mistress for the first time in five years, and she's got backache?"
"Well, no, actually. It's a bit lower down. She's got piles."
"Piles? Piles of what?"
"Emmas," said Smegs helpfully. "Emma Freuds. Haemorrhoids. You get them from sitting on cold surfaces."
"I've heard of them, thank you," I retorted with a certain chill. "Can't we send her to see Nurse with them?"
"Well, we could hardly send her to Nurse without them. She's very much attached to them, you might say." Smegs cackled rudely. She had obviously spent the Summer Holiday in bad company.
I was coming to the conclusion that I ought to have taken more of a leading role in the recruitment of our new teaching staff. And talking of new teaching staff — over by the workbench, Clit was about to measure Miss Grimbeau.
"Get yer gear off, luv," she told her encouragingly. "What's yer name?"
"Miss Grimbeau."
"Nah, yer first name. We can't call yer Miss Grimbeau all the time."
"Angelica."
"Right, get yer gear off, Ange, let's have a look at yer tits."
Miss Grimbeau looked uncomfortable, for some reason. I couldn't think why: I had already told the damned girl she could have bigger tits as soon as she was settled in. She unbuttoned her black linen jacket and shrugged out of it, and when Clit placed her fists aggressively on her hips and stared at her impatiently, followed it with her blouse. I had been wrong about her underwear. Miss Grimbeau wore a deliciously lacy coffee-coloured bra, nicely brimming with mounded breasts.
The girls still awaiting fitting nudged each other and giggled. Miss Grimbeau crossed her arms over her chest. She was probably blushing again. Her tummy was just the teensiest bit pudgy and her hips were robustly curved. She was an ideal candidate for Grow. She could easily carry another couple of feet of breast.
Clit lost patience and strode round behind Miss Grimbeau, unhooking her bra with one hand like a true expert. Miss Grimbeau squeaked in alarm and tried to control her breasts as they wobbled free on her chest. Good shape, only slightly pendulous, a generous broad base. With care, we could get her up to the high eighties, no trouble.
"Wind your eyes back in, Chauntaille," sneered Smegs. "Anyone would think you'd never seen a topless teacher before."
"Huh!" I can put my staff in their place with a single word.
I looked at Corinne with sudden foreboding. If we weren't careful, she might get lucky with one of her subconscious thoughts and Miss Grimbeau would suddenly always have had a pair of seventy inchers. The lights continued to burn brightly. Miss Grimbeau was safe, this time, at least.
It was time for a strategic withdrawal. I had seen what I came to see. "I will get Miss Labia to call a staff meeting tomorrow morning, in my office. Be there." And thrusting a path through yielding Junior flesh, I made my way out into the fresh air. Amazing how clean the air always smells after being cooped up in a room full of First Formers for twenty minutes.
I was almost tempted to go back inside.
"Sit down, everybody, there are plenty of chairs." I leaned back in my brand new chair and avoided putting my feet up on the green leather-topped desk with its dull patches where it had been impregnated over the past years with floods of Shan-juice.
The teachers filed in and started on a lot of business deciding where to sit. They milled around aimlessly. I could see it going on for hours. Miss Labia stared at them for a moment, then raised her eyes to the ceiling and closed the door behind her with a discreet slam.
"After you."
"No, please."
"Allow me."
"No, I do insist."
"For fuck's sake!" Smegs took matters into her own hands and grabbed her usual chair at the end. Normally, I would have sat next to her, with Corinne on my left. Corinne looked lost, too. For a moment, I was almost tempted, but I hardened my heart. There are moments when a headmistress must stand alone on the bridge of her ship. Miss Grimbeau finally took the chair next to Smegs, Corinne sat next to her, and Miss Lundberg sat next to Corinne. Miss Malone remained standing, next to the window.
"You may sit down, Miss Malone."
"I'll stand, if you don't mind, Headmistress. It is healthier. Too much sitting down is a known cause of disease."
One of the joys of being a headmistress is that you learn something new every day. I reached across and pressed the button on the CD player. After a brief pregnant silence, music filled the room. The windows rattled. The teaching staff clutched at their ears.
"For Chrissakes, Shan!"
"What's the matter?"
"What's with the fucking noise?"
"It's music," I bellowed loftily. "It is a known fact that music is soothing and sets the mood for creativity. You, of all people, Megan, ought to realise this. You were the first to introduce music in the milking parlour."
"MILK?" Several voices yelled, their owners leaning forward anxiously.
"This isn't soothing," howled Smegs. "Can't you find something quieter? Or turn it down so we can hear ourselves think."
"It's supposed to be loud." I studied the CD case. "It's Ride of the Valkyrie. Wagner, of course."
"Oh, of course!" Smegs sighed theatrically. "Wagner's version was truly the definitve one. Now get on with it and let's get out of this madhouse. Some of us have got work to do. I've got Sex with the Fifths." She shifted uncomfortably in her seat and Miss Grimbeau stared at her with what looked like sudden interest. Ho, yes? Did our Miss Grimbeau have an eye for the ladies? Or, in Smegs's case, a nose?
"Right," I shrilled. "Let's get on with this meeting. We'll be having regular meetings every week. We will call them Weekly Meetings. There will also be a monthly meeting, called the Monthly Meeting. For convenience, it will take place immediately after the Weekly Meeting in the first week of the month to which it pertains. Is that clear?"
"Why do we need meetings at all?" Smegs had evidently appointed herself spokeswoman. I had her nailed as a troublemaker from the start.
"For communication. Without meetings, how can we communicate?"
"We could try talking to each other. Instead of fucking shouting..."
The music stopped. An eerie silence descended, broken only by the ringing in our ears. I prodded once or twice at the buttons on the CD player, but it was clearly a technological problem, beyond my ability to deal with it at user level.
"It's knackered," I summed up for the benefit of my non-technical audience.
"Thank fuck for that," Smegs growled.
"Well, any other business?" I looked round the table brightly.
"What do you mean, other business? We haven't discussed anything yet."
"Megan. I was coming to that. I must ask you to be less obstructive. I hate to think what our new staff members must think. And talking of new staff members," I segued smoothly on to my next item on the agenda. "Allow me to introduce our new teaching staff."
"We've already met. When you were keeping us hanging around in Labia's stinking office for half an hour while you did your nails."
Instantly, they all stared at my fingers. Too late. I had already sat on my hands. "This is Miss Lundberg, Edna Lundberg, who will be teaching Maths and..." I consulted my notes "... Theoretical Sciences." Whatever they were. They sounded important enough anyway. "Miss Lundberg?"
She evidently took that as an invitation to continue the introduction personally. "Good morning. As I told some of you already, I am Edna Lundberg. I have been teaching at Our Lady of the Sacred Cloth of Intimacy and Purity High School for Girls at Lower Bleedinghurst. I am single, and looking forward to the challenge of working with you all."
Challenge, huh? I'd give her challenge, the stuck-up moo-bag. "Welcome to St Cat's, Edna. I hope you will be happy and fulfilled here.
Smegs snorted rudely and nudged Miss Grimbeau in a familiar manner. Ho, yes? Smeggsy getting off with the new girl already. My ex-friend seemed to be unpleasantly obsessed with matters of the flesh at times.
"Miss Malone?"
The PE mistress had a distracted, almost pained expression on her gaunt face. She ran a hand through her shockingly red hair, leaving it totally unmoved. It looked as if she had cut it herself with a knife and fork. She moved stiffly. "I'm Molly Malone." She had one of those Irish voices that seemed to echo with the long-forgotten lap of sparkling streams through rock-strewn mountain meadows. Soft, lilting...
"Speak up, dear," I told her brusquely. "How do you expect to be heard at the back of a class of thirty screaming Juniors?"
Miss Malone cleared her throat with a disgusting hawking noise and continued. "Oi'm Molly Malone," she grated, sounding like cinders under a door. "Oi teach Physical Education. For the past two years I have been engaged on Special Environmental Awareness Projects."
"She's been sitting in a tree trying to stop them build the Exbury by-pass. That's how she got piles." Smegs grinned fiendishly around the room.
"Is this true, Miss Malone?"
"Of course it's true! Roads and cars are a rotting scab on the face of our society. They represent all that is foul and decadent about this rotten capitalist world with its false values and kow-towing to the money-barons of industry. New roads mean more cars mean more roads. Oi have been protesti..."
"Thank you, Miss Malone." One can only stand so much misguided claptrap in any given day. "Was that your Austin Allegro outside?"
"Sure and what if it is?" she demanded truculently.
"Could you try to park it away from the flower beds, please? Jeremy was complaining that the smoke the belches out of its exhaust pipe when you start it up will kill off every living thing within fifty yards. We have no objection to teaching staff at St Cat's using motor vehicles, but we prefer them to exercise a degree of environmental awareness, if only as an example to the girls. Now, then, Miss Grimbeau?"
Miss Grimbeau started guiltily. Smegs sat upright, and Corinne withdrew her hand hurriedly from the new teacher's lap. Both of them after her already on only her second day? It was a disgrace!
She stood up. "I'm Angelica Grimbeau. I am twenty-one, and very happy to be given the opportunity to join you at St Cat's."
American accents are all very well, but they really ought to learn how to pronounce the language. She actually said 'Saint' as if she was talking about a saint. Surely, everyone knows it's supposed to be pronounced 'Sint', to rhyme with 'hint'. I would have to have a serious word with this lady before she corrupted any of the girls. Right now, she was corrupting the staff. Smegs and Corinne had leaned toward her, pawing at her bottom and thighs in a way I found both distasteful and somehow arousing. What on earth was the matter with them. Two respected staff members behaving like animals. I inspected Miss Grimbeau more closely.
"That's an unusual skirt, Angelica," I observed.
"It's fucking rubber, that's why," Smegs groaned helplessly, releasing one of Angelica's buttocks briefly to fondle her own inflamed genitalia.
"Rubber? She's wearing a rubber skirt?"
Miss Malone groaned, presumably at the thought of the effect of a rubber skirt on her special problem area.
"It's latex," Corinne sighed hoarsely. "A much nicer word than rubber." Her palms squeaked lasciviously across Miss Grimbeau's backside.
"I don't think a latex skirt is a good idea, Angelica," I explained gently. "You can see how it excites people. If it has this effect on teachers, just think what it will do to the girls."
Smegs let out a howl like a lone wolf. A she-wolf. She had never fully recovered from her brief spell as a dog, sadly.
"Yes, Headmistress." Miss Grimbeau hung her head and presumably blushed. "What shall I do?"
"You'd better take it off, I suppose." It seemed a drastic solution, but I never shirk at making hard decisions. "Off with it!"
Hard decision or not, it was a popular one. Miss Grimbeau took a step forward, agile as a panther, and sprang lithely in a single bound to land on her taut buttocks on the leather top of the desk. Her latex bottom squeaked against the green leather as she swivelled round to face her audience, then sinuously stood up in one flowing movement. The girl was certainly amazingly fit.
Four eager faces — five, if you include mine — peered eagerly at the vision of voluptuous loveliness standing on the desk. Her feet, in the most darling black patent leather fuck-me's, were planted aggressively as her thumbs slid beneath the waistband of the shiny black skirt. Where the outline of her thumbs protruded through the gleaming latex, they looked like a pair of Second Formers' nipples on a January morning. Make that six faces, I thought. Miss Labia had entered the room, unable to see sufficiently well through the keyhole.
Six pairs of eyes stared, spellbound. Six pairs of nipples became erect. Make that seven: Miss Grimbeau's nipples were getting in on the act as well. And as we all stared, hardly daring to breathe and break the spell, Miss Angelica Grimbeau slid that shiny skirt down those wonderfully powerful black nylon-encased gams.
Almost without effort, she stepped out of it — one foot, then the other — before tossing the limp skirt into the cheap seats. Smegs caught it eagerly and wrapped it round her face. The filthy, dirty, horny, lucky bitch.
I often think the effect of fluorescent lime green silk against chocolate skin is one of the more arousing colour combinations you ever see. Toots had convinced me of this some time ago. So it was with some delight that I now beheld Angelica Grimbeau's panties. I had possibly the best view of them, as I had by then scrambled up on to the leather desktop to inspect them at close quarters. They were, I decided, more or less as moist as mine were. Drenched. Sopping.
The hush in the office seemed to extend into infinity. The staff were evidently awaiting a statement from their headmistress.
I withdrew my questing finger and sniffed at it absently. "Thank you, Angelica, that looks far better. You may resume your seat."
She climbed down, looking strangely embarrassed for some reason. Wait until you've taken the Lower Sixths for Advanced Masturbation, my girl, I thought.
"No further business, ladies? To your classes, then!"
Chapter 3:— Puff
I HEARD LATER that Miss Grimbeau's Fourth Form Music Appreciation class went off very well, conducted as it was by a teacher without a skirt. The girls like this sort of thing, as it brings them into more intimate contact with the staff. They abandoned their desks and gathered round the new teacher as she sat on her desktop with her legs dangling over the edge. Forming loose affiliations of twos and threes, they perched on the desks in the front row, gazing into Miss Grimbeau's lime-green groin and fondling each other intimately. From time to time, they even discussed music.
Miss Mountains's Modern Fashions session with the First Form went even better. Some of them had never seen a latex skirt before, and Smegs decided to allow them all to touch it, to feel how the slick material moulded itself to the contours of the body, to test its resilience with stubby little fingers, and to sniff deeply at it from close range.
"Remember that smell, girls," Smegs advisd them. "Smell is one of the most potent erotic forces in the whole world of clothing. The smell of warm rubber, sweat, intimate secretions..."
The First Form listened politely. They could not hope to understand, but they knew that one day all this would be important to them.
"What about panties, Miss?"
"Panties, Valentina?" Panic crossed Smegs's face briefly. "You are wearing some, aren't you?"
Valentina grimaced. "Yeah. I s'pose I'm gonna have to get used to it. But they're a waste of time. It takes ten seconds to get them off."
"You will improve, dear. It's a matter of constant practice. But what was your question again?"
"When we do sorting, do we have to work by smell, or just how they look?"
It was a good question, and one which had been worrying many of the girls. They waited anxiously for Smegs's reply.
"I will give you extensive training in pantie sorting. You won't be doing any sorting until next week. This week's panties are being sorted by girls on jankers. It is not an unpleasant task, but not all the girls enjoy it.
The First Formers shook their heads sadly.
"But smell is vital to you in your work. You will be allowed outside at intervals every ten minutes, to continue sorting visually until your sense of smell is recovered. Of course, if you ever get a cold, you will have to be taken off sorting altogether. I'm sorry," she continued as murmurs of horror welled up. One or two girls had begun to cry. "I'm sorry. That's the way it is. Nurse will give you something to have you back sorting in no time."
Smegs prised the faces of the last two girls away from her overheated crotch and led them back to their seats. They seemed dazed and uncoordinated.
"Right, I think as you have been extra good, I can let you go five minutes early. Sally Chung, you may clean the blackboard for me." The other girls streamed out, still suffering from the effects of too much inhalation. Sally was failing to look inscrutable.
"I can't reach, Miss," she complained.
"You're tall enough, Sally, don't be a silly girl."
"Ah know ah'm tall enough, Miss. Ah can't reach blackboard, though." She demonstrated. Standing facing the blackboard, even with her breasts squashed against it, her arms were barely long enough to reach. She flailed around ineffectually for a few seconds, then gave up. "It's me boo-ubs, Miss. They're too big."
"I ought to send you straight to the Support and Mobility Mistress, Sally, for remedial training." Sally dashed a tear away from her eye. "But that might not be necessary. Come up to my room after classes for special tuition." She looked Sally up and down, her eyes agleam with lust. "Don't bother getting dressed up specially."
"Yes, Miss," Sally said gloomily, turning to go. Her second day, and she hated St Cat's already. White Sash of Office of First Form Head or no White Sash of Office of First Form Head.
"And Sally?"
"Yes, Miss?"
"You just said something, didn't you? Something terrible, vile and obscene?"
"Me, Miss?"
"Yes, you, Sally. As an additional punishment, you will write out one hundred times, in your best handwriting, 'As Far As My Breasts Are Concerned, There Is No Such Thing As Too Big.' Not forgetting the capital letters."
And clutching at her pudenda, Miss Mountains moaned and fled from the classroom, leaving a faint aroma of hot rubber.
I like to keep my hand in. As I hurried down to the Sexual Chemistry laboratory to teach the First Form that afternoon, I felt like a schoolgirl again. I wasn't sure which one, but I would make my choice. Perhaps Sally Chung, the undisputed Form Head. Or Nurse's Valentina, who had a certain crude and earthy charm. I adjusted the crotch of my panties as I strode into the laboratory.
"Good after-NOON, Miss Gruntworthy!"
"Sit down, girls." God, I was itchy. I hoped I hadn't caught anything. You can never be too sure these days. Jeremy sleeps around so much, you see. I perched my shameful bottom on the desk and scanned the bright, alert faces. I scanned again a little lower down. "You really ought to get into the habit of wearing your bras, girls. I know they take some getting used to, but you will find they are essential as you get older. Come on, put them on, please."
A chorus of moans arose as the girls stood up and took off their blouses. Only Sally Chung kept hers on. Clearly, for her, a bra was not a luxury but an essential. I observed that Nurse's Valentina did not share her views.
"You must wear a bra all the time, Valentina. I know how inconvenient it is when you are breast-feeding, but you will be down around your knees by the time you are fourteen." I watched critically as she slung herself expertly into her twin hammocks. She was briskly snapping her broad shoulder straps into place while some of the less experienced girls were still fumbling to get into their cups. "As for you, Sally, the honour of wearing the White Sash of Office of First Form Head also carries with it some responsibilities. It is up to you to control your girls, and that means checking to see that they are wearing their bras at all times during the school day. Please write out for me, one hundred times, in your best handwriting, 'it is not sufficient simply to have a sixty-inch bust around here: if one looks like a grown-up, one must behave like a grown-up.' On second thoughts, Sally, make that 'It Is Not Sufficient Simply To Have A Sixty-Inch Bust Around Here: If One Looks Like A Grown-Up, One Must Behave Like A Grown-Up,' and don't forget the capital letters and the colon. Not a semi-colon: you must be decisive."
Sally began to cry. I hoped she wasn't going to be one of those snivelly little cry-babies.
"She's already got a hundred lines from Miss Mountains, Miss," said Valentina. "And special tuition in her bedroom to teach her how to clean the blackboard."
"The rotten bitch! Who's she think she is?"
The girls grinned around at each other smugly. Sally was still sobbing, her breasts heaving intriguingly. They seemed to move independently of each other, despite the attentions of her ScatBra MaxiLift UltraBust SexiPlus JuniorMiss PreTeenStonker �.
I supposed I could always take pity on the poor child. Show a little touch of humanity.
"Please stop crying, Sally. Make that two hundred lines, bring them to my room by lights-out."
Gasps went up. Girls like masterful, dominating, decisive women. I could feel my nipples becoming hard, and allowed my thighs to slide further apart. A puddle seeped between my thighs and collected on the top of the desk.
"Sexual Chemistry," I announced, getting up and dropping a handful of industrial paper towel in the steaming pool of my recent arousal. I wrote the words on the blackboard, somewhat shakily.
"There's an 'h' in Chemistry, Miss," said one girl; the big one who looked like a fifteen year old, the youngest in the class.
"Thank you, Helvetica. I was just testing you. Never be afraid to point out mistakes to your teacher."
Helvetica glowed with pride and her nipples grew visibly inside her ScatTrainer.
"Write out a hundred times, 'That's What I Get For Being Such A Smart-Arse.'"
"Yes, Miss." Her nipples deflated, the left one first, followed by the right a second or so later. Interesting phenomenon.
I turned and faced them. This afternoon, you will learn how to boil water. But within a month, I want you to produce a substance which you will be proud to call your own; a substance the name of which girls will speak in tones of hushed reverence; and while thus speaking, they will mention the name of this First Form in the same breath as the very substance itself of which they speak."
Uncertain applause broke out. It was gratifying to know that they understood where I was coming from, even if they hadn't a clue what I was talking about.
"Always have a purpose to your experiments, girls." I began to pace up and down. The golden autumn sunlight streaming through the windows cast a giant shadow of my bust on the wall behind me, fascinating for the girls as well as for me. I could even see the erection of my nipples in this shadow. They were astoundingly large. Did I honestly look like that? Gosh! I flooded my panties briefly, hardly faltering in my stride. "Thank you, dear." A small girl hurried away with a bundle of soggy paper towels and dumped them in the waste bin. "Always have a purpose. So, what chemical are you going to perfect, girls? Helvetica?"
"How about something to make nipples bigger, Miss?"
"Nipples?"
"Not nipples, Miss. More those bits round the outsides."
"Moons, Helvetica, moons!"
"Yes, Miss, moons. I know St Cat's has invented lots of stuff to make boobs grow, Miss, but it's always been the whole thing. I always think there's nothing quite so attractive as a young girl with big, swollen moons, Miss."
"You do?"
"Yes, Miss. Swollen moons are always a sign that the girl is really going to grow huge, Miss. My dad said so, Miss. We were driving through the town one Saturday morning, and he was looking out of the window at some girls. I remember it well, 'cos it was just before we hit the back of the police car. Then mum and dad got a divorce, Miss."
A tear came to my eye unbidden. Another tragic tale of a broken home.
"Forget the hundred lines, Helvetica," I murmured compassionately. You girls will produce a brand new Sexual Chemical, a substance which will cause moons to grow to phenomenal size. It will be your first ever project. It will be called..."
"Puff, Miss."
"Puff, Helvetica?"
"Yes, Miss!" The whole class rose in their seats to shout the name. "Puff!"
End of Part I