"THAT DOES IT!" I let go of Corinne's hand and rose up from behind the dormitory table, adjusting the camera with fumbling hands. Ignoring Corinne's frantic pleas, I advanced on the tableau. Let me summarise.
Helvetica Bold was standing with her back to us, although a distressingly high proportion of her bosom was clearly visible from behind. She was wearing a dangerously tight pair of jeans and nothing else of any significance. Close behind her — very close — was Valentina Nightingale, who until seconds before had been measuring Helvetica's bust. The other participants in the scene were Candelabra and What's-her-Name — both out of the game with their heads buried inside Helvetica's cast-off men's outsize cricket sweater — and the girl in the scarlet T-shirt and Santa Claus hat who had been given the task of writing down Helvetica's most vital statistic.
Quite what that statistic was, nobody in the dorm had the faintest idea. Cee and I certainly didn't know. Candelabra and What's-her-Name were totally absorbed in other matters. Valentina had handed the tape to Santa Claus, unable to read the numbers. And Santa Claus herself, the only person privy to the information, had written it down, then promptly rolled on to her back on the nearest bed, servicing herself with both hands until she passed out in the middle of what sounded like an extremely pleasant orgasm.
Hence my advance. I had to get my hands on that notepad as a matter of extreme urgency. The principal players heard me coming, of course, as I stomped across the polished floor with Corinne pattering along behind, pleading with me not to be too hasty.
Helvetica and Valentina turned round and gasped. I gasped a millisecond or so later. I don't know whose gasp was the louder, but if it wasn't mine, it wasn't for the want of trying. Corinne's wasn't a bad one either. I slithered to a halt and felt Corinne slam into the back of me. And I asked the first question which came into my head.
"Did you see a cow come this way?"
Okay, it wasn't the most sensible of questions, I'll admit. It just happened to be the one I had been rehearsing for the last five minutes. So I got it more or less word perfect. Nobody answered. I wouldn't have heard them if they had. I was totally absorbed with the most outrageous areolae I had ever seen in my life.
Too late, Helvetica tried to cover her breasts with her hands. Her first attempt was using one hand to each breast. Realising that her hands weren't even remotely big enough to cover her vast moons, she spread her fingers, and found them still wanting. So she began moving her hands in circling motions to hide as much as possible. Interestingly, she moved her hands in opposite directions. Then she realised the futility of this action and stopped. She applied both hands to one breast, which was better, as with both hands, she could just about contain one areola, although it was so puffed up, it was still very obviously very much there.
Of course, using both hands to protect the modesty of just a small proportion of only one breast was pretty much of a wasted exercise. So she stopped trying to hide them and placed her hands behind her neck. Then she had second thoughts about that as being a suitable pose with which to confront one's headmistress, and tried folding her arms. That didn't work either, as her arms rested on top of her breasts, and despite the fact that they descended to her lower stomach, they were still unusually firm and rounded. It meant that when she folded her arms, she couldn't see past them.
I suppose what I am trying to say is that even by St Cat's standards, Helvetica Bold was more than a little bit special in the boobs department.
Better late than never, I raised the camera to my eye and mashed my finger down on the shutter release. A fusillade of flashes went off, accompanied by an almost constant whirring noise that went on and on until the film ran out.
"You've probably got enough shots there, Shannie," Corinne said mildly from behind me.
We were all transfixed, with vague green and purple shapes swimming before our eyes. Gradually, the shape of Helvetica became clearer. I was pleased to see she was still just as spectacular as I remembered.
"They're measuring my bust, Miss," she explained, perhaps unnecessarily.
Corinne stepped to the fore. "You'd better put some clothes on before the rest of the school comes in," she said, practical as ever.
"Oh, no, Cee!" I protested, but she had already strode over to the bed occupied by the two young lovers and snatched up the cricket sweater. The girls were attached to each other by their lips, busily exchanging bodily fluids, and appeared not to notice that it had gone. Helvetica caught the sweater without a word and pulled it on. I had to close my eyes as she stretched it over her immense Junior chest and — I swear — tucked it under the overhang of her breasts.
"Now then," said Corinne. "Whose idea was it to borrow this cow costume?"
"Mine, Miss," Helvetica and Valentina admitted simultaneously. Then they looked at each other and both said, "No, Miss, don't take any notice of her, she's lying. It was my idea."
I took advantage of this diversion to edge toward the bed where Santa Claus lay on her back with her feet drawn up and her knees spread flat on the mattress. Her notepad was clutched in one hand in a death grip. We may draw a veil over where her other hand was. I had to prise her juice-slicked fingers apart, using almost half a roll of industrial paper towel just to get a grip on the soggy little document.
"I've got it, Cee!" I shouted, holding the notepad aloft like a trophy. "Let's get out of here!"
She looked at me oddly. "I am talking to these young girls, Miss Gruntworthy," she declared formally.
"I'll see you later, then," I panted, already halfway through the door.
The crowd around the door of the Junior Common Room hadn't diminished at all. In fact, it was beginning to look ugly. If an orgy didn't start soon, the pressure would build up and blow the roof off the school. I shot past the doorway, heading for the staff domestic quarters to decipher and read the secret and magical number. Then I stopped with a screech of feet on linoleum and backed up.
"Excuse me," I boomed into the fetid atmosphere of the common room. "Quiet, please. This is the headmistress speaking!"
The discipline of the girls of St Cat's is second to none. Silence fell like a stone within thirty or forty seconds. The last voice I heard was a piping Junior, "Shut up, you lot, it's old Cuntworthy." I ignored her magnificently.
"Right. I won't detain you long..."
"Thanks, Miss..."
"But I need to know. Is there anyone here from the Photographic Club, please?"
There was a buzz of voices, and a disturbance in the crowd as someone made her way through the girls to the doorway. Suddenly, there in front of me stood a diminutive Third Former. Her four foot three inch frame was festooned with at least six cameras, including one with an almost obscenely long lens. In one hand, she carried a small aluminium step ladder. She eyed my simple equipment with scorn before looking up at me through a pair of enormous glasses with lenses about four inches across.
"I'm the photographer, Miss. Dawn Chorus."
Was that really her name? I would have to check the register. "I need a film developed and printed, urgently."
"Oh, Miss, no! Immediately? You mean tonight?"
"Of course I mean tonight. That's what immediately means."
"Oh, shit." She consulted her watch, which seemed to be as large as her glasses. "I suppose I could..."
"I suppose you could, yes. And be quick about it!"
"What about the orgy, Miss?" She looked back into the room with desperate longing.
"I shouldn't have thought you were old enough to take part in an orgy, Dawn," I told her severely.
"I don't take part, Miss!" She looked pained. "I take the fucking pictures." She sighed heavily and followed me out into the corridor, her equipment clanking.
"You'll be able to get back to the orgy in an hour," I said encouragingly. "Ummmm. There wouldn't be any chance...?"
"A set of pictures of the orgy? That'll be a brownie, Miss." I must have looked as if I didn't understand. She explained. "Ten pounds, Miss. A special offer just for you. But what's on this film of yours that can't wait until morning?"
"It's a girl," I hissed.
"Oh, yeah?"
"A girl with no clothes on."
"Oh, really?" She yawned extravagantly.
"And huge moons."
She began to look interested and held out her small hand, snapping her fingers. "Let's have it then."
I handed her the camera. "You'll bring the prints to my room? And perhaps you could put a new film in the camera...?"
"Shit, Miss! What do you think I am? Fucking Eezi-Snaps? Okay. I'll bring the pictures by half past ten. It will cost you a brownie, of course. Special overtime rates. And you can sign a note letting me off classes until lunchtime tomorrow."
"What happened to you last night? I was expecting you to come back here."
Corinne yawned and rubbed her eyes. "Any coffee in that pot?"
"You ... you didn't go to the orgy? Cee!"
"Somebody had to supervise them, Shan!"
"There were plenty of Seniors there, surely. They didn't need you."
"Maybe not. Maybe I enjoyed it?"
"Cee. You didn't...?"
"Have any thoughts? I don't think so. I might have done, I suppose. Perhaps a little thought now and again. I didn't have too much to drink."
"They had drinks?"
"Not at first. I had to send out for some. Just for the Seniors," she said hurriedly. "Thanks." She grasped the mug of black coffee and took a deep gulp. Her dark glasses steamed up but she didn't take them off. "Shee-it, that's better."
"It doesn't sound much better. You should have sent for me. You need me to look after you and make sure you don't make the lights flicker too much."
Corinne giggled, then regretted it and clutched at her head. "We thought it would be better to leave you alone with your photographs." She inclined her head in the direction of the stack of prints on the bedside table.
"You want to see them?" I asked modestly. "They've come out pretty well..."
"I know. Dawn brought a few sets back to the party last night. She was selling them for a fiver a set."
"A fiver? She charged me a brownie. She said it was a special offer for me."
Corinne shrugged. "It was. They're not bad pics, Shannie. But Helvetica's got her eyes shut in half of them. And in the ones where her eyes are open, she's got red eye. You ought to take more care, dear." She sat on the side of the bed and sipped at her coffee. Then she whipped her dark glasses off and laughed. "Cheer up, Shan!" She picked up the pile of pictures and flipped through them. "Hey, this one's great! Look at her moons. They must be the biggest in the school!"
"She'll never play netball again," I said with a tinge of regret.
"It would be nice to see her try."
"She didn't turn up at the orgy last night, did she?"
Corinne swallowed the last of her coffee. "Nah, she climbed into bed with young Valentina, good as gold. There wasn't an orgy, Shan! As soon as you'd gone, I sent them all back to their dorms. I told them they had five minutes and if they weren't all in bed by then, they'd all be on panties until the end of term."
"You didn't! What did they do?"
"They went to bed. The Seniors looked horrified. All the Juniors were laughing at them, and if there's one thing Seniors can't stand, it's being laughed at by kids."
"But ... the pictures...?"
"I went down to the darkroom to tell Dawn not to hurry back to the orgy."
God, Corinne thinks of everything! "What did she say?"
"The foul-mouthed little bitch effed and blinded a bit, but she cheered up when I gave her a chit excusing her from classes until this afternoon. She showed me the pictures. She was doing a big blow-up of the best one for all the noticeboards when I left. I told her she had to be in bed by two. Right, then! What's the message?"
"Message?"
"Your little piece of paper."
"Paper?"
She grinned. "Helvetica's bust measurement! You've got it, haven't you?"
"There it is, if you can read it." I showed her the notepad.
"It's all stuck together," she said, holding it between two fingers. "And it's still sodden wet. You haven't been...?"
"Certainly not! That's all Santa Claus's juices. It's completely unreadable. The numbers have all sort of smeared together."
Corinne peered at it, peeled the top sheet apart from the rest and held it up to the window, held it at an angle, and tossed it on the floor. It landed with a soft thud.
"We'll have to ask Santa Claus," she said. "She's the only girl in the whole school who knows."
"Where is she?" I flung back the bedclothes and climbed out. Corinne watched me as usual, licking her lips. "Who's got the Firsts for the first period this morning?"
"Angelica's got them through until lunch."
"I'll get Labia to tell the girl to see me in my office." I reached for my bra and began loading it. "What's her name?"
Corinne shrugged. "You mean it's not Santa Claus?"
"I don't think so. Who would know?"
"Angelica. Labia, probably."
"But how do we tell them who we mean? A girl who sleeps in a scarlet T-shirt and a Santa Claus hat? Angelica and Labia don't sleep with girls."
"You'll have to wait until Angelica's class. Get her to tell the girl to go and see you..."
"It will be too late by then. Santa Claus will have told the whole school. I'll be the last one to know!"
"Have you got any better ideas?"
I was pacing up and down outside the classroom twenty minutes before the Firsts were due to arrive. Corinne was supervising morning assembly and Smegs was sulking. With five minutes to go before the start of classes, girls were flocking to their classrooms, giggling and discussing the orgy that nearly was. They looked at me curiously as they passed. Some of them laughed as they got further down the corridor. Children are so disrespectful these days.
Then the Firsts began to arrive in twos and threes. They grinned and blushed at me as they went in. The bell sounded. Still no sign of Angelica. No sign of Helvetica, either, nor her partner.
The double doors burst open and Miss Labia panted in. "What in fuck's name are you doing down here?" she snapped. "I've been looking for you everywhere. You'd better get your fat arse into that classroom. Miss Grimbeau phoned to say she can't make it this morning. She said she'll try and get over later on."
I ignored her disrespectful manner. "She'll try and get over later on? What kind of a story is that?"
Miss Labia shrugged. "Search me. Still, I mustn't keep you from your classes. You're taking them for English, Sexual Orgies In Literature. You should be able to handle that off the top of your head."
I turned to go inside, my ever-professional mind already coming to grips with the subject.
Miss Labia gave one of her mirthless laughs. "Did you get dressed in a hurry this morning? Where's your skirt?"
Oh, shit. I had been to breakfast, I had walked all over the school this morning, with no skirt on. And Corinne hadn't said a single word. At least I had my panties on. Didn't I? I checked surreptitiously. Yes, I did.
"Orgies," I announced, striding to the blackboard. There is only one way to overcome such problems as facing a class of Juniors while not wearing a skirt: brazen it out. I scrawled the word on the board, underlined it twice and wrote English Literature underneath.
That was where my mind went blank.
"Any questions?" I asked, turning to face the class. They gazed back at me with expectation on their eager faces.
A forest of hands shot up.
"Where's your skirt, Miss?"
"What's this got to do with Maths, Miss?"
"Your knickers are all moist, Miss."
First things first. I edged round behind the desk to forestall any further enquiries about the state of my groin. "Maths?"
"This is a Maths class, Miss. It's not that we really mind learning about Orgies in English Literature, but that's tomorrow morning."
"That fucking bitch, Labia," I spluttered, and the girls blushed prettily.
The girl called Candelabra put her hand up. She had a prissy expression on her face and she sat right in the middle, at the front of the class. Little swot. "Please, Miss?"
"What do you want?"
"You haven't done the register yet. You have to mark down who's here and who isn't. And some of us aren't."
"I was coming to that, Candelabra, thank you. I am keeping one eye on the door, and if anyone else comes in, the fact will not escape my notice. Where is everyone, anyway?"
Candelabra smiled smugly and ticked them off on her fingers. "Helvetica and Valentina were still in bed and didn't get up for breakfast. Geraldine's still chained to a concrete block, Sally Chung is playing cowboys and injuns and Sandra Clewes is sick this morning."
"Who?"
"You know who, you saw her last night in the dorm."
"That's really her name? Santa Claus?"
"That's near enough, Miss."
"She's sick? What's the matter with her?"
"We sent her to see Nurse, and she's been put to bed for the day. She's got to drink lots of fluid, Nurse said. She's dehydrogenised."
I wasn't at all surprised at that. She must have deposited a gallon of intimate juices on her notepad.
"Did she say ... anything?"
"Say anything, Miss? What about?"
"About anything. Was she conscious?"
"She was, but Nurse put her to bed and she went to sleep straight away."
"But she didn't say anything? Any ... numbers ... or anything?" Heedless of my state of undress, I came out from behind the desk and advanced on the smirking girl in the front row.
"Numbers? She's not very keen on Maths, Miss. She'll be mad when she finds she hasn't missed Maths this morning. She says she can't remember big numbers, that's why she hates Maths so much."
My heart sank. That's one of those things you read in stories: people's hearts seem to sink all the time in English Literature. A giggle broke out and spread through the class.
"Please, Miss?" Candelabra seemed to have appointed herself spokeswoman. "One of your boobs has fallen out of the bottom of your bra."
Helvetica stretched and yawned. "Wow, that was great, Tee! How was it for you?"
Valentina wiped her face with a handful of industrial paper towel. "You're fantastic, Vets!"
"I always do my best to please. Do you want another?"
"Mmmm, no thanks! I've had enough to last for a week."
"We've nearly run out of bacon anyway." Helvetica turned off the camping stove and wiped the frying pan with a slice of bread. "I'm eating so much lately," she laughed. "And it must all be going straight to my chest."
Valentina watched as her bestest girlfriend stuffed the bread in her mouth. There goes another inch, she thought. "Should we go in to classes this morning?"
"Nah, it's only Grimbo. She won't miss us. We'll see her tonight anyway, for choir practice. And it's Maths. Not the kind of numbers you're interested in!"
"You look even bigger this morning. That pinafore really suits you."
Helvetica glanced at herself in the full length mirror. The pinafore really suited her. It went well with her skimpy pants. It had no choice, really; she wasn't wearing anything else. Her breasts practically exploded out of its scanty confines; out of the top, the sides, and overhanging the drawstring at the waist. "I wouldn't mind going in to class dressed like this, just to see all their faces."
Valentina bit her lip. Helvetica was not only getting bustier by the day, she was turning into a raving exhibitionist. She sidled closer and moved round behind her friend to slip her hands round her waist. They disappeared beneath masses of warm flesh.
"I do feel bigger," sighed Helvetica. "How big was I last night?"
"I don't know. I measured you and found I couldn't see the numbers. So I gave the tape to Santa Claus to write the number down. That was when old Gruntworthy came in, shooting from the hip. By the time she'd gone, Santa had passed out on her bed, and we'd found other things to do."
"Wow, yeah! There's nothing quite like going to bed and having you rub that wonderful soothing cream all over my red-hot moons! So you don't know how huge my bust is? Or was? What about the piece of paper where Santa wrote the numbers down? Is it still on her bed?" Helvetica disengaged herself gently from Valentina's embrace, brushed her cheek with a moist kiss and padded over to Santa Claus's bed. She bent over it, and Valentina watched, spellbound, as her delicious bottom strained at the skimpily transparent pants. "This bed's soaked! Santa must have enjoyed herself last night."
"Is it there? She wrote it on a little notepad thing..."
"No sign of anything." Helvetica turned back the bed covers, feeling between the dank sheets. "No, nothing. Wait, hang on! What's this?" She came up with a bedraggled scrap of paper. "I think this might be it!"
"Your bust measurement? You've found it?"
"Could be!" Helvetica stared at the paper, turned it upside down. It seemed to make no difference. "No, I couldn't be that big!" She handed the paper to Valentina, who took it with trembling fingers. She turned it upside down. It seemed to make no difference.
"Shit, Vets! You're immense! We can't go to classes anyway, not now. You're going to have to go and see Miss Clitress!"
I had sent one of the girls to my room to fetch a skirt. She brought something wholly unsuitable, but it was at least decent. She had also used her initiative and ransacked my wardrobe for the newest bra she could find. I thanked the girl kindly and told her to write out three thousand times 'I Must Not, Under Any Circumstances, Take The Piss Out Of My Headmistress By Bringing Her A Skirt That Shows The Entire School That Her Bottom Is Shamefully Huge. Shamefully.'
The stupid girl burst into tears and had to be comforted by her classmates. I dismissed them. The noise of howling girls goes through and through my head.
Besides, I had to get over to the sick quarters and mount my vigil.
Clit stared at the picture, trying to steady her hands against the workbench. Despite the fact that it was eleven inches by fourteen, she was studying it with a huge magnifying glass. The sudden pounding on the door scared the life out of her.
"Fuck off!" she screamed automatically. "Who is it?" It might be a girl needing a new bra, after all. She crept to the door, the picture in her hand, and took a last look at it before flattening herself against the wall and trying to see who was waiting outside.
It was Nurse's brat, Valentina. Damnation. Then she remembered Valentina was Helvetica's bestest girlfriend. Was she out there as well? Clit took a sobbing breath and gazed longingly at the picture again. This was a terrible dilemma. If she opened the door and it was only the Nightingale kid out there, she would have made the grave error of allowing an unnecessary customer into the bra facility. Valentina was a big girl, very big for a First Former, but her rate of growth was disappointing; only six inches so far this year.
But what if she didn't open the door? What if she refused? Whoever it was would go away. What if Helvetica Bold was outside, waiting to be measured for a new and vastly larger size of bra? This was a recent photograph, taken last night, according to the camera girl, Dawn. She always brought Clit the latest pictures of the most dramatically growing girls, even before she pinned copies to the school notice boards for the rest of the girls to lust over. When it came to dramatic growth, Helvetica topped anything seen at St Cat's for months.
Clit's professional eye mentally fitted the ex-Junior Netball Captain with a suitably huge ScatBra to cover those breathtaking moons. She had to stagger back and lean against the bench, panting and adjusting the crotch of her black stretch slacks.
Another knock on the door brought her back to the real world. "Miss Clitress? Please!"
"Who is it?"
"You know who it is, you've been wanking over my photograph for the last ten minutes!"
Clit uttered a sharp cry and dropped the picture on the bench, looking about her for hidden cameras. Somehow, she had been discovered, caught wet-handed. She crept to the door again and inched it open. Valentina and Helvetica grinned at her.
"How did you know?" she asked as she waved the girls inside and bolted the door after them.
"Know what?"
"That I was looking at your photograph?" She stared at Helvetica, who was wrapped in a pink fluffy blanket that came right down to the floor. Despite being draped loosely around the girl's body, it still bulged ominously at the front. Helvetica giggled.
"You were? Wow, Miss Clit! Hey, Tee, she was!"
Clit tried to hide the photo under a roll of stretch fabric, but Valentina deftly pulled it free and studied it closely. "Christ, Vets! Miss Gruntworthy ought to turn professional. She's really captured the essence of a young and growing girl!"
"Miss Gruntworthy took that picture?" Clit gasped.
"She took dozens. She just kept her finger on the button 'til the film ran out. I suppose all the pictures are more or less the same. I mean, Vets wouldn't have grown much in ten seconds. Although she's grown six inches since Sunday morning."
"Six?" Clit's voice was faint. "In two days?"
"It's not as long as that, Miss Clit. I was sixty-three inches on Sunday morning, and this picture was taken last night. I think I'm even bigger now. It feels like it."
"Is your new bra tight?" Clit almost sobbed.
"Bra? I haven't been able to get that on since Sunday night."
"Oh, no! You know how big that was?"
"It's mostly just my moons, Miss Clit. You're not losing your touch or anything. It would fit if it wasn't for these things." Helvetica gestured vaguely at her well-concealed chest. "Well. Don't you want to see them?"
"See them?"
"Of course. You're bound to see them eventually. But there's nothing extra extra special about them. They're just gigantic, that's all."
Clit unwound her tape measure from around her neck and tried to assume her most professional expression. It didn't work too well, as her knees were clamped together to stop them knocking.
"Woo-woo-would you-woo-woo-wou like to t-take your b-b-blanket off?"
The girls giggled and nudged each other in some private joke of their own.
"What if I don't?"
"You what?"
"What if I keep it on? You won't have to wait long. By tomorrow, I should be so big, this blanket won't go round me. It will just go rrrippp and fall apart in two halves! Wheee! On the floor! And poor little Vetsy-wetsy will be starkers! You won't let me fweeze, Miss Clit, will you?"
Clit's mouth hung open.
Valentina had succumbed to this volley of baby-talk and was crouched in a corner with the fingers of one hand in her mouth. Her other hand was out of sight, moving so fast as to be invisible.
"You know what, Miss Clit?" Helvetica lowered her voice to a husky murmur, ageing twenty years in the process. "Santa Claus tried to measure me with a sixty-inch tape last night! I hope yours is a bit longer than that!"
"Shit, what's the matter with her?" Valentina stopped what she was doing, stood up and bent over the prone figure of the corsetière.
"She's fainted. What a bummer. How am I going to get a new bra now?"
ANGELICA TRIED IT AGAIN, pushing against the fridge with her rolled umbrella. The fiendish machine had a will of its own, rotating about its axis when she tried to turn, but carrying on in its original direction while leaving her looking over her shoulder to see what she was about to crash into.
"I'll have to see if Jeremy can fit this thing up with steering and brakes," she giggled as she shot past the door into the living room and clattered noisily around in the little alcove where she stored her cleaning materials. The Angelic-O-Glyde of her dreams hadn't been like this. But another thrust with her umbrella, and she was free and off in the other direction, more carefully this time; her little pink tongue sticking out in concentration as she aimed for the living room again. "Hee-hee! Yesss! I made it."
The device came to rest in front of the television and she settled in her nest of cushions to watch the morning news. More little wars and explosions, talking politicians and grinning show-biz celebrities, then a pleasant rural scene that grabbed her attention and had her stabbing at the remote control, trying to turn up the volume.
'...by at least five miles and an extra three weeks. But that's not all. Right in the course of the new road...' there it was, her dream battlefield! The camera panned right along the valley and came to rest on a reporter in a wind-flapped white trench coat and a stupid hat that threatened to blow off at any moment. 'And this, behind me, is the reason for their concern. This verdant pathway leads through lush wetlands of an SSSI — that's a Site of Special Scientific Interest — to the edge of St Catherine's woods. This is the home of one of England's least-known private schools, where 230 girls from eleven to nineteen receive a sound...'
The screen changed to a shot taken some time ago, on a fine summer's day. Scantily clad girls swayed and wobbled tantalisingly across the picture, although the shots were edited in such a way that one never quite saw anything too revealing. Then there was a strange square building, like a military blockhouse without any windows, and on top of it, two huddled shapes wrapped in tatty rags. The reporter wandered into the picture from the right, talking to the camera while following a narrow winding path which skirted an endless sea of ochre mud.
'These two representatives of the school, Physical Education teacher Molly Malone and a first year student who wishes to be known only as Geraldine, have chained themselves — locked themselves on — to this one hundred and fifty ton concrete block. A futile gesture, it now appears, as the course of the new road has swung away in another direction. And ironically, its new course represents a far greater threat to their beloved school than it did previously. This is Curleigh Pewbiss, live for ITN, Borcestershire.'
At which point, Mr Pewbiss grabbed at his hat which was lifted clean off his head by a freak gust, taking his hair with it. He caught it before it could get away, but his efforts carried him off the narrow winding footpath into knee-deep mud.
'Fuck!' he yelled in the milliseconds before the director cut away to the newsreader, who spent the rest of the bulletin just about failing to wet her knickers.
Angelica glided over to the telephone and tapped out Jeremy's number.
"No, no trouble with Fido. The batteries are holding out just fine. And I'm learning to steer it and stop it. Although I've had an idea you might like to try out, steering by leaning over to one side or the other? Yes. You think you could? Hey, that's great! And when you come over, do you happen to have a map of the school? Including the woods and surroundings? You do? That would be rilly-rilly great!"
"Quick, before she comes round. Try that drawer there. No, the next one down."
"Bingo!" Valentina pulled out the card file and thumbed through it. It contained 230 cards, meticulously arranged by Forms with different coloured tags. She quickly found her own and pulled it out. "It was updated last week. 53 inches. She's even got the other measurements right. Then there's a load of stuff in shorthand..."
"What about mine?" Helvetica came over and stood dangerously close to Valentina, who found herself getting wet again. "Second one from the front."
"Updated Sunday. 63-25-39. She'll be able to change that soon enough."
Helvetica blushed prettily. "Never mind that. Check the bra size. SBMMLLCW6/XLP. Now we've got to find other girls who take the same size or three or four sizes bigger. There will be another card index in the drawer, arranged by size."
"This one? Why doesn't she use a computer?"
"She does, but she enjoys playing with the cards as well; moving them all around makes her rilly-rilly wet. And its quicker than the computer. Those coloured tags on the opposite side of each card are the bra sizes. See how it works? Dead simple. We're looking for the red tags for the MML size range. It's quite simple once you get to know about the sizes," Helvetica said quickly, seeing Valentina's expression of hopelessness. "She showed me how it all works once. Right, got it. Write down these names..."
Jeremy knocked on the door and pushed it open. "I've got your map. It's a bit creased, but it shows the whole school and about a mile all round. What did you want it for?"
Angelica glided into the kitchen and collided heavily with the fridge. She stopped. "Just to see where the new road will be going. And to see the old battlefield. Do you know, I've never been out that way. Not in real life, anyway."
Jeremy looked at her strangely. "Just in your dreams, you mean?"
"Yeah!"
"Funny thing." He spread the map on the table and pointed to the site of the battle. "That's where the battle is, and there's a little lane leads out there on the other side of the school boundary fence."
"Funny?"
"As I was coming across just now, there were a whole load of trucks going down that lane. Trucks don't go down there."
"Roadbuilders trucks? I've heard plenty of those round here."
"These weren't roadbuilders. They looked like a film crew. There was a big van with a chimney on top, like a mobile kitchen. And an old bus, and a generator."
"Wow! We gonna be in the movies?"
"It's the first I've heard of it. Hey, whatever you do, don't tell the girls! They'll all be pestering the crew trying to get jobs as extras."
"A typical crowd scene they'd make, with their boobies!"
"I wonder what film they're making. I might take a walk over there later and take a look."
"It's not stealing," said Helvetica for the tenth time. They were skulking along the corridor towards the Lower Sixth Form dormitory. The first three names on the list had been no use. The first one had a huge padlock on her wardrobe, presumably to protect a hoard of food or pornography. The second had one bra on a hook but it was the same size as the one Helvetica had just outgrown. The third girl was lying on her bed. As the two Juniors crept into the Senior dorm, she hastily shoved something out of sight beneath the bed covers and wiped her hands on a handful of industrial paper towel. The girls made an excuse and left.
"What was she doing, wanking at eleven o' clock in the morning?"
"Probably her Sex homework. It will be great when we're Fifths and get time off during the day to touch ourselves."
"I feel like a common thief, creeping around looking into people's belongings," said Valentina. "Especially the big girls."
"She has to be a big girl if her bra is going to fit me. Anyway, we're not stealing anything. Bras don't really belong to anyone. We only have them for a little while until they get too small. As Miss Clit says, they belong to the school. So we just pass them on to the other girls or give them to Miss Lundberg for her private collection. Here's Proudfoot's bed. What's in the wardrobe?"
"The usual stuff. No, hang on. What's this?"
"It looks big enough."
Valentina had thrust her head into one of the cups and pulled it closed beneath her chin. It's bigger than that one of yours," she said as she emerged blinking. "Smells good, too. A rilly-rilly fucky smell. I wonder if she's got any other stuff in here."
"I thought you were the one who was worried about nicking stuff," said Helvetica, holding the bra against her chest. "This might be just about big enough. It will last me a couple of days, at least. What else have you found?"
"Pants. Pyjamas. Shit, these smell tremendous!"
"Bloody hell, girl! Stop sniffing all her stuff. Bring a couple of pairs along if you like, to keep you going. I worry about you sometimes, Tee."
Valentina was stuffing clothes into a carrier bag. "Wow," she gasped, plunging her face into the bag and inhaling deeply. "I could bed this one! What's she look like?"
"Thick glasses and pigtails. Clumpy shoes. Always wears a hat, dead centre, tilted forwards. Freckles. Sandy hair. A bit of a mole on one cheek. Big sticking-out ears and knock-knees."
"And a seventy-inch bust and she smells like Sex with a big S. Does she really look like that, Vets?"
"Dunno. I've never seen her. C'mon, let's go."
"Hello, Santa!"
The girl looked around her without recognition. Then she saw me.
"Miss Gruntworthy! Where am I?"
"In the sick quarters. Nurse said you needed to catch up on lost fluids."
"Oh. What time is it?" The quadrangle clock obliged with five eardrum-bursting strokes. "Is it still Tuesday?" She tried to sit up.
"It's okay, lie still."
"I need to get away. It's choir practice over at Miss Grimbo's. I'm missing it."
"Choir practice? Have we got a school choir?"
"The Juniors have, Miss. Only five of us. Candelabra plays the piano, and there's What's-her-Name, and Valentina, and..." she gulped, "Helvetica Bold."
"Helvetica is in the choir?"
"Yes, Miss. She's got a lovely voice. We all love her, Miss."
"You do?"
"Yes, Miss. Don't you think she's beautiful? And so huge for a Junior! We can't believe how big her boobs are. And her moons, of course."
"Oh, of course!" I put on a crafty expression. "How big are they?"
Santa held out her hands as if describing a netball. "That's her moons," she said. "Her boobs are much bigger than that."
"You must be more precise, my dear, when describing breasts. If you know the cup size, or how big they are compared to say, beanbags, or ... perhaps if you actually know how big her bust is in inches, by any chance...?"
Santa looked at me blankly. "How would I know that?"
"Valentina showed you the ta ... I mean, didn't Helvetica ever tell you what her bust size is?"
"No, she never talks about it. Really big girls never do. They don't really need to, after all, do they?"
"They don't? But what if you had just happened to have been measuring Helvetica's bust last night, and someone — Valentina, perhaps — had asked you to read the numbers on the tape measure and write them down on a piece of paper?"
"Why should she do that?"
"Because she was so horny she couldn't see the fucking numbers," I screeched.
"I wouldn't remember anything like that, Miss." Santa shook her head sadly. "Nurse says I've got Ambrosia."
"You mean you've lost your memory?"
"I can't remember what it means, Miss."
"Perhaps you'll find it easier to remember if you write it out fifty thousand times..."
"I really ought to be getting over to Miss Grimbo's, Miss. We're doing the School Song, and they need me to do the Sha-la-la-la-laaa's."
"The what?"
She opened her mouth, ready to sing.
That was when Nurse came in with a huge jug of orange juice and a thermometer. "Are you still here?" she bellowed. "You've been sitting here all day. What are you after?"
"I've been waiting to ask Santa something. Something important."
Santa Claus eyed the jug of orange juice and licked her lips. "Is that all for me, Nurse Nightingale?"
"No, you're all better." She laid a hand on the patient's brow for all of three seconds. "Up you get. I need the bed. Another patient coming in. Emergency rehydration."
Santa bounded out of bed with a little squeal. "Oooh, great! I can get to choir practice after all!"
"Don't forget to get dressed first," said Nurse fondly. She turned to me. "You, out!"
"I'm going, I'm going."
Nurse was already stripping the bed and remaking it with a sheet so well-starched it could have stood up on its own. Then she looked up as the door opened and two hulking Fifth Formers came in with a stretcher, elbowing me aside. I only just had time to catch a glimpse of the new patient before Nurse's hand came down on my shoulder with a grip like steel and steered me out of the sick quarters. Santa Claus had disappeared.
And of course, it was then too late for me to wonder how — if Santa had Ambrosia — she could still remember the words of the St Cat's school song. Although I was sure there weren't any Sha-la-la-la-laaa's in it.
Anyway, there were far more disturbing things to think about. That new patient, for instance. Emergency rehydration. Catastrophic loss of fluid. The glimpse I had was very brief. But there had been no mistaking that pale face beneath the hairy blanket.
Miss Grimbo liked it! "It sounds great, kids! Although I'm not one hundred per cent sure about the shoo-wop doo-waddy-waddies in the middle."
Valentina shook her head. "It will sound better when there are twenty girls singing it instead of just two."
"You haven't rehearsed it with the rest of the class yet?" Angelica perched cross-legged on the Angelic-O-Glyde, nudging herself gently around the room with her rolled umbrella. What's-her-Name and Santa Claus had to keep scrambling up from their beanbags to avoid her.
"We've still got a couple more nights to practise, Miss."
"You want to perform it on Friday?"
"Yes, Miss! At the Sash Handover Ceremony. It will sound rilly-rilly great in the Assembly Hall. Helvetica can join in as soon as she's had it handed over to her."
"Miss Gruntworthy's got to kiss me," said Helvetica.
"In that case, we'd better be sure to get it right, then, girls," said Angelica. "Let's try it again from the top. "And I'll join in with you this time."
"Wow, yes, Miss!" said Valentina. "You've got a great voice!"
"Yeah, rilly-rilly loud!"
Angelica supposed Helvetica meant it in the nicest possible way. It just sounded vaguely disrespectful, somehow.
"If we leave out the shoo-wop doo-waddy-waddies for now, do you still want the sha-la-la-la-laa's, Miss?" Candelabra half turned on the piano stool.
Angelica tried not to stare at her. The piano-player's bust hadn't always been this big, surely? She began to understand how all the girls must feel, only in reverse. Whereas the girls, most of them, were incapable of recognising that she was growing faster than a pair of prize pumpkins in a growbag, she was surrounded by Juniors who seemed to need a new bra twice a day. Candelabra was only the latest in a growing list of growing girls. And as for Helvetica, her growth was almost obscene. She seemed to be having problems with her bra again.
"Ouch," she said.
"What's up, Vets?" Valentina was sitting very close to her friend, and she touched her tenderly at intervals. "Your bra too small again?"
"It's not too small, it's just the shape around the moons. Mine are a lot bigger than ... ouch!"
"A lot bigger than they used to be, yes."
"That's a funny thing, Vets." Santa looked at her with a quizzical look on her face. "While I was in bed in Nurse's place, Miss Gruntworthy kept asking me about how big your bust was."
"Miss Gruntworthy?"
"Yeah. And loads of weird stuff about Tina being so horny she couldn't read the numbers on the tape, and she had to get me to read it and write it down. I told her I had Ambrosia so I couldn't remember."
"It doesn't matter anyway," said Helvetica. "We found the piece of paper, and it's out of date. I'm bigger than that now."
"You mean you did ask me to write it down, after all?"
"Of course we did," said Valentina crossly. She wasn't too pleased that she had been revealed as too horny to read the numbers on a tape measure.
"Wow! So that means I did have Ambrosia after all!" Santa Claus swelled visibly with pride. "What was it, anyway," she asked after a few seconds of thought.
"Sixty-nine," said Helvetica, and Valentina went scarlet and spluttered into her hankie.
"Fucking hell!" said Santa Claus reverently.
"But that was last night. Going by the feel of this bra, I must be up to seventy-two by now."
"Did Miss Clit make that bra for you?"
Helvetica looked at Valentina uncertainly. "She made it, yeah. Why?"
Santa seemed pleased with herself. "'Cos she won't be making any new bras for a while. As I was coming out of the sick quarters, they brought a stretcher in. It was Miss Clit!"
"Miss Clit?" gasped Helvetica. "On a stretcher?"
"Miss Clit?" gasped Valentina. "What happened to her?"
"Miss Clitress?" gasped Angelica. "Where is my next bra coming from?"
I paced around the office and spun to face Corinne.
"No, I don't know what was the matter with her. Nurse slung me out, remember?"
"She didn't say what had happened?" Corinne had her sceptical expression on.
"Emergency rehydration, that's all Nurse said."
"Good grief, Shannie! Even our Juniors learn about the dangers of dehydration. If the girls see a senior and respected member of staff like Miss Clitress going down with catastrophic loss of fluid, it's going to reflect very badly on our methods. We're going to be a laughing stock. What caused it, anyway?"
"I don't know, do I? She's not lactating. She hasn't got her heating turned up too high; it's always freezing in the bra facility anyway. She says she likes to see erect nipples on a girl who's being measured. So if she's lost fluid, it must mean..."
"Who has she been seeing?"
"Angelica. And the Bold girl."
"Hmmm. And what do they have in common, apart from the blindingly obvious?"
The office door opened and Miss Labia slithered in. She opened the window, the quadrangle clock struck ten and she closed it again. "Cold this morning," she remarked and headed for the door again. "Try the TTM," she said with a foxy smirk." The door closed behind her.
"What's she mean by that?"
Corinne shrugged. "The Table Top Method. Unless she means Clit's been measuring Helvetica on the Dangle Table as well as Angelica."
"Got it in one," said Miss Labia's head, before it disappeared again.
"That's it, then," said Corinne. "Too much excitement. You know what she's like. Clit's not like you, there's not so much surplus flesh on her." Corinne can be so hurtful sometimes. "She's only got to flood her pants half a dozen times, and she'd be out of it. I bet she's found a way to get girls on to the Dangle Table without damaging themselves. If she's had those two up there, there'd be love juice swilling around on the floor."
"Cee, please!" She gets so earthy sometimes. I'm sure she never used to be like this in the good old days.
"You're going to have to put your foot down, Shan. A new school rule. You'll have to ban the use of the Dangle Table. In fact, you've got to ban the TTM altogether."
I could feel the colour draining out of my face. "You can't do that. I'd be..."
"We can't let personal feelings stand in the way of commonsense, Shan. We're in danger of losing our head corsetière."
"But without the TTM, I'd only be about..."
"Ninety inches isn't bad, Shan!"
"It's shamefully small. I wouldn't even be Form Head in the Thirds with that."
"You wouldn't be Form Head in the Thirds even with the aid of the Dangle Table. Not with Pansy in there."
"That's not the point. As Headmistress, I need a ten-foot bust."
"Shannie! Even every Junior knows the difference between your ten-foot bust and Sexy Amy's, for instance. About three feet. That's not the point. You don't need ten feet to command respect. Seven and a half feet isn't to be sneezed at. You're still bigger than me. So apart from Angelica, you've got the biggest bust of all the teachers. And you probably rank about number fifty or sixty in the whole school. That's not bad at all."
"It's no use. I can't ban the TTM and the Dangle Table. TTM is a staple of our whole ethos."
"A what? Since when did St Cat's have an ethos? We're talking about Clit, here. Nurse caught her in time, mercifully, and she's getting some fluids back into her, but we can't risk losing her altogether. Where would we find another foundation garment designer like her? As Support and Mobility Mistress, I have to put my foot down."
She stamped her small foot. The desk light flickered.
"Shit, what have you done now?"
"I don't know," she said. "Can you see anything different?"
We prowled around the room. Everything seemed normal. "Maybe we got away with it this time. We've got to do something about this thinking business, Cee."
"Fair enough. I'll think about it. But we'll come to an agreement. I'll think about doing something to stop random thoughts affecting reality. And you will introduce an immediate ban on the use of the Dangle Table and the TTM. Okay?"
"Yes, Miss Meadowlark," I said.
"Good. We'd better be getting in to the Assembly Hall for the Ceremony."
"The what?"
"The Ceremony of the Handing over of the Sash of Office for the First Form, Shannie."
"That's what I thought you said. That's not until Friday."
"Wake up, Headmistress! Look at the calendar."
"But it's only Wednesday. I was just telling you about Clit being taken to see Nurse last night."
"That was two days ago, Shannie. I worry about you sometimes. You'd better stick your flat hat on and get your fat arse along to the Assembly Hall. I reckon you've got ten minutes to get used to the idea of snogging Helvetica Bold. Properly, with no tongues."
CORINNE LED ME along the corridor, down the stairs and across the quad. I was in a daze. What was going on round here? How could I have I lost two complete days out of my life? Instead of it being Wednesday morning at ten o'clock, Corinne was convinced it was Friday at the same time.
As if that wasn't bad enough, she had torn two more days off the calendar. Not only the one in my office, she had attacked the one in Miss Labia's office as well. And as she had lugged me out of the office with my heels scraping across the carpet, I happened to notice that she had altered the clock on Labia's computer. Now how did she do that in a matter of seconds without Labia noticing?
It had sinister overtones, or undertones. If I didn't know better, I would have suspected that Corinne's thoughts were now affecting other computers, not just the biggest one in the world on the remote island of Fuckh. That was all I needed!
She had somehow brought the girls in on the act, too. They were all in the Assembly Hall waiting more or less impatiently for the show to start. Even the rest of the staff had been fooled. They sat on their chairs on the stage, waiting for me to take up my position.
Never let it be said that Chauntaille Gruntworthy couldn't set aside a minor matter like two missing days out of the school year. Impatiently, I shook off Corinne's helping arm and climbed on to the stage, holding up a hand to stop the applause. Not that there was any, but it seemed like the right thing to do. I even took a moment to glance down at myself to make sure that Corinne hadn't sent me out in public again in a state of partial undress. The inventory was complete: crisp white blouse and black bow tie, my most flattering skirt, sensible black shoes. I assumed the presence of panties and took a surreptitious squeeze to check for the presence of a bra. All present and correct.
To gain time, I took a slow turn and surveyed the staff. Smegs was there, with bags under her eyes again, toying with what looked suspiciously like a bunch of brand new car keys. Miss Lundberg sat next to her, then Miss Labia, Nurse, Clit, — looking pale but reasonably fit, I was glad to observe — and Corinne just taking her seat on the end. Jeremy was nowhere to be seen, nor was Angelica, and Molly Malone we all knew about. I turned to face the audience again.
They looked wonderful. From the Senior girls at the back of the hall, through the Middles to the respectfully-smirking First Form in the front rows, the girls of St Cat's High School for Growing Girls offered a spreading vista of bosomy pulchritude. Down the aisle at the side of the hall were those girls too large for even a short journey without mechanical assistance, their best downstairs barrows gleaming with fresh paint and bulging with mounded breast-flesh, ranged in echelon formation with their wheels pointing inwards. The faces on the framed erotic paintings along the walls beamed down on them fondly.
I spun round and mouthed a question at Corinne. "Where is she?"
Silently she mouthed something back, although it was hard to work out what she was saying as she kept her hand in front of her mouth. After two or three tries, I had to wave to her to come over to me. The girls were giggling rudely. God! Corinne was huge. Why hadn't I noticed? She wobbled over and stood by my side.
"Your tits are enormous!" I told her.
"I know. You didn't call me over here just to tell me that?"
"Of course I didn't! Where is she?" I hissed fiercely at her.
Corinne whispered back. "Helvetica? Don't worry, she's been briefed. She's waiting out the back. Clit's brought the Sash for her. You know what to do?"
"Of course I know what to do!"
"Good. I'll leave you to it, then."
"Wait, don't go! What do I have to do?"
"Jeez! You make the announcement, Helvetica will come in and wiggle alluringly across the stage to stand just here. You have to explain why Sally isn't here and that you're..."
"What do I tell them about Sally...?"
"She's away for a while. And in the absence of the Form Head, it falls to you, stuff like that. Then you put the Sash round Helvetica's middle, tie it in a bow at the back, then you kiss her over her shoulder. Properly..."
"...with no tongues. I know that bit. That's all that happens?"
"Yes, you wish her every success, then dismiss the school for the day."
"Dismiss them?"
"They always get the rest of the day off after a Sash Handover, Shan. You know that, surely?"
"Of course. How long have we been doing that?"
"It's traditional. Although this is the first time we've actually done it. It will do them good, having Friday afternoon off. They can go for walks and things like that. It's a nice day out there. Come on, get on with it!"
I made a note to do something about Corinne. She tends to get above herself. I held up a hand for silence, while adjusting the crotch of my panties with the other. The school fell into a respectful and expectant hush.
"Girls!" Doing okay so far. "We are gathered here together on this Wednesd ... Friday morning, to witness one of those memorable ceremonies which you will carry with you through life for the rest of your days, long after St Cat's is but a distant memory. You are all aware of the school rule governing the appointment of Head Girl of the school and of individual Form Heads. It is always a proud moment for me, for you, for the whole school, when the role of Form Head changes hands."
I changed hands, adjusting my panties now with my left hand while wiping my right on the side of my skirt. A roll of industrial paper towel would be really useful right now.
"Today, we are to see the handover of the First Form Sash to a new Form Head. Please step forward, Helvetica Bold!"
And I turned expectantly to see Helvetica threading her way between the staff seats on the stage. I heard a sharp little gasp and realised it was me doing the gasping. The teachers murmured congratulations to Helvetica as she passed. Clit looked at her critically and shook her head. The corsetière was dissatisfied about something. She handed over the new Sash without a word and Helvetica came wiggling across the stage to stand by my side. "Here's the Sash, Miss," she murmured huskily.
My mouth was open, but no sound would come out. The school was having the same problem. The only sound in the hall was coming from the First Form in the very front row. They were making excited twittering noises like agitated mice. Their Form Head had a pair to be proud of. Her classmates, her subjects, could hold up their heads in any company.
The rest of the girls, further back in the hall, looked on with mingled envy and lust. Plenty of them were bigger than Helvetica, but plenty of them weren't. They all felt threatened by this presumptuous Junior.
I didn't really know what to feel, so I felt the first thing that came into my head. Giggles broke out around the hall. "Wow, is this blouse silk? It feels so ... silky!"
"That's because it's silk, Miss. Wild silk. It's one of Miss Grimbo's old ones." Helvetica looked down and from side to side, unable to take in the whole of her frontage in a single look. "Of course, it's a bit tight on me now..."
"I can feel ... see that," I confirmed. "So is your bra. That's not one of Miss Grimbeau's as well, is it?"
"Erm, no." The girl sounded evasive. "I had to borrow it. Miss Clitress has been off sick, Miss."
I thought it was probably time to take my hands off her breasts, although I had to admit it felt quite pleasant, they were so full and warm and heavy. Two hundred girls sighed as I gently let go of the things and allowed them to sink under their considerable weight to rest on Helvetica's tummy.
"Are you going to kiss me, Miss?"
"I have to, yes."
"Good. I've brushed my teeth, just in case."
"I have to tie the Sash round your middle, first. You will have to lift your chest up a little so I can get it underneath them."
"Oooh, Miss!" She did as I asked, although not without a great deal of exaggerated puffing and panting. The Sash slid round her waist and I tied it at the back in the regulation bow.
"Is this skirt rubber?"
"Latex, Miss." She released one hand from its breast-lifting duties to run squeaky fingers down one black-latex-skinned thigh. "Do you like it? It's one of Miss Grimbo's old ones, Miss. We're the same size now down there."
Giggles broke out, and a voice called out something coarse from the ranks of the Fourth Form.
"Thank you, girls. That will be quite sufficient. Helvetica having demonstrated that she is now the possessor of the largest bust measurement in her Form, and the White Sash of Office now having duly been ceremonially and solemnly tied round Helvetica's waist, she is hereby ceremonially, solemnly and duly installed as Form Head of the First Form at St Cat's High School for Growing Girls." A respectful hush had fallen at the sound of the ritual words. Tears of pride glistened on English rose-complexioned cheeks. If there's one thing St Cat's girls love, it's a bit of tradition. Well, in fact, if there's one thing St Cat's girls love, it's almost certainly fucking, but tradition runs it a very close second. "It remains only for the outgoing Form Head to seal the Handover with the Kiss. Unusually, the outgoing Form Head is unable to be with us on this occasion..."
A tense silence fell as we all strained our ears for hoofbeats and gunfire, but Sally Chung was obviously out of range.
"So as Headmistress of St Cat's High School for Growing Girls, it falls to me to administer the Kiss!"
Helvetica ritually turned her back on me, looked back over her left shoulder and offered her upturned lips, eyes closed in anticipation.
"Miss!" An agitated whisper from down below the stage.
"Not now!" I manoeuvred my breasts to one side so I could stand closer behind Helvetica.
"Miss, please!"
"Sh-hhh!"
"Please, Miss...?"
I bent my head and closed my eyes. My lips unerringly met Helvetica's and we began a mutual exchange of bodily fluids.
"No tongues, Miss!" I dimly recognised the coarse voice from the Fourth Form. It earned itself a laugh.
"Please, Miss...?"
What did that wretched little creature want? Why couldn't she wait? This ceremony was a solemn and ancient St Cat's tradition. Little girls couldn't come barging in asking stupid questions in the middle of it. Why wasn't she standing with her classmates, anyway, whoever they were. I opened one eye and became aware of Dawn Chorus, the school photographer, moving in for a close-up. Her camera whirred and flashed, then set up a high-pitched whine as the film rewound itself. Meanwhile she had changed to another camera, switching angles, coming closer, shooting dozens of pictures. She paused, reloading three of her cameras with bewildering speed, slamming the camera bodies closed with military ferocity before somehow pressing the shutter releases of all three cameras simultaneously as she scrambled to the top of her little aluminium step ladder to get a top view.
"Please, Miss...?"
I heaved at my blouse buttons to expose more cleavage. Helvetica, her eyes still tight shut, had already unfastened the top dozen or so buttons of Angelica's borrowed black silk blouse.
"Black?" I shrieked, disengaging from Helvetica's suctioning lips. "You're wearing a black blouse!"
"Yes, Miss." Her face glowed with arousal; her lips were bee-stung. "I thought you'd noticed..."
"School uniform is a white blouse. You're not allowed to wear black."
"You tell the little bitch, Miss!" That coarse Fourth Form girl again.
"Please, Miss...!"
Was that kid still hanging around?
A piercing whistle sundered the air. Helvetica went rigid and bit my tongue. Dawn Chorus came clattering down off her step ladder, cursing strenuously.
"What the fuck...?"
"Ouch! Who was that?"
"Please, Miss!"
"Was that you whistling, child?"
"Yes, Miss. I thought maybe you couldn't hear me. I can do it even louder if I use my fingers." She thrust a couple of fingers into her mouth, prepared to demonstrate. The school clapped its hands to its ears.
"No! What do you want, anyway? And what's your stupid name?"
"Cassiopæia Cassowary, Miss. It is pretty stupid, isn't it? It's my Dad's fault."
"Why aren't you with your class?"
"I haven't got a class, Miss. I don't go to St Cat's, Miss. I'm an extra."
"You're a what?"
"An extra. I'm with the Film Company. We're shooting over the way, just outside the fence."
"What are you talking about, girl?"
Corinne got up and came over to us. "There's a film crew shooting some film or other just outside the school grounds. I don't know how it happened, Shannie. I probably thought something and it just sort of occurred. Cassiopæia is a film extra. She gets paid a hundred pounds a day to dress up and pretend to be a schoolgirl."
I looked at Cassiopæia . She was a little under five feet tall, with shiny black hair hanging in a curtain around her elfin face. She looked a most convincing St Cat's schoolgirl. Even down to her most distinctive feature.
"How old are you?" I asked her.
"Twenty-four, Miss. I'm very small for my age. Except up here, of course." She shook her bosom from side to side. Everything moved a long, long way. Helvetica broke off the kiss for a while to watch the show. Dawn Chorus took a series of quick shots before producing a business card and a model release and handing them to Cassiopæia , who thanked her, signed and returned the model release, lifted her hair out of the way and tucked the business card into the top of her bra cup. It must have been a tight fit. She buttoned her blouse again and patted her breast in a reassuring way.
"Don't you want to know why she's here, Shan?"
"Don't you want to know why I'm here, Miss?"
"Why is she here? Why are you here?"
"It's a bit of an emergency, actually, Miss. That's why I whistled. Dad taught me to do that. I can stop the traffic in London, Miss."
She could probably stop the traffic without needing to whistle, I thought. She was rather large-breasted by any standards.
"Emergency?" Corinne took over the interrogation. I wished she wouldn't do that sort of thing.
"I'll handle this, Miss Meadowlark." That would put her in her place.
"Emergency, yes," said Cassiopæia . "They're building a new..."
"There was no need to whistle," I told her severely. "Ladies of gentle upbringing don't whistle..."
"I think it's an emergency, Shannie..."
"It's an emergency, Miss!"
"I don't care if there's a war starting. I don't care if ... if they're coming to bulldoze the school flat and build a road through the middle of it, you can't barge in here interrupting a time-honoured ceremony, whistling all over the place."
"You weren't having a time-honoured ceremony, you were snogging that other woman," Cassiopæia protested. Helvetica swelled with pride at being referred to as a woman. Things began to look distinctly stressed inside her borrowed blouse. "And I'd been trying to attract your attention for ages. I kept saying, 'please, Miss,' but you wouldn't take any notice. You were too busy chewing her tongue."
"I was not!"
"Yes, you were, Miss," said Helvetica. Her face went dreamy. "It was nice."
"You'd better find out what the emergency is, Shannie."
"What emergency?"
"The bulldozers, Miss," sighed Cassiopæia , her epic breasts rising like weather balloons beneath her absurdly large blouse.
"Are those things real?" I asked her, narrowing my eyes.
"Shan, please!" Corinne snapped. "Listen to what she's got to say!"
"I've asked her a question!"
"Oh, fuck it!" Corinne stamped her foot. It almost went through the stage. The lights in the hall dimmed briefly then came back to their normal brilliance.
"Did you do that?" I asked her.
"Probably."
"I've warned you before..."
"I couldn't help it. You're enough to drive anyone mad. There's a girl here trying to tell you something important. Listen to her!"
Cassiopæia came wobbling massively up the steps on to the stage, and the school gasped as it got its first good look at her. She was pretty impressive, especially for a twenty-four year old. She held up both hands for silence. "Thank you, girls," she said. "I must ask you not to panic, but to leave the hall in an orderly manner. Once outside, form up in your classes in the quadrangle so we can count you all. We will then allow you to march to the woods..."
"March?" I protested. "St Cat's girls don't march!" I tried to imagine what such a thing would look like. In fact, on due consideration, it didn't seem like such a bad idea.
Cassiopæia hadn't finished. "Once you get to the woods, stand by for further orders. We don't want any of you getting hurt." She broke off as Dawn Chorus loosed off a stream of profanity and went crashing and clanking down the side of the hall past the wheelbarrows.
"Press!" she howled. "Make way, I'm an official press photographer!"
Cassiopæia continued her instructions. "Right, barrows will leave first, through the back door, followed by the Seniors. The Juniors and Middles will exit via the fire doors at the front of the hall. There is no need to hurry. We will all be outside in two minutes. Barrows, please leave now."
There was a general burst of good-natured cursing and clanking as the barrow-girls sorted themselves out and trundled their wobbling burdens to the doorway. Cassiopæia was right. In less than two minutes, without a trace of panic, the assembly hall was empty of girls. It was an impressive demonstration of calmness under pressure.
The staff were still gathered on the stage, struck dumb by events.
Cassiopæia turned to us with a smile of satisfaction. "Thank you, ladies. I think you may leave now."
"Let's get outta here," I yelled, leading the rush for the door. Despite my head start, I was overtaken by all the others and thrust out of the way. They surged past, more or less flattening me against the wall.
"Come on, Miss!" Helvetica helped me to my feet. "We need you to make a good impression."
Helvetica and I emerged, blinking, into the sunlight. Already, girls were formed up into little groups of thirty or so, waiting for the word of command. Corinne seemed to have resumed command. Cassiopæia nodded to her, as if giving her permission to carry on.
"Seniors first," Corinne yelled. "Qui-iiick, march!"
To my surprise, a military band struck up a brisk marching tune. I couldn't see them anywhere, but they can't have been far away.
The barrows led each class, rising and falling as they negotiated the humps and hollows of the footpaths. Following along behind, the Senior girls, then the barrows from the Middles, then the Middle girls. The Juniors had no barrow-girls, although there were certainly one or two wheelbarrow candidates among them. Perhaps there was some kind of inverted snobbery at work here. Something for the Support and Mobility Mistress to investigate one day, when she had a spare moment.
Teachers strode along beside the groups of girls, keeping them in good order with little barking cries. I was left with the First Form to look after. They formed themselves into a loose bunch and strolled along, chattering happily, occasionally casting glances of corporate pride at Helvetica, who walked with her headmistress. Valentina detached herself from her colleagues and came up on the other side of Helvetica. She had her child in the crook of her arm. Arthur. He gurgled happily at me. I felt slightly embarrassed. I always do when babies gurgle at me. They always seem to know something.
"What's happening, Miss?"
I wished I knew. "I wish I knew," I said. "But we're soon going to find out, when we get to wherever we're going."
"Don't you even know where we're going, Miss?"
"Of course not. Nobody ever tells me anything round here." We plodded on in companionable silence for a while.
"We think Helvetica's stopped growing now, Miss," said Valentina out of the blue.
You certainly could have fooled me. The girl was immense.
"We measured me this morning, Miss," Helvetica said. "I was the same size as last night, when Valentina creamed me. She creams me every night."
There were two vital pieces of information here. My brain spun out of control, trying to decide which to process first. It stabilised and came to a decision. "How big?" I panted hoarsely.
"Thirty-eight, Miss!" Helvetica said it with a husky giggle.
"Don't be silly, Helvetica!" A cold sweat crept down my back.
"She's not, Miss. That's what she is! We tried laying her on the homework table in the dorm, but you can imagine what that was like with her tits hanging over the edge."
She was quite right, I could.
Helvetica giggled again. "Yeah, that rilly-rilly hurts! So a couple of nights ago, when I was getting creamed, Tina decided to measure just one of my tits. Actually, that was because we only had What's-her-Name's sixty-inch tape measure. Anyway, she wrapped it round one tit. All the way round the fattest part. It came to thirty-five inches," she added, blushing prettily.
Valentina took up the story. "And last night, she was thirty-eight round there, Miss. But she's still thirty-eight this morning, so it looks as if that's as big as she's going to get. It's a pity, Miss, but thirty-eight's not a bad size really. Not for one tit. I think there might even be some women in the world who are only that big around both."
I had to stop to regain my breath. The Junior girls straggled to a halt and watched me. "Not too far now, Miss," said Valentina encouragingly. "And we can get some industrial paper towel for you from the Wendy House, as we seem to be going that way."
"You said you were creaming Helvetica every night? What with?"
"Just plain cream, Miss," said Valentina with an expression of injured innocence. "There's nothing in it. Well, maybe a bit of Love, but no Puff. Not much, anyway. Although it doesn't really matter if there is Puff in it. Puff seems to stop working after a while."
It was all too much for me to take in. We had almost reached the rest of the girls. And some kind of disturbance seemed to be taking place.