"WHAT DID YOU bring her for?" Valentina demanded, flopping down on to Vanessa's frantically flailing legs.
Sally squatted more determinedly on the Borcester posse-leader's face. "We've captured her. She's ours."
"You can't capture girls! What are we going to do with her at St Cat's?"
Sally hadn't really thought it through. "We'll think of summat. Maybe she could come to classes wi' us. We've got Sex tomorrer. Saturday mornin' special!"
Vanessa evidently didn't fancy the idea of compulsory sex, especially at weekends. She bucked vigorously, almost unseating her two captors. She gave unhappy little squeaks into the general area of Sally's genitalia.
"Ssshhh! Keep her quiet." Helvetica glanced anxiously up to the front of the bus, but the two teachers were fortunately preoccupied with each other.
"I'll give her a whiff of Love," said Valentina, uncapping the bottle and shaking it next to her ear. "Still some left. Lift your arse, Sal!"
"Quick, then, she dunnarf kick!" Sally rose to a semi-squat, and a haze of fragrance swam down on to Vanessa's mouth and nose.
"Shit, not that much!" Helvetica gasped. "You'll suffocate her."
"If having Sally's fat snatch on her face for an hour hasn't suffocated her, a little drop of Love won't do her any harm. Sit down, Sal."
Love did seem to have sedated the captive. Valentina climbed off Vanessa's legs and watched, fascinated. The violent kicking had diminished, to be replaced by a gently rhythmic motion which seemed to be having a pleasing effect on Sally.
"Woo-woo-woo-woo!" she murmured, leaning back and closing her eyes. She was looking anything but inscrutable.
"Oh, bloody hell!" Helvetica was disgusted. "She's getting off on it."
"I think I must have sprayed some of the Love on Sally as well." The girls watched with interest as Sally approached what was for her a rare climax. Assisted by the lurching motion of the bus, the Head Girl of the First Form was heading for a biggie. By all appearances, Vanessa wasn't going to be far behind.
"Bloody shit, look at them!"
Sally had decided on fair shares for all, and leaned forward from the waist, still perched on Vanessa's face. She grunted as she hauled her massive breasts out of her shirt and bra, parting them so they slid down each side of Vanessa's serviceably small waist.
Valentina was quick to see what Sally's intentions were. She dived for Vanessa's jeans and unzipped them with practised ease. The move clearly met with the girl's approval. She raised her hips from the floor of the bus to allow Valentina to yank her jeans down around her knees.
"Do her panties as well, Vets!"
"Why me?" Helvetica wailed, but she grabbed the sides of the girl's underwear and heaved.
"Christ, she's wet!"
"Soaked!"
"Sopping!"
"Drenched!"
"She's even wetter now," Valentina giggled, as Sally descended open-mouthed.
The next few seconds defied all logical description.
"Jeezus!" Valentina panted as things finally simmered down.
"That nearly got me going as well," Helvetica agreed.
"Hasn't it gone quiet?" Valentina looked around, wiggling a finger in her ear.
"The bus has stopped." One of the girls was looking out of the window, rubbing at the steamed-up glass. "We're there."
"How are we going to smuggle her in?"
"Wrap her in a coat or something."
The others stared at the speaker, a diminutive girl called Danielle, with long dark hair.
"Where are we gonna find a coat?"
There was no reply. But a decision was taken, and the girls helped Danielle out of her dress.
"Shut up, girl! We can't take Vanessa into the dorm naked!"
"What about me?" Danielle shivered, her teeth chattering.
"You've got nothing to be ashamed of," said Valentina, tweaking one of Danielle's plump moons. The long brown nipple thickened alarmingly in the chill night air. "Help us get your frock on to 'Nessa."
Vanessa was still stunned by the combined effects of Love and love-making. She stood numbly while Danielle's diminutive jersey dress was tugged and stretched over her various lumps and bumps. It came down to just above her crotch.
"It doesn't look too bad," said Helvetica critically. "Nobody will notice, especially at this time of night. Come on, let's get her indoors."
They made their way down the aisle of the bus, tip-toeing past the still-occupied teaching staff; kissed the startled and delighted driver goodnight one by one, and hurried indoors and up the stairs to the Junior dorm.
The last girl off the bus was the still-dazed Sally Chung. By this time, the driver was developing a taste for young girls. He raised his lips to Sally, his eyes blissfully closed. So stunned was she that she kissed him without thinking, using a great deal of tongue.
At least, it left him with something to remember on his drive back to town.
"Why didn't you stop him?" Corinne sounded peevish.
"It wasn't my fault. You were suckling. I couldn't stop you, could I?"
"What's the time?"
The quadrangle clock chimed unnecessarily loudly.
"Three o' clock? Shit!"
Corinne slammed the door shut and stalked towards the stairs. She was almost sober. Relatively speaking. "It was twenty-five minutes into town, then ten minutes before he put the bus in the garage, then another five while we persuaded the driver we're teachers and he was supposed to drop us at St Cat's. Then another twenty-five minutes back here." She collided gently with the doorway, and bounced back a couple of yards. "Oh, fuck! Why do I have to have the biggest fucking tits in the fucking world?"
"You don't..." Angelica tagged along behind as they made their way up the stairs. "They're big, but lots of the girls have bigger ones than you."
"I'm pissed off with the things," Corinne snapped over her shoulder as she thudded softly against the wall. "Ouch! You ought to try having the biggest pair in the whole school, you'd see what I meant!"
She turned on the light switch at the top of the stairs. The lights flickered briefly, then gave a soft, noiseless 'plop' and went out.
"We can't take her into classes! Somebody's bound to notice."
"Nah, they won't. They never count us."
"It's not a question of counting us," Valentina snarled testily. "You can't tell me one of the teachers isn't going to notice an extra girl in the class. She's bigger than us, look at her."
The rest of the class looked at Vanessa. "She's taller, that's all. Her tits aren't any bigger than ours."
"We can't take her in to classes. One of us has to sit on her face all the time."
"You could give her some more Love to quieten her down."
"It's just a waste of Love. We ought to just let her go. She won't tell. Will you Vanessa?" Valentina leaned down between her thighs to interrogate the prisoner.
Vanessa shook her head. She was prevented from speaking. A pair of almost clean panties had been wadded into a ball and forced into her mouth, then secured using a length of dressing gown cord.
"We could tek 'er into class," Sally insisted. She seemed to have developed an unhealthy affection for Vanessa. "We've got Sex this mornin'. She'll enjoy Sex. I think she'll be pretty good at it!"
"Why don't we ask her?" Helvetica suggested. "I'll ask her." She leaned close to Vanessa and bellowed into her face. "We've got Sex this morning," she yelled slowly and distinctly: the other girls had to put their fingers in their ears. "Do you want to come?"
"She's not deaf," Valentina pointed out. "We've only gagged her to stop her talking. I'll ask her. Vanessa," she enunciated clearly, with exaggerated lip movements. "Can you hear me?"
"Of course she can hear you. The whole fucking school can hear you!"
"There's no need to be rude," Valentina shouted. "Vanessa. Nod once if you can hear me..."
Vanessa wagged her head furiously up and down.
"No, only once! I don't think she can hear very well. Take her gag out, Sal. I'll give her one more squirt of Love, and..."
The mist of Sexual Chemical drifted down as Sally pulled out Vanessa's gag and applied her wide-open mouth to the girl's lips. There came a succession of the most appalling slobbering noises and the First Form shuffled its feet in embarrassment, looking anywhere but at the Love-struck couple.
"She says she'll be good," Sally announced, breaking the kiss and sitting back on her haunches, panting heavily. Her nipples were about two inches long, and growing. "Let her get up, then start finding her some school clothes."
"School?" Vanessa was mortified. "It's Saturday!"
"It's a special Saturday," Sally explained. "We're being allowed to do classes this morning because we had to be out so late last night."
"Shit, you're all nutters!"
Meanwhile, all the girls apart from Valentina and Helvetica had gone off scavenging the wardrobes of the larger Juniors, returning with armfuls of clothes. Vanessa stood where she was, stunned, staring round the dorm. The walls were decorated with posters of boy bands and — somewhat disturbingly — large-breasted models.
"Coom on, luv!" Sally leered unnervingly at Vanessa. "Get some clothes on, or we'll miss us breakfast." She offered her a skirt of marginal decency.
The class gathered round to inspect the strange creature. As Sally helped her off with her shirt, they twittered excitedly at the sight of Vanessa's non-ScatBra.
"Hee, it's got rilly-rilly narrow straps!"
"Where are the JD's?"
"How does it adjust itself?" Two girls tugged at the bra until it fell apart in their hands. "Oops, sorry!"
"Find her another one, somebody." Sally removed the damaged foundation garment and tossed it in the waste bin. A bra arrived, in a delicate shade of royal purple. "That ought to fit, just about."
The bra was a little too small, but the adjusters did their best, creaking gently as Vanessa stretched herself experimentally. Suddenly she smiled for the first time.
The girls stepped back, alarmed.
"What's she doing?"
"She's going to bite."
"Look out..."
"She's only smiling," said Sally. "She's happy! Aren't you, luv? Does it feel nice, ScatBra?"
Vanessa nodded vigorously, allowing herself to breathe with more abandon. The ScatBra adjusted itself some more. It was playing a blinder. Vanessa's breasts surged forward like sun-ripened melons.
"Does it feel good, Nessa? Now your blouse..." Sally snapped her fingers and a blouse appeared. "That's the way, luv. Hey, you'll mek a reet little St Cat's girl!"
Indeed, Vanessa bore a more than passing resemblance to a St Cat's girl. Her skirt was sadly short, and revealed the tops of her stockings, and the blouse needed to have its top four buttons left open, but one saw similar or worse sights around St Cat's every day of the week. Sally applied the finishing touch, tying a large yellow ribbon around Vanessa's hair, gathering it up into a pony-tail.
"Aaaahhhh!" The girls sighed softly in appreciation.
"Breakfast, then!"
"You'll never get away with it," Valentina warned.
"You'll need to keep spraying her with Love," said Helvetica. "You've got to keep her wet, and we've only got a little teensy drop left. It won't last the whole day."
"It won't even last until morning break."
"She'll be all right," trilled Sally confidently. "C'mon, luv. St Cat's food in't too special, but breakfast's not bad."
I nudged Corinne, which made her groan. "Who's that new girl with the Firsts, Cee?"
She opened one eye and adjusted her sun-glasses. "Uuurggghhh," she suggested. Corinne seemed unusually hung over this morning. It must have been a good night at Billygoat Jack's.
"Have you seen Angelica this morning?"
"Huh," Corinne commented. "She sounded miffed, as if she had slept alone. My spirits rose. It wasn't a bad morning at all.
"I suppose you don't feel up to taking the Firsts for Practical Sex this morning?" I said. "Smegs hasn't come back from her date."
"Piss off," said Corinne disrespectfully.
"I'd better do it, then. It's a lovely morning. We could do it outside in the woods. A bit of fresh air is good for Junior girls. I wonder who that big girl is. Strange, I don't remember seeing her before..."
Corinne was unforthcoming. I got up from my seat and patted her gently on the head, which seemed to cause her some discomfort for some reason. It was time to prepare myself for Practical Sex. Practical Sex is always a gloriously challenging subject, even with Juniors.
My breasts felt delightfully full as I strode toward the restaurant door, followed by admiring glances. I almost collided with Suzanne and Pansy as they came in, dressed for the weekend. Disgusting little sluts.
"Morning, Miss!" They giggled like schoolgirls, rolling their eyes at each other.
"What are you two up to?" I asked, narrowing my eyes the way Cee does.
They giggled some more. "Have you seen Miss Grimbo this morning, Miss?" Pansy sniggered unpleasantly.
"No, as it happens, I haven't. She was out late last night."
"Yes, Miss," Suzanne gurgled happily. "Very late!" The two of them clutched at each other and fell about laughing, their breasts almost tumbling out of their ridiculously low-cut tops.
"What's the joke?"
"Oh, nothing, Miss." They went into a wobbly giggle session again. "We're going to breakfast now, Miss. We'll have porridge and cream. And nice creamy scrambled eggs. And coffee and cream. See ya later, Miss!"
"Later, Miss!"
"Baiiieeee!"
"Miss Gruntworthy's tits look extra big this morning!" Suzanne lazily spun a chair round and straddled it, allowing her breasts to hang over the back.
"One of your boobs has fallen out," Pansy pointed out helpfully as she sat down and shovelled sugar on to her porridge. "The left one," she said, slopping cream into the dish. She giggled again.
Suzanne ladled herself back into her top. "Ouch," she complained. "My wrists rilly-rilly ache this morning. That cream was probably a bit too thick."
"It will probably work even better than we thought, then."
"I can hardly wait to see how it works."
"How long do you reckon it will be?"
Suzanne shrugged. "You can never tell with cream."
"You used enough of it."
"It doesn't matter how much you use. You can have just enough to cover the moons, or you can slop it on and rub it right in underneath and everything. It doesn't matter."
"So why did you use the whole tub, then?"
"It felt nice," said Suzanne simply. "Miss Grimbo's tits are some of the nicest I've ever felt. They're like ever so hot and tight and full of milk..."
"...yeah, that was great the way her milk started spurting out while you were creaming her..."
"...and it went squirting straight into the tub..."
"...and you sort of just mixed it in with both hands and carried on creaming her..."
"...yeah, and it was getting rilly-rilly hot. So was I."
"Did you come?" Pansy paused, her spoon half way to her lips.
"Sort of. I think Miss Grimbo did, too..."
"She didn't wake up."
"You don't need to wake up to come. You can come in your sleep."
"I know."
The cousins finished their porridge in companionable silence.
Now, then, girls. It's such a lovely morning, we're going to do our little lesson outside.
The girls groaned in a manner most unbecoming in ones so young and unsullied. "Oh, Miss, it's freezing out there."
"Oh, come on, Miss!"
"Oh, Miss!"
"No, outside, all of you. It's a lovely morning. The sun's shining. The fresh air will be good for you after all that fusty air you were breathing last night in Jackiegoat Bill's. God alone knows what you were breathing in." I led the way to the classroom door and the girls straggled rebelliously along behind. I had to speak sharply to a couple of them to tell them to bring half a dozen rolls of industrial paper towel. The class filed out into the chill morning, nipples turning instantly into chapel hatpegs. The last two girls were Sally Chung and the curiously tall new girl in the obscenely short skirt. "What's your name, dear?" I asked her.
The girl nodded vigorously. Sally translated. "She's Vanessa, Miss. You remember Vanessa, of course!"
"Oh, of course!" I was convinced I had never seen Vanessa before in my life. She had a splendid pair of gams on her, though. And you could see her stocking tops and half her bum under the hem of that skirt.
Vanessa looked so scandalised that I quickly withdrew my hand. She tugged her skirt down and edged away from me. How strange to find a girl so sensitive about being groped by her headmistress. Even a First Former.
The class assembled under the trees. The frost had cleared from the grass, leaving everything sparkling with dew.
"Sit down, girls," I invited them. "Make yourselves comfortable." They remained standing. I could see I had a right bunch of troublemakers on my hands, here. Clearly, Miss Grimbeau hadn't been instilling proper discipline into the girls in her care. I would have to have a quiet word with that young lady. Maybe at bedtime tonight.
Fortunately, I have a way with young girls, an affinity. I speak their language. We get on well together.
"Sit down, now, or you will all still be out here at this time on Monday morning."
The girls muttered, but sat on the wet grass. Those with longer skirts tucked them under their bottoms, the others were less fortunate. Serve them right, I thought harshly. The girl Vanessa sat next to Sally Chung, at the front. I could see right up to her navel. An absolute disgrace.
"Now, how many of you are virgins?" I asked the class, tearing my eyes away from Vanessa's undercarriage.
"Oh, come on, Miss!"
"You're always asking us that, Miss!"
"Always the same question!"
"None of you?"
"It depends what you mean by virgins, Miss." Valentina appointed herself spokeswoman. "I've had boys, of course," she added with becoming modesty, "but the others have only done it with girls..."
"Ah, good!" I seized on this cue. "As this is your first ever Sex Practical class, we're not going to talk about doing it with boys. Boys are not really relevant at your age. I see some of you are already sitting with your special friends. I want the rest of you to pair off. Find a girl you rilly-rilly like and sit next to her."
There was a great deal of reshuffling as girls rose to their feet and started a ritual mating dance under the dripping trees. It was about ten minutes before they were all seated again. As far as I could tell, they were all back with their original partners. The whole business had been watched with something like panic by Vanessa. But she hadn't moved. Perhaps that had something to do with the fact that Sally had her wrist in a grip like a steel clamp.
"All happy, then? You're all with the girl you rilly-rilly fancy? Good. Excellent! Now, quickly, all of you, get your breasts out, please."
This time there was no audible protest. One or two of the more troublesome girls hesitated. I noted which ones they were for future reference. But as I glared at them, even those girls plunged a hand into their bodices and hauled out their gleaming breasts. I surveyed the scene, taking my time. Not a bad bunch of tits this year. Not a bad crop at all. On the first day of term, I remembered, there had been Sally Chung, leading by a mile, then Valentina, with the rest nowhere. Now, there was not a single girl in the class who didn't have a pair of plump handfuls. And the moons on them!
"Wow!" I blurted involuntarily. "Fuck me," I added for good measure. Down in the front, Vanessa sat with her breasts bared, her blouse almost ripped asunder by Sally. She looked shocked to the core. For God's sake, anyone would think the girl had never seen a pair of tits before. I suppose the cold air was causing my nipples to stand out a little more than usual, but that was no excuse for gawping at my tits like that.
"Vanessa," I snapped sharply. "You will write out twenty-five thousand times, in your best handwriting, 'I Must Remember To Close My Mouth When Staring At My Headmistress's Breasts During Practical Sex Lessons.' Not forgetting the capital letters."
Shit. If there is one thing I can not stand, it is girls who turn on the tears at the least provocation. She was blaring away, a strangely coarse sound. I could hardly hear myself think. It was distressing the rest of the class: they had fingers in their ears.
"If you can all hear me, you may warm up with a bit of breast fondling. Do for your partners what you would like them to do to you. That's right, Valentina, very good Celia, excellent technique. Good tongue-work, Geraldine, dear." I wandered around the busy group of girls, offering encouragement and praise, here and there correcting a girl's hand position or the angle of a head. I had reached the front again. "Sally? Vanessa? Why aren't you fondling?"
With a sharp cry, Vanessa sprang to her feet and set off into the woods. Sally took a moment to recover her wits, then she was up and after her in hot pursuit. The girls even broke off their fondling to watch the chase.
I had to admit, they were a fine sight. Vanessa's long legs carried her swiftly into the middle distance but Sally was showing a remarkable turn of speed for a small girl with a bust measurement of well in excess of five feet.
The girls were evenly divided in their allegiance. Several were cheering for Sally. Those who didn't get on very well with the Form Head cheered for Vanessa.
The two rebounding figures were almost out of sight among the trees. For some reason, they seemed to be heading for the bus stop on the main road.
ANGELICA TOSSED and turned in her narrow bed. She sat up and cried out once, incoherently, then subsided into her warm and funky bed with a serene smile on her face.
"Your chariot is ready, Mistress."
Angelica sat up in the bed, rubbing her eyes. Was it daylight already? A lovely day, the sun dispelling the morning mist. A perfect day for a battle.
"Thank you, Serena. I will take breakfast now."
"Certainly, Your Abundance. We have porridge and cream, creamy scrambled eggs, and coffee with cream..."
"No coffee, Serena. You know how it over-excites me. I need a cool head this day."
Serena bowed her head. "As you say, Your Abundance. If you would sit forward, I will plump up your pillows."
This was true luxury. Serena was a small girl, no more than five feet tall, with dirty blonde hair down to her knees. She wore enormous glasses that made her look like a slightly worried owl. Beneath her flowing silken gown her stiff-nippled breasts thrust out more than a foot in front of her as they plunged to below the level of where her miniscule waist was outlined by a tightly-knotted dressing gown cord.
"What are your measurements this morning, Serena?"
Serena blushed prettily. "The same as last night, Your Abundance. 67-16-34."
"Excellent, my dear. You are a beautiful young woman."
"Thank you, Your Abundance. Allow me to place a pillow beneath your breasts."
"Certainly. Please do. You will need help to lift them?"
But Serena had already snapped her fingers sharply and six naked boys stepped forward out of the shadows. They were oiled from head to toe and shone like bronze statuettes. Their erect penes waved inconveniently in front of them, and Serena had to speak sternly to them, flicking with a fingernail to promote instant detumescence.
"Don't be too hard on them, Serena," Angelica chided the handmaiden. "It is only natural for a boy to have an erection when confronted by a young woman with a 67-16-34 figure."
"Seventy, Your Abundance."
"Seventy-what, Serena?"
"My bust has just gone up to seventy inches, Your Abundance. It does that when I am in the presence of males. I am now 70-15-35. I am so sorry, Your Abundance. Besides..."
"Besides?"
"The boys were only erect because they are in the presence of Your Abundance's abundance, Your Abundance. It happens every time. You are so huge, and still growing daily. I get wet just thinking about it, Your Abundance!"
"That will do, Serena!"
The handmaiden cringed and backed away. "Oh, Your Abundance! Forgive my forwardness. I meant no disrespect."
"I have warned you before, Serena. You shall have a spanking. But first, you will write out one hundred thousand times, in your best handwriting, 'I Must Not Allow My Bust To Grow Faster Than Her Abundance's Abundance, No Way, Not No-How', not forgetting the capital letters. Now bend over and let me inspect your girlhood. Spread your deliciously funky thighs."
"Woo-woo-woo-woo, Your Abundance!"
"Please try to climax more quietly, Serena, I have a hangover this morning."
Wheels crunched in the gravel outside the door. "Your chariot, Your Abundance. Shall you be taking breakfast? Your Abundance can not fight a battle on an empty stomach."
"Pack me a lunch basket. Lots of whipped cream with everything. Plenty of fresh fruit. Some of those nice seedless grapes from Tesco. Nice firm ones. Where are my clothes? I need my latex body armor..."
"Yes, Your Abundance..."
"And polish my short sword and shield. Sharpen my dirk and stick it down my sock. I can't reach down there. Fasten my sandals and make sure my legs are smooth. Get one of the boys to brush my pubic hair, and gently this time. Don't let Darren do it, he always snags his fingernails in the braids. I'll be wearing my red armour. The suit with the cutaway nipples. The infantry must be able to see me. I shall be their eternal inspiration. Are the banners ready?"
"All ready, Your Abundance. The Third Form girls have been ironing them all morning. Sir Jeremy has freshly painted the staffs and varnished the gilded finials."
"Finials? What are they?"
"You should know, Your Abundance. It's your dream."
"I'll have it looked up, Serena. Bring my latex suit, sprinkle the inside of it lavishly with talcum powder and turn your back while I slide my sleek, smooth, dark chocolate limbs into it. Is it warm today?"
"Yes, Your Abundance. For the time of year."
"Good. I shall be appallingly funky. I fight best when bathed in my own intimate juices. Help me out of bed..."
"Do have a care, Your Abundance. Your breasts will hit the floor..."
"Ouch, you bastards...!"
"Your Abundance...?"
"God, how big are they this morning?"
"They must be fully twenty feet, Your Abundance! May I suckle...?"
"No time! There are battles to be fought. Connect me to the emergency breast pumps when I am on my chariot. You may distribute the milk to the poor."
"Yes, Your Abundance. Now hold tight, and I will glide you to the door."
Riding smoothly on silken-smooth nylon bearings, the Angelic-O-Glyde slid silently to the bedside, Serena propelling it with a single finger. This was the part that Angelica always enjoyed. She rolled on to the foamy-soft platform and felt it caress her shamefully prominent buttocks as it eased her into the travelling position. Her body was supported on ten thousand tiny jets of warm air.
"Take it away, Serena. To the bathroom!"
Angelica stirred in her sleep and frowned. As she opened her eyes, there was the familiar window, the curtains drawn. The sun filtered through, and tiny motes of dust rode down the sunrays like children playing on teatrays in the snow. It was a comfortable image. She wanted to go to the bathroom, but it wasn't desperately urgent just yet. Another half an hour, perhaps. With a smile on her lovely face, she closed her eyes.
"Ooooh, that's a blessed relief, Serena! There's nothing better than pissing, coming and letting down your milk at the same time. You should try it."
"I have, Your Abundance. I do it every morning, before breakfast. Now, if you have quite finished, I will give you a good seeing-to with this industrial paper towel."
"Is it the super soft grade, Serena?"
"It's industrial, Your Abundance."
"Eeeeeuuuuwwww! Take it away! My bottoms are too sensitive to be sullied by coarse industrial paper towel, designed for the horny hands of creatures like Sir Jeremy. Bring me some cotton."
"Cotton wool, Your Abundance?"
"It's cotton. If it's cotton, it can't be wool. And vice versa. It's tautological. Oooh, that feels so good. You have good hands, Serena."
"So they tell me, Your Abundance."
The chariot was freshly painted, and the two scythe blades attached to each of its huge spoked wheels gleamed in the sunshine. As in all the best chariots, the driver was obliged to stand as if in a pulpit, clutching a hand-rail for balance. The bodywork was hand painted with fourteen coats of rich chocolate lacquer, each coat rubbed down by hand. Along the sides, in elaborate gold script with purple drop shadows, ran the legend:
|
Serena stopped the Angelic-O-Glyde outside the wide double doors of the Wendy House and stepped forward to offer her arm.
"Thank you, Serena. Good morning, Meggs! A fine morning, Grantchester! You may assist me aboard."
Angelica's two faithful lieutenants gave little curtseys and gently took a naked nipple each in both hands. They nodded to each other, counted one ... two ... three; then lifted the mammoth, scarlet latex-sheathed breasts on to their shoulders.
"Man! That feels so smooth against my moons, girls! You ought to wear fur, Serena. It would rilly-rilly suit you."
"Yes, Your Abundance. Should I wear a cat-suit the same as Meggs and Grantchester? I could get Mistress Clitress to run me something up during tea-break."
"Wait until after the battle, Serena. You may capture something from one of the fallen enemy. Thank you, babes. Careful when you engage my nipples in the sucker-sockets. I'm starting to get turned on."
Meggs and Grantchester nodded silently and slipped the foot-long nipples into the sucker-sockets before pumping the breast support stays into the correct travelling position. Later, when battle was imminent, they would fasten the broad, silken Jiggle Dampers around the shining latex spheres of Angelica's world-record-sized breasts.
"Now stand back and let me inspect you."
Obediently, Meggs and Grantchester bobbed their heads and stood to one side of the chariot. Their cat suits gleamed in the morning sun, the fur lovingly groomed with one hundred strokes of the brush. Meggs was a pale tabby colour, Grantchester a rich black. They wore matching silk ribbons round their necks — with little bells to warn the birds, of course — and their whiskers twitched proudly under the scrutiny of their Commander-in-Chief.
"Excellent turnout. Now turn round and bend over, I need to inspect your sex."
The two cat-lieutenants blushed prettily before obeying. They spread their legs and revealed their horrifyingly oversized private parts, glistening with arousal.
"Sheesh!" Angelica gasped. "Those pussies are rilly-rilly wild! Okay, you can put them away and go get the troops ready. Make sure they all have a pee before we start. Harness up the boys, Serena. Let's get this show on the road!"
A stiff breeze had sprung up, causing the freshly-ironed banners and standards to snap fretfully and the Senior girl standard bearers' muscles to ripple as they steadied themselves against each gust. The chariot came to a halt at the top of the hill. Below, a silvery stream threaded its way between shallow banks where pretty-faced sheep cropped and crapped contentedly amidst the buttercups. Puffy white clouds sailed majestically across a sky-blue sky.
On the far side of the valley, the vista was of an unbroken sea of enemy girls, the Persil white of their blouses crisp against the navy, maroon and bottle green of their gymslips, blazers and pleated skirts. In the centre were ranged the elite troops of the St Etheldreda's School for Gentleladies with Outrageously Oversized Pudendas — SESGOOP, in military parlance — in their jaunty, gaily-beribboned straw hats.
A distant word of command rang out, and a thousand hockey sticks came to the salute, while on the left — the enemy's right flank — the massed top-of-the-range carbon fibre tennis racquets of The Duchess of Thundersley's Own glinted in the sunshine; matching the enemy's left flank troops of Lady Shennanigan's Catholic School for Perpetual Virgins who held on high those weird stick things they use to play lacrosse. These were awkward and heavy weapons, and almost impossible to pack into the back of the Volvo, but deadly in the right hands. Since the beginnings of history, the Perpetual Virgins had fought on the left flank, where their left-footedness gave them a proven advantage.
"There must be thousands of them, Your Abundance!"
"And only two hundred thirty of us, Serena. But those are fair odds. They have not reckoned with the St Cat's spirit. Nor with our cheerleaders..."
And at that moment, six remarkably full-bosomed Junior girls in shockingly abbreviated tops sprang to the front of the tiny St Cat's Army, leaping and high-kicking, their puffies almost bursting out of their bodices.
"Are they wearing bras, Serena?"
"Certainly not, Your Abundance. Your orders were to confiscate bras from all girls below a total breast weight of forty pounds..."
"Forty kilograms, Serena! Do you never listen to a word I tell you? You will write out, half a million times, in your best hadwriting..."
"Hadwriting...?"
"We'll spellcheck it later. And don't forget the capital letters."
"But you haven't told me what to write, Your Abundance..."
"Don't tell me what I haven't told you to do. Just do it, Serena, okay?"
"But..."
"Do it, Serena! Now, where were we before you broke my train of thought?"
"Forty kilograms total breast weight, Your Abundance."
"Forty kilograms each breast, Serena."
"But that will be almost every girl in the army, Your Abundance. Mistress Clitress will have nothing to do if you take away the demand for foundation garments..."
Her voice tailed off under Angelica's glare, her mouth opening and closing like a fish.
"Thank you, Serena. Now go away and do something useful. And, Serena..."
"Your Abundance?"
"Make that three million lines, please."
Serena danced off into the middle distance as music with an insistent beat flooded from the top-of-the-range in-chariot audio system. That phat sub-woofer rilly-rilly shook the windows...
Angelica slapped the radio alarm clock into silence and snuggled down in the musky warmth. This was one serious doozy of a dream. Within seconds, she was asleep again, dribbling slightly.
"St Cat's Armeeeeee ... wait for it, wait for it ... armeeeeee ... aa - ten - HUNN! Front rank ... leeee-yin — HUMP!"
Two hundred and thirty girls stiffened, their breasts wobbling freely in front of them, then on the word of command, the front rank linked arms. The effect was to raise their breasts in a solid, unbroken wall of golden flesh, extending several feet ahead of the front rank. These were the largest of the girls, not a single one of them less than twelve glorious feet in circumference. They were hand-picked from every Form, on one single criterion, bust size. Front rank status was the highest honour capable of being bestowed by the school upon its students. The only rule was that no pregnant girl would be allowed to march in the front rank. Company Sergeant Major Labia filled her lungs and tilted her head back once more.
"Army will advance! Armeeeeeee ... byyyaaa da senna ... sallaaaaooow ... MARCH!"
The mighty bass drums of the St Cat's Army Band pounded out the rhythm, the cymbals clashed, and to the specially-composed tune of the Ceremonial Slow March of St Cat's High School for Growing Girls, the whole mass of girlhood surged ponderously forward.
"Excellent, sar-major, carry on. Okay guys, get me to the front of this girl's army."
With a jingle of harness, six well-oiled boys took the weight of the chariot's shafts.
"Walk on!"
The hugely ponderous weight of Angelica and her breasts began to move forward, slowly gathering pace. Breaking into a trot, the boys wheeled to the left in front of the advancing troops, straightening up at their head and adjusting their pace to a walk. They tossed their heads impatiently, their glossy black plumes flicking back and forth.
Angelica turned, her right arm raised above her head, clutching her gleaming sword. She stared back at the eager, shining faces of the girls and swallowed the lump in her throat.
"Let's go get 'em, Pussies!"
The prancing cheerleaders kept pace with the advance, dancing lithely backwards, three on each side of the chariot.
"Beat 'em up, Pussies! Beat 'em up! (Stomp, stomp). Beat 'em up, suck 'em off, stick it up 'em, wank 'em off, lick 'em out, give 'em one, Puss, Puss, Pussies!"
The triumphal stomp, stomps sent the cheerleaders' mountainous young breasts into orbit as they reversed into battle. As the chariot boys swung into a trot, then a canter, the army stepped up its pace, still in perfect cadence, and the two faithful lieutenants — lef-tenants — sprinted ahead, converging on the chariot, leaping aboard. They had specific tasks to carry out. While Grantchester tended the sucker-sockets, replacing the milk containers as soon as they were filled, Meggs grabbed handfuls of industrial paper towel and mopped up the inevitable spillage.
The cheerleaders, all non-combatants, now also leapt on to the chariot, giggling as they dodged the whirling scythe blades, to cling to the handrails at the sides; laughing and waving encouragement to the girls following along behind, now at a full gallop. One of the cheerleaders produced a bugle from her cleavage and tried to produce a note. Not a sound came out.
"Lean over here, you brave little bugler," Angelica whispered, and the boys between the shafts rolled their eyes and glanced back over their shoulders at the sound of their leader's melodious voice. The girl bugler obeyed, trembling. "Your lips are too dry to blow your bugle. Are you scared?"
The girl nodded.
"So am I, child. What's your name, bugler?"
"Valentina, Your Abundance."
"Come closer, Valentina. Relax."
And Angelica placed her soft lips upon the girl bugler's mouth. Her tongue flickered in exploration. Hesitatingly, Valentina responded. Finally, after what seemed like minutes, they pulled apart.
Angelica smiled. "Now, blow your bugle, bugler. Sound the advance!"
And so the girl wet her lips, took a deep, puffy-expanding breath and produced a single, clear, bell-like note; a note which rang like a clarion across the echoing valley and struck chill terror into the hearts of the enemy. The girl followed it with the stirring, traditional call to advance, a hunting call from down the ages fit to stiffen the sinews and summon up the blood and natural juices of any army of hot-blooded teenage girls.
With their battle standards streaming out twenty feet behind, the Army of St Cat's poured, yelling, down the hillside, scattering the grazing pretty-faced sheep and fording the stream in a rainbow-sparkling cascade of shining droplets.
"Woo-woo-woo-woo-woo-woo-woo-woo-WOW!" The girls gave voice like a pack of foxhounds.
This was the most dangerous part of the operation. Slowed by the stream crossing and by the need to re-establish their cadence, the whole army was at its most vulnerable to a flank attack pressed home with conviction. General Codryngton-Stockingstone, the enemy commander, had seen the danger early and had deployed her 750 lacrosse-stick-wielding green-tartan-clad Roman Catholics in a forbidding diagonal line down the hillside to the right of the St Cat's advance, discouraging the attackers from swinging out too wide on that side.
Now, in a bold manoeuvre, she swung her Thundersleys away to the opposite flank, before bringing them round in a helter-skelter charge, brandishing their large-headed tennis racquets. It was a bold manoeuvre indeed, timed to the split second to take full account of the expected slowing of the Pussies as they forded the stream. Ten seconds too early and the Thundersleys would be prey to the Pussies' front rank élite and the fearsome whirling scythes of Angelica's chariot. Ten seconds late, and the St Cat's charge would be through and away, leaving the Thundersleys with nothing to attack but the non-combatant under-age Juniors detailed to gather up the detritus of soggy industrial paper towel left behind by an army of Uncontrollably Horny girls charging in to battle.
But even so, the brilliant General Codryngton-Stockingstone had failed to take account of the sheep. Most of them panicked and broke away to the left, heading straight for the charging Thundersley girls. With a single-mindedness of purpose rarely seen in sheep, they formed themselves into arrowhead formation and thrust straight at the centre of the Thundersleys' line. It was enough. The leading Thundersleys broke left and right, intending to allow the flock to pass through their midst. It was an instant decision and a well-worked move, but there was a communications breakdown.
Squealing their battle cry, the leaders of The Duchess of Thundersley's Own were too busy making too much noise to pass the word back to the smaller Middle and Junior girls in the rear. Seeing a clear space in front of them, the younger girls galloped ahead eagerly, keen to get to the front of the charge and grab a slice of glory.
They never even knew what hit them. In a tumbling melée of limbs, moist panties and top-of-the-range tennis racquets, the whole centre of the attack blundered into the middle of the flock of panic-stricken sheep. Down they crashed on the close-cropped grass. Many skinned their knees on stray stones or became entangled with thistles. They began to cry. This was a stupid game.
Angelica had herself spotted General Codryngton-Stockingstone's bid to attack from the side. She laughed, and drove her troops on. The six chariot-boys, their lips flecked with foam, their eyes rolling back in their heads, dug in their bare heels and began the stiff climb out of the stream bed, and up the slippery grass. Then they were on more level ground, accelerating smoothly, climbing straight for the heart of the (all-too-literally) crack troops of St Etheldreda's.
With a wave of her short sword, Angelica detached twenty girls from the left flank to deal with the shambolic Thundersleys. Licking their lips, the girls pounced on the disorganised force, spraying them with Love and leading them away to lie with them on the sun-warmed grass.
Again, the bugle sounded, and...
Angelica slammed a hand down on the radio alarm clock. Why did the snooze setting always give you just enough time to get off to sleep just before it woke you up again?
"So. General Codryngton-Stockingstone, we meet at last! Untie her, Meggs! She deserves every honor we can afford her. Take her hockey stick. Give it to me."
Angelica snapped the hockey stick across her knee. Not easy with a twenty foot bust. General Codryngton-Stockingstone watched, her eyes wide.
"Give her a drink, Grantchester. No, the left one is a bit fuller."
General Codryngton-Stockingstone sipped at the warm milk, a beaten woman. All around, Love-crazed girls were spreadeagled on the grass, while St Cat's girls lapped at their generously-proportioned front bottoms. Lactating St Cat's girls moved among the casualties, dispensing milk to friend and defeated foe alike. Birds twittered. Sheep bleated and grazed peacefully.
"How did you do it, General Grimbeau?" General Codryngton-Stockingstone handed her empty glass back to Grantchester for a refill.
"Success is to the brave. Who dares, wins. Honi soit qui mal y pense. Many a slip twixt cup and lip. Faint heart never won fair lady. Never ask for whom the bell tolls, or something like that..."
The quadrangle clock chimed unnecessarily loudly. Angelica sat up, then passed a hand across her brow. It had been a weird dream, even for her.
"SHAN. MAY I have a word?"
This was unlike Corinne. She normally just barges in. She was still wearing her dark glasses. Miss Labia bustled in with a cup of black coffee.
"Ah, thank you, Labia. Another cup for Miss Meadowlark, if you please."
"This is hers. The poor girl is unwell, can't you see? If you want a cup, you can make it yourself. It's Saturday, in case you hadn't noticed."
"What difference does that make?" I asked petulantly as Corinne grabbed the cup and wrapped both little hands round it. She buried her face in the cup and inhaled deeply before groaning in a heartfelt manner.
"I don't work Saturdays." Miss Labia waved me back to my seat and put on her most deeply martyred face. "No, stay there. I'll bring you a cup. And I hope it poisons you," she muttered as she hurried from the office.
"What's the problem, Cee?"
"I think I've done something."
I sniffed the air experimentally until I noticed Corinne staring at me with a quizzical expression.
"No, I haven't done something. Not like that. I've done something with the Fuckh Machine."
"The Fuckh Machine? You've changed something, you mean?"
"I'm afraid so..."
"Something big?"
She nodded glumly and regretted it instantly. "It could be. Big might be the word, unfortunately."
I had one of those sinking feelings I always do so well. "What is it?"
"You remember the benchmark?"
"The thing that stops anyone becoming Head Girl?"
"There's more to it than that. It stops anyone having the biggest bust in the whole of St Cat's. At the moment, it's me."
"You? But you're only ... you're half the size of me for a start. Some of the girls are three times as big as you. You're only the same size as the Head Girl of the First Form!"
"It doesn't work like that, Shan. I hold the benchmark because I could be the biggest. The Head Girl is always smaller than I could be if I was ever careless enough to allow myself to rilly-rilly grow."
The mind boggled. "But how can that work?"
"I'm sure I've explained before. How could I go walking around with a bigger bust than Michaela? I'd never be able to stand up. And breast carriers are such a pain in the arse. So I operate at the size I am at the moment. Although it hasn't been working, of course."
"Oh, of course! Not working?"
"I've been growing, haven't I? You must have noticed?"
"Well, yes, I suppose. But I thought it was just that time of the month."
"Time of the month? I've been getting bigger for weeks!"
"Well, okay. Maybe you have..."
"It's Angelica's fault."
"Angelica's? How?"
"She's programmed to be a growing girl. I think I screwed up, that was my fault. I must have idly wondered how she'd looked with a bigger pair. And she's grown, but the Fuckh Machine has stuck its oar in. It's making me bigger as well."
"You? Why?"
"God knows! Who knows why that machine does anything? It thinks like a man, for Chrissakes! It must think that since I'm the benchmark holder, it has to make me bigger than Angelica the whole time."
"Even though you can be any size you choose to operate at?"
"Yeah. Until last night."
An icy hand gripped my entrails. "Last night? You got drunk?"
"Don't remind me..."
"Cee! I've told you before. If you drink, don't think!"
"It's easy for you to say that," Corinne whined, putting her coffee cup down and clutching her head in both hands. "You can't just not think anything!"
"So what have you done?"
"Well, you remember the benchmark?"
"Of course I remember the benchmark! We've been talking about it for the last ten minutes."
She bit her lip and closed her eyes in a pained manner. "Shannie?"
"Yes, Cee," I said patiently.
"Do you remember Angelica?"
"What are you blathering on about? Of course I remember Angelica!"
"Well, I think I've released her."
"Released? She's not a prisoner, how do you mean, released?"
"She is a prisoner. Or she has been. A prisoner of the benchmark. I think I've done something. Last night, when we came in, I turned on the lights. They flickered and went straight off. I may have been thinking something at that moment, and released Angelica from the benchmark. If I have, there's nothing stopping her growing bigger."
"Bigger? Bigger than you, you mean?"
She shook her head. It must have hurt, yet she carried on animatedly. "Bigger than that. Bigger than anything. Bigger than Michaela. Even bigger than I ever could be!"
"But how big's that?"
"It's big," she whispered. "I hate to think how big she could get. Not inches any more. Feet. Or yards!"
"Yards? Angelica?"
I thought about it.
"Woo-woo-woo-woo," I suggested.
"Shan! It's not an orgasming matter! This is serious!"
"Orgasms are serious," I protested.
Miss Labia came in with a mug of coffee. She sniffed judgmentally. "What have you two been doing to that nice Miss Grimbeau?"
"Nothing."
"Nothing."
"Huh!" She went out again.
"What have we done to Angelica? Or rather, what have you done to her?"
"I don't know. Maybe nothing. I only think I might have done..."
"Have you seen her today?"
"No, haven't you?"
"She didn't come to breakfast. She must be still in bed. Maybe she's..."
"Maybe she daren't show herself in public..."
"Maybe she can't get out of her room!"
"We have to go and see her."
"I know."
We both picked up our coffee cups again.
"Now."
"Now?"
Neither of us moved.
"She might be huge, Shannie!"
"We don't want to wake her up if she's asleep. Later, perhaps."
"She's had all morning to wake up. It's nearly eleven o' clock."
"We'll give her until lunchtime. If she doesn't come in to lunch, we'll go and see her this afternoon."
"But she might be too big to get out of her bedroom..."
"She'll be all right. She can phone for help. I'll stay by the phone in case she rings. If she hasn't called by teatime, we'll go and see if she's okay."
"Okay." Corinne sounded uncertain.
"Suppertime, then. No later than that."
"What if she's too big to get out of bed, Shan?"
"We'll find out when we go and see her in the morning. Let's go up there straight after breakfast. It's Sunday, tomorrow, of course. We don't want to disturb her on her day off. Tell you what, if she doesn't show up for work on Monday morning, I'll go up there and see her. Or we could send one of the girls..."
"I suppose we'd better go and see her, then." Corinne stood up slowly.
It had been a weird dream. Angelica rolled on to her side and dangled a leg over the edge of the bed. She felt strangely light-headed. Probably what you deserve for sleeping all day, she thought, pulling herself to her feet in the darkened room.
"Wow!" she said as she overbalanced and trotted a few involuntary steps forward. For a moment, she was back in her dream chariot. Her breasts must be rilly-rilly full of milk. What time was it, anyway. Normally she would have been milked by now. Probably twice. What happens if you miss two milking sessions in a day? Do you get bigger and bigger until you explode? Or does it just kind of leak out on its own? Angelica ran a cautious hand down the side of her right breast.
"My God!"
She was suddenly wide awake, fumbling at the curtains to let some light into the room. No use, it was starting to get dark outside. Plunging back to the bed, she found the switch for the reading lamp and tugged at the cord, once, twice, three times, cursing colourfully until the light came on and she spun round to see her reflection in the dressing table mirror.
"Sheesh!"
She blinked, then screwed her eyes tight shut. Perhaps if she gave them long enough, they would go away. After counting to twenty, and adding another ten for luck, she opened her eyes.
"Sheesh!" she said again. It probably summed up the situation as well as anything else she could have said. She studied her reflection, creeping slowly closer toward the mirror, coming to a quivering halt with her nightgown-stretching nipples almost brushing the glass. The glass was still an awful long way away.
She made a decision, and began to struggle out of the nightie. The whole of the front of it was milk-soaked, stained and crisp. And it was ridiculously tight where it stretched across her breasts. Surely, they couldn't have grown as much as that! Could they?
It wouldn't come off. The nightie was stuck over her head. As she pulled and tugged, she tottered around the little bedroom, colliding softly with the furniture. "Oh, fuck this," she grunted at last, giving an extra hard pull and feeling the soggy material yield to her efforts. The nightie came off in two more or less equal parts. Angelica dropped them on the floor and turned to look over her shoulder into the mirror.
They were indeed fucking enormous. They must have been half as big again as they had been the night before. And they had been huge the night before. Corinne had told her so, and Corinne did not speak lightly on such matters.
This was a problem. She couldn't go out like this. The girls would stare at her. And they would certainly stare at her if she went out with no clothes on. Angelica literally didn't have a thing to wear. She wobbled over to her wardrobe and peered inside. Maternity wear would have been ideal, but she had never until now considered it a priority. She slammed the wardrobe door in disgust. It bounced off her left titanic breast and swung open mockingly. "Ouch, you bastard!" she swore, with a curious feeling of déjà vu.
Her top drawer yielded only an array of unhelpfully small bras. The next drawer down produced a man-size work shirt and a couple of extra large T-shirts. She threw them on the bed and explored the bottom drawer. It contained a truly immense sweater, a gift from one of the girls who had outgrown it. At a pinch, it might do, but orange wasn't really Angelica's colour. She sighed and straightened up. The effort felt as if she was carrying a sack of potatoes hanging round her neck.
"How big are they?" she wondered aloud, and went in search of a tape measure. There was one in the top drawer, a standard St Cat's Juniors' ten-foot tape which she had confiscated from a group of girls who were playing at being bra-makers in English Lit class last week.. She reached around her back, stretching the tape across her shoulder blades, then pulling it forward to lay it across the peaks of her puffy moons. Her nipples responded instantly by turning into points, making it all but impossible to keep the tape in position. "I can't even do that right," she sobbed. "Even Junior St Cat's girls can measure their own busts!" She tried again before giving up in disgust, then sat on the bed. Her fat breasts bounced a few times like hippopotami field-testing a trampoline, then settled massively and appallingly heavily on her thighs. Milk began to drip from one nipple, then the other, building quickly into a brisk flow.
"Angelica Grimbeau," she said to herself, sitting up straight and bracing her back. "Man, are you gonna get a grip on yo'self? Stand up!" She sat there for a few moments, as if wondering whether she could get away with telling herself to shut up. "Yes, Miss Grimbo," she said meekly, and rose to her feet, followed some time later by her breasts. "Now get your butt over to that dressing table and look yourself square in the face. Or in the titties." She plodded across the floor. "Wowee," she said as she studied her unfamiliar reflection. "Those are one hell of a pair!"
And even as she watched, the flow of milk increased, from a trickle to a dribble to a spurt to half a dozen separate streams that arced out across the space and spattered over the glass, to flow down in several broadening white rivers to join like the tributaries of the Amazon and drip off the bottom frame of the mirror on to the dressing table's polished top. "Ooooh, yes! Ooh, wow, yes! Woo-woo-WOO!"
The St Cat's Junior ten-foot tape was still looped around her neck. She whipped it around behind her and arched her powerful back, stretching the tape out around the hot plump globes of her udders. The mirror was no help now in locating the tape across her nipples, it was almost obliterated by the milk which soaked her fumbling hands and wrists and the St Cat's Junior ten-foot tape itself.
"How big are you, Miss Grimbo?" she panted as she brought her hands together in the milky spray. "How big?"
Someone was pounding on the door.
"Who is it?"
"It's me. Smegs. You okay in there, Puss?"
"Mee-gan?" Angelica struggled to work out where she was. She stared hopelessly into the mirror, scrubbed at the glass with her hand, then turned in confusion and ran bouncily to the bed, still gushing milk. "Just a moment," she called, snatching up the ghastly orange sweater and diving into it head first. She emerged like a tortoise in the spring and pulled the horrid thing down over her massive chest. It would hardly stretch enough for her to get her breasts into it, even one at a time. And when she pulled it down, it wouldn't even begin to cover them. It hid the nipples — and quickly became soaked — but easily a third of each mighty globe remained uncovered below the sweater's unyielding hemline. It was nearly cutting her boobs in half.
"Oh, sheesh!" Helplessly, she blundered to the door. Smegs was rattling at the handle. Angelica opened the door cautiously and peered round it.
"What have you been doing?" Smegs shouldered her way into the room. "I thought you were ill, or something. Do you know what time it is? You didn't get up for breakfast. You've missed lunch, you've..." She had marched across to the dressing table, obviously hoping to create maximum impact by wheeling dramatically and confronting her lover. But she stopped in front of the mirror, reaching out a cautious finger.
"Milk?" Smegs withdrew her finger from her mouth, then turned round and her eyes opened wide as she saw Angelica for the first time. "You...? Your...?"
Angelica followed the quivering finger down across her exploding sweater. She could see no further, but a chill breeze from the still open door made it clear to her that all was not entirely decent down below.
"Oh, man! Sheesh! I forgot my..." And she plunged for the bed. No panties there. Still in the top drawer of her dressing table. "Excuse me..."
"Never mind your knickers," Smegs managed to find words at last. "What about those things?"
"Things?"
"Those things on your chest! You going to pretend you hadn't noticed them?" The tape measure was on the dressing table where Angelica had dropped it. Smegs whipped it up and whirled it round her head. "You were measuring them, you little slut! Huh! Little?"
"Measuring?"
"Your breasts! So how big are they? To think that you of all people ... you! After everything you've told me. You! Oh, Angelica!"
"Wh-what's wrong?"
"Wrong? You ask me what's wrong? You said you'd never use anything on your lovely body. What was it? Puff? Was it? Grow Cream Super XL Magnum Mega-Mammoth Mammavast Double-Strength Ultra Plus Special Brew Two, was that it?" Smegs's voice had risen to a sobbing squeak.
"It's not called that any more," Angelica muttered automatically.
"Oh, it's not called that any more! Of course, you'd know all about it, wouldn't you? The little expert on Sexual Chemistry all of a sudden. You great big fat-titted tart!"
"Mee-gan! No! It's not like..."
The door slammed, bounced back open, then squeaked mockingly at her. Angelica collided painfully with the doorway as she tried to follow. That hurt! Smegs's door slammed shut.
"Mee-gan, come back! Please. It's not like that. They just grew on their own..."
"Gosh, Miss, they did, didn't they!"
Through her tears, Angelica looked round; blinking and dashing her milky hand across her eyes.
"Hello, Miss Grimbo. Nice sweater!"
"Lovely colour!"
"A bit tight, but it should be a lovely fit when your milk's not in..."
Suzanne and Pansy stood stock still in amazement as the door slammed behind the teacher. They looked at each other, chewing their lower lips and trying not to giggle. Then Suzanne grabbed her cousin by the arm and the two of them scampered heavily away along the corridor. They paused at the bottom of the stairs, clutching one another and finally daring to laugh.
"Wow! That certainly worked!"
"Shit! You must have made it too strong, Pan!"
"I didn't mix it, it was you."
"It's never worked as well as that before."
"I know!"
They giggled again, bouncing up and down with delight.
"Come on," said Suzanne. "Let's go and have our tea. We won't tell the others how well the cream worked. We'll let them find out for themselves. Do you think Miss Grimbo will be coming to the restaurant?"
"I hope she gets dressed first!" Pansy spluttered. "Hey, did you see her puss-puss? It's all curly, just like her hair."
"I wonder if she gets it done at the hairdresser's."
"Would they charge extra, do you think?"
"They'd charge double. I wouldn't want to be a hairdresser if I had to do front bottoms..."
"Yuck, no! I wonder what's for tea."
"Smells like kippers," said Suzanne. And just outside the restaurant door, the cousins clung together, helpless with giggles.
"She's not here!"
Corinne withdrew her head from Angelica's bedroom and closed the door quietly.
"She's all right, then," I said, deeply relieved. "Let's go and have our tea. I think it's kippers."
"She might not be all right. She might still have grown."
"She's not grown so big she can't get out of the door. Come on, Cee. We don't want her to find us skulking around outside her bedroom door. We're violating her privacy. There's nothing to worry about."
"But the benchmark ... we've got to know if she's grown..."
"She won't have grown overnight! Women don't get bigger overnight. It takes months, years, for breasts to grow."
Corinne looked at me with amazement. "I can't believe you just said that, Shannie." She took a last look round. The corridor remained reassuringly free of Angelica. "All right, then. Let's go and feed our faces. She might have gone down to the restaurant already."
"Yeah, we'll see her down there, come on."
We retreated down the stairs and outside into the gathering gloom of the late afternoon.
"So how did it go last night at Billygoat Jack's?"
"Oh, not bad. The place is much the same as ever. Loads of Borcester kids hanging around the place. The girls seemed to enjoy it," she added vaguely. I could swear she was blushing. Evasively, rather than prettily. Perhaps Angelica would be able to fill in some of the details later. Corinne had obviously been out of her head on Budweiser again.
It certainly was kippers for tea. The restaurant was chock-full of bright-eyed girls, attracted and presumably highly aroused by the smell. The atmosphere was steamily dangerous. It was going to be one of those memorable Saturday nights in the dorms, I could tell. I almost wished I was a student again.
"Look out!"
Corinne grabbed my arm and pulled me out of the way. Scattered cheers broke out from the First Formers' table as a scantily-clad figure loped through the restaurant, dodging between the tables and vaulting lightly over the serving hatch into the kitchen. Vanessa was followed at a distance by Sally Chung, her breasts bouncing at least a foot up and down and hitting her on the chin at every stride. She scrambled over one of the tables scattering kippers and plates in her wake, diving round the side of the serving hatch in an attempt to close up with the fleeing Vanessa, who had already disappeared out the back door into the yard. I heard the clang of a garbage bin and the yowl of disturbed cats as the chase continued.
"An extra kipper, please, Mrs Gandolphus," I said politely, helping myself to a pile of brown bread and butter. Cee and I loaded our trays and made our way to a quiet corner.
"Well, she's not in here." Corinne looked around.
"Nor is Smegs," I said with a tinge of regret. "Perhaps they've gone off somewhere together."
"Yes." Corinne sounded gloomy.
We folded our kippers into the traditional St Cat's kipper sandwiches, and ate in a preoccupied way. All around us, the girls of St Cat's High School for Growing Girls were becoming more and more sexually aroused. There would be Strip Monopoly tonight, and possibly far, far more. It was one of those times when I ought to have been deeply proud of my girls, but somehow I wasn't really in the mood.