HELVETICA DIDN'T HEAD BACK to the dorm. There was some activity around the Wendy House, and she thought some of her friends might be there. The path was uneven underfoot and it was hard going in the darkness, even when the moon came out briefly. It was on one of these moonlit moments that she stopped to get her bearings. The path weaved about in such a scenic fashion as it dodged between the trees that the Wendy House was now off to her right. It seemed no closer after two or three minutes' walking than it had been when she left Jeremy's shed. "Shit," she muttered, then froze, aware of movement in the bushes to her left. A sudden metallic clank brought her heart into her mouth. Perhaps wandering around in the woods at night wasn't such a brilliant idea after all. Then she heard a girl's voice, singing softly. It was a reassuring sound. "Who's there?" she whispered, taking a few steps forward.
The singing stopped, and was replaced by a stream of muttered curses. "Fucking thing!" The moon suddenly came out with full brilliance. There, in front of Helvetica was a girl, clearly pregnant even from this angle, and obviously hugely-endowed from any angle. She was punching something continually with her fist and getting rather annoyed. "Oh, fuck it," she said at last and turned round. "Oh, hi," she said, not at all put out by the sudden appearance of another girl behind her. I can never make these things work. My tits get in the way."
"Hi, Pansy." Helvetica recognised her now. There weren't too many girls that shape at St Cat's. And certainly not many St Cat's girls with that shape who would walk around the school dressed in a gigantically wobbling T-shirt with a cleavage fully four feet deep and a skirt so short you could see every detail of the wearer's pubic hair. "What's the matter?"
Pansy stepped back, revealing a set of three panty-disposal bins attached to a stout chestnut tree. I'm sopping wet, so I fancied a change, but I can't get my knickers in the slot. It's okay for some, but my arms aren't really long enough. Would you mind?"
Helvetica was happy to oblige. In fact, a change of underwear sounded like a good idea for her too. She reached down and peeled off her own, noticing to her shame that they were actually dripping. Hastily she selected the appropriate slot and heard them fall with a soft thud into the bin.
"You're not really supposed to squeeze them out first," Pansy admonished her, handing over her own cold and soggy scrap of material. "First slot," she said, "Straight Type A." Helvetica blushed in the darkness and disposed of them, too. "What size?" asked Pansy.
"What?"
"What size clean ones do you want? Small, Medium or Huge?"
"Haven't they got any Large?"
"Of course not. Since when did they ever have any of the most popular size?" Pansy worked the handle and extracted a little packet from the dispenser. "Medium, then. Same as me." She tried again, swore colourfully and began raining blows on the machine. "Fucking thing! It's out of Mediums now!"
"I'll have Huge, then. My hips are quite wide for my age," said Helvetica, a little frightened of this terribly foul-mouthed and violent Third Former.
"Are you sure?" enquired Pansy, instantly regaining her good temper. "It doesn't really matter to me. I won't be wearing them very long, with any luck. I'm going out shagging. Towel?"
"What?"
"Have some industrial paper towel. You're supposed to dry yourself off before you put a new pair on. Don't they teach you Personal Hygiene in the Firsts any more?" She handed over a generous handful, then raised one foot on to a tree stump and began wiping herself intimately. Helvetica, blushing hotly, followed her example, then the two of them pulled up their clean underwear with little grunts and sighs.
"Shagging?" Helvetica asked. "Out here in the woods?" She peered around as if expecting boys to materialise between the trees.
"I had a date with one of the road builders. Irish, with red hair. That's why I brought this tub of Grow." She kicked the tub with a dull thud. "I wondered if he could really make the earth move. But he didn't show. I'll get the bus down town instead. If I don't get laid tonight, I'm going to explode! Where are you going?" she asked curiously as Helvetica sidled away and tried to hide behind a tree.
Helvetica came back sheepishly. To her surprise, Pansy took her by the hand. "Girls don't explode," she said softly. "It's just a figure of speech." Pansy picked up her heavy little plastic tub from the ground and still holding hands they began to stroll in the general direction of the main gate and, incidentally, the Wendy House.
"I just had beans on toast with Jeremy," said Helvetica as casually as she could, her heart fluttering in her chest like a flock of starlings.
"Oh, yeah? I didn't think he was doing Juniors these days. He said he had to be more careful. How was it? For you, I mean."
"Oh, not bad. Nice and hot. He put a bit too much pepper on it."
Pansy looked up at the busty First Form Head and grinned to herself. "What are you, anyway?"
"I'm the new Head Girl of the First Form."
"No, I mean, are you straight, or do you prefer boys?"
Helvetica thought about that for a moment. She realised she preferred men to boys. "Both, really. I like girls best, though. Or maybe one girl..."
Pansy nodded. Helvetica was a normal enough St Cat's girl. She stopped abruptly and put her hand on Helvetica's arm. "What's going on here, then?" There was the chariot thing by the door of the Wendy House, the gigantic figure of Miss Grimbo standing on it, and a conference involving Miss Mountains at the back. Voices were raised in argument.
Pansy and Helvetica went closer, unobserved beneath the trees.
"She's even bigger than me!" muttered Pansy, shaking her head.
"You noticed?" Helvetica was surprised. She had thought it was only herself and Valentina who could see the steady growth of Miss Grimbo.
Pansy frowned. "You have the same trouble in the Firsts? Some of the girls can't see how big she's getting?"
"Most of them. Just me and Valentina, really."
"Nurse's brat. Fucking disgrace, getting pregnant at that age."
Helvetica gasped. Here was Pansy, pregnant for the third time. Hardly surprising, really, shagging earth-movers every night. She recalled Jeremy's words. 'Promise me ... when you're old enough to do it...' The events of the evening crowded into her mind. Before she could stop herself, she farted resoundingly and at some length. "Sorry!" she said as Pansy snorted with laughter and punched her on the arm. "Baked beans..."
"Same here," said Pansy, raising a leg daintily and producing a mighty echoing trumpet blast that brought clusters of leaves and conkers down from the trees. It went on for at least five seconds. "Bloody hell, that was a doozie! I always fart a lot when I'm pregnant. That's most of the time, I suppose."
"We're doing it my way. Shut up, the lot of you!" Smegs put her foot down. To her surprise, the babel of voices stopped, the Borcester posse recognising the tone of authority. They had teachers at their own school, as well. They waited patiently for Smegs to tell them what to do. The teacher yelled at them, "Get on with it, then!"
"But we're waiting for you to tell us what to do."
"Good grief! I've been telling you for the last ten minutes." Distantly, the quadrangle clock struck six, and the girls of the Borcester posse clutched at their ears and cowered away from the din. How could anyone live in this madhouse, they wondered for the millionth time. Smegs adopted a tone suitable for teaching algebra to a performing seal. "Put the blanket on the ground behind the Sweet Chariot..."
"Why do you call it that, Miss?" asked Sandra.
"What?"
"Why do you call it a sweet chariot?"
Angelica raised her eyes to the heavens. "Sheesh! Get on with it, I'm bursting for a pee."
"Each of you take a corner of the blanket. Get down on your knees." Smegs watched in exasperation as the four girls jostled and argued about which corner they wanted. After several minutes they ended up where they had started, down on their knees, ready to go.
"Ouch!"
"What is it, Jennie?"
"I just knelt on me nipple!"
"Don't they teach you anything at that school you go to?"
The girls stared at one another and shook their heads. What a ridiculous idea.
"Okay. Jennie, stop sucking your breast and put it down, please. On the floor where you won't be tempted to play with it. Thank you."
"But the milk..."
"Shut up and do as you're told! Now if you're all ready?"
"Miss...!"
"All ready! I will count to three. On three, Miss Grimbeau will step backwards on to the blanket, her breasts will follow her, and as she continues to walk backwards off the edge of the blanket, you will lift smartly on your corner of the blanket and raise her breasts clear of the ground. Then pause and await further instructions. Any questions?"
"Miss...?"
"Shut up, Jennie!"
"She only wanted to tell you..."
"Sandra! Please be quiet. I know perfectly well what Jennie is trying to say. When Miss Grimbeau steps off the back of the Sweet Chariot, the weight distribution will change and the girls on the shafts will need to change from holding the shafts down to holding the shafts up. I will call out to them at the precise moment."
The posse looked nervously at each other, shrugged and kept quiet.
"Ready? One ... two ... three!"
Angelica took a pace backwards. The centre of gravity of the chariot moved further back. Sally and Monica, deep in conversation, bore down on the shafts. Angelica stepped back again, feeling her breasts start to slide reluctantly across the rough floor of the chariot. They were so heavy, and she had to drag them back by brute force. She felt behind her with one foot. It dangled in space.
"Stepping down now," she sang out, reaching for the ground with her toes. "Ouch, my tits...!"
"Not you as well. Stop complaining!" Smegs cleared her throat. "Ready up at the front? Ready? Step down, Angel, and ... ready Monica! Now!"
Angelica stepped back. Her breasts failed to follow. "Ow-ow-ow!"
"Whaddya want, Miss?" Monica appeared, looking earnestly up at Smegs for instructions. "Wow, Miss Grimbo's getting off!"
"I'm getting back on," Angelica yelled. "They're stuck!" And she half leapt, half clambered on to the back of the Sweet Chariot, clinging on for dear life to the handrails at the sides.
"Look out, Miss!" The four blanket girls and Monica yelled a warning to anyone who cared to listen, then they bolted out of the way as the back of the Sweet Chariot tilted down, slowly at first, then with increasing speed. It passed its normal slightly tilted parking position and carried on down until the steps at the back rested on the ground.
"Eeeek!" squealed Angelica.
"Eeeek!" howled Sally Chung, as she was snatched from the ground and whisked into the air, clinging to both shafts. They were necessarily far enough apart to accommodate a horse. Sally's arms were spread wide. So were her kicking legs as she soared upwards. Her camouflage trousers slid down and fluttered away, revealing a pair of sturdy calves, army socks and clumpy boots several sizes larger than one might reasonably expect. Higher up, Sally was not wearing panties. Smegs observed this fact and made a mental note to reprimand the girl severely as soon as all this was over.
It wasn't over yet.
Unable to hang on with the cart now tilted backwards almost at right angles, Angelica let go and rolled on to her back on the blanket. Her breasts, free at last to roll rather than be dragged, tumbled down on top of her.
"Mmmpphhh!" she observed unhappily.
It still wasn't over.
Sally Chung was no lightweight. Once the ponderous bulk of Miss Grimbeau was clear of the vehicle, the shafts would normally have returned to their accustomed angle. With Sally on board, they came down without hesitation. Sally, who had had the presence of mind to let go before she was driven into the ground, landed a fraction of a second later, in one of the more juicy areas of yellow mud.
Helvetica and Pansy witnessed the whole impressive scene.
"Wow!" they agreed, when things came to rest.
Smegs was digging for Angelica, moving aside the huge masses of breast to find her lover. The posse stood around uncertainly, wondering what time the next bus left for Borcester.
Helvetica sprang forward, with Pansy following in her wake. "Sally! Sall-ee!"
Poor Sally was lying face down in the mud. Just about the only part of her which hadn't received a coating of yellow slime was her bottom, which stuck up in the air. Her bottoms, to be more precise, as Sally's knicker-less state was apparent from this angle. Helvetica and Pansy grabbed a leg each and pulled on the huge army boots until Sally emerged from the ooze with a great sucking sound.
"Sally? You all right?" Helvetica pulled her upright and wiped a handful of mud off her classmate's face. Tears left clean little tracks through the mudpack. Sally nodded numbly. "She's all right!" yelled Helvetica.
"Any broken bones?" Pansy poked and prodded Sally wherever she imagined the girl's skeleton might be. It wasn't easy. Sally was a substantial and well-fleshed girl in many places.
"She's all right. Aren't you, Sally?" Helvetica hugged her. "We've got to kiss each other now," she said. "I'm the new Head Girl of the Firsts!"
"You get away from her," snarled a voice, serious with menace.
"It's the ritual," insisted Helvetica. "I'm seventy-two inches! I had to kiss Miss Gruntworthy this morning, but it should really have been Sally. No tongues, of course..."
"Let her alone, she's mine." Vanessa stood aggressively with arms akimbo. "She's my girlfriend. You touch her and I'll flatten you."
The posse had assembled. "Leave her alone, you, she's her girlfriend. You touch her and she'll flatten you," they repeated.
"Sally's been trying to shoot her for the last fortnight," Pansy pointed out.
"Come on, Sally, just a ritual kiss. No tongues..."
"Get off her, I said!" Helvetica felt herself being hauled back by the scruff of her neck. She flung out an arm and felt a satisfying contact.
"Ouch, you bitch!"
"Grrrrr!" The posse were looking even uglier than usual.
"Get away from her," Pansy yelled, taking a deep breath and bouncing a monstrous breast between the posse and the two combatants, who had flopped into the mud and were now rolling over and over, already indistinguishable.
"'Nessa! Vets!" Sally hovered on the outskirts of the mud-wrestling bout, trying to grab a limb from time to time. "Vets, get off her. Nessa, she's seventy-two inches! She's got to kiss me..."
"What's going on over here? I couldn't hear myself think back in my shed." Jeremy summed things up at a glance and tried to help Smegs disentangle Angelica from her breasts without actually touching anything.
Smegs finally got things sorted and arranged Angelica with arms, legs and breasts pointing in various directions like a rather lumpy starfish. Angelica panted and rolled her eyes, not yet available for comment.
"We were getting Angelica off the Sweet Chariot. It tipped up on its back."
"I was going to do something about that," Jeremy admitted. "Not enough time. It needs another couple of supports under the back step. Still," he examined the little vehicle. "No damage done."
"There might be damage to Sally," said Smegs. "She was holding the shafts down."
"On her own?"
"It's a question of levverage."
"Lee-verage," Angelica translated from the ground.
"Anyway, she shot up in the air. Her trousers came off and she wasn't wearing any panties. When Angelica rolled off the back, she came down with a thump. I think she landed on her front."
"She landed on something soft, then," Jeremy laughed.
"It's not funny. If her dad finds out, St Cat's will be in deep shit."
"I think she's all right." Jeremy nodded in the direction of the sporting contest, where cheers now rang out at regular intervals. "How's it going, Pan?" he asked, as Pansy came up with a large leather satchel over her shoulder.
"I can give you five to two about Vanessa, right now. Helvetica's evens..." She tore off a ticket and dropped Jeremy's five one pound coins into her satchel. "You, Miss? And you, Miss Grimbo?"
"A pound on Helvetica, please."
"How much do I get if Helvetica wins?"
"You get your pound back, plus fifty pence."
"That's not right!"
"I'm deducting tax and commission. Hey, you don't want to take over the book, Miss Mountains? I rilly-rilly want to get the next bus and get fucked. I'm in serious danger of exploding if I don't get reamed tonight."
"Pansy! Think of Mr Jeremy!"
"I wouldn't mind, but I'm under age and he's got to be careful." Pansy eyed the caretaker and an idea came to her. You could run me into Borcester, couldn't you? In your Jag, or Miss Mountains's BMW."
"In my what? Jeremy is certainly not using my car for ferrying young girls into town in search of sex..."
"Ah, I meant to tell you, Megan. I took it in to Borcester and had it repaired. It's as good as new, but we need to take it back to get the upholstery cleaned. Helvetica leaked on the front seat..."
"She what?"
Pansy smothered her giggles. Angelica hid her face in her hands.
"She was chatting up the boys at the garage and she got a bit moist. Well, more wet than moist, really. Sopping, actually. It's just the one seat. I'm sorry. The rest of the body's fine, they made a top job of it. I'm sorry, Smegs."
Smegs was about to unleash another burst of abuse but she changed her mind. "Let's go and stop this fight, then we'll get Angelica inside."
They stood Helvetica and Vanessa and Sally up against the tracks of Sally's tank and sluiced them clean with buckets of water. All three of them were now pawing and licking and fingering and sucking and clinging to each other in a state of almost embarrassingly high arousal. The 'no tongues' rule had long since gone out of the window.
Inside the Wendy House, Smegs and Jeremy made sandwiches and noisy love in the kitchen, while Angelica scooted around on her Angelic-O-Glyde, preparing a mountain of toasted crumpets and butter, with jam and honey and lemon curd and marmalade. A chocolate cake had appeared from somewhere, then a motorcycle roared up and crashed heavily into a tree when the rider saw the three naked and indescribably well-developed girls now draped in explicitly abandoned poses on the turret of the tank. Vanessa was straddling the gun barrel.
The posse rescued the motorcyclist's cargo of pizzas and carried them triumphantly into the Wendy House, while Pansy did her best to revive the rider, using the ever popular mouth-to-mouth method. He recovered consciousness and quite reasonably assumed he had died and gone to heaven. The last thing he had seen in the beam of his headlight before he had crashed had been three naked wet girls with absolutely giant tits. Now, waking up, he saw bouncing above him one pair of jugs bigger than all three of them put together. They were cradled, if that was the word, in a deeply low-cut T-shirt and while they were supported by a bra of staggering immensity, they swung about a foot to each side with every tiny movement their owner made.
It had been a good life, he thought, as he passed out again with a smile on his face. It was several minutes before Pansy could bring him round again, then she led the dazed boy away into the woods to succour him. She knew where there was a Jaguar with an empty back seat.
Peace descended on the Wendy House.
THE QUADRANGLE CLOCK ought to have struck nine. In the office, we awoke from our alcoholic haze and sat up. It was Miss Lundberg who broke the silence.
"What was that?"
"I didn't hear anything," Cassiopæia groaned, holding her head.
"Exactly. It's nine o' clock. Look."
They all looked blearily at the wall clock, then clapped their hands to their ears. Nothing happened, and kept on happening for quite a while.
"You can take your hands off your ears," I bellowed at them, my voice strangely amplified until I took my own good advice. The quadrangle clock's stopped."
They didn't seem to trust me entirely. They kept their hands close to their heads in case the clock got better again all by itself.
"Did you do this, Cee?"
"How would I know? If I'd stopped the clock, it wouldn't have been a conscious act."
"How could she stop the clock?" demanded Cassiopæia. "She's been right here the whole time." She corroborated her statement by producing a curly blonde hair from her tongue. She stretched it to an improbable length and watched it spring back again.
Corinne blushed prettily. So did I, as I removed an even longer pubic hair from my mouth, a pure shiny black one.
Miss Lundberg sniffed a self-righteous sniff. The kind of sniff you get from maths teachers who don't get invited to indulge in a mutual three-way sixty-nine. She wouldn't have been any good at it anyway. She'd have spent all her time working out what to call it.
Paddy Riley suddenly sat upright, decanting Molly Malone on to the floor. He drew a piercing blast from his whistle. "What the hell was that?" he wanted to know.
"Somebody take that sodding whistle away from him."
"Why didn't he notice the clock until now?"
"Sure, and isn't it his watch that's five minutes slow," Molly explained. It seemed to make perfect sense.
"I'd better get Jeremy to mend it," I said.
"You'll do no such thing!" said Corinne, sharply. "It's Jeremy's weekend off. He's worked hard, saving the school. Let him have the weekend in peace, at least. And the rest of us."
Valentina carefully made her way down the steep ladder in the clock tower. The idea had come to her out of the blue at about half past seven that evening. Helvetica was still out somewhere, doubtless losing her virginity in celebration of becoming Form Head. The First Form dorm was a subdued place with a few groups of girls reading or mechanically playing board games.
Geraldine was reading on her bed, after an enforced session with soap and scrubbing brushes in the shower, which had left the whole class soaked and hugely aroused. It had taken an hour for their moons to disengorge themselves. Normally, there would have been three or four girls in bed with Geraldine, but things seemed different tonight.
Junior girls get tired easily, and this had been a long day.
Abruptly, Valentina had stood up and announced that she had a job to do for Miss Meadowlark.
It had surprised even her. Especially when she had found herself making her way along the corridor to the Junior Common Room. Unusually, it had been empty. The provisions cupboard yielded a number of almost suitable substances, but she eventually found what she was looking for. The can was satisfyingly full. She pried the lid open and looked inside. Excellent. Better warm it up first...
At eight forty-five she had waited outside the little wooden hatchway with her fingers in her ears, waiting for the clock to strike. Strangely, it had sounded oddly muted. It almost seemed that the clock was louder the further away from it one happened to be.
The Golden Syrup, warmed to room temperature, had trickled evenly into the aperture at the top of the clock. Most of it, anyway. Quite a lot spilled slowly and inexorably down the front of her blouse. But within seconds, the mechanism had ceased its whirring and ticking leaving a great silence to fill the little chamber at the top of the clock tower. Valentina realised she could hear her heart beating as she backed down the iron steps, closing the hatch after her.
What had she done? If she was discovered now, with traces of the sticky goop on her hands and her inevitable bosom, she would be in the deepest shit imaginable. No, deeper even than that. The Junior Girl who Poured Treacle into the Quadrangle Clock...
But no-one was about. The place was deserted. Not a teacher to be seen. Yet her heart still thumped as she strolled as casually as she could into the dorm, before surprising the rest of the girls by yawning noisily and telling them it was long past her bedtime.
"The Cavaliers were on this side of the valley, the Roundheads on the other."
"Which were the goodies, Miss Mountains?"
"It depends. Maybe there weren't any goodies and baddies at all."
Angelica stirred stiffly, and the posse rearranged themselves where they sat, leaning on her mountainous breasts. "In my dream, I was on this side of the valley..."
"You had a dream, Miss Grimbo?" Monica plucked at the crotch of her red latex cat suit. It must have been uncomfortably hot in there. There was a pleasant fug in the Wendy House. A smell of warm girls. Jeremy lay back, feeling Smegs's strong arms cradling him. This was the life. Yet something was missing, somehow.
Across the room, Helvetica swallowed the last of her pizza and reclined against Vanessa, who in turn was leaning on Sally. This was what St Cat's was all about. Companionship and love. Yet something was missing, somehow.
"Tell us about the dream, Miss Grimbo," Monica demanded again.
"It's very long. And it's still going on. Some other night, okay?"
"What time is the last bus back to Borcester?" asked Smegs.
"Oh, no, Miss!"
"Not yet, Miss!"
"Let's stay a bit longer, Miss!"
"Please, Miss."
"Don't send us back there!"
"I'll run them back in the minibus," said Jeremy. "What time do you all have to go to bed?"
"It's Friday," purred Mandy. "Not till late."
"So you could tell us about the dream, Miss Grimbo?"
"Oh, all right then." And Angelica told them all about her dream.
It had been a long day. The story was long and rambling, like a Norse saga. Before the end, the girls were fast asleep on the floor of the Wendy House; all of them curled up in various shapes, snoring softly.
"That does it. They can sleep here tonight. We've got enough food in the place to give them all breakfast." Angelica yawned. "When they started nodding off, it was all I could do to stay awake myself."
"Cover them up, Jeremy." Smegs indicated the bedroom. "Spare blankets in the top of the wardrobe. Get a pillow for young Monica."
"What happened to Pansy?"
"She took the pizza boy off somewhere. At least, it will have stopped her exploding."
"We'd have heard it if she did. Poor kid can't have had sex for simply days!"
"There's something else we haven't heard," said Jeremy. "What's the time?"
Angelica shook her head. Smegs didn't know either.
"I think the quadrangle clock's stopped."
Pansy opened one eye, then the other. She felt in the darkness for the hard shape of the pizza boy. An unusual name. She didn't think she'd slept with a Hercules before. She cast her mind back on an alphabetical search. No Hercules. He was asleep now, leaning back against the door of the Jaguar. It couldn't have been comfortable. For her part, Pansy had one leg up on the rear parcel shelf, her bare toes drawing little squiggles in the condensation on the window glass. Her right leg was extended over the backs of the front seats, dangling there. Was that what had woken her up, the cramps and pins-and-needles in her right leg? Or was it something else?
It had been good, even allowing for her almost explosive state. By the third or fourth time, she had been able to relax and start showing Hercules some of the more surprising parts of her amorous repertoire. He had shown her one or two of his own. At least, the tub of Grow hadn't been necessary. Pansy could still feel it now. A sense of being fulfilled, or at least of being fully filled; not a common feeling these days, for Pansy.
She rubbed the circulation back into her right leg, then raised it to the ceiling and pressed hard. She was ready for Hercules again. Immediately. "I wonder what the time is?" she thought idly, releasing an unnecessarily loud fart.
Then she realised what had woken her up.
Helvetica and Sally had woken up, too. So had Vanessa, and when Vanessa woke up, so did her posse. They sat wrapped in their blankets, sipping mugs of coffee. It was nice here. This was a great school!
"So you'll arrange for us to be transferred to St Cat's, Miss?"
"What, all of you?"
"Yeah, go on, Smegs, you can do it!" Sometimes, Smegs felt she could cheerfully throttle young Jeremy.
"I don't know. There are a lot of formalities. You're already at another school. It isn't as if you've just moved into the district. Besides, there are the school fees."
"Fees?" The posse wrinkled its noses. "You mean people pay for their girls to come here?"
"Of course. It costs a great deal of money. Your parents would have to pay thousands of pounds a year."
"What for? I mean, what's so special about St Cat's? What do St Cat's girls get that we don't get at Borcester Hills Comprehensive?"
Smegs looked at the girl. This was no idle question. She was really serious. She meant it.
"Well, for starters, there's the specialised teaching staff. All our teachers have special qualifications, like..."
"Fucking huge tits!" suggested Jennie.
"Some of us are rather large, as it happens. But so are most of the girls, so it makes sense. We need a Support and Mobility Mistress to teach the girls about bras and how to manage a wheelbarrow. We need a specialist corsetière to provide the custom foundation garments growing girls need." Smegs looked at Helvetica for inspiration. "We have specially developed bras for specially developed girls. Helvetica wears one that gives her moons plenty of room to grow..."
"She's still growing?"
"Of course," said Helvetica, wide-eyed. "Everybody grows all the time, don't they?"
The posse looked down at its own chests.
"Would we all grow if we came to St Cat's? All of us?"
"Possibly," said Smegs.
"Even me?" said Jennie.
"What about me?" asked Monica.
"All of you!" Smegs decided that what Nature didn't take care of, there was always Sexual Chemistry.
"Wow!"
"Where's that other girl who was here earlier? The big one in the skirt. Panda?"
"Pansy. Err, yes. She had to go and do her homework."
"She told me she was going to get fucked."
"She told me she was pregnant."
"She told me she had two kids already."
"She's doing her Sex homework," Angelica explained. "Sex Practical. She has to do lots and lots of extra homework because she hasn't quite grasped the basic principles of birth control."
"So she fucks a lot?"
"That's right. Remedial Sex."
The posse thought about that and decided it worked for them, no problem. Or maybe one or two little problems.
"What about finding boys?"
"What if you prefer girls to boys?"
Smegs was on safer ground here. "Most of the girls prefer doing it with other girls, but for those who insist on having boys, they can get them from Lord Ted's Grammar School. We have a special arrangement." The posse rolled around, helpless. "What's so funny?"
"Lord Ted's? They have boys from Lord Ted's? Lord Ted's boys are a bunch of queers."
"Pooves."
"Bum bandits."
"They leave Lord Ted's and get jobs as MPs and vicars, where they can screw fat little boys."
Smegs was outraged at this suggestion. "Let me tell you, I have personally slept with many of the Lord Ted's Senior boys and I have had no doubts whatsoever about their sexuality. No doubts at all!"
Angelica covered her face and rolled on to her back with a moan. Jeremy giggled and got up to make more coffee.
"So are you a bum bandit, too, Miss Smegma?" asked Monica earnestly.
Vanessa nudged her in her latex-covered ribs. "Her name's Mountains..."
"Mee-gan is perfectly normal," said Angelica loyally.
"You mean she fucks men?" said Jennie.
"She was fucking Jeremy earlier on, in the kitchen," Mandy reminded her.
"So when we all come here next term," Vanessa steered the conversation back on track. "We'll all go straight into our proper forms, depending on how old we are? And we'll start with the same classes as the rest of the girls?"
Smegs considered the posse. They were bright girls, intelligent and eager to learn. Their diction was generally appalling, but... "You'll need to sit a small test. Our usual test paper for new girls, to decide if you need special teaching in any areas."
"Oh, no, not an exam! We hate exams." Vanessa spoke confidently on behalf of the posse. "We'd have to write things down!"
Unusually, Smegs found herself defending modern education methods. "It's not really an exam. Not as such. You only have to put a tick in the right one of four boxes."
"Like what? What questions?" Vanessa asked with deep suspicion.
Smegs tried desperately to remember any of the questions on the St Cat's Entrance Test. "Errrm ... suppose a boy said to you, 'I suppose a fuck's out of the question,' how would you reply?"
"Depends what he looked like," said Vanessa, and the posse nodded gravely — even those who had never been asked the question and had given up all hope now they had passed thirteen and were doomed to be virgins for the rest of their lives.
"Actually, that's not one of the four options," said Smegs. "A boy's looks don't come into it. It's a question about..."
"The size of his cock?"
"No, that's not relevant, either." The posse looked sceptical. "It's really a question about human interrelationship. For instance, look: he asks you that question, and you might ask him why he posed the question as a negative; so if you answer 'yes', it really means 'no'. If you'd answered 'no', you would be indicating that a fuck wasn't out of the question, of course. How much better, you might query, if he had phrased the question so 'yes' meant 'yes' and 'no' meant 'no'. Thus by encouraging the boy to engage in a meaningful conversation, you would be extending him, drawing him out..."
Vanessa's expression cleared. "Making him longer, you mean, Miss? Then pulling his knob out? So even though a fuck's out of the question, 'cos it's rag week, I can still give him a bee-jay! That's a blow-job, Miss," she explained.
"Thank you, Vanessa, I was aware of the expression..."
"Of course, I don't have to suck him off. It depends if I've had my dinner or not. If I'm on blob, I might give him a wank instead. Or he can come between my tits. Anyway, those are the four boxes, and we just have to tick the right one, right?"
"What...?"
"If a fuck's out of the question, do we suck him off, wank him off, give him a tit-fuck, or take him up the arse? See, girls? No problem. You'll all sail through this test with flying colours. But I ain't gonna tick 'd', no way!"
"D'?" Smegs was feeling lost.
"Taking it up the arse. My brother says it's against the law, and you can get put in jail for it. I'm buggered if I'm going to jail for some boy I only just met. I'll go for 'c', Miss. Spunk makes your tits grow. It's certainly worked for me, anyway!" Vanessa shook her breasts lewdly and stared at Helvetica and Sally. "So we know what your favourite hobby is, don't we?"
Helvetica and Sally blushed prettily.
"I'm sure you would all be able to make a good attempt at answering the test, anyway," said Smegs.
Vanessa nodded. "We seem to have covered everything. No more questions, girls?" The posse had hundreds of questions — mostly concerning sexual options during menstruation — but they could wait. Vanessa was sorting things. Sorting was what Vanessa did best. They nodded their heads in unison. "There is one question, actually. Do we have to wear school uniform? Only our mums haven't got enough money..."
"It's only shirts and skirts," said Smegs. "And a jumper and a blazer and a tie, and a straw hat and a neat little beret, and white socks — or slinky black stockings for the Juniors — and your sports kit. Your underwear is all free. Your mums can afford that, can't they? You understand, we can't have girls running around the school in red latex cat-suits!"
Monica began to cry. "She never takes that off," said Vanessa, outraged.
"Never?" Smegs gasped faintly. "How long has she been wearing it?"
"Shit, I dunno. Weeks!"
Smegs made a mental note to be present at the unveiling of Monica.
"So we all start at St Cat's at the beginning of next term? After Christmas?"
"Why not straight away?" whined Monica. "I hate Borcester."
"Yeah, if we didn't have to go back to Borcester, we wouldn't have to do all that homework for Monday morning."
"You said you weren't going to do it anyway. You were going to say the dog ate it again."
"Shhhh! Don't give all my excuses away before we even start..."
"After Christmas," Smegs heard herself saying firmly. "You will report here on the Fifth of January."
"Great, Miss!
"Wow!"
"Hey, all right!"
"So how are you going to get out of that one, Miss Clever Clogs?"
"Shhh! I'll think of something."
Jeremy laughed and pinched Smegs's cheek. He drained his coffee mug and put it in the sink. "I'll look forward to hearing what Shan has to say about that when you tell her. And Corinne, too. Anyway, I'm off to bed. Lots to do tomorrow."
"You're not going to fix that bloody clock? Not on a Saturday?"
"No, thanks! I'm playing football. And I've got a few dates tomorrow night..."
"You're disgusting!"
"I suppose so," he sighed. "Night, sweetie. I'll leave you with your Angel. Thanks for the fuck."
"The fucks, plural. You're better than the bum bandits of Lord Ted's. You ought to marry Shan. It would make sure you stayed around the place..."
"Hey, I'm not thinking of going anywhere. I have to stick around for another five years at least, until young Helvetica is old enough..."
"You filthy perverted swine! Get out of this Wendy House this minute...!" Smegs pummelled Jeremy round the head and shoulders, then kissed him warmly and wetly. "Thanks again for doing the car, and everything else. Sleep tight, Mister."
"Yeah, later!"
None of us could sleep without the clock. I tried getting a big enamel bucket and hitting it with a hammer every quarter of an hour, but although it was quite satisfying, we all agreed it just wasn't the same. Paddy Riley kindly offered to blow his whistle for us, but we voted against it. So we made a pot of coffee and sat around the office, talking and listening to the enamel gently flaking off the dented bucket.
Valentina sat up in bed, listening in the darkness. Silence. "Vets, are you there?"
"She's not here," said a voice.
"She hasn't come in. I'd have heard her. I've been awake since lights-out."
"So have I."
"And me."
"Me too."
A bedside light came on and the First Form sat up in their beds. Unusually, every bed was occupied by one person, apart from Sally's and Helvetica's, of course.
"Vets must be getting it real good tonight," said Santa Claus wistfully.
"I wonder who she got," said Candelabra.
"Shall we make some coffee?" suggested Valentina.
"Good idea."
"And toast..."
"With Marmite..."
"And cheese..."
"And honey..."
"And treacle..."
"No," said Valentina. "Not treacle. I was looking for some earlier, and it was all gone."
Jeremy wandered back through the woods and fished out his keys. It was a lovely night now, the moon was almost as bright as day. He smiled fondly at Smegs's BMW, gleaming palely under the trees. And the dark humped shape of the good old Jaguar. He ran a finger across the curve of its rear window, drawing a smiley face in the condensation. Then he stared. Someone had already drawn another smiley face on the window. On the inside! Jeremy pressed his face to the cold glass.
Pansy stiffened.
"Ouch! Whaddya do that for?" Hercules froze on the downstroke, his manhood seized in Pansy's vice-like grip. "Ow, that hurts!"
"There's someone outside!"
"Who?"
"How should I know who? It could be anyone!"
"Who's it likely to be." Hercules tried to withdraw. Pansy's practised pussy wasn't letting go. Just to make sure, she clasped his buttocks with both hands.
"It could be Jeremy."
"Who's he?"
"It's his car."
Hercules struggled to escape. Wet sploshy sounds filled the car. "But I thought it was your car!"
"Mine? Why would I have a car? I couldn't get my tits behind the wheel. Anyway, I'm not old enough to have a driving li... I mean, I haven't learned to drive yet."
A moment of inattention. She had nearly slipped up and revealed her age. Or more to the point, her lack of it. As it was, Hercules jerked his hips back and yanked himself free. He wobbled on his knees on the back seat, his dong dangling like a great stalactite. He felt strangely vulnerable.
"Don't go, Herky! Pannie wants fuckies!" She reached for him again, snared him with one hand and tried to get her other hand round to get a better grip. As usual, her tits were in the way.
"Aaaargh!" Hercules felt his diminishing probe gripped by a tiny but powerful hand with dangerous fingernails. At the same time, a nipple of ridiculous size poked him in the eye. If anyone had asked him at that moment, he might have expressed a preference for women with smaller breasts. Besides, this was a girls' school. What if this young woman wasn't one of the teachers? What if she was a student, despite those gigantic breasts? She could easily be only seventeen, or sixteen, or..." He broke out in a cold sweat.
"Come to ickle Pan-zee," she entreated him, attempting to feed the last few inches of him between her gaping wet flaps. She was working entirely by feel. Her breasts were in the way again. And the milk was coming in. "Oh, fuck it!" she yelled. "Shove it in me!"
Outside the Jaguar, Jeremy recognised the voice. Leave the girl to it. Perhaps the upholstery cleaning man could do both cars at a special discount. He turned to go, then grinned to himself, and scrawled 'NIGHT NIGHT, PANSY!' on the back window in back-to-front mirror writing...
"COULD I SEE YOU for a moment in my office, Shannie, please!"
"Your what? You haven't got an office!"
Corinne giggled into the phone. "I have now. It's only a little room, but it's quite sweet. Room for Little Cee. It's that little room just past yours on the right."
I stumbled out past the smirking Miss Labia and down the corridor. It had been a store room, but now there was a new brass plate on the door.
Below it, an entirely separate brass plate advised me:
I knocked and waited.
"Who is it?" shouted a voice.
"It's me. Shannie!"
"Hang on a minute, we're not decent..."
I waited for almost half a minute before the door opened and a face peeped round it. Cassiopæia. "Oh, it was you. Come on in."
Cassiopæia let me in then peered out of the door, up and down the corridor to see if anyone else was out there. Then she shut it, turned a key and slid some serious-looking bolts across, top and bottom. Finally, to make sure everything was secure, she rattled at the handle. Then she sat down behind a desk and consulted a computer monitor. "Miss Meadowlark will see you shortly. Please take a seat."
There was a row of green padded chairs against one wall. I chose one and sat down.
"Not that one, please. Would you take one of the plastic chairs, please. Those green ones are very expensive to clean. Thank you." She returned to her computer, pecking at the keyboard with one finger for several infuriating seconds before letting off a volley of typing at blistering speed. As she typed, she looked round the room, whistling a tune. Finally, she stopped, hit one or two keys, revolved 720 degrees on her chair and stood up. A printer spewed out several sheets of paper which she stuffed into envelopes without even looking at them. "Good," she said, dusting her hands together with the satisfaction of a job well done, tore the envelopes in half and dropped them in the waste bin. "Let's see if she's free." She flung open the inner door and barged in. I followed.
"Just finishing," Corinne panted. There was a girl spreadeagled on a desk, and Corinne Meadowlark, Head of Support and Mobility Department, was apparently giving her a good licking out. I wandered around the room in embarrassment, looking at the pictures on the walls, until the girl sat up, dewy-eyed, rearranged her skirt and kissed Corinne long and noisily.
"Wow, I taste good," the girl sighed. "See you tomorrow, then? Same time?"
"Sure. And bring a friend!"
The girl slunk out with a finger wave and a knowing wink at me, while Cassiopæia and Corinne stood grinning at me.
"Who was that?"
"You fancy her? You want one, you can have one. Any age you like, blonde, redhead? Big tits, huge tits, enormous tits..."
"Who was she, Cee?"
"Just a girl. Cassiopæia helped me make her. She's saved the parameters..."
"Wait a minute. Cassiopæia helped you? You mean, you made that girl using the Fuckh Machine? With the keyboard? Not live and neural?"
"It's early doors yet, Shannie. But we're getting there. We've found a way of accessing using a temporary password, but it changes every time I think I know what it is. By using Cassiopæia, I can work through hundreds of alternatives a minute until we find our way in again. I still need her as an interface, but I think we're on the verge of a breakthrough. That girl, for instance. She doesn't exist outside this office. What do you think of it, anyway? Nice little pad?"
I pushed the image of Corinne going down on the girl to the back of my mind. "Who said you could have this room?"
"Labia said it was free, so I took it. The Governors gave me the furniture, for a small consideration." Corinne blushed prettily and her nipples suddenly stuck out another inch. She pushed them back in with a preoccupied expression on her face. "Now, what did you want to see me about? I can give you ten minutes."
"Wait a minute. It was you who sent for me!"
"Just checking." She exchanged nods with Cassiopæia, and scribbled something on a pad. Then she ripped off the top page. "DS9, I think, then run the pre-emptives again. You can safely overwrite Michael's old looping procedures now. Substitute that set of augmented subroutines Anastasia was working on, then iterate until lunchtime."
"Right, Chief!"
"She's a marvel," Corinne said as the door closed silently behind Cassiopæia, and a faint burst of furious typing broke out. The typing became louder for a moment as the door opened again and Cassiopæia put her head inside.
"How many sub-parameter groups for the test units, Chief?"
"Better make it thirty-nine."
"Great." The door closed again.
"How does she type without being at the keyboard?"
"She wrote that sequence last night. It helps create the right impression. She can only type at one word a minute, really, and even then she gets it all wrong."
"And you let her type the code for the Fuckh Machine? Cee, is that wise, do you think...?"
"She gets by," said Corinne, with an airy wave of her hand. "Now, about these anomalies. Have I got them all? Come here, come closer." She patted the desk and I almost sprinted round to her side of it and sat down. She had already laid several thicknesses of industrial paper towel for me to sit on, and they were instantly soaked through as soon as my shamefully large bottom touched the desk. Shameful.
"Cee...!"
"Steady on, Shannie." She unwound my arms from her neck and readjusted her shirt buttons. Then she made another note on her pad. "I may have overdone your Horniness a little. Soon sorted, though. Now, anomalies. I've made a list. Here..."
Trawlermen and Grand Piano
Cassiopæia
Puff
The Road Builders
The Film Crew
The Quadrangle Clock
Hairy Miranda
Sally Chung
The Borcester Posse — various colours, one in ridiculous latex cat-suit
Girls who can See
Angelica
"I don't propose to change the trawlermen. I've asked the Girls who can See, and they are happy about it. In fact, they quite like the trawlermen. So I'm comfortable about keeping them..."
"Girls who can See?"
"Some of them know about Angelica getting bigger. Some just know she's growing all the time and accept it as a fact. A fait accompli. Others think there's something weird about it. And some — the Girls who can See — can see exactly how huge Angelica really is. Like you, you can See, you see? Then there's Pansy, and Suzanne, Valentina and now young Helvetica as well. Megan can almost See most of the time, especially now she's Angelica's lover. The trouble is, we can't just change everything back to normal, or there would be an almost traumatic shock to the Girls who can See. We have to allow the Fuckh Machine to think it is responsible for the changes. In Angelica's case, we can't have her riding around on a Sweet Chariot with a twenty-five foot bust. So she will have to be Shrunk!"
"Shrunk? You mean, use Shrink on Angelica?"
"Not just any Shrink. It will have to be a special batch. Besides, we can't just do that; if I sit here and think it, it won't be subconscious, so things will get screwed up. Cassiopæia will have to prepare the Fuckh Machine and the parameters, then I'll think it subconsciously, and we'll see what happens. All we're doing that's different is that we're making it more predictable, less hit-or-miss. In future, when I have one of my thoughts, it will work. Probably."
"Oh, good."
"Still, must get on." She consulted a wall chart, twisting her upper body so that her phenomenal breasts thrust out like rocket nose cones.
"Cee, have you been growing yourself again?"
"Just a little bit," she whined. "Just as a test, really. They're seventy-three. I didn't really want to have smaller tits than the Head Girl of the Firsts. These are a bit smaller than Helvetica's, actually, but a lot firmer. Like rockets. Do you like them?" She wobbled for me for a while and I came more or less silently in my pants. "Ah, you obviously do," she said as a trickle of Shan-juice escaped the pad of industrial paper towel and poured on to the floor. "Off you go and get cleaned up. I've got the Seconds in ten minutes, then I'm having Sexual Relations with the President of the United States of America until lunchtime..."
Sometimes I wonder if all this power is going to Corinne's head.
"The clock's buggered, Shan." Jeremy plonked a messy chunk of machinery on my desk and wiped his hands on some of my industrial paper towel. "It's full of treacle."
"The clock is full of treacle?" It sounded like an excerpt from a Hungarian phrase-book.
"Sabotage," he said grimly. "Any idea who it could be?"
"It could be anyone. Treacle!"
"Anyone fit enough to climb the steps of the clock tower. And small enough. Probably a person with less than about a seventy-inch bust."
"Well, that narrows it down a bit, I suppose. Half the girls in St Cat's must be smaller than that."
"So how about motive? Any threatening letters lately? Disgruntled ex-employees? Vengeful mothers? Frustrated Governors?"
"You sound like a detective, silly! It's none of those. The whole school had a motive. That clock was ridiculously loud. I don't think it was Corinne, and she didn't think so either."
"Corinne? She wouldn't climb up there. Anyway, wasn't she with you and Cassiopæia all Saturday night?"
"We were all together in my office. And you and Smegs were over at the Wendy House. It has to be one of the girls. The little horrors! Nothing to get excited about. You'll be mending it, I suppose?"
The mechanism will have to be soaked in a special treacle solvent for a week, then carefully cleaned and reassembled. The chiming mechanism is very delicate. It may never strike again."
"Thank God for that!"
"Some of us can't sleep without it, Shan. I haven't had a wink of sleep since Saturday, and nor have half the girls I've slept with either."
I thought about that for a while. It didn't seem quite right, somehow.
The door to the outer office burst open and Miss Labia yelled, "Of course she's in. Go on through, I only work here."
"Cee?"
"I've got something to show you," Corinne announced. "An anomalous girl. Come in, Miranda."
Hairy Miranda came in and stood looking round. "Hi, Mr Jeremy," she said after a moment.
"I seem to have made a wish," said Corinne. "I probably thought something like: 'Miranda's pubic hair is rather extravagant for a schoolgirl, maybe it would be nice if it didn't show quite so much,' and the Fuckh Machine got the wrong idea."
Hairy Miranda looked totally blank, apart from giving a little gasp and putting her hand over her mouth when Corinne mentioned the name of the computer.
"What happened?" I demanded.
"Take your clothes off, Miranda," ordered Corinne.
"I'll leave if you like," said Jeremy, sitting down and putting his feet on the desk.
"It's all right, Mr Jeremy, you can watch." And Hairy Miranda undressed for inspection as if she did it half a dozen times a day. Possibly she did. Despite undressing at lightning speed, she still introduced an element of tease to her act, twirling various items of clothing before discarding them one at a time. She ended with her skirt, wiggling it down with ridiculously exaggerated hip movements that sent her liberated breasts bouncing all over the place. The door opened and Labia came in with a glass of water for Jeremy. He accepted it with thanks.
"There, you see?" said Corinne. "You can't see her pubic hair, because her tits are so long and dangly they've covered it. It's my fault, I should have thought more specifically. Turn round and bend over, Miranda."
Miranda obliged happily. "How far should I bend over, Miss Meadowlark? If I bend over too far, my tits reach the floor. Is that what you want to see, or just how my pussy hair nearly explodes out of my over-stuffed panties?"
"Just cut the lascivious talk and bend over, okay?"
"Okay, Miss."
Miranda was right on both counts.
"Bloody hell, she's got a black cat hidden in there. Lucky for someone." Jeremy drained his glass and rubbed his eyes.
"No, it's not a cat. That's all me, Mr Jeremy. It grows all down the insides of my legs as well. See?"
"Stop her, Cee! Look what it's doing to Jeremy."
"What about her tits, Shannie? They do touch the floor when she bends over."
"Well, they would, they're all long and dangly..." I realised, and stopped. "What's her bust measurement?"
"Mine are nowhere near as big as Helvetica's," the girl said. "They're enormous, but Helvetica's are loads bigger. Mine are just ever so long, that's all. Like Miss Gruntworthy's."
"How does she know what mine are like?"
"Oh, come on, Shan! Think about it!"
"So what's her measurement, Cee?"
"You'll have to change the school rule, Shannie."
"How many inches, Cee?"
"Clit put her on the Dangle Table and left her there for five minutes. You're going to have to change the rule."
"Cee?"
"Eighty-three."
"Oh, shit! That's eleven inches bigger than Helvetica. We're going to have to have another Sash Handover."
"You can't do it, Shannie. We'll be a laughing stock if you dump Helvetica for this girl. Just put them in bras and stand them side by side. I've told you the Dangle Table ought to be outlawed; the whole Table Top Method is ridiculous. And you refuse to change it because it will mean you won't have a ten foot bust any more."
"I can't ... I have to have a respectable bust measurement or I'll lose all credibility as Headmistress of St Cat's High School for Growing Girls."
"Shannie. All the Form Heads except for the Fourth Form are bigger than you. Helvetica is bigger than you. It doesn't matter. We all still respect you, even though your tits are long and dangly and your bum is the size of a cow's."
"Wow, thanks, Corinne!"
"You have a choice. Either you make some sense of the school rules regarding the appointment of Form Heads, or this poor child is going to suffer." She patted the bewildered Miranda on the head and waved at her to get dressed.
"Suffer?"
Corinne lowered her voice to a whisper. "Shrink? First Form Sexual Chemistry running amok until they find a way of restoring poor Miranda to a more normal shape for a Junior girl. What's it to be?"
"Will Miss Gruntworthy let you do it, Mee-gan?"
"She'll have to." Smegs didn't feel as confident as she sounded, and she didn't sound very confident. She had to get Shan on her own to sell her the idea of having five girls from the Borcester posse join St Cat's at the start of the next term. It was beginning to sound like a dumb plan. True, Vanessa was already almost part of the furniture, and one of the other girls had an enormous pair of tits, and Shan was a sucker for giant titted girls. But that still left three girls who didn't have much to recommend them at all. Two of them were strange-looking creatures, too, with a decidedly mixed-race appearance. And Monica! Although she had a promising pair of spheres under her scarlet latex cat-suit, that's where they seemed to stay. She never took it off. Even the normally tolerant St Cat's Juniors might object to a girl dressed permanently in stretchy rubber living in their midst.
"You didn't see Miss Gruntworthy at the weekend?" Angelica stretched lazily and tugged on her rope. The tray slid obediently to her side on its skateboard. She helped herself to a toasted crumpet and spread it thickly with butter substitute. A blob of it dropped on to her breast and slid down on the interminable journey to the floor.
"Not on her own. She was always with Corinne and Cassiopæia. I can't talk about it with those two there."
"Don't worry, Meegs!" Angelica caressed the back of Smegs's hand with the butter knife. "Why don't you get her over here and we can both talk to her? She might listen if I talked to her." She stroked the top two or three feet of her cleavage with a green-painted fingernail. "Shit!"
"What's the matter?"
"I dropped the butter knife. It's gone down between my tits somewhere."
"I'll look for it," Smegs scrambled to her hands and knees and crawled over. She began diving in with both hands.
"Gently! They're sensitive at the moment. I think they're still growing a little bit." Angelica giggled. "And Meegs. While you're down there, see if you can find the remote for the TV..."
"What's this garbage?" Clit patted the girl she was measuring gently on her large rounded bottom and snatched the printed sheets out of my hand. "New School Rules? We've already got a perfectly good set of school rules. Why do we need a new lot?"
"Because they've changed. I've had to change some of them because of ... certain circumstances. Some of the changes affect your measuring procedures. Page nineteen," I prompted as she began furiously shuffling through the sheets.
Clit's face got darker and darker. Her eyebrows seemed to grow as she read the closely typed lines of text. Halfway through, she sat down. The large-bottomed girl helped me pick her up and place her on the chair which she had missed by a country mile. The corsetière carried on reading, apparently without noticing. Finally, she looked up, the papers spilling on to the floor. "I shall resign, of course."
"Resign? What for?"
"You are outlawing the Table Top Method, which I developed. You are denying me the use of the Dangle Table, built at huge personal expense. How am I to continue to measure my pendulous girls, of which, may I remind you with respect, you are one yourself?"
I had already discussed this one with Corinne, as we had seen the question coming. "You can still use the TTM and the Dangle Table. I am sure you derive valuable data from them. But figures obtained by those methods will no longer be valid for the appointment of Form Heads or Head Girl of St Cat's. That's all. Nobody's trying to spoil your fun."
"My fun? Is that what you call it? I don't do this for fun? Where's the fun in measuring smelly schoolgirls with gigantic tits all day?" A sheen of sweat had broken out on her brow. "I'll resign and go where I am appreciated. I'll leave next Friday. No, make it Tuesday, after I've dealt with the Monday morning rush..."
"Where would you go?" I asked her quietly.
"Anywhere. Anywhere's better than this..." Her shoulders shook and she buried her face in her hands. The big-bottomed girl found her a handful of industrial paper towel.
"Where else will you find two hundred-odd girls with giant tits for you to play with every day?"
"I don't play with them! I offer them a unique service! I don't enjoy it for Chrissakes!" She picked up the copy of the rules again, and dabbed surreptitiously at her eyes. "You can't do this to me," she wailed. "Whose fault is it?" she asked suddenly, leaning forward. "One of the girls has suddenly developed a pair of danglers, hasn't she? One of them has grown big danglers and now she's got a bigger measurement than her Form Head, and you're shitting yourself because her tits aren't as fat and heavy as the Form Head's are! Who is it? How big are they? Have you been playing around with her on a table, measuring her tits unofficially? It's that Meadowlark woman that's behind all this, isn't it? Her and her new sidekick, Cassiopæia. Bloody actress. They're all as bad as each other. Who is this dangly girl, anyway? Is she in the Fourths?"
"Don't be silly! Who ever heard of anyone in the Fourths getting a pair of instant danglers."
Clit thought out loud. "Not the Thirds. Nobody's ever going to be bigger than Anastasia. None of the Seniors, I've been keeping an eye on them. Not the Seconds, Toots is still miles bigger than the others. It must be the Firsts, playing around with Grow Cream Super XL Magnum Mega-Mammoth Mammavast Double-Strength Ultra Plus Special Brew Two — Now With Added Puff and stuff."
"It's not called that any more," said the big-bottomed girl automatically.
Clit ignored her. "It is the Firsts! I can tell. You've gone all red and guilty-looking. One of the First Form has grown a bigger bust than Helvetica Bold! After one day in office! Hey, that's great. How to embarrass the teaching staff of St Cat's High School for Growing Girls in one easy lesson. Who is it? Sally Chung? Valentina Nightingale? You don't need to tell me, I'll find out for myself." She swept up her notebook and tape measure from the work bench. "I'll see you later," she said softly to the big-bottomed girl, squeezing her crotch intimately. Then she was gone, and the door slammed behind her.