AS IT WAS, the two teachers were the last to get on to the bus, appearing out of the main school doors as the quadrangle clock struck eight forty-five with unnecessary loudness and emphasis; scrambling aboard and flopping into the front seat, where the driver gawped at them with his disbelief unsuspended.
They had been delayed by circumstances beyond their control. Miss Grimbeau's uncomfortably full bra was still in her room, on the bed, and she now wore one of Miss Meadowlark's shirts, a delightfully translucent creation in off-white silk which she had never quite plucked up the courage to wear.
"You'll be ready to go, then, ladies?"
There was no reply from Miss Meadowlark and Miss Grimbeau. They were otherwise engaged, gazing into each other's eyes. A chorus of "oooh's" greeted the teachers' non-reaction to the driver's question.
"Let's go, Drive," called Valentina with assurance from the back seat. "'Drive' is short for driver," she informed her admiring classmates. "I speak their language."
She seemed to be correct, as the doors sighed shut in a final sort of way and the bus gave an orgasmic shudder before moving slowly off down the driveway between the trees. The driver kept up a steady observation of the two teachers through his interior mirror as they swung along the twisting main road to Borcester. Miss Meadowlark and Miss Grimbeau were doubtless feeling no pain, too far gone in their Barely Controllable Horniness to notice anything going on about them.
There was an atmosphere in the bus. An atmosphere of totally unsuppressed excitement, of girls copiously wetting themselves in joyous anticipation. Outside, the orange streetlights of Borcester flickered past, revealing groups of young men and women out on the streets in search of an evening's entertainment. The girls waved from the bus windows at the males, and aimed discreet catcalls and critical comments at the females.
They came to a halt outside the disco, yet no one had moved to get off the bus. Beautifully brought-up girls as they were, the St Cat's Juniors realised that it would be extremely rude to get off the bus and enter the disco unsupervised.
"Billygoat Jack's," the driver called, not quite believing that he had just been party to delivering a busload of gently nurtured young ladies to such a dreadful place, especially on a Friday night.
"Come on, let's get off this fucking thing," Valentina urged her classmates, standing up and sashaying down the central aisle. Other girls hesitantly stood and followed her. She turned at the doorway of the bus and looked back at her cronies. "Geraldine, you've got to take that raincoat off!"
Shamefaced, Geraldine shrugged the offending garment off her shoulders and dropped it on her seat. She stood, hunched and blushing.
"I knew it wasn't a good idea, letting her wear a nightie," muttered Helvetica.
"It's all we could find to fit her," said Valentina. "The rest of you all grabbed the best clothes. Anyway, that nightie's okay. It fits, at least."
"The top fits, but not the bottom. You can see her knickers and everything!"
"Her knickers, but not everything. She'll be okay as long as she keeps them on."
Geraldine seemed reluctant to get off the bus, for some reason. She began to whimper. Someone obligingly gave her a hankie. She wiped her eyes then looked round for somewhere to put it. It ended up being tucked into the crotch of her panties.
"Don't bother letting me have that back, Geri," said her benefactor faintly.
"What about those two?" Helvetica asked.
"They're busy. Let's get off, it stinks in here. See ya later, Drive!" Valentina led the way, boldly stepping down on to the curb. The others followed her, peering nervously at their teachers as they passed. Miss Meadowlark was sitting facing Miss Grimbeau, straddling her thighs. Their breasts and faces were crushed against each other. They were snogging noisily and muttering Transatlantically into each other's wide-open mouths. Grown-ups can be so embarrassing when they try to behave like teenagers.
Outside, the girls stood in an anxious little huddle, facing inwards. In that position, they were all highly aware of their newly-burgeoned figures, swelling out of their mostly inadequate outfits. What had seemed such a good idea in the First Form dormitory was now revealed as deeply inappropriate clothing for a busy market town on a Friday evening.
Arms were folded across massive chests, shoulders began to droop in attempted camouflage.
"I'm freezing," Helvetica admitted, hugging her arms round her well-filled T-shirt.
"Who's that?" Valentina was looking toward the doors of the disco. The others dared to sneak a glance. The surrounding air temperature rose by ten degrees as they all blushed at the same time.
"I think he's one of those bouncers," Helvetica whispered, clutching her breasts tighter to herself.
The man was about eight feet wide, wore a dark suit, a bow tie and almost opaque glasses. He strolled over to the group of girls with a leer of greeting. "Evenin', ladies!" His accent was rustic.
The girls nudged the suddenly reluctant Valentina. "Say something, Tee!" they hissed at her.
Valentina was almost equal to the challenge. "Hello!"
The bouncer turned his leer on Valentina and his eyebrows rose several inches. Valentina blushed extremely prettily, folded her arms and tried to hide the exuberance of her frontal charms. She failed miserably, as a great mound of cleavage bulged above her arms. Her chin became wedged in it and she had to lower her arms to her sides. This had the effect of allowing her puffy-tipped breasts to stick out rudely through her silk shirt. She covered as much of the ends as she could with her hands, then realised the man was staring at her with a lust-filled expression.
"'Oo are they all?" called another man's voice from the doorway.
"Dunno, boss," said the eight-feet wide man. "'Oo are you all?"
"I'm Valentina," said Valentina brightly, "this is Helvetica, this is Sally Chung, and Mat..."
"Nah!"
Valentina stopped in the middle of the formal introductions. She hadn't yet discovered the eight-foot wide man's name. "Who are you?" she asked him.
The voice from the doorway called again, more urgently. "'Oo are they, Lucian?"
"They're girls," Lucian said informatively.
"We're from St Catherine's..." Helvetica started to explain. She stopped with a gasp as Valentina's elbow took her breath away.
"St Catherine's church," Valentina said hurriedly. "Over in Lower Oxbury. A wedding!"
"Weddin'? This toime of noight?"
"A rehearsal." Valentina sounded more assured. "The real thing's tomorrow. This is a stag party."
"Stag...?"
"Hen party." Valentina remembered the appropriate word. "One of our teach ... our friends is getting married tomorrow."
"Oh, yeah? "What's 'er name?" Lucian leered more broadly and the girls backed away nervously.
"Miss Meadow..." Helvetica stopped short again as a sharp kick met her shin.
"She's Miss at the moment," Valentina explained in a rush. "Miss Meadows."
"Lark," said Helvetica, determined to help.
"Meadows or Lark?" Lucian pursued, intrigued.
"Both!" Valentina galloped to the rescue again. "She's Miss Meadows now, but tomorrow she'll be Mrs..."
"Cee Lark!" Helvetica said in a burst of inspiration.
"Clarke," Valentina bleated desperately. "She's marrying Mr Clarke." She looked hopelessly back at the bus, finding to her relief that the teachers had stopped what they had been doing and were getting off the bus on to the footpath, adjusting their dress.
"Which one's your Miss Meadowlark?" Lucian sniggered.
"The little blonde one," said Valentina.
Corinne grabbed at Angelica's neck for one last moment of unbridled passion.
"So that other one's her Mr Clarke, then, is it?" Lucian chortled. "The big one with the hair...?"
"No, that's her friend, Miss Grimbo!"
"Lucian! You're blockin' the pavement. Get 'em in 'ere!"
"Oi can't, boss! They're only kids!"
"Kids? They don't look much like kids to me." The boss unfolded himself from the doorway and strolled over to the group. He was about eight feet tall, and wore dark glasses and a similar suit to Lucian's, allowing for their different shapes. He eyed the girls up and down. They cringed and blushed prettily under his inspection.
"See, boss? They're just kids, like I said."
"Ain't never seen kids with tits like this lot." The Boss ran an appraising eye over the Juniors. "They're fuckin' enormous!"
The girls studied the floor and tried to look smaller. It didn't work.
"'Oo are those two?" the boss asked, indicating the still heavily-occupied teachers in the background.
"They're gettin' married tomorrow," Lucian explained.
"Are they?" The boss was evidently broadminded. He had heard about women like this before, but never had a chance to study them in action. "Let 'em all in!"
"They're only kids..."
"Lucian! No! We'll be able to fill the club three times over with this little lot in there!"
"Okay, boss!" Lucian shrugged and held out an arm to shepherd the girls into the disco. He supposed it wouldn't really matter that he was about to fill the disco with unfeasibly busty girls of almost no age at all: it was so dark in there, no one would ever know.
The party disappeared inside Billygoat Jack's. Out in the road, the bus driver heaved a sigh and drove slowly away to the car park. A crowd of boys had gathered, discussing in low tones what they had just seen. It appeared that a crowd of girls, not the usual Borcester posse, had just gone into the disco. Those boys who had been close enough were describing what they had seen, using extravagant hand gestures.
Lucian the bouncer reappeared in the doorway. Already, a throng of boys were jostling to get inside. This would certainly make a change from the usual scene outside Billygoat Jack's, where it was said that the bouncers had been known to grab innocent passers-by off the street and drag them, protesting, into the foetid interior.
From the other side of the street, a dozen or so of Borcester's finest specimens of nubile girlhood watched glumly as their chances of getting laid disappeared into Billygoat Jack's.
"'Oo were they?" One of the girls had witnessed the St Cat's Juniors getting off their bus. The others gathered round, anxious to hear of these new rivals who had come to steal their menfolk.
"I dunno. Funny, they di'nt look as old as us, even..."
The posse gave an angry growl.
"Younger than us? You mean less than fourteen?"
It seemed highly unlikely.
"Most of them. There was a couple looked a bit older, and they was snogging all the time."
"Snoggin'?"
"'Oo wiv?"
"Each other."
"Oh, yuck!
"Fuckin' lezzies!"
The eye-witness was gratified by the reaction, but she hadn't finished. "There was summat else, though. They all had fucking great tits!"
"Lezzies don't 'ave big tits," declared one girl firmly.
"These did!"
"How big?" said one girl jealously. She was a sizeable blonde with wobbly gallon-sized jugs under an optimistic crop top.
"Bigger than yours!" The posse gasped. Nobody, but nobody, ever spoke to Vanessa like that. "Twice as big!"
Heresy. The posse sensed a fight. Vanessa would surely rearrange the features of this skinny little shit. Vanessa sneered somewhat insecurely. "You saw two lesbians, and they had bigger tits than me?" The crop top bulged dangerously as Vanessa breathed in. Informed sources said Vanessa wore her big sisters' cast-off nursing bras, which fortunately were in plentiful supply. Vanessa had seven older teenage sisters (and one younger one), who were in a state of constant pregnancy and lactation. By some miracle, Vanessa had avoided conception, although it certainly wasn't for want of trying. Informed sources didn't mention the complex logistics of a fourteen-year-old girl having seven older teenage sisters.
"I saw two lesbians who were twice as big as you, Nessie. And about thirty kids, an' all of them had boobs that made yours look like fried eggs. Go and see for yourself, if you don't believe me. They all went in there."
The posse followed the girl's pointing finger. The eight-foot wide Lucian lounged in the doorway, having admitted the last of the batch of eager adolescent males. He leered at them across the road.
"They won't let us in there, we're not old enough."
It was true. They had tried before. Even on one of Billygoat Jack's slackest nights, when just about anyone was allowed in at half price, the Borcester girl-posse had been refused entry.
"'Oo were they, though?" The question had to be asked. If this buxom busload was going to make a habit of invading Borcester, it would literally be the end of sex as they knew it, and at fourteen, most of the posse had only been doing it for a couple of years. This was disaster of inconceivable magnitude. Literally inconceivable.
"I dunno," said the eye-witness slowly, her brow furrowed with the unaccustomed effort of thought. "But I got an idea I seen one of them two lezzies before. At a school netball game. I reckon they come from St Cat's!" The girl's expression cleared. "Yeah, St Cat's, and them lezzies was teachers!"
Vanessa took a deep breath and assumed the role of leader. "That shitty stuck-up school? Let's kill the little cows!"
"You mean, fight them?" some of the posse asked nervously.
"You mean, go in there, into Billygoat Jack's?"
"They won't let us in..."
"I know. We've got to be crafty about this. Come on, girls. Let's make a plan. Then we'll go and collect us some reinforcements..."
"Wow! It's hot in here!" Helvetica yelled over the din, fanning her cleavage with both hands. A sheen of sweat had formed on her upper slopes.
"It's cool in here," Valentina corrected her. "Look at all those boys that just came in. We're going to pull tonight!"
"Pull?" Helvetica looked nervously at the boys, who were edging round the perimeter of the room, gaping at the party of First Formers with open mouthed awe. The girls were infected by the beat of the music, jiggling cautiously up and down on the spot. It was a disturbing sight, all those plump unsupported breasts rebounding like that.
"Pull, yeah!" Valentina leaned closer and shouted into Helvetica's ear. "We'll get laid."
"What for? What if we don't want to?"
Valentina's face registered incomprehension. "Want to? Of course you want to. Everybody wants to!"
"Do they?" Helvetica looked around the group of girls. They didn't seem to want to do anything. "I thought we came here for Dance Appreciation."
"I came here for Boy Appreciation. But we can dance if you want to. Look at those two!" Valentina inclined her head to where Corinne and Angelica had emerged from their clinch to take advantage of a slow smoochy number. Oblivious to outside influences, they swayed and writhed, gazing into each other's eyes, their breasts gently touching, their faces barely a yard apart. Miss Meadowlark had a bottle of Bud in one hand, and a couple of spares tucked into her cleavage. As the girls watched, Miss Meadowlark held her bottle to Miss Grimbo's lips, then took a deep swig herself. "C'mon, Vets. Let's join 'em!"
Helvetica found herself being dragged by the hand until they were next to the two teachers, almost in their personal space. The two girls began to copy every move made by their elders and betters. Despite the relaxed and leisurely beat, there was plenty of movement going on. The rest of the St Cat's girls, scandalised by this erotic display, clustered together by the wall and watched in abject horror. Yet despite this, they found themselves still moving in sympathy. Twenty-eight pairs of nipples and excessively puffy areolae began to do serious things to the fronts of twenty-eight bodices.
The DJ sensed the mood and the music changed to something faster. Billygoat Jack's two matching dancing girls — lithe, sleek and determinedly multi-racial — launched themselves into a frenzy of pelvic thrusting and sexual explicitness. The DJ, unusually for him, paid them no heed. He had miraculously become a breast man.
Miss Meadowlark jerked her head contemptuously in the direction of the house dancers, then tossed away her empty bottle and plucked out another. She took a deep, deep slug of beer, then held out her arms wide — and at an unspoken signal, the two teachers swung into a considerably more abandoned style of dancing, followed faithfully by Valentina and Helvetica.
"Miss Grimbo winked at me just then," Valentina shouted breathlessly as she came close to Helvetica.
"So did Miss Meadowlark at me! Ouch!"
"S'matter?"
"My tits! All this bouncing!"
All this bouncing seemed to be meeting with general approval amongst the boys. They formed a semicircle, still keeping well away from the St Cat's group, but able to watch the ever more frenzied gyrations of the four women occupying centre stage. These were the four most extravagantly developed women they had ever seen or even imagined.
"It's great!" Valentina yelled. She realised that she and Helvetica had an advantage over their teachers. The older women had considerably larger breasts and things were starting to get a little out of hand at times. Miss Meadowlark had to keep clutching at herself to steady the immense flopping bounce of her miraculously swollen boobs. Miss Grimbo, being of larger overall build, was able to carry things off with more assurance, but the effort of leaping and squirming and shimmying was getting even to her. Her creamy silk top was almost transparent with sweat, and showed every detail of what was going on inside. Which was plenty.
Valentina dropped into a squatting position, knees wide-spread to reveal her almost womanish inner thighs; then rose slowly, fingers snapping above her head, shaking her wobbling chest from side to side. It was something neither of the teachers would even dare to attempt. The move brought sobbing howls of anguish from the watching boys. It also brought a glare of disapproval from Miss Meadowlark. The Support and Mobility Mistress was seeking solace in drink. She swallowed deeply and went for her last bottle.
Helvetica shrugged helplessly. She studied Valentina's dancing and found herself doing the same thing, with some embellishments of her own. This time, even the scandalised St Cat's girls let out a yell of approval, as Helvetica completed her movement by arching her powerful sportswoman's body backwards and placing her hands on the floor behind her head, so her T-shirt dress rode up almost to her belly and her epic breasts and nipples pointed at the ceiling, catching the lights as they changed from red to green to blue and back again.
She held the pose. "Help!" she bleated. "I'm stuck!"
Miss Meadowlark looked even less pleased, if possible. She deposited her third empty bottle and stalked off to the bar for a replacement. She leaned against the bar counter, looking around her with an expression of extreme disapproval. The Juniors of St Cat's looked a right bunch of skimpily dressed sluts. One or two of them were jigging around nervously on the spot. She recognised the girl known as Hairy Miranda, swaying her hips experimentally, her arms above her head. Such disgusting armpit hair the girl had. She ought to do something about covering it up. Suddenly, the disco lights began flashing on and off. Corinne looked at them in alarm, then glanced guiltily round the room, looking for something but not sure what it might be.
Meanwhile, literally back on the dance floor, Valentina helped her friend back to a somewhat shaky upright position, and the two Juniors clung to each other, giggling. "I've got an idea, Vets!"
"What?"
"Watch!" Valentina tugged at Miss Grimbo's arm and dragged the astonished teacher towards her. She reached up and shouted in her ear. "Miss. Can you do that dance we saw on telly last week?"
"Which one?" Angelica yelled.
"I think it was the Macaroni."
"Marijuana," Helvetica corrected her.
"Don't do it, Angelica!" Corinne shouted. She had returned from the bar, re-stocked with beer. "It's not suitable for young girls. Hic!"
"Oh, Miss!" Valentina pouted.
"It won't do any harm, Miss!"
"It won't do any harm, Corinne, watch this!" And Angelica shimmied into the centre of the floor as a great sigh of unbridled lust arose from the watching crowd.
The audience realised it had never looked like this on television. Angelica threw herself into the dance, while Valentina and Helvetica joyously copied her every movement. Well, most of her movements. There were some things they just couldn't copy. Perhaps it was just as well.
Corinne glowered at them, standing with arms akimbo on the outskirts of the action.
Angelica grinned at the two girl dancers and flung her arms wide as she began to swivel her gloriously flexible, powerful hips. Valentina and Helvetica did their best to follow her. The howls of the boys bore tribute to their success. The three figures, spotlit in hot primary colours, laughed happily as they vied with each other in encouragement to wilder and wilder gyrations. Arms extended for balance, the top-heavy trio whirled and wobbled.
"C'mon, Miss!"
"Yeah, c'mon!"
"All right!"
The three of them exchanged a triumphal high five and yelled in jubilation, twisting their hips and bending at the knees to descend in a monstrously breast-jiggling squatting motion to the infectious beat.
Nobody was quite sure what happened.
Perhaps it was something Valentina did, one little extra wiggle of her own. It was perhaps echoed by Helvetica, and Angelica was unable to resist trying it as well. Nobody knew. All that anyone could remember was the end result. Angelica's breasts strained at the creamy silk of her shirt. Then 'creamy' became very much the operative word. Angelica's milk began to flow, to seep out, to soak the clinging silk so that her almost black moons gave her the appearance of wearing nothing at all above the waist. Not very far above the waist, but above it nevertheless.
The feeling of let-down was all it needed to push Angelica over the edge. Her expression changed to ecstasy as her movements reached a climactic screaming orgasmic wildness. Her two young dancing partners watched in awe, their jaws dropping as they came to a panting halt, reaching for each other's hands.
Certainly, if Angelica had worn a ScatBra®, it would never have happened. But if she had, the watchers would have been denied the most memorable sight of their young lives.
The buttons gave way, starting with the middle one and rapidly spreading upwards and downwards. At least a couple of buttons were ripped off, the rest simply let go. And out into the open air sprang the most gorgeously-engorged pair of breasts ever seen in Billygoat Jack's.
Milk sprayed out of Angelica in several arcing streams, pulsing and squirting, falling back to dribble in pale floods down the mighty dark chocolate spheres and drip unheeded to the floor.
The music stopped, the way music sometimes does. The DJ, transfixed, was too stricken even to fumble with his control console. He was too busy fumbling elsewhere.
Corinne lunged forward in the sudden silence and took Angelica's arm. "You'd better come over here for a while," she whispered, between hiccups. "Thank you, Helveticle," she said with icily drunken dignity as the girl placed three buttons in her hand. And she led her friend away to where a wide-eyed Boss held open the door of his office.
"HEY, VETS. Quick! Now they've gone for a minute. Come to the bogs. I wanna show you something!"
Helvetica followed her friend as they weaved across the floor, past the rest of the open-mouthed girls, past the straining, jostling, sweating boys of Borcester. They passed so close that the boys were able to look right down the front of their tops. They reached the sanctuary of the ladies' room and Valentina tugged at her blouse so it covered slightly more of her areolae than before. "Ouch," she said. "This thing's nearly cutting my tits in half!"
"No wonder, if you pull it open as much as that. I thought they were going to fall out just then, like Miss Grimbo's."
"No, they can't fall out," said Valentina with genuine regret. "They're miles too big to come out of the neckline. Hey, did you see that one with the fair hair? Wow!"
Helvetica could hardly believe her friend had apparently so quickly forgotten what had just happened to their Dance Appreciation teacher. She put her hands on her hips and snapped impatiently. "What have you got to show me? You said you wanted to show me something."
"You won't tell...?"
"That depends what it is. Course I won't tell...!" she added hurriedly as Valentina opened her mouth to protest. "What have you got?"
"Promise? I'll get in deep shit if my Mum finds out..."
"Promise! What is it?"
Valentina hoisted her skirt and rummaged about in her panties for a few seconds. At last, with an expression of mingled disgust and relief, she brought out a small tubular plastic container. "This!"
"What is it?" Helvetica looked at the little plastic tube as it lay in her friend's palm. "And where were you hiding it?"
"Oh, just in my knickers," said Valentina vaguely. She blushed crimson.
"'Tina! You've had it in ... up ... your ..." Helvetica picked up the tube and sniffed it cautiously, then hastily put it back in Valentina's hand. "You have! It was in your ..."
"I know! You don't have to tell the whole world! I had to hide it somewhere, didn't I?"
"Why hide it at all? What's in it?" Helvetica stared at her friend, who was scratching herself intimately.
"It feels a lot better now it's out. It felt huge in there!"
"You're disgusting, you know that? Filthy! Foul!"
Valentina accepted these descriptions happily. "Don't you wanna know what it is?"
"Of course I do. I keep asking you."
"Okay. It's ..." she leaned closer and whispered in Helvetica's ear.
"It's not! In there? Is it full?"
"Yeah. There's plenty!"
"Jeez, Tee! What if it had leaked? It would have gone into your ... Wow!"
"It can't leak. The lid's ever so tight." Valentina tried to unscrew it, going bright red and straining. Apart from an involuntary and dangerously wet-sounding fart, she failed to achieve anything.
"You ought to do something about your fat poo-ey arse! I've got stronger fingers than you. Let me try..."
"Careful..."
"Oops! Shit!"
"I told you..."
"What can we do?"
"Put the top back on for a start...!"
"Will it wash off?"
"Try. Get your tits out and hold them under the tap."
"But I'll get them all wet. It will show!"
"We've got to wash it off. That will make your tits wet. Better to have wet tits than have this stuff working. Quick..." Valentina held Helvetica over the washbasin and started scooping handfuls of cold water into her friend's yawning neckline. She went on doing so for some time. "No wonder it all went down there; you've got a cleavage like the Cheddar Gorge! Only about twice as big."
Helvetica blushed prettily and bit her lip. "That's enough! It must be all off by now."
"You can't be too sure with this stuff."
Helvetica stood up straight. She looked like a drowned rat. "Look at me. What will they say in there?"
"They won't notice. It's dark."
"Those boys will notice. Their eyes were out on stalks when we came in here. They'll be waiting for us to come back out. What did you want to bring this stuff for, anyway?"
"To use. For the boys. I knew there'd be boys here. All you need is a little drop, and it works like a charm. You can't fail."
"A little drop?" Helvetica wailed. "I've had a bath in the fucking stuff! I can't go out there, I'll be raped!"
"Wow!" said Valentina dreamily. "Do you think so?" She unscrewed the cap from the tube and carefully dabbed a little in the sweat-damp shadows between her breasts. "There. That ought to do it! Come on. Let's see if this stuff works."
"How are we going to know if this stuff works?" Suzanne gave the bottle a vigorous shake as the two Brooks girls plodded up the stairs to the staff domestic quarters. The contents moved sludgily.
"It will work!" Pansy was even more impatient with her cousin than usual. She had just heard the glad tidings. Baby Number Three was confirmed, curse it. While she had to admit it did marvellous things for a girl's bustline, this continuous pregnancy thing was getting way beyond a joke.
"It doesn't look right. It's too thick. It ought to be runny, like water."
"That's your fault. You left it boiling too long."
"You were supposed to be watching it. But you were too busy getting off with that boy!" Suzanne spat out the word 'boy' as if it were a mouthful of vinegar.
"You're just jealous."
"I am not."
"You are."
"Not."
"Are."
The cousins glared fiercely at each other for a while, each trying not to be the first to laugh.
"Have another Fruit Pastille, Pan," said Suzanne, offering the packet. "Don't take the last black one."
"Thanks, Suze." Pansy helped herself to three black ones. "It won't matter that it's too thick. It will still work. It will just be harder to rub on to her."
"How are we going to rub it on her anyway? She won't believe us if we tell her it's to stop hair growing on her legs, or to keep the sun off."
"No problem. We'll just mix it with this plain cream and rub it on her tits. We'll think of an excuse. She'll believe anything. She's American!"
They had reached the staff bedrooms and slowed down cautiously. The place seemed deserted.
"They're away at Billygoat Jack's. And Miss Mountains is on a heavy date. I saw her going out with her make-up on. The great big horny slut."
Pansy decided not to argue with her cousin's description of the teacher. "I thought she was supposed to be Miss Grimbo's girlfriend," she sneered. "No sooner has Miss Grimbo gone out for the evening, old Mountains is unfaithful to her. The big tart. Anyway, it's a good thing, 'cos it means there will be nobody up here. We can just settle down and wait for them to come back. They won't be all that late if they've got a bunch of Juniors with them."
"It's past their bedtime already. Let's have the plain cream. We can mix it and give it a chance to cool down before Grimbo comes back."
They passed Miss Meadowlark's bedroom door. "She's left her door open," Pansy gasped. "Anybody could just walk in there!"
"She must be ever so trusting. Or maybe she's got nothing worth nicking."
"People could go in and try her bras on! Not us, of course, but ordinary girls could!"
They paused in the doorway. "Go on, then," Suzanne urged.
"We mustn't. They'd kill us." Pansy hesitated, looking both ways along the corridor before squashing her breasts inwards and squeezing herself through the wide doorway. Suzanne followed more easily.
"Shit, it's like a tip in here. I thought our dorm was a mess!"
The floor and the bed were littered with articles of clothing. "She's been trying clothes on for the disco. You know what old Titlark is like. She changes her shirt ten times a day."
"That's 'cos she's growing all the time." Suzanne prowled around, picking up T-shirts and holding them speculatively against her bosom. "Pan?"
"What?" Pansy had the wardrobe door open, but there didn't seem to be any maternity wear available.
"You know how Miss Meadowlark is always growing?"
"Yeah, she always has been." The girl slammed the wardrobe door in disgust. It bounced off her left titanic breast and swung open mockingly. "Ouch, you bastard! She grows all the time. So?"
"So I wondered. Everybody knows she grows all the time, so why isn't she as big as us? Or bigger?"
Pansy shrugged and opened a drawer. It was full of bras. She closed it hurriedly. Then a thought occurred to her and she opened it again. Digging deep, she pulled out a bra from the bottom of the drawer and inspected the label. Then she compared it with a brand new looking bra from the top. Silently, she showed the two bras to her cousin.
"Wow! She must be a half a metre bigger now than when she got this other bra. You're right! If she got this other one a month or two ago, she's growing five or six metres a year. We've been here two years. She ought to be out of sight by now. She ought to have at least a twelve metre bust! That's forty feet in two years. Even I'm only twelve feet, and I've got gallons of milk sloshing about in mine."
"But she isn't anywhere near as big as you, Pan! She's not even as big as me."
"I know. But we both know she's always been getting bigger, ever since we've known her. It must be magic."
"Or she's playing about with Sexual Chemistry," Suzanne whispered, horrified.
"Not Miss Meadowlark! She hates all that stuff. She'd never use Grow Cream Super XL Magnum Mega-Mammoth Mammavast Double-Strength Ultra Plus..."
"It's not called that any more, Pan..."
"Whatever it's called, she wouldn't use it. It's asthma to her."
"It's what?" Suzanne looked up from the floor. She was on her knees, looking under the bed. "Hey, what's this? Hang on! Here's the proof..." And Suzanne grappled beneath the bed, finally emerging with a plastic tub. The lid was off, and it was about a quarter full of cream. "Wow! How about that!"
"Miss Meadowlark!" Pansy was flushed with arousal. "She creams herself!"
"That's how she gets such big tits that grow the whole time without them getting any bigger!"
"Oooh, Corinne!" Pansy uttered the teacher's revered name, while backing towards the bed and settling down with an almost audible splash. She searched beneath her breasts with an abstracted expression.
Suzanne regarded her besotted cousin with distaste. "Well, old Titlark can wave bye-bye to this lot. We can use this cream for a more deserving case!"
"What are you doing?" Pansy was aghast.
Suzanne wrenched the cap off her bottle and shook it vigorously over the tub of cream. With a soft glop, the contents landed squarely in the middle of the tub. It lay there for a moment while Suzanne stared at it, then a satisfyingly pink cloud of steam jetted forth. "Eeek!"
"Suze?"
Suzanne flapped with her free hand at the steam round her head. "Wow! I told you it was too strong!" She began hopping around the room. Bubbles popped stickily in the cream tub, winking like simmering porridge. Each bubble released a fresh gout of fragrant steam. "Ouch, it's getting hot!"
"Put it on the floor then!"
"I can't, it's stuck to my hand." Suzanne set off for the doorway, pink steam wreathing out behind her like an effeminate locomotive. Pansy stood up uncertainly as her cousin disappeared round the corner. "Mind you don't splash any on your boobs," she warned, following her.
The steam hung about like a shroud in the corridor. Pausing only to wipe her pussy-slick fingers, Pansy gathered up her massively swaying breasts and lumbered heavily after Suzanne, following the steam cloud as it disappeared into Miss Grimbo's room.
The room throbbed with sound. Girls and boys had paired off to dance, some more intimately than others. The most intimate couple were Helvetica Bold and her chosen one, a blonde-haired boy in a magenta polyester shirt. Appallingly wet sounds came from the couple's conjoined lips. Valentina was starting to get worried. Her bestest friend had not come up for air for several minutes. She prodded her anxiously.
"Helv? Vets?"
"Mmm-hmm?" Helvetica carried on getting off. The boy's hands were busy exploring her remarkable chest. It was a memorable night for him. First there was that lovely big black woman busting out of her shirt and drenching them all with milk — MILK, for Chrissakes, in Billygoat Jack's — now, he had his hands on a pair of tits of such splendour and magnitude that he was unable to believe the evidence of his own fingers and palms. Shit, and he'd always thought old Vanessa was big. He was filling his boots as well as his underpants.
Helvetica didn't want it to end. Boys were such an interesting shape, she was discovering. And their most interesting bits did such interesting things. She pressed herself so intimately against him that she was almost... "Fuck, Tina! What do you want?"
"I thought you were sucking his insides out! What are you doing to him?"
"Nothing, just..." Helvetica paused, blinking. Suddenly, she seemed to realise what she was doing and thrust the boy away from her. He stood bewildered, his erection straining hopelessly at his pants. As awareness dawned, he covered himself with both hands and tried to melt away where his peers could no longer see him. Helvetica shook her head. "Oh, yuck!" she exclaimed.
"What's the matter?" Valentina gasped.
"That boy! Horrible! Ick! Yucky! Eewwwwww!"
"You weren't saying that a couple of minutes ago. You were practically inside his jeans!"
"I wasn't!" Helvetica looked aghast. "Was I?"
"Yeah. You're pretty hot when you get going!"
"Oh, no!"
"It must've worn off! The Love! Pansy said it works great but it doesn't last long. I thought with the amount you had, it would have lasted a bit longer than that."
"All that? It was because of that stuff you splashed on my tits? It was Love? It made me do all that?"
"Yeah! You want some more?"
"Shit, no! He smells horrible."
"Smells? He seemed okay to me. All boys smell like that. It's called fragrance."
"Yuck, he was like a Sixth Form girl going out on a heavy date."
"Bad as that, huh? What's the matter?"
"I've got a headache!"
"You can't have a headache. That's when you don't feel like fucking!"
"I don't. I never want to, ever ever. Boys stink."
"You won't want any more Love, then? There's plenty left... Even though I managed to give Miss Grimbo a good splosh of it." Valentina shook the plastic container. "I thought I might try some more myself," she said wistfully. "Mine only lasted about twenty seconds. By the time I'd picked out a boy, I flooded my pants and it was all over. Sopping! You know how wet I always get!" She hopped anxiously from foot to foot, touching herself. "Come to the bogs again, Aitch!" Her voice rose to a desperate wail. And she dragged her stunned friend away to the ladies room.
The thump of the beat echoed off the garbage cans as Vanessa led her enlarged and reinforced posse down the alleyway and paused, her finger to her lips. "Wait here a minute. As soon as Jennie gets the bouncer away from the door, we move fast. You all ready?"
The muted chorus of replies suggested that her companions were not quite as ready as Vanessa herself was.
"Right, then. Ready, Jen?"
Jennie nodded and took a deep breath. Her friends gasped.
"They don't 'alf look real, Jen!"
"They wobble. I hope they don't fall out. He'll kill me."
"They won't fall out. That's a good bra. One of my kid sister's."
"I'm glad I'm not her. These melons are fucking heavy. Are real tits this heavy, Nessie?"
"Course they are. You've got to be a real man to carry tits like those around with you. Right. You know what to do?"
"Yeah. I walk up to Lucian, take a big breath and stick my melons in his face. Then I tell him I'm with the rest of them, that I went to the bog and came out of the fire door by mistake. Then when he lets me in, I rub myself against him and..." Jennie shuddered with the very thought of it.
"Then we all run for the door and go straight in. No stopping. Once we're in, pick your targets and go straight for them. Right, boy-grabbers. You got the rope?"
Two girls held up the ends of a fat rope. Six others nodded anxiously.
"You round the boys up and drag them straight out the front doors. Tie them to this lamp post and come back into the club to help us. We outnumber them kids anyway, but we might need a bit of a hand to clear up."
"What about if the boys escape?"
"Don't matter. They won't come back into Billy's. We can deal with them later. The rest of you, when we get in there, pick a girl and take her out..."
"Take her out? You mean...?"
"No! Go straight for her and knock her over. Punch her lights out. Sit on her face, whatever you need to do. And remember — the netball girl's mine, okay?"
"Okay!" The rest of the posse were pleased to allow Vanessa to have the St Cat's Junior Netball Captain if she wanted. The St Cat's Junior Netball Captain looked more than a handful, in every possible sense of the word.
"Right, Jen! Ready? Go, go, go!"
Vanessa watched far too many police shows on television.
"Have you got a needle and thread, Mister Boss?"
The Boss shook his head. He was still trying to take in the sight in front of him. Corinne fussed around, trying to focus her blurred vision long enough to persuade the stunned Angelica's breasts back into the remains of her cream, soaked, cream-soaked shirt.
"Safety pins?"
The Boss closed his mouth and nodded.
"Fetch them. Please. Hic! Now, young woman. What are we going to do about these things of yours?"
"Suck them, Cee!"
Corinne steeled herself. If she took one drop of that delicious girl-milk between her lips, all would be lost. "We've got to get you ... put away ... covered up. The girls are out there..."
"Girls?" Angelica muttered wonderingly. "What girls...? My girls? Babies? Wheeeeeeeeeeee! I've got milk!" she exclaimed, as if noticing it for the first time. Her breasts responded with renewed vigour, and Corinne had to step back smartly. It was either that or be soaked. She would have preferred to be soaked. Especially when she overbalanced and sat down heavily on the Boss's squeaky black leatherette couch. Angelica leaped joyously to her feet. "My sweet li'l darlin' Cee!" she yelped milkily, and hurled herself, none too carefully, on to her stunned reclining lover.
As the owner of Billygoat Jack's, the Boss had seen many bizarre and wonderful things, but few could ever have matched the sight which confronted him when he hurried back to his office with a handful of safety pins. Not a religious man, the Boss saw the Light in that moment, and gave thanks.
ON VANESSA'S WORD of command, Jennie hit the ground running. If she had any misgivings as she jogged and jiggled toward the front door of Billygoat Jack's, they were centred in her borrowed bra. One melon went up as the other was coming down. For the first time in her life, she was grateful for her flat-chestedness. She swore she would never wear a bra again after this terrible night.
Lucian, eight feet wide, blocked the doorway and stared through his cool shades as the rebounding little figure came rushing in his direction. Another of those unbelievable girls who seemed to be everywhere tonight. Jennie came to a halt in front of him, and adjusted her breasts with both hands. It looked as if it ought to have been painful but the girl seemed not to have any feeling in her impressive frontage. She looked familiar, yet unfamiliar, somehow.
"I'm one of the Cat's girls," she stammered inexplicably.
"You what?"
"I went to the bogs and got lost," Jennie explained carefully, remembering her script. "I come out of the fire door and couldn't get back in." She began edging her way round Lucian. He blocked the doorway completely, staring at her without budging. Time for Plan B, she thought. There was no Plan B, but Jennie was a resourceful girl. Desperate, too, with Vanessa about to lead the charge in a few seconds. She slid closer and breathed in deeply. Lucian's eyes goggled and he began to sweat. He didn't often experience the feeling of a pair of ripe melons rubbing gently against his belly. Strange, he thought, they didn't feel the way he expected them to. They ought to be softer than that, surely.
Jennie was almost hyperventilating. She breathed in again, without emptying her lungs first. Her bust measurement rose by a further two inches and she took half a pace forward, just as the left shoulder strap of Vanessa's kid sister's maternity bra threw in the towel. "Oops!" She clutched at her left melon as it slumped out of her bra cup. Too late, the ripe fruit plummetted down like a dead weight, out of the bottom of Jennie's T-shirt.
Lucian saw it out of the corner of his vision, and plunged forward to catch it. Sensing her chance, Jennie slipped round the side of Lucian's body as he dived like a slip-fieldsman and came up clutching not a cricket ball but a ripe honeydew.
"What the f...?" he squeaked, as Jennie butted him in the backside and tipped his bulk out of the doorway. She thrust both hands into her T-shirt and relieved her lopsided bra of the other melon, considered its weight in her hands for a moment, then brought it down with satisfying force on Lucian's head. He grunted and decided it was probably past his bedtime.
Not a moment too soon. With a blood-curdling battle-cry, Vanessa led her cohorts out of the alleyway in tight arrowhead formation to the now unguarded front door of Billygoat Jack's. They streamed inside, reached the throbbing interior and paused for an instant to get their bearings. Then the boy-catchers spotted their quarry and went into the attack with their rope. It wasn't as easy as it ought to have been, as most of the boys were deeply involved with some extremely passionate and determined St Cat's Juniors, who were possibly under the influence of some kind of Sexual Chemistry.
Vanessa was nonplussed, as well. Peering into the dazzling lights, she sought out her Netball Captain. The girl was nowhere to be seen. The attack might have faltered in that moment, but Vanessa was a desperate English schoolgirl, about to be deprived of sex. For her, this would be a disaster almost on a par with deprivation of tobacco. She peered into the flashing gloom in search of breasts larger than her own. To her dismay, she was spoilt for choice. She chose the biggest pair she could find and homed in on Sally Chung, Head Girl of the First Form of St Cat's High School for Growing Girls.
Bad Move, Vanessa.
At least, Vanessa's little army was able to take advantage of its numerical superiority. And it had surprise on its side. A tidal wave of girlhood poured on to the dance floor and overwhelmed the shocked St Cat's girls, snatching their new-found boyfriends and shepherding them away to who-knew-what fate.
Worse, the St Cat's girls were still under the influence of Love. As the rampaging Borcester posse swept in to the attack, their victims offered no resistance. Instead, they virtually rolled over with their legs in the air. It was a rout.
Apart, that is, for Sally Chung and Vanessa.
Sally had no use for Love. She had no use, in fact, for boys. Sally was the embodiment of Just Say No. She was clear-eyed, icy calm, and not a happy bunny. When she saw Vanessa racing toward her with an expression of ill-intent on her face, Sally's face lit up for the first time that evening. Come on, punk, she thought, make my day.
Vanessa came on. She reached out with her claws extended and let out a scream that turned everyone's blood to strawberry ice cream. And she launched herself at Sally.
The scream cut off as abruptly as if someone had pulled out Vanessa's main power supply lead. She found herself sliding on her back across the polished floor. When she came to rest, her head and shoulders were inside the enclosure of one of the disco's ridiculously loud loudspeakers. Deafened, she kicked her legs in the air in protest. Sally, following up her advantage, strolled over, grabbed the big girl's ankles and yanked her free. She lay there on the floor, looking up into the pulsing lights and wondering quite where she was.
Sally reminded her.
The Boss stood up and blundered out of his office. He had witnessed sights which were not discussed in polite circles. Two grown women — two extremely grown women — were making out, snogging, getting off, making love, on the black leather couch in his inner sanctum. The Boss stood it as long as he could, then he lurched to his feet and made for the door, looking over his shoulder the whole way.
With a low moan of frustration, he plunged out into the passage and shot off to the Gentlemen's toilets.
"Cee! We've wasted so much time! We should have done this months ago!"
Corinne was in no position to disagree. She was trapped beneath Angelica's looming bulk and her horizon was limited by a pair of swollen watermelon breasts, a rich dark and shiny brown, drum-tight with milk. They were very nearly as big as her own.
It didn't leave a great deal of room between the two of them. Every cubic inch was occupied by tit, in a fetching combination of colours. She decided she had no real option but to lie back and think of England. "Angelica!" she moaned softly, surrendering herself.
"Have a drink, Cee!"
"I can't reach my bottle..."
"You don't need a bottle! Drink milk!"
"Milk???"
Milk certainly came in such wonderful containers. Corinne stroked the resilient globe which hovered bouncily above her face, while Angelica probed and prodded with a turgid nipple, trying to get it into her lover's mouth.
At last!
Glug, glug, glug!
God, if only more girls had breasts like Angelica's. If only more girls had a body like hers, hair like hers, milk as sweet as hers...
The desk lamp in the Boss's office flickered several times, then went out altogether.
It was several seconds before the lights came on in the club. Screams rang out, then the disco lights burst into a blaze of red, green and blue and simultaneously the music came back at full blast. The DJ clapped his hands to his ears and leaped for his master fader, then turned to see a stream of girls tumbling over each other in their rush to get to the doorway.
The St Cat's girls watched them leave, puzzled. They had only just started to get to know the Borcester girls, but they had seemed an amiable enough crowd, a little on the boisterous side, but pretty enough in a coarse, comprehensive school kind of way. Now they were in a hurry to leave. Perhaps it was their bedtime.
"Goodnight!" The girls of St Cat's called politely. There was no reply, only panic-stricken glances over the shoulders of the girls who were now piling out of the door, trampling over the prone body of Lucian, who had been thinking of getting up until he was steam-rollered to the floor again.
He recognised the girl who had trodden on his head in her urgency to get out of Billygoat Jack's. It was the girl with the melons down her shirt. Except this time, she wasn't wearing half the contents of a greengrocer's stall in her bra. From his vantage point on the floor, Lucian swore he could see a pair of all too obviously genuine breasts bouncing away on the girl's chest.
He was sure of it.
He was also sure of a remarkably strange thing about these breasts. They were chocolate coloured. Unlike the rest of the girl, who had a sort of English rose complexion. How very unusual, Lucian thought, before going back to sleep.
"I'm covered in white stuff," one girl complained, brushing at her blouse. "It's wet."
Her bestest friend peered closer, then reached out a finger. She tasted it. "It's milk!"
"Milk?"
"MILK?"
The rest of the Juniors clustered round for a taste.
"It's human," the girl called Geraldine declared firmly. "It's sweeter than cow."
"It's not Miss Grimbo's," said another girl, after tasting some more. "Hers is more chocolatey."
Her friends looked at her with scorn. Another girl dipped a finger in her mouth and tasted it.
"She's right. It isn't Miss Grimbo's. I had a faceful of hers earlier, when she started spraying."
"Of course it isn't Miss Grimbo's!"
The girls looked at Sally Chung, who was sitting on a bulky object on the floor. On closer inspection it appeared to be a girl.
"Whose is it, then?"
"One of the Borcester girls. They just left. All except this one." She jerked a contemptuous thumb down at the helpless Vanessa. "One of 'em were pumping out milk like a fountain. Rotten filthy stuff. I don't know what you Europeans see in it. You all stink of milk, the lot of you."
Sally's classmates were puzzled. As far as they were aware, they all smelled of nothing but girl, a warm and comfortable and perfectly natural thing for a girl to smell of. They gazed at Sally without comprehension.
She raised her rump a few inches, then sat down hard on Vanessa's face. Somewhat surprisingly to the St Cat's girls, the victim was showing no signs that she was enjoying it.
"This girl with all the milk," one of the girls ventured. "Maybe she had a baby."
"Ask her, she's her friend."
They all stared at Vanessa. Sally raised her bottom in the air, but left it in a sort of half-cock position, ready to slam it down again if Vanessa misbehaved.
"Well?"
"Well what?" Vanessa asked, with just a hint of her habitual bellicose manner.
"Was one of your posse breast-feeding?"
"Course not!" Vanessa was outraged at this scurrilous suggestion. "We don't do that in public! We're not sluts! We feed our babies at home. Them of us who's got babies. You're all perverts at that school!"
The girls considered this accusation and nodded, satisfied and slightly flattered.
"One of them had black tits, too," said Sally. "I got a good look at them."
"Black tits?"
"She was an ordinary white girl, but she had black tits..."
"Yeah, I noticed her," said a girl, "I was trying to snog her, but she wanted to leave. There was another one, a black girl — I mean she was black all over — 'cept she was a blonde. Long dirty blonde hair down her back. I didn't get a chance to find out if she was a natural blo..."
"I saw that one. Then there was that other one, in the red latex cat-suit..."
"Yeah, and how about that little pale-faced one with freckles and thin lips, with dreadlocks..."
"Yeah, she was nice, but she had to go as well. I was just getting warmed up. She wouldn't let me put my tongue in her mouth at first..."
"I don't blame her..."
"Ooooh! I didn't hear you didn't saying that in bed last night, Celiaaaaa..."
"Shut up, the lot of you!" Sally lowered her buttocks firmly into place, one on each side of Vanessa's nose. "They've all gone. Something seemed to scare them off. I dunno what it were."
Vanessa bucked her hips a few times, causing Sally to close her eyes and moan gently. It was an oddly embarrassing sight and the girls had to look away.
"What you want?" she enquired, raising one cheek at last and peering between her thighs at Vanessa's indignant bruised face.
"You're all a bunch of lezzies. That's what scared them off. What did you fucking think? They're decent girls, my lot, not like you bum-bandits..." The flow was cut off again by the descent of Sally's arse.
"She's reight, you know," said Sally. "You scared them off. I know you're all queer as canteen kippers, but even you lot don't usually get off wi' complete strangers. What were in that stuff Valentina were splashing around?"
"Nothing much, she said. Just some stuff to make us smell nice."
Sally snorted. "Smell nice? Nice? Y'all stink of milk! Milk and bloody pussy! It were Sexual Chemistry, that were what it were."
"Wow, were it? Was it?"
"What was it?"
"Ask Valentina."
"Where is she, anyway?"
"And Helvetica? She's missing, too."
"Mmmmmmmmmm!"
"Oooh, yeah!"
"This stuff rilly-rilly works!"
"Want some more?" Valentina shook the container. It slopped around in a satisfyingly half-full manner.
"Later, maybe, darling!" Helvetica raised her head from the cold tiled floor and kissed Valentina's bee-stung lips. They grinned into each other's mouths, their tongues exploring idly.
"I wonder if it's worn off out there yet." Valentina gently flickered the point of her tongue across one of Helvetica's eyelids.
Helvetica shuddered helplessly. "You want to splash some more about?" Her voice was a husky whisper.
"Yeah!"
"Okay. And let's watch, this time. I get rilly-rilly wet watching girls fucking. In fact, I'm sopping wet now. Woo-woo-woo," she added, as Valentina gently chewed on her lower lip. "Then can we come back in here and do this again...?"
"That would be nice!" Valentina scrambled to her feet and offered a hand to pull Helvetica up. They clung to each other for a few seconds, their breasts feeling impossibly tight and engorged when they pressed against each other. "Bloody hell, Vets, you don't half smell horny!" She cupped Helvetica's tautly athletic buttocks and pulled her close.
"Don't start me off again, Tee! I've got love-juice pouring down my legs as it is! C'mon, let's go and take a look at them out there." Helvetica took Valentina's damp hand and started to drag her to the door.
Valentina debated briefly with herself whether to re-insert the Love bottle into herself again, but decided there was a very real danger of it slithering straight out again. She settled for stuffing it down her cleavage instead. The door swung open and they regarded the scene lit by multi-hued strobes. It was like Valhalla.
"Shit, look at them!"
"It's disgusting!"
"Where are the teachers?"
"Probably having it off somewhere."
The young lovers kissed deeply and helplessly for several minutes, then turned and once more took in the scene of utter depravity.
"It hasn't worn off yet, then!"
"No, strange. Maybe it sort of builds up when you use it more than once?"
"I hope so," sighed Helvetica, dreamily passing a hand across her aching moons.
"Where did all the boys go?" Valentina was looking anxiously round the club.
"Maybe they went for a piss."
"What, all together? Boys don't do that."
Helvetica looked surprised. "They don't? Why not?"
"Just 'cos."
As explanations go, it left something to be desired, but Helvetica was distracted. "Who's Sally sitting on?"
"Looks like a girl." They came closer, their fingers still entwined, and the St Cat's girls looked up.
"Here they are, look! The lovebirds!"
"Been for a walk?"
"Or a fuck?"
"Got any more of that stuff in the bottle?"
"You mean Love?" Valentina grinned, her lips puffy, moist and well chewed-looking.
"Wow! It's called Love?"
"Yeah!"
"Yeah! More Love!"
The girls swarmed round Valentina and Helvetica, pawing at them.
"Corrrr, they stink of sex, both of 'em!"
"Yeah!"
Squeaks and moans of arousal came from the St Cat's Juniors. Thirty pairs of panties received another generous waterfall of juices.
"Where's the Love, then?"
"There it is, in her bust!"
"Dig it out!"
"Get off!" Valentina clutched at the Love bottle and fended off the girls with her free hand. Helvetica thrust several girls away and stood ready to defend her lover.
They fell back into a ragged circle, whimpering with lust, pawing at the ground and touching themselves helplessly. Valentina felt a warm feeling come over her as she looked round at her classmates. They looked ineffably beautiful — or even effably — every one of them, even the glowering Sally Chung. Their breasts thrust at the ripe air of Billygoat Jack's, heaving passionately. Several had escaped from their confining bodices, obscenely puffy-mooned. These were girls who richly deserved Love to come to them.
Without hesitating, she wrenched the top off the Love bottle and shook it vigorously in a circular motion over the faces of the eager girls.
"Mmmmmmm-hmm!"
"Yessss! Cee-eee!"
"Wow! I'm so full up, I've got milk coming out of my ears!"
"Nobody ever drank all my milk before. Should I put you over my shoulder and burp you?"
"Yes, please!"
The teachers sat up groggily and looked around the office.
"Where's he gone?" Corinne found her beer bottle, took a swig and plonked it down on the desk. "Yuck! How can people drink that stuff?" She picked up the bottle and took a more cautious sip, before upending the bottle, glugging until it was empty. Another appeared in her hand as if by magic, and she prised the top off on the edge of the desk.
"I think he went to the bathroom."
Corinne looked at Angelica strangely. "He went for a bath?"
"No, not a bath. A barth. The bathroom. A pee, or something. Maybe ... you know? A thing. What men do?"
"A wank? Hic!" Corinne's eyes widened and she placed a hand across her mouth. "Why?"
"He was watching us, and he suddenly got up and ran out. He was hanging on to his ... you know?"
"His willie?"
"Willie? Is that what you call it?"
"We don't talk about them all that much," Corinne shrugged. "See one, you've seen them all." She finished her bottle and dived into her cleavage, fumbling around uselessly. "Shit, it's all gone! We need to get to the bar..."
"I was wondering about the girls." Angelica cocked an ear to the door. Faint thumping sounds carried into the office. "They're supposed to be on a Dance Appreciation Field Trip."
"They'll be okay. What harm could they come to?"
"There are boys out there." Angelica stood up and clutched at her rebounding breasts. They felt huge, despite being drained of all their milk.
"Boys? They'll be scared stiff of our girls. Most boys have never seen real tits before. They'll run a mile."
"I dunno. They looked a bit horny when we came in. I think we'd better go have a look. C'mon."
They opened the leather-padded door and peered out through the bead curtain, blinking.
"Sheesh!"
"Wow!"
"Cee! Where are you going?"
"I want to join in! Look at them! Get me some more beer, Angel! I'll be in the middle of that lot!"
"You can't! You're a teacher!"
"So I'll teach them! Hic! Half a dozen more bottles of Bud ought to do it. Quickly!" Corinne was fretting and tugging at Angelica's hand, anxious to be into the orgy. "Let go! There's someone sitting on someone's face in there!"
"Sheesh, Cee! You've got to stop them."
"Don't be such a boring old ... hic ... fart. Get the beers in, then come and join us." She reached up and kissed Angelica softly on the lips, silencing her protests. "Not necessarily in that order, Angel-puss!"