No doubt, the kids would themselves be in a state of shock over the weekend, wondering if Wilma was going to report them for lewd behaviour in a public place. Let them sweat, she thought, it would do them good. If she hadn't come along, what mischief would they have got up to next? A bit of relatively harmless feeling up would no doubt have turned into full-blown sexual intercourse. Four girls, and two boys? A gang-bang, was it? Date rape? An image of Charlotte's breasts flashed before her eyes again, and Wilma found herself blushing once more. The girl was immense. Her throat felt constricted and she had to stop, breathing heavily. Sweat trickled down her sides beneath her blue denim work-shirt. To her horror, she felt herself becoming moist. She'd need another bath after this. God, what was happening to her?
In the school corridor, Charlotte looked at the teacher like a scared animal, over her shoulder, showing the whites of her eyes. Wilma was pleased to see that the girl's bra had apparently been repaired over the weekend. She was still extremely full-breasted, that was obvious. Why hadn't she noticed it before? She'd thought of Charlotte as a chunky girl, broad in the beam and solidly built. The brief glimpse of her in the woods had revealed her as a remarkably shapely young woman. She was broad-hipped, certainly, but her waist was surprisingly slender. And her bust had been shockingly large.
Wilma hurried on down the corridor, feeling her nipples hardening. This was ridiculous. If anyone ought to be feeling guilty, it should be the six young miscreants, not the innocent witness. Innocent! You could say that again! She should be taking lessons from her Eng Lit class, not the other way around. She hurried into the staff room and sat down, breathing heavily. Her panties were uncomfortably moist. There was no doubt about it, the encounter had affected Wilma deeply. It wasn't enough that she had found herself thinking about it on and off all weekend, pictures of Charlotte's rebounding globes burned on her retina; now on Monday morning she'd caught just one glimpse of the girl and already she was flooding her underwear. And she hadn't even seen Gerald or the other boy yet. This was a nightmare! Someone was sure to notice. She was uncomfortably aware of the scent of her own arousal. How was she to get through the day without...
"Hell-o, young lady! Yew're lookin' your usual sexy self this bright Monday morning!" Tosh Evans sniffed deeply and appreciatively. "A new perfume, too, if I'm not mistaken! Oo's the lucky bloke, then? Or 'as my luck suddenly changed...?"
With a bleat of dismay, Wilma escaped and hid in the staff toilet.
It had been a fraught day. Something was going to have to be done about this situation. The girl Melissa, whose mother knew how to repair industrial strength foundation garments, had almost said something to Wilma at lunchtime, but had appeared to change her mind. Wilma was wondering whether to approach the head teacher and mention her experience. Get it out into the open. Make an example of these kids. Maybe tomorrow, she thought, as she slumped on the couch not really watching a soap. She had wrapped a dressing gown around herself after her bath, and tied a towel like a turban round her head.
The doorbell rang.
"Damn! For Chrissakes, who can that be?" Tying the belt tighter round her waist — huh! waist? — she plodded down the stairs and peered through the spyhole. The image distorted by the fisheye lens, she could see only that it was a boy in school uniform. "Don't I get any free time round here?" But she slid back the lock and opened the door. "Gerald!"
"Hello, Miss Pettigrew! I was wondering..." He hesitated then blundered on, "About that homework you gave us. There's something I wasn't sure about, and I was just passing..."
"Come on in. Excuse the dressing gown, I just got out of the bath..."
The boy looked embarrassed at receiving what amounted to an apology from a teacher. "That's okay, Miss. It looks nice." He blushed deeply. Wilma spared him further torment, leading the way up the stairs. She had an uncomfortable feeling that his eyes were boring into her swaying nether regions all the way.
"Now, then. What seems to be the problem?" She turned off the television and waved him to take a seat. He chose the middle of the couch, the only seat in the room, and perched there insecurely. Suddenly, his face cleared as if a thought had come to him.
"Wow, Miss! Do you watch Visitors, too? I didn't think you'd like that sort of thing."
She laughed, looking around for a chair. In the end, she perched on a corner of the table. "Why not? Teachers watch television, too, you know."
"We all watch it, Miss. I like the girls in it," he confided, turning scarlet again.
"Do you, now?"
"Yeah, especially that Cheraline! She's got..." He stopped, too late. Cheraline was the token bosom in the cast. Or rather, the token huge bosom. The others were no more than extremely healthy Australian girls. "About this homework, Miss!"
"You didn't come here to talk about homework, Gerald. You weren't just passing, either. This road doesn't lead anywhere, and it's nowhere near Laburnum Drive."
"You know where I live, Miss?"
Damn. She had looked it up only this morning. "What did you want, Gerald?"
"They call me Gerry, Miss. My friends. The girls."
"What was it, Gerry? Was it anything to do with Friday evening? If so, it's quite out of order, your coming here to try to make me change my mind. I will probably be telling the head teacher about the incident."
"Nothing happened, Miss. Charlie caught her bra on a branch, like she said. It's true! She said it hurt..."
"So you rubbed it better for her?"
"Miss!" Gerald sounded so outraged, Wilma couldn't keep a straight face.
"I was just going to have a cup of coffee," she said. "Would you...?"
"Gosh! Please, Miss. Three sugars." He followed her into the kitchen. "Charlie was ever so worried you'd tell, Miss. She'll get into trouble. Her dad would kill me, Miss."
"I'm sure he would, Gerry. Dads tend to be jealous about boys manhandling their daughters. Especially when they look like Charlotte." She suddenly had to busy herself with the coffee mugs to hide her confusion. They called her Charlie. Anyone less like a boy would hard to imagine.
"You're as big as Charlie, Miss."
She wondered if she had heard correctly.
"Miss?"
She picked up the two mugs and he followed her like a dog into the other room. This time, she sat down at one end of the couch, placing the mugs on the coffee table. "Sit down, Gerry."
"I meant it, Miss. You're as big as Charlie. Up here, I mean." His hands formed a pair of imaginary boobs about a foot in front of his chest. He seemed to realise what his hands were doing, dropped them to his sides and sat down so heavily on the couch that Wilma was almost propelled into the air. "She was only saying tonight, on the bus, she'd like to see which of you was bigger..."
"Gerald! That's quite enough! I had made up my mind to report the terrible incident. It brings the school into disrepute. We can't have our students cavorting half naked in the park..."
"Nothing happened, Miss, honest!"
"I'm an English Literature teacher, Gerry. Don't think I can't tell when you're inventing stories. Charlotte was half naked. You were zipping up your trousers!"
"You saw that, Miss?" The boy looked so crestfallen, she almost felt sorry for him. "I wasn't doing anything with Charlie, Miss."
"It's as plain as the nose on your face what you were doing," she retorted angrily. "I'm not blind, you know!"
"It wasn't like that, Miss," he said unhappily. "Please..."
Something about his tone stopped Wilma in her tracks. He seemed encouraged to carry on.
"I was walking that way with Pete, Miss. Just the two of us. We were going to his place to swap games for the weekend. He lives just over there."
That was correct. "Go on..."
"Well, we've heard this noise in the bushes. Like giggling and stuff. So we've gone to investigate."
Wilma chose to ignore the boy's curious use of the Perfect Past Tense. Somehow it seemed to lend immediacy to the tale.
"I've crawled down the bank and we've looked through the bushes. And there's these four girls. Lissa Phillips and Paula Craker and Dawn Putnam and Charlie Adams. They're playing around, Miss."
"They're playing around...?" The Present Tense, now? It felt as if the girls were playing around in this very room.
"With each other, Miss. Charlie's got her shirt and bra off. Bloody hell, Miss! The others are ... well ... Paula and Dawn are kissing each other, Miss, and Lissa's playing with Charlie's ... her boobs, Miss. Kissing them and sort of ... well, playing with them."
"I see."
"I wish you could have, Miss. You don't believe me, do you?"
Why should the boy make up an outrageous story like this? "You realise what you are saying, Gerry?"
"Yes, Miss, but it's true. Then Dawn's heard something. Pete's sort of overbalanced and fallen into the bush we're hiding behind. And she's jumped up and grabbed him, and Charlie's got up and run off. She's laughing."
"And you...?"
"I was trying to zip my pants."
Nothing further needed to be said. The boy was so patently unhappy, everything had the ring of truth behind it. "Does Charlotte know you're telling me all this?"
"Of course not, Miss! You won't tell her, will you?"
"Your secret is safe, Gerry. But..."
"I meant what I said, Miss. About you being as big as Charlie." She pulled the dressing gown closer round her neck. Too late, perhaps. He was staring at her chest.
"You'd better be getting home, Gerry. I won't tell the head teacher. Not this time. But it had better not happen again." She stood up, and clutched at her dressing gown once more. Thoughts of Charlotte were spinning through her head. She'd have to have a word with the girl.
Gerald was leaving, stammering apologies. If he'd only stop being so apologetic, he'd be a nice looking boy. A Greek god, all right! She fought against the thought that sprang unbidden into her mind. The thought of being part of that little group of girls exploring the forbidden delights, while Gerry was crouching behind a bush, watching everything, playing with himself...
She hurried down the stairs, and he scampered after her.
"About that homework, Miss..."
"Gerry!"
"Yes, Miss." His shoulders collapsed and she opened the door. And there, on the doorstep, reaching up to press the doorbell...
"Charlotte!"
The girl sipped her coffee. Unlike Gerald, she'd had time to change out of her school clothes into something far less suitable. As she curled her legs under her on a beanbag, she was practically bursting out of a pair of jeans. Her T-shirt was failing hopelessly to contain her epic bosom. A more workmanlike bra might have helped, instead of the soft-cupped, stretchy creation she was wearing. Every breath set off a chain reaction of rippling breast-flesh. Her nipples were immense.
Wilma felt the need to explain. "Gerry wanted some help with his homework."
"Oh, yes, Miss. The Ugly Duckling thing. And Cinderella, and Boy Meets Girl. I've done all those. I made it Girl Meets Girl, though, to make it more interesting. Miss...?"
"Yes?" Wilma was now seriously regretting wearing this dressing gown.
"You know Friday night? You weren't going to tell, were you? Only I'd get into loads of trouble. I had to sneak indoors and run upstairs without my bra." She giggled musically. "It didn't half feel funny, running upstairs without a bra on. Have you ever tried it?"
"Of course not!"
"I only asked, 'cos you're big like me. You hide yours, though. I bet if you didn't hide them, you'd look great. Yours are probably even bigger than mine, and you know how big mine are!"
"I'm sure they're not. Not that it matters. It doesn't matter how big my bust is. It's immaterial. What does matter is that you were gallivating around half naked."
"Yes, Miss," agreed the girl happily.
"Bringing the school into disrepute."
"Probably, Miss."
"Aren't you going to show some remorse?"
"I'm sorry, Miss. It won't happen again." She finished her coffee, then reached across to set down her mug. The action stretched her T-shirt to the limit and beyond. "I keep coming untucked, Miss. You could help some of us bigger girls, Miss. Hints and stuff about clothes. Bras and that."
"Charlotte! That's not really part of my..." She stopped just short of saying 'brief'.
"Charlie, Miss. Call me Charlie. All my other friends do. Miss...?"
"Yes?"
"Can you ... would you show me something?"
"Show you something?"
"Yes. Just undo your belt and let me see. You've seen mine..."
"Charlotte!"
"Charlie. I'll show you mine again. You can feel them if you like."
"Charlotte!"
"Charlie," the girl said with a patient smile. She rolled upright and plucked the T-shirt out of the waist of her jeans. She crossed her arms and grasped the hem.
"No! Charlotte! You mustn't!"
"Charlie, Miss. Why not?" She pouted, pulled her shoulders back and swung her shoulders this way and that. The effect was truly devastating.
Wilma's tongue was too big for her mouth. Her lips were dry. Elsewhere was a different matter. "Charlie," she said."
"That's better," said the girl.
"We mustn't. It's not right."
"There's nothing wrong with it. It's not against the law or anything. And I only want to see your big breasts, that's all."
The girl's casual use of the word stunned Wilma. "No..."
"It's easy, Miss." Charlotte rose to her feet with panther-like grace. She approached and sat on the couch beside the teacher. She smelled of a light perfume, with a hint of sweat, overlaid with a heady, sexual musk. "Just look at mine, Miss." Before Wilma could protest, she peeled off the T-shirt. The bra was a slightly grubby grey-white. It had seen better days, clearly. Charlotte overflowed it lavishly in all conceivable directions. She wobbled and jiggled, both at the same time. "There," she said. "Now, let's just undo this string..."
"No!" The girl's breath was warm as she leaned forward. Wilma found herself staring down into a yawning, quivering cleavage.
"Relax, Miss!"
"Charlie, please..."
"It's okay..."
The belt came free, and the girl's small hands pulled the rolled lapels of the dressing gown apart. She was almost panting with excitement as more of the teacher's bosom came into view. At last, she sat back and just looked.
Wilma screwed her eyes shut. This simply could not be happening to her. She could feel the cool air on her nipples. Then it was replaced by a warmer flow, and she sensed the girl's closeness again. Charlotte was blowing gently on each nipple, round and round.
"Charlie...!"
A tongue came out and touched the turgid tip, then withdrew. More gentle blowing. "They're huge, Miss! All of them. Not both, I mean, not just the nips. Those brown bits, too, and the whole thing, they're huge. Here, look at mine now..."
Charlotte snapped the shoulder straps down and lifted her breasts out, one at a time. They were just as big as Wilma remembered. Bigger, in fact...
Would she tell? It would be a disaster if she spilled the beans. Wilma came out in a cold sweat as she drove in at the school gate. Unnervingly, memories of last night kept coming back to her. Charlie had proved to be an expert and experienced lover, inventive and bold, yet gentle and caring as she encouraged her teacher through her initial nervousness.
"You can still call me Charlotte in class, Miss," she had whispered. "I'll see myself out, Billie!" she said, then their bodies had melted together at the top of the stairs.
Billie! That's what her sisters always called her in the old days. Before they'd all become so horrible to her. She wondered about the clothes she had chosen to wear today. Instead of one of her usual baggy, shapeless dresses, she wore a skirt and blouse. It was one of her old silk blouses and she had worried for half an hour in front of the mirror until it was eight o' clock and too late to find anything else to wear. She had grabbed a lightweight jacket, but if the weather was hot this afternoon, she'd never be able to wear it.
People noticed.
Tosh Evans clapped his hand to his forehead. "Bloody hell," he blurted. "There's beautiful you are, isn't it!" He goggled at her bosom until she snorted furiously and stormed off to classes, her books guarding her chest.
The classes noticed, too, but Wilma could handle that, hiding in her jacket. The problem would come this afternoon, when she encountered Charlie — Charlotte — Gerald and the rest of them.
The moment had to be faced. She strode in, looking neither right nor left, straight to her desk and began writing on the board. PLOT THEMES, she wrote, underlining the words heavily. Then she turned and faced the class. It was stifling hot in the classroom. It always was warm in this classroom, with the afternoon sun blazing in through the tall windows. Which were all shut tight.
The students sat fanning themselves with their exercise books.
"For God's sake, open some windows! It's like an oven in here!"
"Yes, Miss," said several voices meekly, and two of the taller boys stood and opened the windows. Warm air stole into the room from the asphalt outside. Wilma cursed and practically tore her jacket off, then sat down behind her desk. The class sat up straighter in their chairs.
"Right. Homework. Who can start me off with this list, please?"
"Cinderella, Miss," suggested a girl in the front row.
"Good. Come up and write it on the board, please." The girl obliged and sat down. "Any more?" BOY MEETS GIRL, ETC appeared on the board, followed by DRUNKEN SURGEON DELIVERS BABY, SHERIFF CLEANS UP TOWN SINGLE-HANDEDLY and PYGMALION, spelled more or less correctly at the fourth attempt. "We mentioned the Ugly Duckling last Friday. Did anyone include that one in their lists?"
One hand went up. "I did, Miss."
Wilma's heart fluttered and her loins melted. "Yes, Charlotte. Perhaps you could read out what you have written about it...?"
Charlotte stood up, and swayed to the front of the class, her full breasts bouncing enormously. "The Ugly Duckling," she announced in a sing-song reading-out-loud voice. "There was this baby duck who was all nasty and brown, not creamy white like all the others. They all took the piss out of the little brown baby duck, until one day, the baby ducks all grew up and the little creamy white ducks turned into big creamy white ducks, but the dirty brown duck grew up into a beautiful swan."
"Awwwww!" the class chorused.
"In a real-life scenario," Charlotte went on briskly, "a girl had a whole load of sisters and they were rotten to her because she wasn't as pretty as them. But when they all grew up, the poor little sister suddenly turned into a supermodel like all those skinny women in the fashion magazines, 'cept she had these enormous boobs. Like mine," she added with becoming modesty. "Or like Miss Pettigrew's." With a swing of her broad hips, Charlotte slithered back to her seat and beamed around the class. They were hushed, shocked. Charlie was guilty of the most serious lèse majesté.
Wilma almost subsided behind her desk. The class expected a rebuke for Charlie, but it never came. "Thank you, Charlotte." The teacher's voice was little more than a whisper.
"I'm sorry about that, Miss. Billie!" Charlie leaned her breasts on the desk, resting her chin in her unusually small hands.
"You mustn't call me that here," Wilma whispered fiercely.
"Nobody here but us, Miss," the girl said cheerfully with a glance over her shoulder. "Can I see you tonight? 'Bout my homework?"
"We mustn't!"
"Oh, Miss!" She wobbled her chest enticingly. "Just for half an hour! Or an hour, maybe"
"No!"
"Have you got a bath or a shower in your flat?"
"What's it matter which I've got? A bath, why?"
"Is it a big one?"
"Yes, it's practically king-sized, but..."
"Good! You can soap me all over. And I mean all over. Everywhere! I'm really hot and sweaty, Miss! All round underneath my big boobs and those lovely hairy bits between my legs and everything. I really stink! But I promise I won't wash before I come round..."
"Charlie, don't..."
"Be ready. I'll come round at eight, right?" said Charlotte, straightening up and giving a little finger wave. Then she was off, and Wilma realised with horror that she had joined her small group of three friends just outside the classroom door.
The girl was thirty seconds late. To Wilma, almost sick with longing, it felt like an hour. She had resisted her urges for almost twenty minutes after arriving home at four pm, and since then had been rolling helplessly around on her bed, her fingers bringing her to a climax again and again. This is ridiculous, she thought, but minutes later she was at it again, frantic with lust.
Sensing the teacher's condition, Charlotte wasted no time on formalities. She flung herself into Wilma's embrace. "I thought about coming round earlier," she confided. "I wish I'd said seven o'clock."
"I wish you'd said six," gasped Wilma into the girl's mouth.
"Five!"
"Four!"
"Ooooh,. Miss! You're sopping wet!"
"I know. I can't help it! I've been waiting for you. But not waiting."
Wilma was already naked, flinging off her dressing gown as the couple made their way to the bathroom, their hands all over each other's bodies. The steam drifted around Charlotte's generously curved figure as Wilma undressed her. She had been as good as her word. She was more than ready for a bath.
The bath was scented and hot. Even in Wilma's large bathtub, there was little room once it was occupied by two extremely well-rounded women. Two slippery young women, liberally covered with suds. By the time they got out of the chilling water, they were in a state of almost unbearable arousal, both of them. It was almost ten o' clock.
"I have to go soon. It's school tomorrow."
Wilma looked up from licking the girl's softly rounded stomach. "Can't you tell your parents you're staying with Melissa?"
Charlotte smiled and pulled Wilma's head down on to her. "You mustn't make me tell lies, Miss! I could come round at the weekend, though. I could stay all weekend if you liked."
"The weekend? But that's four whole days away!"
"Three, if I come round on Friday. I could stay until Sunday and come to school with you on Monday morning. We could tell them I missed the bus and you gave me a ride..."
"Charlie! Please stay tonight!"
"I can't, Billie. Come on, Miss. Time to put my clothes on..."
The transformation was the talk of the school. Miss Pettigrew had a Figure! She was undeniably stocky, and built like a brick shit-house, but it was a shit-house with exceptionally large breasts. As the weeks went by, there were subtle changes in the English Literature teacher's appearance. She could be seen eating the healthy salad option in the school canteen. One Monday morning, she came in with her hair flowing softly round her shoulders. It startled everyone. Miss Pettigrew wasn't bad looking at all!
She almost bit her tongue when she first addressed Charlotte as 'Charlie' in class, but no one remarked on it and it was Charlie every time from then on. And Charlie had taken to spending break times with the teacher, the two of them talking and laughing together in the empty classroom. She accepted rides home, adopting the shallow subterfuge of 'missing' the bus by a minute or so. Weekends, she spent nominally at Melissa's, actually in Wilma's rumpled, sex-ripe bed.
Wilma herself noticed the changes in her body first. Charlie remarked on them a few days later.
"Your breasts are bigger, Billie! I thought I noticed them the other night."
"Does it show?" Wilma tried not to sound too pleased.
Charlied ran her hands across her lover's swollen curves. "Show? You're getting incredible. As if it isn't enough that you've lost four inches off your waist and two off your hips, you must be an inch bigger round the bust now than you were when we started seeing each other."
"Flatterer. It's two, actually. Two and a half. And counting!"
"Not many women can put me in the shade," Charlotte admitted. "But you're beginning to make me look hollow-chested!"
"No chance of that," Wilma laughed, blushing with pleasure. "You're still a growing girl, remember."
"I suppose so. But you're twenty-seven. Aren't you supposed to stop growing before that?"
"I can't help it if I'm a late developer, can I? It's just a little growth spurt."
Charlie stretched, her jutting breasts casting a grotesque shadow, complete with puffy nipples, on the bedroom wall. "If you weren't spending all your time with me, I'd almost suspect you were pregnant! Hey, I wonder how big you'd get if you did! Get preggers, I mean."
"That's enough of those ideas, young lady..."
"No, how about it? You could find a boyfriend and get yourself in the club. We could still carry on doing this. All you'd have to do is fuck him once or twice, get pregnant, then dump him. That's what Melissa's sister did when she got fed up with living at home. They gave her a flat over at Binchurch..."
"I don't want a new place. This is perfectly good. A lovely view of the park, plenty of hot water..."
"Gerry would do it for you...!"
"I told you, I ... Gerry?"
"Yeah. He did it for Melissa's sister. He's good. And pretty quick, too!"
"Is that good?" Wilma couldn't resist. For all Charlie's experience at girl-sex, she was a relative novice where boys were concerned.
"How about somebody older, then. Mr Evans is your age."
"Mr Evans? You little ratbag...!"
A chase sequence round the bedroom ended in a breathless cuddle and a lot of wet kissing.
"He fancies you, you know!"
"What? Who does?"
"Tosh Evans. I can tell the way he looks at you. He'd do. We could clean him up a bit, you could fuck him, get preggers, then tell him he's no longer required. It would be great! And we'd have a little baby to look after. When was your last period?"
Wilma stared at Charlie. The girl's face was absolutely serious. "Charlie! No! Last week, you know as well as I do. We're on at the same time, within a couple of days."
"Good! That's what I thought. So we've got a week to get Tosh cleaned up. He might even change his socks if we ask him. You can buy that new bra you really really need now, and a nice nightie. He'll crawl through a pile of shit to get to you. Let's face it, if he did, you'd hardly notice..."
"I can't believe I'm doing this," said Wilma.
"It's all arranged. We got Wanker Watkinson to pretend to sprain his ankle so he couldn't take the boys for swimming..."
"You did what? How did you arrange that?"
"Don't ask, Miss. Actually, Dawn promised him a b-j behind the bike sheds..."
"But Mr Watkinson's a teacher, Charlie!"
"I know. I was only joking!" She winked so exaggeratedly that Wilma cracked up laughing.
"So Tosh took the boys for swimming?"
"And they pushed him in the pool. Luckily, or unluckily, he could swim. Anyway, his clothes were all wet, so he's had to change. Even his socks. Gerry threw his old ones away. And he got clean while he was in the water. Gerry says he smells a bit of chlorine, but it's miles better than that socky smell. So he's ready whenever you want him. Tonight would be ideal, but you'll still be nicely fertile until Friday." A faraway expression drifted over Charlie's face. "July, August September ... you'll have the baby in March. That's good, 'cos you won't be carrying a sprog around through the summer. Melissa's sister says it got on her tits, being preggers when it's hot. You ought to be glad you've got me doing your family planning for you. Give us a kiss, Miss!"
"This whole thing's crazy!"
"Mmmmm! Isn't it! Never mind. I'd better leave now. He'll be here in ten minutes!"
"Tonight? He's coming round tonight?
"Yeah. I thought it would be best, before he gets too smelly again. Wow, Miss, you're monstrous in that new bra!" An anxious shadow crossed the girl's face. "I hope he doesn't get too excited and get premature exclamation! That happens to some men, you know."
"You don't say?"
The doorbell rang.
Charlie performed a little jig, her cumbersome breasts bouncing. "He's here! I'll go out the back way. Give me a minute before you let him in. Mmmmmm! Your tits are so huge, Miss. Love you! See you later, okay."
"Married? It's a bit sudden, isn't it?"
Wilma glared hard at the phone. "Daddy! I'm twenty-seven years old. Women do tend to get married around that time. Anyway, I'm not really getting married, just having someone move in with me."
Mr Pettigrew sounded slightly relieved on behalf of his bank account. "Yes, but ... you've never mentioned a boyfriend before..."
"It's too complicated ... I'll explain when I see you next week. We start the summer holidays tomorrow. Is Mum there? Put her on." Wilma rolled her eyes at Charlie and tucked the phone under her chin to make hand signals to the girl, who was picking her toes on the bed. "My family! They haven't got two brain cells to rub together."
Charlie stifled a giggle, her huge naked breasts wobbling delightfully. She pulled a foot up into her groin and began wiggling her toes against her pudenda. Wilma tore her eyes away from the disturbing spectacle.
"Hello? Mum?"
"Dad says you're getting married, dear," Mrs Pettigrew accused her third daughter. "Are you pregnant?"
"I might be. Does it matter?"
"Of course it matters! I thought you, of all people, a school teacher..."
"Oh, Mother!"
"Who's responsible for it? Someone at school?"
"As it happens, yes..." Wilma pointed gleefully at her lover, who cocked her head to one side like an intelligent dog. Mrs Pettigrew was in full flow.
"It's a shock, Billie. We did try to bring you up to be a nice girl..."
"I'll see you next week and we'll talk about it then," said Wilma, becoming impatient. "There'll be two of us, by the way."
"You're bringing the father to see us?"
"No, I'm bringing my fiancée. That's with two e's," she added in a fierce mutter. "Next week, then, bye-eee!" The phone crashed down. "Stupid bitch! Who's responsible for it! The way they go on about bringing me up to be a nice girl..."
"You are, Miss! You're a very nice girl." Charlie rolled on to her back and held her arms out. "Come and cuddle little Charlie! Lick Charlie's diddly bits. Let Charlie chew Billie's cheesy clittie."
Wilma did as she was told. It would have been rude not to. "Just think," she said, coming up for air and pulling a curly hair from between her teeth. She stretched it out between her fingers and marvelled at its extraordinary length. "Their youngest daughter started a family at thirteen and now has nine snotty-nosed kids crawling around the place. And they have the nerve to complain when I get pregnant and tell them I'm getting married. Well, not married, exactly..." She lasped into silence as her head was forced down again with some emphasis by Charlie.
"You might not be pregnant, yet," Charlie addressed her warning directly to Wilma's genitalia. "It's a bit soon."
Wilma surfaced again. "I'm a week late. That's very unusual for me."
"Unusual for me, too," said Charlie, biting her lip. Her own lip.
"What do you mean?"
"I'm late, too. Wow! Wouldn't it be brilliant if we're both preggers?"
"Wait a minute! You can't be! You're..."
"I know! So I prefer girls. But that night, when I sent Tosh round to service you, I crept out the back way; then when I got to the road, there was Gerald, just about to come and ring your doorbell. So I had to divert him before he interrupted something. I was feeling horny as a billygoat, anyway, so I took him over into the woods. It wasn't bad, actually, having him inside me. Not as good as the real thing, but it felt interesting, in a way. He's quite big, according to Melissa. I wouldn't know, of course, but he felt about as thick as a Coke bottle. One of the little ones, not a two litre bottle. And not cold, either — his thing was hot. Sort of hard and silky soft at the same time, if you can imagine that."
"Of course I can imagine ... you shameless little slut!" Wilma stormed, then started laughing at the sheer ridiculousness of it all. "If we're both ... we'll have to get a bigger place than this. Two babies!"
"They might be born on the same day!"
"Twins!"
"Twin girls..."
"Suit yourself..."
"I don't mind what they are, as long as they're babies. And my titties are going to grow and grow and grow! I bet they get bigger than yours..."
"Bet they don't!" Wilma said petulantly.