A M E N D M E N T T O S C H O O L R U L E S
In order to overcome certain recently-arising anomalous factors, the utilisation of the Table Top Method (TTM ™) for the determination of Form Heads and Head of School is to be forthwith discontinued. The TTM is now known to cause abnormal stretching of the Cooper's ligaments with attendant consequences occurring subsequently as a direct result.
Your bra sizes will not repeat NOT be affected. It will, however, be necessary, purely as a precautionary measure, to ensure and effect immediate re-mensuration of ALL current Form Heads.
All Form Heads will therefore be required to convene at the Bra Measuring and Fitting Facility at 9:15 p.m. on Thursday. Sashes and well-fitting brassieres will be worn.
Labia
Secretary
St Cat's High School for Growing Girls
"Yeah, but what's it mean?" The First Form clustered round the notice board and Santa Claus read it out again. It made no more sense than it had the first three times.
"What's the Table Top Method?" asked one girl. "Is it something to do with Sex?"
"It is for Miss Clitress," Valentina muttered. "I'll translate it for you." She unpinned the notice from the board, bringing gasps of horror from her classmates.
"You're not allowed! Miss Gruntworthy put that up there."
"It's okay. I only took it down to read. Now then. Listen up, okay?" She cleared her throat. "'Amendment to School Rules.' That means the rules have been changed. 'In order to overcome blah-blah anomalous factors' ... "anomalous is when nobody knows who you are... 'The utilisation of the Table Top Method, TTM blah-blah is to be forthwith discontinued.'"
"What's blah-blah mean?"
"What's forthwith mean?"
"It doesn't mean anything," said Valentina. "It's just a grown-up word."
This sounded perfectly reasonable to the First Form. They knew about grown-up words. Most grown-up words didn't mean anything.
Valentina hurried on before anyone could challenge her. "'The TTM causes abnormal stretching of the Cooper's Ligaments.' Coopers is to do with making beer barrels. Ligaments is those bits of curly wire inside light bulbs. So the TTM makes bits of curly wire get stretched. Abnormally." The girls stared at their spokeswoman without a shred of comprehension. Valentina didn't feel too confident herself, but she did have the advantage of knowing that the TTM was something to do with that ridiculously tall table in the bra facility. And it was something to do with bras, that much was clear. She skipped the attendant consequences occurring subsequently and got down to the interesting part. "'Your bra size will not...'"
"I don't know my bra size," Helvetica admitted, among general gasps. "Miss Clit still hasn't done me properly."
"When did you last have a period?" said Valentina, still studying the notice.
"Same as the rest of you, of course. Last week." The First Form had quickly achieved almost perfect synchronisation of their periods, apart from Geraldine, who had stopped having them altogether when she locked herself on to the polystyrene concrete block.
"You've got to have another one straight away," Valentina announced. "Immediately. It says so."
"What for?"
"To stop your beer barrels stretching those bits of wire. It means that girls who are determined to become Head Girl who have tits as big as beer barrels need special bras with extra strong wire in them that doesn't stretch."
"Why doesn't it say so?"
"It does. You've just got to be expert at reading, like me. And on Thursday, you've got to wear your white Sash and a bra and go to Miss Clit's."
"Nothing else?"
"No. That's all it says."
"It will be freezing. You know how cold it always is in the bra facility. Are they going to make me have another period while I'm there? How do they do that?"
"I could ask my Mum," Valentina offered.
Helvetica declined. "She'll give me nasty stuff to drink, and pills and things. I s'pose I'll just have to turn up at Clitty's on Thursday and see..."
"Look out! Here she comes!"
"Miss Clitress!"
"Shit, what's she want?" Several of the girls clutched at their chests, fearful of being caught wearing an ill-fitting bra.
"Right! Where is she?" Miss Clitress stopped by the group of First Formers, cracking her tape measure like a whip. "Where are you hiding this dangly girl?"
One or two girls giggled. The rest shrugged. This was just one more example of an adult going off her trolley. It happened all the time at St Cat's. Miss Clitress was pacing around in short bursts, stopping for a second or two before darting off in a new direction. She wheeled round again.
"Who is she?" She began walking round the group, counting heads. It might have been easier to count their tits and divide by two. "Who's missing? You're not all here."
Santa Claus spoke up. "Sally's not here. She's with Miss Mountains. Geraldine's seeing Nurse about a phantom pregnancy, the rest of us are here ... except for Hairy Miranda. She's with..."
Miss Clitress gasped and took a great soft handful of her crotch. "That's the one! That's her. The hairy one who never stops talking. How big are her boobs?"
The bra maker had finally flipped. If anyone knew the size of the breasts of any girl in the whole of St Cat's, it had to be Miss Clitress. And Miss Gruntworthy, of course. "They're just the same as usual," said Santa Claus with a little frown.
Valentina touched Helvetica on the arm and jerked her head. "Over here," she mouthed.
"What is it?" Helvetica glanced nervously over her shoulder.
"Hairy Miranda's another one. The rest of them can't see her."
"Can't see her?" Helvetica could feel her hair trying to stand on end.
"Her tits. You know how they've been getting bigger lately?"
"Yeah, so what? Everybody's tits get bigger all the time."
"Not as much as Hairy Miranda's, though, do they?"
"I suppose not. I haven't seen her undressed for a while. I always look the other way."
"She's big, all right," Valentina affirmed. "Not full, like us, more long and dangly. But the rest of them haven't even noticed! I bet we're the only ones who have."
"Nah, that's stupid." Helvetica looked across at her classmates, all staring numbly at the almost frothing Miss Clitress. "I dunno, though..."
"That's right. We're the only ones who can see how dangly Miranda is. I bet if she went on the Dangle Table..." Valentina stopped and turned pale.
"What's the matter?"
"If they put her on the Dangle Table, she might hang down so far, she might be ... oh, no! Not that! Anything but that!"
"What? Anything but what?"
"She might be even bigger than you!"
Angelica sighed. "Meegs, sweetie. Would you mind coming out from there for a moment. I need to talk."
"You can talk with me in here," came Smegs's muffled voice.
"No, I need you to talk to me, too. Come on out."
Red-faced, Smegs struggled free and massaged her ears where they had been compressed against the sides of her head by probably the biggest breasts in the entire world. She placed the TV remote in Angelica's hand. "Don't drop it in there again," she scolded.
"Thanks." Angelica absently placed it on the slope of her right breast. "Mee-gan, what's going to happen to me?"
"I won't always be here to dive in and rescue it for you. And you won't be able to change channels."
"No, I don't mean what will happen when I lose the remote again. I can tie a piece of string to it." She hauled on another of her innumerable pieces of string and the cream-cake skateboard approached. "I mean, I can't sit here in the Wendy House for the rest of my life, eating cream cakes and having you eat my pussy. I'm a school teacher."
"What's being a school teacher got to do with it? So am I."
"You know what I mean. I need to get out more. See the girls. Take some classes."
"They can come to you. There's room for a dozen or so girls in here."
"No, it's more than that. I need to lead a normal life again. Have a shower, or a hot tub..."
"Jeremy's made a lovely job of your bathroom. You can do all manner of things in there just like a normal girl."
"But I don't want to be just like a normal girl. I want to be a normal girl. It's not the same. I wanna ... I wanna work out, stuff like that. Keep myself in shape."
"Work out? How can you keep yourself in shape? You've got the biggest breasts on the planet. You can't do any exercises..."
"I don't always want to have the biggest breasts on the planet, Mee-gan."
Smegs gasped and went pale. "You don't mean...?" She looked around nervously in case anyone could hear her. "You don't mean ... a breast reduction?"
"Why not? Other women do, and they never get to be a tenth of my size."
"You can't be serious! Think of the shame if the news got out. St Cat's Teacher Has Breast Op. The school would be a laughing stock. Although I suppose ... you could always sell your story to The Smut. It might help to pay for the surgery... No, You can't even think about it. It's out of the question."
"It's not your decision, Mee-gan. It's my body. I get to choose what I do with it."
Smegs flapped her hands uselessly. "There are other ways. Chemistry. We could use Shrink..."
"No way! You think I'm gonna let those kids loose on my tits with their magic potions? You crazy?"
"It doesn't have to be as crazy as it sounds, Angel. If it's mixed very carefully, Shrink works quite well. We could probably guarantee forty or fifty per cent chances of success. Let me speak to Shan about it. We'll have a meeting. Tomorrow. Or Thursday. I've got a busy day today, but I could have a quick word with Shan about a meeting. I could tell her it's about something else — like the Borcester girls coming to St Cat's. As long as I promise Shan a suck of one of your nipples, she'll say yes to a meeting. Hey, we could have strawberries and cream, just like the old days..."
"It's not like the old days any more, Meegs. You couldn't lay out strawberries and cream on my belly: my boobs are so huge now, nobody would get anywhere near me."
Smegs leaned closer and kissed Angelica's cheek, where a lonely tear was trickling down. "I'll speak to Shan, don't you worry. Don't cry, Angel. It's not as bad as all that."
"I wasn't crying about that. My last cream cake just fell down between my tits."
"Can we see you, please, Pansy?" Helvetica stood uncertainly beside the Third Formers' table, with Valentina trying to look inconspicuous behind her.
"She's not invisible, you know," said Suzanne, through a mouthful of spotted dick.
"That's partly to do with what we wanted to see you about..."
Pansy stared at the two Juniors for a moment. "Piss off, you lot," she advised the rest of the table. Suzanne and the others gaped at her.
"Huh! We were just leaving anyway. C'mon, girls, madam wants to talk to her little friends. Don't be late for Sex Practical, Pan-zeee!" They got up from their chairs and strolled away, giggling.
"Sorry about that. Don't take any notice of them. Take a seat. Finish off Suzanne's pudding if you like."
Valentina goggled at Pansy. She seemed to be treating them as almost human. "No, thanks, you can have it..."
"Thanks. I am eating for two, after all." Pansy shovelled the spotted dick into her mouth as if someone might be coming to take it away. "Right, what's the problem?"
"It's about what we were talking about on Friday," said Helvetica. "You know, about being able to see when...?"
"Friday! Wow, you know when that pizza motor bike crashed into the tree when he saw you and the others sitting on the tank with no clothes on? I took him away and fucked his brains out!" A dreamy expression came over Pansy's face. "Hercules!"
"What?"
"That's his name. Hercules. I'm seeing him again. He's..." and she held her hands an improbable distance apart, thought about it for a while, then increased the separation by another three inches. Then, still maintaining the distance, she carefully raised the invisible object to the vertical. "Like that," she whispered. "The biggest one I've ever seen!"
"The biggest what?" Helvetica asked, and Valentina nudged her in the ribs.
"You're a funny one, Vets," Pansy giggled. "Herky mentioned you! I think if you played your cards right, you'd be on a winner there. When I've done with him, of course. Anyway..." she pulled herself together with an effort. "What about us being the only ones who can See...?"
"There's another," blurted Valentina. She was still trying to imagine the size of Hercules. The boy was hung like a stallion. Concentrate. "Another girl, in our class. Hairy Miranda."
"What about her?"
Helvetica took over. Valentina seemed to be under some stress. She was sweating visibly and doing something with her hands beneath the level of the table. "Her tits are getting bigger all the time."
"So? What's so special about that? Everybody's tits get bigger all the time."
"We're the only ones who've noticed. The rest of the class just say she's the same as she's always been. Anyway, you've seen that notice on the board?"
"Yeah, load of shit. Don't bother about that stuff, Labia's always sticking them up."
"I have to. I'm Form Head, and it says I have to go to the Bra Facility on Thursday morning..."
"In her bra and Sash..."
"Is that all?"
"Yeah."
"She'll freeze. Hey, Vets, your nips will be even bigger than usual. Hercules likes huge nipples, he said. That's mostly what he noticed about you. If you like, I'll tell him you fancy him. I've got his mobile phone number here somewhere..." Pansy delved between her breasts and came up with a surprising pile of paper which she spread on the table. "Here it is," she said, flattening the note and tucking it into Helvetica's tight cleavage. "Don't lose it down there! I'm seeing him tomorrow, and afterwards, I'll tell him you want his body. You could have him at the weekend. Or order a pizza; he gets a discount..."
"No, I don't think I..."
"There can't be any harm in talking to him, Vets," Valentina croaked, gripping the edge of the table with both hands. "If you don't fancy him, I ... I mean, somebody else might."
"Where does your Mum get her condoms?" Pansy asked Valentina suddenly. "I've got a number here. She can probably get ten per cent off. Maybe fifteen, the quantity she buys."
"About this girl," Helvetica said doggedly. "Hairy Miranda."
"What about her?" Pansy was sorting through her bits of paper. She handed one over to Valentina, who unbuttoned her shirt and tucked it away for safe keeping. The Third Former seemed more interested in reading her notes than anything Helvetica was saying.
"We want to Shrink her!"
Pansy stopped and pursed her lips. She glanced around the restaurant before she continued. "Not in here. You'll have to see me later."
"You can get us some?" said Valentina.
"That depends. You know it doesn't always ... well ... work?"
"We know there's a risk of it not working, yeah."
"A risk? It works about once in a hundred. Most of the time it just makes them bigger. Look, do you mind telling me why it's so important for you to Shrink this Hairy Magnolia girl?"
"Miranda. We think she's getting bigger than Helvetica."
Pansy looked round the restaurant again. "That's her over there, in the queue for pudding?"
"Yes."
Hairy Miranda was chattering to a group of classmates with glazed expressions. "No way is she as big as you. Look at her! Your moons are as big as her whole tits!"
"She's ever so dangly. It doesn't show until she gets her bra off. And you know how Miss Clitress loves dangly girls. If she measures her, she'll be able to make her bigger than Helvetica."
"Bigger than...? I see. A new Form Head. So you want to Shrink her. Well, like I said..."
"We've got to try!"
"As I see it, even if the Shrink goes wrong and you double her size, she still won't be as big as you really, so you'll be no worse off. How big's her Mum? Has she got any big sisters?"
"How would we know?"
"You'd need to look up the records in Miss Gruntworthy's office. Or get one of the IT Group to hack the file. But never mind. It's Monday now. You want to try it before Thursday, right? I'll get a tub off Suzanne. Leave it to me. You can have it by tomorrow night. It takes twenty-four hours to work properly." A faraway expression came into Pansy's big eyes. "And talking of having it tomorrow night..."
"You haven't solved the problem, Shannie. Clit will still find another way of measuring danglers."
"Good!"
Corinne stood up behind her desk and planted her hands on her hips. God, her breasts were enormous now! How could she even stand up? "It's not good! You've had Labia type this daft notice and stick it up around the school. You can't just uninvent the TTM and the Dangle Table. St Cat's is a mammocracy. The credibility of the whole school depends on the girl with the largest bust being Head Girl, and the biggest girls in each class being Form Heads. We have to define 'biggest', and we've chosen to do it by bust measurement. That's fine, but Clit is a numbers freak. She worships the tape measure. And it's easier to get high numbers by dangling girls over the edge of a table than by supporting them in a properly-fitting bra."
"Or a wheelbarrow," I panted. An image of Corinne in a wheelbarrow danced before my eyes.
"Or a wheelbarrow. As long as Clit is in charge of measuring the Form Heads, she is going to bust a gut to give them the highest numbers she can. That's why she's so upset with you about the First Form. She still hasn't measured Helvetica Bold, has she? If she can find another girl with more inches, she'll raise merry hell over it if you don't make her the new Form Head."
"That will be ridiculous."
"She'll still do it. You ought to have made the rule say that Head Girls have to be decided by water displacement, like I told you."
"Then I couldn't be Headmistress any more. I'm miles smaller than you now. You'd be my boss, and Angelica would be in charge of you!"
"It only applies to girls, Shan," Corinne explained wearily. "Staff are exempt from silly rules. Oh, come here and have a hug. Silly! Nobody's going to take your Headmistress job away from you!"
"Nobody's going to take the Sash away from you, Vets! We wouldn't let them make Hairy Miranda First Form Head."
"We daren't trust Miss Clitress, Tina. We still have to Shrink her..."
"Sh-hhh, she's coming back from the bathroom."
Hairy Miranda came in, wrapped in a towel. Her hairy calves protruded from the bottom and she held her hair piled on top of her head, a position which revealed a pair of armpits like bramble bushes. She caught sight of herself in the mirror on the back of Valentina's wardrobe door, and stopped. "Wow, I'm so hairy! Should I shave under my arms, do you think, Valentina?"
"Why not just tie it up in plaits," Valentina growled.
"Hmmm. Maybe. It might look nice. With nice ribbons." She stepped closer to the glass. "I think I'm getting a bit of a moustache. Shit! That's bad news. Still, I won't look much like a boy, not with these puppies!" And she dropped her towel.
"Jeezus, Randy, put them away!"
"They're so long, aren't they! If you could get prizes for having long tits, I'd win! I wonder if I could get in the Guinness Book of Records for having the longest tits in the world! Maybe there's a girl in Africa with longer ones. I dunno. Do you know, Vets? Look, when I bend over, they touch the floor!" Hairy Miranda demonstrated, then set them swinging from side to side. Tantalising glimpses of her staggeringly furry groin appeared. She stopped swinging and stood up with a grunt. "I need another bath now. I get so moist when I think of being a world record holder. And when my rug gets wet, it takes a whole bottle of shampoo to wash the love juices out of it." Mercifully, she didn't show Helvetica and Valentina her thatch, which was probably copious enough to roof the Wendy House. She picked up her towel with one foot and draped it round her shoulders with an air of regret. Then she wandered away to her bed, the backs of her thighs and the cleft of her bottom as hairy as a young gorilla.
"She gets worse! You're right, Vets. We've got to Shrink her, risk or no risk."
"Yeah, but when? If we get the Shrink from Pansy tomorrow, we'll have to do her tomorrow night. It takes a whole day to work. By Wednesday night, we might know one way or the other. And that's too late to do anything about it. The Form Heads are all getting measured again on Thursday. We could be having another Sash handover on Friday."
"Poor Vets! I won't let that happen. The shame of my bestest friend being made Form Head for just one week!"
Helvetica hugged her. She whispered in Valentina's ear. "It's not that so much. It's the thought of having to stand up in front of the whole school, and kiss Hairy Miranda!"
"There's not much left, but there ought to be enough. It doesn't take much. The bigger the tits are to start with, the less you need!" Pansy prodded the mixture with a pencil. "It's a bit thin and runny. It's not usually like this. Suze says it's because it's been kept too warm. Oops! Shit!" The pencil caught fire, then flames spurted out of the middle of it in a fierce plume.
"Throw it away!" shouted Helvetica.
"No, don't," squealed Valentina. "Oh, no!"
The pencil took off like a young rocket and hit the ceiling. Mercifully, the Junior Common Room was almost empty, as the terrible little missile bounced off and made for the doorway. Thinking quickly, Valentina snatched a fire extinguisher and followed, reading the instructions for use.
"Turn upside down and strike knob on floor," she recited, craning her neck to see the upside down printing. "I can't read any more," she complained. "This label's in the way." She peeled at the label petulantly with her thumbnail.
"It doesn't matter," said Pansy. "You'll never catch it. It will be in Borcester by now."
"Does it always do that to pencils?" asked Helvetica.
"First time I've tried a pencil. It always sets fire to spoons."
"'Property of St Cat's High School for Growing Girls,'" read Valentina, "'Always return after use.' What's the point of returning it if it's empty?" She turned the appliance upside down and banged the knob on the floor. A satisfying spray of froth came out of the nozzle, which was on the end of a short rubber hose. "Eek, stop it!"
"Tina!"
Valentina caught the furiously whipping nozzle, looked desperately round for somewhere to put it, then plunged it into the tub of Shrink. It fizzed and crackled dangerously for a while, then settled down to a contented bubbling. They watched it with concern until it stopped.
"I think maybe you shouldn't have done that, Tina," Helvetica advised her friend.
Pansy picked up the tub, now brim-full. "Well, you've certainly got plenty of it now." She put on the lid and clicked it into place.
"We can't use it now," said Helvetica. "Not with all that stuff in it."
Pansy shook the tub. "It's only water. Mostly. It won't do any harm. Anyway, you've got to use it. We haven't got any more. It's a banned substance."
"There ought to be enough now." Valentina was still shaking. ""But it's even runnier than it was before. We can't cream her with it."
Helvetica sniffed. "That's a relief, anyway. I wasn't looking forward to rubbing it into her tits. She's even got hairs on her nipples. And her tits are so dangly, we couldn't rub cream on them without getting our fingers caught up in her pubes. Yuck!"
Pansy shrugged. "It's only hair. Anyway, if you don't want to cream her, you'll have to make her bath in the stuff. There's probably enough of it. Still, I'm off. I'm seeing my Herky. He's bringing a Deep Pan Hawaiian Special with Anchovies and Soured Cream. Special Edition Taste of Italia. Then we're going to make love for three hours solid. Later, okay?" Her breasts were already halfway out of the door.
"OF COURSE it will work, Vets. Anyway, it's the only chance we've got. You haven't come up with any ideas at all. And if we don't do it tonight, it will be too late."
Helvetica didn't really share Valentina's confidence. "It's the craziest idea even you ever had! It's too dangerous. And what if she doesn't want to do it?"
"She'll do it. Trust me, my Mum's a nurse. Anyway, here she comes. Let's do it, Vets!"
"Cassiopæia is finalising the arrangements for the measuring tomorrow," said Corinne, examining a sheaf of papers, signing them with a squiggle and dropping them in her out tray. "We're going to have to watch Clit to stop her getting away with any monkey business."
"How? She won't let us stay in the Bra Facility while she's measuring girls. There won't be room, anyway, not with seven Form Heads and Michaela in there."
"That's all taken care of. Cassiopæia is releasing the girls one at a time, at seven minute intervals. Clit will just have to get on with her measuring, even though she's only got one girl in there to measure. They've all got a different excuse for being late. And one of us will be in there all the time."
"Wow, good!"
"No, I said one of us. Not you. Just Cassiopæia and me. It's all right, we'll be able to keep an eye on her."
"So could I! Why can't I help you?"
"You'd just want to look at the girls. You know what you're like. Now, here's the rota. They're not in any particular order, so Clit doesn't get suspicious. She's probably going to want to have Hairy Miranda in there at the same time as Helvetica Bold, so we've made Helvetica last of all, at three minutes after ten. We're going to send Hairy Miranda back to her classes at ten o'clock."
"That's cutting it a bit fine, isn't it?"
"It's the time of the second period, so it won't be suspicious. Not even Clit will be able to justify keeping Hairy Miranda hanging around for longer than three quarters of an hour. Hey, hanging, Shan, get it?"
I wish Corinne wouldn't jab me in the ribs when I'm trying to get my hands on her tits. I swear they're even bigger this evening.
"We can't do it, Vets!"
"We're doing it! Once we've started, we have to carry on right through to the end, don't we! That's the beauty of my plan." Valentina strolled over to Hairy Miranda's bed and perched on the edge of it. "Your hair looks nice, Randy! Have you just washed it? Helvetica was saying it looks so shiny, weren't you, Vets?"
"Was I? Oh, yeah."
"You've got split ends, though," said Valentina, reaching out and grabbing a lock of hair where it lay on the bed. "Naughty Randy, letting it get in this condition! You ought to look after it. Beautiful hair like yours needs extra care. Boys love soft hair. They run their fingers through it. Don't they, Vets?"
"They do?" said Helvetica without enthusiasm.
Hairy Miranda looked worried. She grabbed a handful of hair and inspected the ends. "I can't see any split ends."
"You've got to know where to look. Of course, my Mum being a nurse helps. She taught me to identify split ends at a single glance. There's another one. Hmmm. It's a nasty case, Vets. One of the worst I've seen."
Hairy Miranda began to cry. "Oh, no. Will I have to have it all cut off? Long hair is sexy. Nobody will love me without my lovely long hair. And what if it spreads to my pubes?" She parted her legs suddenly and opened the front of her dressing gown. Her breasts flopped to each side and rolled on the bed.
"Oh, yuck!" Helvetica clutched at her throat and backed away.
"Split ends don't really affect pubes, Randy," said Valentina. "Put them away."
"Are you sure?" Hairy Miranda seized a handful of pubic hair and dragged it through her fingers, holding it up for Valentina's inspection. Straightened out, it was about nine inches long. "Have a look, anyway. I'm so hairy, I might be different from other girls."
Valentina took her life in her hands and bent to examine the black mop. It was springy, like the stuffing of an old fashioned mattress. There were faint glimpses of glistening pink body parts winking in the depths of the forest. "Looks healthy enough. No, it's your head hair that worries me."
"Not my pubes? How about under my arms? Or my arse?"
"No," insisted Valentina firmly. "Just your head. Fortunately, there is a simple cure."
"A cure?"
"Simple."
"A simple cure?"
"Yep!"
"Can you do it? Make me better?"
"Now? In here? It's a bit smelly?"
"Smelly? How do you mean? Is it some stuff you rub on it?"
"No, nothing like that. It's much easier. It just smells a bit. But we could open the window. Open the window, Vets! I'll get the matches."
"Matches? What are you going to do?"
"It's an old cure, but effective." Valentina jumped up and strode to her own bed, coming back with a box of matches and a candle. "This is all we need," she said, her tongue protruding with concentration as she lit the candle and studied the flame until it burned with a steady yellow glow.
"What are you doing? Ow!" Hairy Miranda yelped as Valentina grabbed a handful of hair and passed it briefly through the candle flame. "Oh, poo, that stinks!"
"It's all right, it's only your hair burning. And it's only a little bit at the ends." Valentina singed another tuft of hair. "There. It doesn't hurt, see? I'm just singeing the ends a little bit. It seals the ends of the hairs and makes them grow healthy and strong. Like Miss Grimbo was telling us about the way everything grows after a bush fire in Australia. There!"
One or two girls came up to complain about the smell of burning, but they stopped to watch, fascinated. "Can you do mine later, Tina?"
"And mine?"
"Are you gonna do her pubes, too?"
"Stop talking to her," said Helvetica nervously. "She's concentrating."
"Oops! Shit! Now look what you've made me do!" Valentina grabbed a towel and flapped it round Hairy Miranda's head as girls scattered in fright. "Hang on, Randy!" She darted away and came back instantly with a fire bucket which seemed to have been beside her bed. "Hold still!"
Warily, the First Formers returned and gathered in a circle around Hairy Miranda's bed. The only smoke was a wisp rising from the now extinguished candle.
"Wow!"
"You set fire to Miranda!"
"Only a little bit. You'd never know. Look." Valentina picked up Hairy Miranda's hairbrush and ran it through the flowing tresses. "No harm done. A bit wet, that's all."
"So's my bed. And my dressing gown. I'm sopping wet all over."
"Better safe than sorry, my Mum always says. Especially when someone's on fire. In fact, that's probably cured your split ends for a while. You ought to be grateful, 'stead of moaning all the time."
"It worked!" Valentina performed a little jig of delight.
Helvetica was still trembling. She peered anxiously out of the door of the bogs towards the dormitory. "That's the worst idea you ever had. You might have set fire to poor Miranda. Or burned the school down."
"It was no problem. It worked 'zactly the way I said it would. And the Shrink went all over her tits."
"And the bed. And the wall."
"It's only water. Mostly."
"And some of it splashed on the other girls."
"Only a little bit."
"It only takes a little bit, Pansy said."
"That's all right, then! And it won't matter if the other girls get a bit Shrunk. They're still growing girls. They'll get better. And Pansy said it works best on big tits. So it will work on Hairy Miranda and it will hardly make any difference to the rest of those kids."
"Oh, yeah? And what about me?" Helvetica dabbed at herself with a towel. "A great splash of the stuff went all over my tits!"
"I'll have that one, what's her name? Jennie? And Vanessa. Not the others. They're too spooky looking." I handed the Polaroids back to Smegs.
She exchanged glances with Angelica. "It's all or nothing, Shan. They're part of a set."
"They're all still growing, Miss Gruntworthy," said Angelica, leaning back and probing at a cream cake with a long pink tongue. Her huge eyes never left mine. My loins melted.
"They're still growing? How do you know?"
"All girls grow all the time."
It sounded reasonable enough to me.
"How big are they going to get? How big are their mothers? Have they got any sisters?"
"We don't actually have any family history on them, Shan," said Smegs. "But it's not important. Some girls are big even if their mothers are flat as boards."
"I like to see some signs of breeding in a girl," I told her. "At least one female in the family with a healthy case of breast hypertrophy."
"Some of our biggest girls have no history at all. And even little Monica looks quite promising. That latex cat-suit squashes her up a bit. I bet she's quite big if she takes it off?"
"You haven't seen her without it?"
Smegs looked uncomfortable. "Not exactly."
"What do you mean, not exactly? Have you seen her without it or not?"
"No. But then, nor has anybody else. We'd get it off her once she started at St Cat's. When she gets measured on her first morning."
That reminded me. "Are you coming to Clit's tomorrow morning? We're measuring the Form Heads."
"I've got classes. Besides," Smegs said with a smirk at Angelica, "I bet none of them are as big as my Angel, are they?" She slid closer and insinuated an arm round Angelica's neck. "My Angel is the World Record holder, no doubt about it."
"What are you after, Meegs-baby? You wanna suck of my creamy-creamy cream cake?"
"Yes, please!"
"Yes, please what?"
"Yes, please, Little Angel!"
"Yes, please, Little Angel what?"
"Yes, please, Little Angel Funky-puss!"
"Yes, please, Little Angel Funky-puss what?"
"Yes, please, Little Angel Funky-puss Giant-titties!"
"Yes, please, Little Angel Funky-puss Giant-titties what?"
"Yes, please, Little Angel Funky-puss Giant-titties Super-lover!"
"Yes, please, Little Angel Funky-puss Giant-titties Super-lover what?"
"Yes, please, Little Angel Funky-puss Giant-titties Super-lover Big Moist-Womanhood!"
"Yes, please, Little Angel Funky-puss Giant-titties Super-lover Big Moist-Womanhood what?"
"Excuse me! Do you mind?"
"We haven't finished," complained Smegs peevishly. "I have to eat a cream cake out of my little Angel's sweet puss..."
"Megan!" The walls were closing in. I needed some fresh air. "I'm off!"
"Shan, don't go! There's something else. Something important..."
Whatever it was, it couldn't be as important as getting out of here. I blundered out of the Wendy House and hurried through the woods back to my cosy little bedroom. I wondered if Jeremy was doing anything special. There was a light on in his shed. I edged my bosom between the Jaguar and the shed to see if I could see him inside. It wouldn't be very polite to burst in on him if he was servicing one of the girls.
Strange. The windows of the Jaguar were steamed up. And it was rocking gently on its springs.
The rotten bastard!
Was nothing sacred?
"Yes, what is it, Shannie? We're very busy, you know."
"I saw your office light on. I was lonely..."
"Come on in, then. Cassiopæia and I are finalising the arrangements for tomorrow. Make Miss Gruntworthy a cup of coffee, Cassie, there's a sweetie. Now, what seems to be the trouble? Lonely? Where's Jeremy tonight?"
"Fucking. In the Jaguar."
"I'm sorry, Shan. And I suppose you blundered in on him?"
"Not exactly. I'd been over to the Wendy House — Smegs wanted to show me some pictures of a bunch of new girls she wants to start after Christmas. One or two of them probably meet our standards, but the rest are pretty small..." Cassiopæia came in with a tray.
"What's that?" said Corinne.
"We're out of coffee so I made Miss Gruntworthy a drink.
I looked at the glass she handed me, not without suspicion. It was a bright metallic yellow, topped with whipped cream and a swirl of chocolate, with a cherry on a stick, a slice of lemon, three chunks of ice and a small paper umbrella.
"What's in it?"
"Just some stuff," said Cassiopæia airily. "I call it a Tropicana Rosalita."
"Why?"
"It sounded nice."
"Go and borrow some coffee from one of the dorms, Cassie. Hurry up, we've got lots to do tonight before ... bedtime." Corinne left no doubt about who would be sharing her bed. Nor had Cassiopæia. She hurried out with a big smile on her face. "Now then, Shannie. I'm not happy about these new girls. Not happy at all. Are they the ones who have been hanging round the Wendy House? The posse from Borcester?"
"Yes."
"As you say, some of them are marginal. They'll have to be vetted."
"Vetted? You don't mean..."
"No, not that. A proper interview with me and Cassiopæia. They're anomalous, you know. Different coloured bits and pieces. One of them gushes milk the whole time. One even wears a scarlet latex cat-suit... Damn the thing!" She thumped the base of the desk lamp with her fist. It flickered a few times, then came back on. "I hope you didn't tell Megan you were thinking of accepting them."
"Not exactly."
"What do you mean, 'not exactly'? You either did or you didn't."
No, I got sort of side-tracked. The two of them started snogging and talking baby-talk. I had to leave before I was sick."
"I know what you mean. There's nothing worse than a pair of love-birds besotted with each other. I was only telling Cassiopæia this morning, in bed..."
I snatched up the Tropicana Rosalita and downed it in one mouthful. It tasted every bit as disgusting as it looked. I felt myself going cross-eyed, and belched. "Shit! What was in that?"
"She told you, she didn't know. Cassiopæia's a bit vague about some things, Shannie. You have to be careful with her. I'm still refining her parameters... Who's that? Come in!"
The door opened and Smegs stood there, looking round in wonder. "How long has this office been here?"
"A couple of days, at least. How can I help you, Megan? I'm very busy, and it's late."
"I was looking for Shan," said Smegs unhappily. "Angelica sent me..."
"I ought to send you out to have your meeting somewhere else," snapped Corinne, "but I think I ought to know what you're discussing. But please be quick. Coffee?" she added, as we heard Cassiopæia bustling around with cups and saucers in the outer office.
"Anything to wash away the taste of that Tropicana Rosalita."
"Black, please," said Smegs.
Corinne keyed a squat grey intercom on her desk. "Two coffees, sweetie; strong white with two for Miss Gruntworthy, my usual, and Miss Mountains prefers it black."
The door opened and Cassiopæia poked her head inside. "You know that thing doesn't work," she said. " Two coffees; strong white with two for Miss Gruntworthy, your usual, and Miss Mountains prefers it black? I bet she does, I bet she does. You've got cream in your hair," Cassiopæia said, scraping away at Smegs's head with her fingernails. She went out and came back in, bottom first, with a tray. Then she perched on the corner of the desk, lowered one shoulder strap of her clinging sheer silk frock and dragged out a staggeringly full breast. She applied the nipple to her full lips and sucked thoughtfully on it for a few moments before examining it. She brushed it dry with a red-nailed finger, smiling at us beneath her fluttering eyelashes. "Your coffee's getting cold."
"Cassiopæia, what are you doing?" sighed Corinne.
"I thought this scene was in need of some gratuitous sex."
"Get out, please, and carry on iterating."
"Okay. I like iterating," Cassiopæia assured us happily. "I iterate all the time when I'm at a loose end." She piled her breast back into her bodice and slunk out, her hips swaying ridiculously.
"I'm having major problems with her sexuality quotient," said Corinne, scribbling numbers on a pad. "It will have to wait until all the other anomalies are sorted out. We're doing Clit and Hairy Miranda tomorrow. The Borcester posse's another important one. And there's..." she thumped at the desk lamp again as it flickered like an extended burst of Morse code. "And there's the big one, of course. Angelica. She is really much too large. We can't have a woman as big as her hanging around the school. It might frighten the parents when they come to collect their daughters for the Christmas holidays." She made another note, but I couldn't read it upside down.
"I wanted to see you about that," muttered Smegs. "She wants to have a..."
"But we're not going to do anything about Angelica tonight," Corinne continued regardless. "Too much to do. Arrangements for tomorrow."
"Tomorrow?" Smegs asked.
"The measuring of the Form Heads. Mostly a formality, but they need to be re-measured for the records, without using the Table Top Method or the Dangle Table. Shannie, for your information, as far as I can see, it won't affect any of the Sash holders, but you could stand by in case we need to announce any changes to Form Heads. We could have the ceremony at short notice on Friday. It shouldn't be a problem. We'll be keeping an eye on Clit so she doesn't give us a problem with Hairy Miranda and Helvetica." She picked up a stack of papers and began tapping them on the desk, squaring them up into a neat pile. "Now, if you'll excuse me...?"
"I'm sorry, Angel. I didn't get a chance to talk about it. Meadowlark wouldn't stop talking. She's even got an office of her own now. And Shan's scared stiff of her. The woman's a menace."
"What was she talking about?"
"They're measuring all the Form Heads again tomorrow, in the bra facility. That new measuring method the girls were talking about. Meadowlark says it won't make any difference, so the whole thing sounds like a total waste of time, although she says Clit might be trying to pull a fast one with the First Form. Says she's found a girl with a bigger bust than Helvetica. Hairy Miranda!"
"Hairy Miranda? Bigger than Helvetica? She can't be serious!"
"Not according to Clit. Anyway, it's tomorrow morning, so I'm going to be there. They won't keep me away from the bra facility when there are eight huge girls getting stripped off and measured."
"Nine."
"What? It's eight. Seven forms and the Head Girl of St Cat's."
"Nine, Mee-gan. Seven forms, the Head Girl of St Cat's, and the girl with the biggest breasts on the entire planet."
"You?"
"Me. You can make the arrangements to get me to the bra facility tomorrow morning. I don't care how you do it, just do it. I am gonna be measured."
"What for?"
"Just for fun. For a laugh, as St Cat's girls say. And to see Miss Meadowlark's face when I turn up at the bra facility. And Miss Clitress. I think I need a new bra, don't you?"
"STAND OVER THERE and don't move. I don't want staff in here while I'm working." Clit spat the word staff as if it were a slice of lemon.
Corinne and Cassiopæia didn't argue. They moved across to the work bench near the Dangle Table and leaned against it patiently. "I thought your girls were arriving at 9:15," grinned Corinne.
"They're late. Typical. Bloody school can't keep its girls under control." Clit stormed around in a little circle, snipping at the air with a giant pair of scissors. She was wearing her usual stretch black slacks and an aroused silk shirt with long nipples sticking out of it.
"You ought to be wearing a bra, Clit," said Corinne. "Especially while you're measuring girls. It doesn't give a very good impression at all."
Clit reddened. "I am wearing a bra. It's a FreeTips."
"Oooh, really? A FreeTips? Trying to attract someone's attention? Anyone we know?"
"Of course not!" Clit tried to push her nipples in, but they sprang out again. Nipples have a mind of their own. She strode to the window and stood there with a handful of crotch. "Where are they?" She whirled round, absently sniffing her fingers and wiping her hand down her thigh. "The girls? Why aren't they here?"
"You did send the memos out to the Form Heads, Cassie?"
"Of course. Maybe they all had to go to the loo."
"All of them? All together?"
"You know girls. They like company when they go for a pee. Or a poo."
Clit snorted in disgust. Then she brightened. "Here comes one of them, anyway."
"Five minutes late," Corinne whispered out of the corner of her mouth.
"Yeah. Nice work, Toots!"
The Second Form Head breezed into the bra facility and stood there looking around. "Sorry I'm late. Where are de rest of them?" she asked innocently. "Am I de only one here?"
"Okay, we're all ready, but how are we going to get you over to the school? I could just about get you into the Sweet Chariot on my own, but it would be hard work pulling it all that way through the woods."
"Get some of the girls?" Angelica was flushed and excited. She swished to and fro on her Angelic-O-Glyde, not stopping for a moment. Her nipples were almost fully erect, Smegs noticed. She could just about get one in her mouth at a stretch, and it would surely touch the back of her throat.
"I suppose I'll have to. Let me call Shan and see if she can send a few over. The First Form would be best, their tits aren't too huge. The Fourths would be even better." She reached for the phone. There was a pounding on the back door of the Wendy House.
"It's open!"
The door burst open and a blast of icy mist came in, accompanied by the Borcester posse, their nipples bravely leading the way. "Hi, Miss! How's it goin'?"
"You lot?" Smegs frowned. "You're supposed to be at school."
"We got the day off," said Vanessa.
"It's an Erection," Monica explained. "Why do they always have them on Thursdays? Anyway, they closed the school for the day."
"The school is a polling station," said Jennie. "So we thought we'd come and see you. We caught the bus, but we didn't have to pay. 'Nessa knows the driver."
Smegs decided the less she knew of Vanessa's relationship with the bus company the better. "There is something you could do for us, if you don't mind...?"
"Okay," Vanessa laughed. "Anything, as long as it's not pulling that bloody cart of yours."
"That's exactly what it is," said Smegs. "And it's going to be extra hard for you, because you're one short. Sally's not here to help. Vanessa will have to be on her own at the front."
"Oh, sod that, Miss!"
"We're not going far. Only over to the school. To the bra facility. You would like to see the bra facility, wouldn't you?"
The posse decided it wouldn't mind. And when Smegs offered them hot toasted bacon sandwiches from the restaurant as a reward, they practically flung themselves between the shafts. The Borcester posse evidently had a thing or two to learn about the St Cat's catering service.
Angelica mounted up, draped in a floral bedspread and wearing a knitted woolly hat. The posse stood patiently at readiness, their breath steaming, their nipples stiff with excitement.
"Let's go, kids! Walk on!"
And gathering pace slowly, the Sweet Chariot ground in a tight semicircle and climbed the steep slope to the driveway. Then it was off through the misty dripping woods to where St Cat's lay steaming gently in the autumn sunshine.
There were three sets of numbers arranged in neat chalked rows on Clit's blackboard. The corsetière was getting nervous. The Form Heads of the Seconds, the Fourths and the Lower Sixths had been measured and had hurried away across the misty quadrangle. But there was still no sign of Helvetica Bold, and worryingly, no sign of Hairy Miranda. Clit gnawed a fingernail and took a fistful of her pudenda again. It was becoming a bit of a habit these days. Her stretch pants were looking distinctly moist and creased around the crotch area.
Another knock on the door. "It's fucking open," Clit yelled, and it opened.
"I'm sorry. Have I come to the right place? Miss Gruntworthy?" A distinguished black gentleman with greying temples stood on the threshold blinking at Clit. Gaping, she stood back and let him in, remembering — slightly too late — to let go of her crotch. He stared about him, his eyes lighting up when he spotted Corinne and Cassiopæia. "You must be Miss Gruntworthy," he declared, tucking a document case under his arm and holding out his hand to Cassiopæia. "And you," he murmured to Corinne, "must be Miss Grimbeau." His voice was cultured and well modulated. He could almost have been a member of the Royal family.
Corinne and Cassiopæia shook their heads dumbly.
"I'm sure Miss Gruntworthy gave me the right directions. St Cat's High School for Growing Girls. And one of the growing girls directed me to the Support and Mobility Centre."
"The what?" Clit spluttered with indignation.
"I am so sorry. Rude of me. Winston Barrowclough. I am representing the Guinness Book of World Records. Miss Gruntworthy described Miss Grimbeau to me, but only in the broadest terms..."
Another rattle on the door and Miss Michaela Meadowlark, Head Girl of St Cat's High School for Growing Girls, looked in. "Hi, Miss Clit. Sorry I'm late." She hauled her breasts in through the door and steadied them against the wall, panting heavily. "I ran all the way," she said, giggling at her own stupid joke. "Hi, Sis!"
"Hello, Michaela," Corinne mumbled.
Winston Barrowclough recovered with an effort. "Miss Grimbeau," he beamed, thrusting out a hand and advancing on Michaela. "You are exactly as Miss Gruntworthy described you."
"I am? Shee-it!"
Clit roughly led the girl away by the wrist. "Are you any bigger?" she snapped, unwinding her tape measure from around her neck.
"Not much," whispered Michaela. "Wow! Who's he? I could fancy him! Older men are so desirable, I always think."
"He's nothing to do with you. Get your shirt off." Clit was already offering a helping hand. Only one, the other was grasping her throbbing womanhood again.
The door opened, and Anastasia came in, a hugely bulky figure in a kind of Roman toga and steamed up glasses. "Hi, Miss Clit. Sorry I'm early. I mean, late..."
"Wait over there."
"Miss Grimbeau?" Winston Barrowclough introduced himself.
"Over at the Wendy House," said Anastasia, which made no sense at all. She saw the gentleman's bemused expression and jerked her thumb over her shoulder. "Out in the woods," she elaborated, suddenly taking his elbow and leading him towards the door.
"Eeeek!" Mr Barrowclough was wondering whether to cry 'Rape', and if he did, would anyone hear him. This was a weird place, he was beginning to think. He stopped thinking as the door opened and two more girls came in. They were dressed as schoolgirls, but beyond that point all logic went out of the window, as they had such appallingly full shirts they couldn't possibly be a day under thirty-five.
"Sorry we're late," they announced.
Mr Barrowclough backed away and leaned against the work bench next to Cassiopæia and Corinne. "Miss Meadowlark, Head of Support and Mobility," said Corinne, recovering her composure. "This is Cassiopæia, my secretary."
"Support and Mobility? So this is the right place?"
"That's right, but Miss Grimbeau doesn't live in the school itself. She's so big, she has her own little Wendy House in the woods. But you say you're from the Guinness Book of World Records? And Miss Gruntworthy sent for you?"
"That's right. Miss Grimbeau is apparently a candidate for ... the Largest ... er ... Bust in the World."
"Oooh, she certainly is. It's just strange that Miss Gruntworthy didn't mention it to me. I only saw her half an hour ago, and she'd surely have mentioned it. When did she call you?"
"It was only last night. I told her I just happened to be going down the M4 this morning so I could drop by for an hour. She thanked me most effusively."
"What time was this? Last night, you say?"
"Quite late. Ten o' clock or so. I was watching the news. I'm a great fan of Trevor McDonald."
"That is very strange. Isn't it, Cassie?"
"Very strange. Very strange indeed."
"Not that you're a fan of Mr McDonald. It's just that, you see, Miss Gruntworthy was in bed with Cassie at that time."
"She certainly was," sighed Cassiopæia, rolling her eyes.
"Oh," said Mr Barrowclough faintly. "How very strange..."
"Hey, Mr Wheelbarrow," said Cassiopæia, "If you're from the Guinness Book of World Records, you ought to have a look at Miss Gruntworthy."
"Cassie, I don't think that's a very good idea..."
"She's got the biggest cu..."
"Cassie, no! You mustn't!"
"Woah, girls. Hold it right there." Smegs walked slowly past the panting posse, taking a deep breath of their mingled steam. They smelled so gloriously sluttish. A mixture of cheap perfume, almost fresh sweat and hot crotches. She could cheerfully have taken them all to bed for an hour or two. But there were things to do. She strolled over to the window and peered into the bra facility. Infuriatingly, the windows were all steamed up. Even with her nose pressed against the glass, she couldn't see inside.
"Is she in there?" Angelica called.
"It's steamed up, Miss," said Monica.
"One of us has to get in and see if he's here," Smegs fretted.
"See if who's here?" Angelica asked.
"I mean, see if Clit's in there, measuring the girls. Monica, you're smallest. Come here." Monica wriggled free of the shafts and trotted over to Smegs's side. The teacher whispered in her ear. Halfway though the message, Monica's face lit up. She nodded vigorously. "Go on, then," said Smegs. "Round the back. Then come back and tell me. We'll hide the Sweet Chariot round the corner until you come back. Come on, girls!"
The four of them strained at the load and wheeled the chariot round the side of the bra facility.
"The milk's just come in, Miss," Jennie complained. "Drink, anyone?"
"Not just now, thanks," said Vanessa. The other two shook their heads.
"Maybe after our bacon sarnies," said Mandy hopefully.
"Did you see that?" Winston Barrowclough's hair was almost standing on end.
"What was it?" Corinne looked at him solicitously and took his trembling hand.
"A girl. Quite a small one. I mean, not just small, but ... sort of ... small."
"Ah, you mean she was small."
"That's right. But she was wearing a kind of rubber suit. Stretchy. Bright red. She saw me and her eyes opened wide, then when I looked again, she was gone."
"A scarlet latex cat-suit?" said Corinne. "A smallish kind of girl?"
"Yes. Smallish. Or even small."
"And she disappeared when you looked at her?"
Mr Barrowclough's hair stood even further on end. "Not in a puff of smoke or anything. She just wasn't there any more."
"She's back now," said Cassiopæia. "There she is. Bloody hell! It's..."
"It's Hairy Miranda," gasped Corinne.
Monica skidded round the side of the bra facility and came to a halt, panting heavily. "There was a bloke in there, Miss, like you said. He had a sort of leather case under his arm, and he looked like that bloke on the news."
Smegs was jubilant. "Great, Monica. You shall have an extra bacon sandwich." She plucked a mobile phone from her belt and tapped at the keys. "Jeremy? Smegs. It's okay. As we arranged. How long will it take you? Five minutes? Can you make it two? Good man! You shall have your reward. Huh! Suit yourself, then, see if I care. Yeah, see you in a minute. Luv ya!" She hit a few more keys at random and tucked the phone away. "He's on his way. Monica, keep an eye out for him, and when he arrives, the rest of you get ready to pull hard. We've got to be ready to go as soon as he puts his thumbs up."
"I wish I knew what was going on round here," Angelica complained. "And while you were talking to Jeremy, why didn't you get him to fit a cushion on the seat in this chariot?"
Hairy Miranda paused, looking round the busy scene. Something wasn't right. Miss Clitress had told her to be here at ten o' clock sharp, with the rest of the biggest girls in the school — the ones who could lean forward and rest their tits on the floor. Or was it nine o' clock? Now that the quadrangle clock wasn't working, Hairy Miranda had lost all track of time. And here she was, and Miss Clitress was apparently measuring two girls, and the Head Girl, Michaela had passed her while she was coming in. Miss Meadowlark was here, with Cassiopæia, and a bloke who looked like that other bloke who read the news.
She'd have been here earlier, of course, but she had gone back to the dorm to put her scarlet latex cat-suit on. It had been a terrible job trying to get her tits tucked away into it. They kept slithering down and getting stuck between her legs. In the end, she had lain on her back and fastened a broad black plastic belt around her waist. It had felt so nice when she pulled it tight, she'd pulled it even tighter so it was almost cutting her in half when she stood up.
"Wow!" was all she could say when she caught sight of herself in the mirror. "I look absolutely staggering!" She had belched, farted and managed to pull the belt in two more notches, saddened that her now sub-microscopic waist was effectively hidden by her overhanging latex-sheathed breasts. At least, it was clearly visible from the back. She would make a point of turning round quite often.
Still, she thought. Miss Clitress would understand her being a little late. She would explain that she had stopped to masturbate when she had seen how stunning she looked, and the time had simply flown by.
But where was Helvetica? Miss Clitress had told her Helvetica would be here. She wanted someone of her own age to talk to, but these girls were all ancient.
"Hi, Miss Clitress," she announced in her ringing voice. "Sorry I'm late. I stopped for a wank."
Clit screamed and began tearing at her hair.
At that moment the door opened, and Hairy Miranda was pleased to see Helvetica standing there, dressed only in a bra and her white Sash of office as First Form Head. She had draped the Sash to cover her femininity, but every now and again the breeze lifted it. She hoped it didn't get blown up when any teachers were watching. She was expecting to be given a period this morning, and as she didn't have any pockets, she had worn a Tampax. The last thing she wanted as Form Head was to get jankered for a visible string violation. She checked that she still had her two spare Super grade tampons tucked in her cleavage. Just as worrying, her bra wasn't fitting the way it should. Quite a lot of Helvetica was hanging out underneath. It was logical enough, she realised; she usually felt very full at this time of the month, even though it wasn't this time of the month for another two weeks.
Jeremy was standing next to her, grinning fondly. He had a crowbar in one hand and a screwdriver in the other. "Good luck, kiddo," he said quietly to Helvetica, tucking the screwdriver under his arm and patting her affectionately on her almost shamefully large bottom. He planted a more or less brotherly kiss on her hot cheek.
Helvetica blushed prettily and took a deep breath. "Sorry I'm late," she said, wondering why Miss Clitress was apparently having hysterics.
"Thumbs up, Miss!" shouted Miranda, dancing a little jig of joy. Then she darted back out of the way as Smegs moved Vanessa to one side and grabbed one of the shafts.
"Let's go!"
"Where are we going?" Angelica screamed. "How can I steer this goddamn wagon if I don't know where I'm going!"
"Into the bra facility!"
"In there?" Angelica laughed excitedly. "You're mad. It won't fit through the doorway. Oops, yes it will. They've widened the doors. Keep going, girls! All the way round to the right..."
Smegs realised what Angelica had in mind. They were too close to the entrance to come straight round the corner and drive the Sweet Chariot through the doors. They would have snagged a wheel on the doorway, even though it had now been enlarged by Jeremy unscrewing the doors from their hinges and wrenching the doorframe out of the wall. It was going to be a tight fit, so they had to approach from dead on in front.
Instead of turning in, Angelica drove the chariot straight past the front of the building, then wheeled out into the quadrangle in a sweeping wheelbarrow turn, a full 270 degrees, to come galloping full tilt at the doorway. Howling with delight, she cracked her whip over the heads of her team of girls, led by Smegs and Vanessa in full cry, with Monica whooping and bounding along behind like an enthusiastic red balloon. With screams of delight, they thundered into the bra facility and slewed to a standstill with both wheels locked.
Clit was still having hysterics, and saw no reason to stop now.
Corinne recovered her composure first. She turned to Cassiopæia and hugged her. "Shit! I don't know how we did it, but we certainly seem to have created a diversion!" She took Mr Barrowclough by the arm and led him gently over to the chariot, which was still rocking gently from its helter-skelter progress. "Mr Barrowclough, you were looking for Miss Grimbeau. She seems to have found you."
Jeremy called me on the phone. "Get your fat bum over to Clit's, Shannie, love! There's all hell breaking loose over there." Then he hung up.
It's not like Jeremy to play tricks on me. There must be something going on. I looked up at the quadrangle clock, but both hands pointed resolutely to twelve. It must be something like ten o' clock, I realised. The measuring of the Heads would be almost over. What had gone wrong? Probably Cassiopæia had screwed up somehow. Expert as she undeniably was in bed — I shuddered and came copiously at the memory of it — her typing was worse than useless. No doubt she had got all the girls arriving in the wrong order, and Hairy Miranda would be standing there with her tits dragging along the ground, topping Helvetica Bold by at least a foot. What a cock-up! What a failure! It was no use; Cassiopæia would have to go, and I would be forced to ask for Corinne's resignation, too. A pity, really, as they were both tremendous in bed.
Miss Labia came in with a fresh roll of industrial paper towel. "Aren't you going to get your fat bum over to the bra facility? If you're any later, you'll meet yourself coming back."
Saucy bitch. I swept past her and down the stairs. It was only when I paused at the bottom — wondering whether I dare risk losing face by going back to the office to get dressed — that my clothes arrived, thudding in a heap at my feet. Good old Labia. She does have her positive side.
"Sorry I'm late," I announced. "Hey! Who's nicked the door?" The Sweet Chariot was inside, taking up far more room than you would ever imagine. So was Angelica, ditto. She was engaged in earnest conversation with a bloke who looked vaguely familiar.
Clit was sobbing hysterically, occasionally peering through her fingers at Corinne, who had a clipboard in her hands, making notes as Cassiopæia moved round and round Angelica, taking innumerable measurements and calling out the numbers to her boss.
Helvetica, dressed rather inappropriately, I thought, was chatting amicably with Hairy Miranda, who looked patently outrageous in scarlet latex and a belt pulled in to what I could only guess at being in the region of fifteen inches. I was able to see it more clearly when Hairy Miranda turned round to show me. Helvetica came over. She looked anxious about something, and she was tucking herself in at the bottom of her bra. "Please, Miss Gruntworthy. Are they going to make me have a period now?"
Juniors always seem to ask the darnedest questions.
Smegs and the Borcester posse sat watching in a contented row on the work bench, their legs swinging. The girl Jennie was collecting milk from her left breast in a stainless steel bucket. It made a faint ringing sound which made me want to go to the toilet. They were all sipping Jennie-milk from paper cups.
What had Jeremy meant, 'all hell breaking loose'? It seemed a peaceful enough scene to me.
"THIS IS PROBABLY what you're looking for, Shannie."
I almost snatched the piece of paper away from Corinne and settled back in the chair to study the measurements of the Heads. No problems there. Michaela was still Head Girl of St Cat's. All the Form Heads were unchanged, apart from a few minor amendments to their more or less vital statistics. In fact, I saw with relief, the banning of the TTM™ and the Dangle Table had not resulted in any reductions, apart from the unfortunate Fourth Form representative, who had slumped by almost eight inches. It was truly shameful. Shameful. Most important of all, Helvetica had not been displaced by Hairy Miranda. Indeed, she had somehow increased her own figure to a more than creditable 77 inches. There were no figures available for Hairy Miranda, who had refused to take off her scarlet latex cat-suit, even for her closest friends...
I read Helvetica's figures again. 77-27-39. And a spectacular M/11 x 4. Those moonstats were a truly wonderful innovation. I began comparing the moonstats of the other Form Heads.
Corinne interrupted my dreams. "We've got it sorted, Shan." She waved her list of anomalies at me, and scored a heavy line through the last on the list: Angelica. "Everything's under control. We sent Winston Barrowclough back to the Guinness Book of World Records with a list of Angelica's stats. They're sending a photographer down on Saturday."
"She's done it? It's official? The Biggest Breasts on the Planet?"
"Easily. No one within miles of her. And if you're into moonstats, think about M/19 x 15. But we can't leave her like that, can we? The poor girl can't move. So, with your permission, I'm going to offer her a choice."
"With my permission?"
"Of course! You're in charge of St Cat's. We can let her stay as the Biggest Breasts on the Planet and get reasonably rich on the proceeds; the book, TV appearances, film rights — or we can Shrink her."
"Shrink? Oh, no. Not that!"
Corinne giggled delightfully. "We have enough control of the Fuckh Machine now to rewrite her parameters. No chemicals, no unpleasantness. You and Angelica can decide between you how big she can be, and we'll rewrite her. Just like that, and she will always have been that size, ever since she was thirteen. You're dribbling, Shannie!" She handed me a piece of industrial paper towel.
"But ... if we do that, she won't be in the Book of Records, will she? And she won't get the money for the TV and the film?"
Corinne screwed up her nose. "I've thought about that. Maybe having St Cat's in the Guinness Book of World Records wouldn't be such a great idea. We'd have blokes in dirty raincoats lurking in the woods the whole time. It would be better keeping a low profile, wouldn't it?"
"I suppose so. Pity about the money, though."
"We-ee-ll. It could take a couple of months to finalise the parametric rescripting. So Angelica could get some of the glory. Then when she's had enough of the publicity, we could complete the rewrite, and bingo! But the thing is, by then, she'd have been paid. Cash up front."
"Nah, it would all disappear once you rewrote her."
"Not necessarily." She buzzed for Cassiopæia. The girl came in and perched on the corner of the desk. Their heads together, long blonde tresses and rich black mane, they worked on a string of figures. Occasionally they giggled at something far beyond my comprehension. Cassiopæia had unconsciously tugged up her sweater and unloaded both her glorious breasts into her lap. She was anointing her lengthening nipples with a wet finger as they worked.
"There, it's done, Shannie," said Corinne. "You want to see the figures?"
I was still gawping at Cassiopæia's.
"Put them away, sweetie, you're distracting Miss Gruntworthy."
"Sorry!"
With some regret I watched them disappear back into her overloaded sweater.
"As soon as Angelica ceases to have been in the Book of Records, she can win the Lottery. Not the jackpot, that would attract the news-hounds. Just a good-sized win. Nothing obscene. Half a million or so?" She raised her eyebrows and I realised it was up to me.
"Oh, sure. Why not?"
"Good. That settles it. Go for it, Cassie. And while you're at it, girl, we need some family history for the Borcester posse girls who are starting after Christmas. Big breasted mothers, huge breasted older sisters, absurdly gigantically breasted younger sisters; you know the kind of thing Miss Gruntworthy likes for her bedtime reading. Vanessa's going to be in the Fourths, so she will automatically get the Sash. The other two older girls are in the same Form. Jennie in the Thirds. It'll be nice for Pansy to have a wet-nurse available. Monica in the Firsts. We got the cat-suit off her, Shannie. She's quite roly-poly, but promisingly large up top. The First Form had a lovely time scrubbing her down in the showers."
"Why didn't anyone tell me?"
"You were in bed with Jeremy and a bunch of Seconds. You said you didn't want to be disturbed, remember?"
"You could have used your discretion, Cee. What else?"
"There's a bit of a problem with Hairy Miranda right now, but she's a Complex Anomaly and everything Cassiopæia does to her triggers off something else. You'll have seen the Borcester by-pass? The way it's gone right round the other side of the town? That's what happened when Cassie shortened all of Hairy Miranda's body hair by three inches. The Machine is iterating now, and we ought to have a solution by Christmas. We'll leave the piano-shifters as they are; Jeremy is getting hold of a quieter clock, and ... that's about it. No further problems!" She looked up as there was a knock on the door. "Come in..."
It was Molly Malone. It wasn't easy to recognise her at first, in a nice frock rather than her PE kit or her dungarees. She'd even done something with her hair, although it wasn't exactly clear what it was. She was dragging Paddy Riley by the hand. The poor man was blushing furiously and wearing a clean suit. Still no tie, but a clean suit. His whistle hung round his neck by a bright new length of chain.
"Miss Gruntworthy, I need a fortnight off!"
"What? What for? It's nearly Christmas. Can't it wait until the Holidays."
"No, it can't. Sure and Paddy n' me, aren't we getting married?"
Poor Paddy nodded in confirmation.
"Married? Oh. Congratulations. When?"
"Soon as we can. Oi'm expecting a baby."
"You're what?" Corinne and I did some quick mental arithmetic on our fingers. Cassiopæia used a calculator. We all arrived at an answer simultaneously. "But you've only known Paddy ... Mr Riley ... for a couple of weeks. How can you be pregnant? How can you know for sure?"
"'Cos we're goin' to bed this afternoon and we're going to fuck until he's senseless. Sure an' it shouldn't be takin' long."
Paddy nodded, more happily this time.
"Oi've seen the light, Miss Gruntworthy!" she enthused. "It was young Pansy who persuaded me. 'Have yer family while you're young enough to enjoy them,' she told me. I only hope I haven't left it too late to be after startin' a family. I'm twenty-four already."
"No, I'm sure you'll be all right. You'd better start right away, then."
We watched, not quite believing, as the future Mrs Riley and her betrothed took me at my word and began starting a family right there on top of Corinne's desk.
We made an excuse and left them to it.