MORE NEW GIRLS AT ST CAT'S
by Some Sort of Dog
The continuation of New Girls at St Cats


WARNING: This story features schoolgirls with large breasts. Sorry to come out 
with it like that and shock you, especially if you have had a sheltered 
upbringing. If you don't want to read about such things, you know what to do. If 
you are a minor, wherever you live, read no further. It is probably against the 
law for you to read this material.

Although our young heroines are no more pure and virginal than any other human 
beings in their position, they are not depicted here as having sexual relations 
with adults. Such a prospect, indeed, would fill them with horror and disgust. The 
story is a fantasy. Some fantastic things may well happen, but NOBODY gets raped, 
killed, or explodes. You want that, there's plenty of such crudity available 
elsewhere. Go find it.


AUTHOR'S NOTE: Many of the characters in this story have appeared before. Although 
it is not strictly necessary, it might help if readers are already familiar with 
some other stories: 'Big Little Sister', 'Grown-up Girls' and the earlier 'St 
Cat's' stories by the same author. One character, Grandma Trudy, first appeared in 
'Trudy - A 50's Romance' by Road Dog. Although for a long time, the characters 
existed in parallel and almost self-contained universes, they converged in the 
previous story 'New Girls at St Cat's' as Trudy's great-granddaughters entered the 
hallowed halls of St Catherine's High School for Girls. Neither the school nor the 
girls knew what they were in for, but they soon found out. Here they are again, 
and trouble is never far away.





MORE NEW GIRLS AT ST CAT'S

by Some Sort of Dog





Part I





Chapter 1:- Love Potion Number One


This is the bit I'm not very good at. You know when you read a story, and it says 
you should really have read such and such a story before you read this one, but 
since you didn't and you're too sodding pig-headed to go and read the other one 
first, you have to read a dozen paragraphs at the beginning explaining what 
happened in the story you should have read in the first place. I mean, if you can 
read the whole story in a dozen paragraphs, why did the author take a dozen 
chapters to write it last time? And it always ends the same way. It says, 'now 
read on'. Well, now read on.

I'm Chauntaille Gruntworthy, as you ought to know already, if you can read. And I 
came back here to St Cat's after two years at teacher training, to do a bit of 
real life experience. As if St Cat's was anything like real life! Especially since 
the Headmistress turned out to be the appalling Moggie, now known as Ella Wheeler 
Thunderbolt. Look, don't blame me for her name. And don't blame me for Smegs 
becoming her Deputy Headmistress, either. You can't even blame me because my bust 
has grown to a circumference of ten feet: it was all down to the boob-juice. And 
although we all thought boob-juice had become nothing more than a frightful 
memory, it has once more raised its ugly head.

Clarrie, Sir Roger Pym's serving wench, will never be the same again, nor will 
young Curse, which is a more or less polite name for Kirstie Wykehame-Arthurstone-
Smythe, who became an unintentional guinea pig when she fell in a giant vat of 
boob-juice while she was running away from a white mouse. Don't ask, okay?

Tell you what. I'll get on with the story, and if anything happens that you don't 
understand, just shout. And I promise to do the same.


**********

The girls of the First Form were in the lab again. I had learned to keep an eye on 
them since the Curse incident. No good trusting Darren or the disco lad, they nod 
off and before you know what's going down, some kid's grown a pair of seventies. 
And that upsets Smegs. She hates anyone having bigger tits than her, it undermines 
her authority as Deputy Head. And it makes her jealous as hell.

At least, now that we had progressed beyond the first half of the term, I didn't 
have to sit and watch them learning how to boil water any more. They had 
progressed to more useful tasks, and were doing some fairly advanced work on 
pheromone additives for the Dr Valentine range of Sexual Chemicals. That was 
another very good reason for excluding Darren and the disco lad from the lab. 
Although we took every precaution to avoid the escape of fumes, only last week 
some of our more overtly lesbian girls had run amok in class after getting a whiff 
of something or other.

And somebody, no names, but I know who it was, smuggled a sample out of the lab 
and just happened to wander down in the direction of the caretakers' shed. She 
allowed some of the concentrated gas to leak out into the atmosphere where it 
would be drawn into the shed through the ventilation system, then casually walked 
in.

"Oh, sorry, Miss," she cried, in embarrassment, finding Moggie spreadeagled on the 
workbench with Jeremy more or less completely inside her. The headmistress's 
presence undoubtedly saved an unpleasant incident of statutory rape. The girl in 
question wrote up her notes very nicely, claiming that the scene she witnessed was 
proof of the effectiveness of the chemical, but I gave her a D-minus on the 
grounds that Moggie was already three-quarters fucked when the girl decided to 
lend Nature a hand.

Moggie, though, to be fair, did mention that Jeremy's performance showed a great 
improvement over his customary lacklustre wham-bam, thank you, Miss.

I wouldn't know, I never use him these days.

I adjusted my gas mask. It was a hot afternoon for October. There were two reasons 
for wearing it. One: in the event of a toxic leak, I would remain unaffected. If I 
was to come under the effects of the gas, I would be unable to prevent myself 
going down on every girl present. This would be in breach of the teachers' 
equivalent of the Hippocratic Oath. Two: one or more of the girls seemed to be 
subsisting on a diet of beans and reheated cabbage. It was pretty nauseating, 
although the rest of the class seemed not to notice it, or of they did, they 
actually enjoyed it. That's First Formers for you.

Suzanne came up to the desk and rapped on my visor with a ruler.

"What is it, Suzanne, I can hear you perfectly well. The only effect of the 
respirator is that I can't smell you."

"It's not me, Miss. Well, a bit of it was. But most of it was Mandy, Miss. And, 
Miss?"

"Yes, Suzanne?"

"When I say it *was* Mandy, Miss, that's what I meant. She tried extra hard to do 
a fart and did a dump in her pants, Miss. I don't like to tell tales, Miss, but 
it's true."

"Thank you, Suzanne. Go and sit down, please. Mandy, would you come up here."

The girl approached the desk, walking with extreme care.

"You are excused, Mandy. Don't come back. And don't go straight to the restaurant, 
have a shower first."

"Oh, MISS!" She shuffled away, her legs moving only from the knees downward.

"Eureka!" shouted Pansy, from the front row.

"Pansy, must you do that?" I asked. I had a headache coming on.

"But I've found it, Miss. You said that Greek bloke shouted that when he farted in 
the bath and the bubbles rose upwards and he discovered gravity."

"He wasn't Greek, he was Latin, wasn't he, Miss?"

"He was German, wasn't he, Miss?"

"What have you found, Pansy?" I persevered.

"This, Miss." She brought a bubbling beaker up to the desk and placed it carefully 
in front of me. "There," she said, "sniff that!" The stuff was fizzing like that 
stuff that cleans you out in the mornings. The stuff Mandy definitely didn't need.

"You can not be serious," I said.

"It's all right, Miss, look!" and she bent over the beaker and inhaled noisily. 
She went cross-eyed for a few moments, then said, "there!"

"Well, what does it do?"

"Wait a minute, Miss, and just watch." So I did. The class went silent, waiting. 
Then the door opened, and Darren strode in. He looked around the class, took a 
deep breath, spotted Pansy and walked straight up to her.

"Hi, Darren, do you want a bit?" she leaned against his chest, her substantial 
breasts squashing themselves surprisingly flat against him. He took her in his 
arms and swept her off her feet, covering her face with burning kisses. Pansy 
returned them with considerable interest. The dialogue was fascinating.

"Oh, Pansy, how I have waited for this moment ..."

"Darren, my darling, my love, my sweetness, take me, take me now ..."

"Pansy, I burn for you, I yearn for you, I ..."

A pity he had to stop, I was wondering what the third rhyme was going to be. 
Darren released Pansy and stood back, looking around the lab. He sniffed the air, 
gagged and said, "corrr, bloody hell, which one of you kids has shat in here?" And 
he glared about him and fled.

Pansy adjusted her bra and picked up the beaker, swirling the contents round. It 
had stopped fizzing.

"That's the trouble with it, Miss. It only lasts about a minute so far. It's an 
improvement on last week, we were stuck on ten seconds for ages."

"But what is it, Pansy?"

"We call it Love Potion Number One."

"Number One? Not Number Nine?"

"No, Number One. Why call it Number Nine, if it's only the first one we've made?"

I was forgetting, they're only ten years old, they don't know any songs from that 
far back.

"What's the range of this stuff, Pansy?"

"It's good for half a mile, so far, Miss, depending on the wind. And it's pure 
love, not sex and stuff."

"Yes, Pansy, I could see that."


**********

I reported the little scene to Moggie and Smegs. They were sceptical.

"What's love got to do with it?" Smegs sneered.

"What's love but a second-hand emotion?" jeered Moggie.

"I watched it with my own eyes. This kid took a sniff of the stuff and we all 
waited. Then Darren came in, looked around, picked her out, and started snogging 
her. And they were talking like a forties film script. It was spooky."

"And what happened?"

"Nothing. They stopped, just like that, and lost interest. Darren came to his 
senses and dashed off. Pansy carried on explaining the results of the project so 
far."

"Well, I think it stinks," said Smegs. "What's the use of a brew that turns you 
into 'Brief Encounter' for a whole minute?"

"Last week, it was ten seconds," I said. "Next week, it might be up to six 
minutes, the week after, twenty-four ..."

Moggie nodded. "Shan's right, Megan. What if the kids do get the stuff working for 
long periods. It will be a winner."

"Will it? They'll all be getting married to Darren and settling down."

"We don't know how it will work over a longer period," I said. "They got straight 
down to serious snogging as it was. If they get it up to an hour or more, a lot of 
girls could be seriously ravished."

"And a lot of boys," Moggie reminded us. "Our girls can be quite determined when 
they know what they want. But I still think we should let them carry on with their 
research. Keep a close eye on it, though, Shan."

"Huh," Smegs grunted. "We've got important work to do here, and having a bunch of 
First Formers doing sloppy love scenes all over the place is just tying up 
valuable facilities."

That's Smegs. She has no soul. Just because she can't find true happiness, nobody 
else can have the chance either.


**********

I kept an eye on it. I had to insist on the stuff not being used on boys, though.

"Oh, MISS!" Pansy wailed. "We've got it up to twenty-four minutes, but you won't 
let us test it properly."

"I let you do it on other girls, didn't I?"

"I don't *like* other girls, Miss. It's all right for you, you're bi ..."

"Leave my sexuality out of this, Pansy."

"Well, I don't like snogging this lot in here. I mean, I've got tits, so I'm a 
girl, but they've got no willies. If I press my hips against them, I can't feel 
their throbbing manhoo ..."

"Pansy!"

"Well, I'm not swinging both ways, for you or anybody, Miss. I refuse to work on 
this project a moment longer!"

"So do I, Miss!" Her cousin had joined us.

"You too, Suzanne?"

"Yes, Miss." The two big-busted girls stood shoulder to shoulder.

"Right then! We'll go and see Miss Thunderbolt."





Chapter 2:- Suspension Of Disbelief


Sir Roger's Range Rover came down the drive to St Cat's. Clarrie, the serving 
wench sat in the back. For physiological reasons, Clarrie no longer drove Sir 
Roger everywhere. He was thinking of having a car built which would accommodate a 
driver with a 150-inch bust. Meanwhile, Sir Roger drove himself. His eyesight, 
which had been his excuse for having Clarrie as his chauffeuse in the first place, 
had made an excellent recovery.

Sir Roger still brought Clarrie along, to minister to his needs during the day. 
But with Sir Roger in the school, hard at work as a breast enlargement consultant, 
it was Clarrie's needs which were in greater need of ministering. That was where 
Davie came in. At first, Clarrie smuggled Davie into the car and hid him under the 
seats until Sir Roger was safely out of the way. One day, though, Sir Roger had 
returned unexpectedly to the car park during the day and found some pretty 
advanced sexual relations in progress on the back seat. He watched for some time, 
then sneaked away to change his underwear in the staff toilet.

After that, Davie came along every time, twice a week, and Clarrie's needs were 
taken care of. Her life was getting complicated. Being by far the most 
overdeveloped woman Sir Roger had ever seen in his life, she received his 
undivided attention whenever he was available and capable. That was fine, as far 
as it went, but as Clarrie's already hyperactive libido had increased dramatically 
along with her breast size, she needed almost constant sex throughout her waking 
hours. Davie took the brunt of her needs. He was there, he was available, and he 
had only ever known one woman, Clarrie. That meant that he had only ever known one 
position, with Clarrie on top. As far as Davie was concerned, there were other 
ways of doing it, but they were academic.

Every now and again, he thought back to the innocent days of summers past, when 
other girls, far less heavy than Clarrie, had done it to him the other way, and 
had sat on his face. He could still just recall the scent and flavour of Pansy's 
and Suzanne's bikini pants as they sat on his face. They could do it again any 
time they felt like it, as far as he was concerned, but these days, he never had a 
minute to call his own.

The thought that his little girlfriends were just across the car park thrilled 
him, but they might as well be at the South Pole, as all day long he lay beneath 
Clarrie while she pleasured herself. Until, one day, his opportunity came. It was 
pure luck, the way these things always are.

It was a Thursday morning. Sir Roger had enjoyed a swift screw in the car park 
before dashing off to his Fourth Form Breast Enlargement Studies class. Clarrie 
had immediately clambered on top of Davie and started her practised and economical 
action. Davie had a mouthful of nipple and a bellyful of sweet milk. Until Sir 
Roger became available again unexpectedly. He pounded on the window. 

"Clarrie? I need your body again, now!"

Clarrie was thunderstruck. Sir Roger had never managed it twice in a morning. Was 
this a new lease of life for the old boy? She slipped herself off Davie and 
scrambled out of the back seat.

"It's too cold outside, come into the staff room," Sir Roger insisted, dragging 
the maid away by the hand, her unfettered breasts flopping around like young 
hippopotami inside her custom-knitted sweater. Davie watched them disappear inside 
the school. He was at a loose end, an alien experience for him these days. Then an 
amazing thing happened.

He could smell something. Well, not exactly smell it. He couldn't smell anything 
inside the car apart from Clarrie's juices, but he had become suddenly aware of 
something making his nostrils twitch. And it was strangely exciting. It made him 
think of sunny meadows, river banks, fresh young girls - and fragrant bikini 
crotches! As if in a dream, he opened the car door and stepped out into the fresh 
air. He was being drawn in the direction of the school.

The smell, or taste, or sensation, whatever, was getting stronger. It drew him in 
through the school doorway, it made him turn sharp left and hurry down the 
corridor. He passed groups of curious girls, who stopped, open-mouthed and watched 
him scurry past.

"It's a boy!" he heard them whisper to each other.

"A boy?"

"A boy!"

He had no time for them, even though he was aware that most of these girls were 
incredibly beautiful and desirable. They had long, soft hair, creamy thighs, soft 
breasts in a bewildering range of shapes and sizes. But there were more urgent 
matters. He reached a door marked 'Science Laboratory', opened it and went inside. 
Here, the sensation was so overpowering that he had difficulty telling where it 
was coming from, then he felt almost a suction pulling him in the direction of a 
bench at the front of the lab. And there, in front of him, was Pansy!

He opened his arms to enfold her, and she did the same, and they collided softly.

"Pansy, Darling!"

"Sweet Davie, darling!"

"Oh, my darling sweetness!"

They rained kisses on each other's eager lips and faces, they kissed each other on 
the eyes, their tongues probed each other.

"How did he get in here," I asked. "Pansy, did you do this?"

Pansy was far too busy to answer, I could tell. Suzanne consulted her stopwatch 
and made notes on a clipboard. "Three minutes," she sang out. "Go for it, Pan!"

Pan needed no encouragement. She was doing perfectly well on her own. Something 
had to be done. If this went on, they would be on the floor within minutes, and 
there would be no telling what they would be up to. Yet they had made no attempt 
to get undressed. Pansy was rubbing her more than generous breasts against Davie's 
stomach and chest, yet he made no effort to unbutton the girl's school blouse and 
explore inside. Similarly, Pansy showed no inclination to get into the boy's 
pants.

They snogged away, past thirty minutes, watched by an appreciative audience, as 
Suzanne called out the elapsed time and made copious notes. The script was lousy; 
full of 'darlings' and 'sweeties', but it didn't seem to offend the other girls. 
They nodded approvingly when one of the couple came up with a particularly corny 
expression of undying love or a squelchier than usual kiss.

Then it stopped.

Just like that, they released each other. Pansy took the clipboard from her cousin 
and started consulting the notes. Davie straightened his rumpled shirt and 
stretched. He looked around, seeing the rest of the class for the first time. 
Then, without a word, he lay on his back on the bench. Suzanne watched him, 
licking her lips, then climbed up on the bench, smiling down at the boy. She 
placed her hands lasciviously beneath her enormous breasts and offered them to 
him. Davie reached out for her, then began to fumble with his belt.

Suzanne reached beneath her skirt, and in a moment, had yanked down her pants, 
kicking them away. They fluttered to the floor unheeded. The other girls had lost 
interest and wandered away to their places. And Suzanne began to lower herself on 
to Davie's face. I rushed round the bench to intervene, but too late. Davie's face 
had already disappeared beneath the girl's skirt, and she was bending forward to 
take him into her mouth. I heaved her off him by brute force. She was heavy. 
Mostly tit, I supposed.

"Suzanne!"

"Oh, Miss, you rotten spoilsport!"

"You can't do that in class, Suzanne."

"Where *can* I do it, Miss?"

"You can't do it at all, Suzanne, not at your age!"

"I can't?"

"Of course not. It's against the law. I think. It must be."

Davie had sat up, looking from one of us to the other. None of the other girls in 
the class was paying the slightest attention to the conversation.

"You simply *can't* sit on boys' faces, Suzanne. And you *certainly* can't suck 
their cocks, either. And Davie, I don't know how you got in here, but go back to 
where you came from."

"Bye, Davie! See ya later," Suzanne called cheerily as the bewildered boy slunk 
out of the room. She turned her attention back to me. "I won't get pregnant, Miss. 
Not if I don't swallow."

That had a certain logic. It was probably true.

"Who else is pregnant," demanded Pansy, taking a sudden interest.

"I'm not," Suzanne pouted, "Miss won't let me."

"Oh, Miss!" said Pansy. "You never let us do *anything*."

It was time for another interview with the headmistress.


**********

"You'll never be a teacher if you don't control your class better than this, 
Chauntaille," Moggie told me sternly.

"We're completely unsupervised, Miss. She lets us do anything," Pansy reported.

"It was all her fault about Curse getting those enormous tits," Suzanne weighed 
in.

"And she's simply obsessed with sex, all day long ..."

"Not just with boys, either. In fact, not with boys at all."

Smegs was sitting with a smug smile on her face. "I warned you, Moggie, didn't I? 
But you wouldn't listen. Don't trust her, I told you, she's an unfit person to be 
placed in charge of kids. Even First Formers."

"Have you anything to say, Chauntaille?" Moggie looked grave.

"No, Headmistress."

"Then I think it would be better if you ceased to teach here. You are suspended. I 
will send a report to your college and they will decide what is to be done to 
you."

"Who's going to do her job?" enquired Smegs.

Suzanne and Pansy both put up their hands, hopping about excitedly and wetting 
their knickers slightly.

"Please, Miss, let me, Miss!"

"No, not this time, girls. You must go back to your class and continue your work 
on the Love Potion. It is a potential money-spinner."

The girls looked glum.

"Bor-ing, Miss! It only makes you want to snog. Can't we make it really powerful, 
so it makes people want to fuck?" Pansy implored. 

"And sit on boys' faces!" insisted Suzanne.

"Not us, of course," Pansy conceded. "People!"

"You speak for yourself," Suzanne muttered.

"Absolutely not. You're far too young to be working on sex projects. We're talking 
pure young love, here. It's a market we haven't attacked before, and you're making 
exciting progress. Back to the lab with you, and carry on!"

The girls grumbled, but picked up their clipboard and squeezed past me to the 
door.

"Right, Chauntaille," said Moggie, when they had gone. "What are we going to do 
with you?"

"She'll have to go," gloated Smegs. "She's just a great big useless pair of 
walking tits."

I was beginning to wonder if she was really my bestest friend any more. 

"Come on, Chauntaille," said Moggie, handing me a hankie. "It's not the end of the 
world. There'll be other jobs. Typing: well, maybe not, you can't get near the 
keyboard. You could earn a good living as a whore, perhaps. It would mean you 
would have to fuck men, of course. See? You don't have to be a teacher. How about 
exotic dancing? You could have your tits reduced a bit. Although, thinking about 
it, you're not a lot of use at all, are you?"

"No, Miss," I agreed.

"You don't even give milk," said Smegs. "If you did, Baps might have taken you on. 
Whether your milk would be any good is another matter. Probably be sour."

"Probably."

"It would be okay for yoghurt, perhaps."

"Yes, it might," I said, feeling better.

"But you don't give milk anyway, do you."

"No, Smegs."

"Well, come on then, get your gear off. Let me feast my eyes on those gigantic 
tits one last time. Let me bury my head in your huge and fragrant love-tunnel. You 
up for it, Mogs?"

"Oh, yes, count me in," said Moggie, looking at her watch.

I stood up and began to unfasten my buttons, slowly, one at a time. But I left my 
shirt on, so it hung open, revealing just a shadowy promise of the delights 
within; the massive Mark XXII version of the Ultra-Boomer, which I was beta-
testing for Mrs Boothroyd. It was only a plain vanilla one, but quite exciting for 
all that. My hands slid down my sides to the fasteners which held up my skirt. 
Leaning forward slightly so that the weight of my breasts swung away from my waist 
and stomach, I quickly slipped it down. Once it was past my knees, I kicked it 
into the corner of the room. It was time for the shirt now, and as my audience 
watched, spellbound, I wriggled out of it, first one sleeve, then the other, 
letting it fall behind me as I pulled my shoulders back with an effort. A 
tremendous effort. Moggie and Smegs licked their lips as the Ultra-Boomer was 
exposed in all its considerable splendour. The preposterously huge cups descended 
so far that they covered the filmy decadence of my brief panties, so I turned 
sideways, slipping a pair of fingers inside the elastic and rolling them down the 
soft pillars of my thighs. At last, I turned my back on the two watching women and 
began to release the hooks of the bra.

"One!" they said.

I released the next.

"Two!"

"Three, four, five, six ...!"

I paused. It was a great strain, reaching round behind my back. Better to pause 
now, with just a few of the hooks undone, than to risk damage to the bra if my 
breasts burst free before the hooks were all freed.

"Seven, eight, nine, ten ..."

I found the counting exhilarating. The suspense was building up in the stuffy 
little office. Risking a glance over my shoulder, I could see that Moggie had 
started to undress, while Smegs had spread her legs obscenely and was busy doing 
something fairly labour-intensive beneath her skirt. Whatever it was, it took both 
hands.

"Carry on, don't stop!" they wailed. "Eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen 
..."

I realise now, I shouldn't have taken a deep breath just then. Mrs Boothroyd 
recommends lowering them on to a table at this stage, or bending from the waist 
and lowering them to the floor. With a great RRRIPPP the last eight hooks tore 
loose from the body band and my breasts flopped out of the cups one at a time. A 
total shambles. You'd think I would have learned to take off a bra by now. All I 
could do was to shrug out of the three-inch wide shoulder straps with their 
lambswool padding, and hope to avoid total destruction of the Ultra-Boomer. Too 
late.

A sigh escaped the watchers as I bent to pick up the remains of the bra.

"Fuck me, Chauntaille, you've buggered that, haven't you!" said Moggie, in awe.

"Told you she was useless, didn't I?" crowed Smegs. "Can't even take her bra off 
without dropping her tits through the floor. Look at them, the size of beanbags!"

"Fridges," said Moggie, although I couldn't see the resemblance myself.

"Couches!" exclaimed Smegs. "You could sit on those."

"Just you dare," I warned her. I'd had enough for one morning. Raw sex in the 
First Form classroom, suspension from my duties, now the total destruction of my 
new bra. Mrs Boothroyd would go ballistic. "Sit on my tits, and you're history!"

Smegs recognised the hidden menace in my voice.

Moggie had gone very quiet. I assumed she was having one of her more private 
orgasms, but she suddenly spoke. "I've had an idea, Chauntaille. There may be a 
place for you at St Cat's after all."





Chapter 3:- The Appliance Of Science


"Foundation Studies?" Smegs said in disbelief.

"Head of the Department of Foundation Studies," Moggie confirmed.

"But she's useless, we already decided that."

"Can you think of anyone who might be the new Head of Foundation Studies? Would 
*you* rather do it? It would be a demotion, of course."

I sat on the edge of the desk, swinging my legs, my breasts resting on the green 
leather on either side of my bottom. One of them slid off the desktop, with a 
horrid tugging sensation. It didn't hit the floor, of course: just how big do you 
think I am? In fact, it might have been better if it *had* been big enough to hit 
the floor, as then it would have gone squish on the carpet, instead of going 
doinnggg, the way it did. But having said that, if my tits had been long enough to 
reach the floor while I was sitting on top of a desk, they would have been pretty 
inconvenient in everyday use. They'd have been under my feet the whole time, 
unless I wore very high heels indeed. And Mother always says very high heels are 
bad for a girl's posture.

Meanwhile, Moggie and Smegs considerately picked it up and heaved it between them 
back on the desk. I reached across and hugged it closer to me in case it happened 
again. "Thank you," I said, and I really meant it.

"Our girls are going to find that their brassieres play a vital part in their 
lives as they go through St Cat's," Moggie panted.

"Not just a supporting role," said Smegs.

"A starring role," insisted Moggie. "They need advice from someone who knows the 
pitfalls. Someone who can advise them, offer them a helping hand, support them 
when their whole world seems to be about to crash down around their ears ..."

"Or their knees ..."

"... or their knees. Someone intimate with the arcane mysteries of bra sizes. 
Seventy per cent of women in this country do not know their correct bra size, 
believe it or not. We need someone the girls can come to, quietly, in the middle 
of the night, if necessary ..."

Yes, I was beginning to like the sound of this job.

"... and ask about shoulder straps, front fastenings, velcro, underwires, those 
little flaps that open up to let your nipples out to feed baby ..."

"Baby! Aaaaah! Wuz-a-wuzz! Ooz a lickoo Baby, den? Yesss!"

"... someone who can hold a girl's breast in both hands and make her feel she is 
not a freak, but a real, warm, living being, a woman!"

Fair enough, I thought. You just talked me into it, Moggie.

"Start tomorrow. Miss Albatross can take over Love Potion development with 
immediate effect ..."

"Er ... excuse me ... is that the best idea in the world, Mog," said Smegs. 
"Fanny's even more of a raving lezzie than Shan is."

"Even lesbians bleed," said Moggie obscurely. "Fanny Albatross will take it over. 
You, Chauntaille, will assume the role of Comptroller of Bra Studies."

"Was that Comptroller with a 'p'?"

"Naturally. Work closely with Sir Roger. His Clarrie can help. We'll take her on 
as a trainee. You'd better get that bra replaced; take the afternoon off and go 
see Mrs Boothroyd. She'll be coming in as a consultant. But to stop her getting 
ideas above her station, we'll get a few more custom bra makers in as well. Do 
them good to have a bit of competition. Speak to some of the bigger girls and see 
if they know of any good bra makers they can recommend. Take my car," she ended 
with spectacular generosity.

"I can't drive. Not with these."

"Of course. No. Labia will drive you. In fact, I don't need a secretary, she can 
be your full-time driver. Even better idea, I'll find a new secretary. One with 
gigantic tits, so big she has to dictate her letters to a typist. Either that or a 
man. A young man. Hung like a stallion. Off you go, then!"

"COME BACK!"

They helped me dress and I swept out to the car park, with the dreadful Miss Labia 
tagging along behind, trying to say something. We arrived at Moggie's BMW and I 
tossed her the keys.

"That's what I was trying to tell you, I can't drive," said Labia. Stupid bitch.

It was an eventful journey into town, but I parked the car at last in the middle 
of Well Lane, outside Mrs Boothroyd's shop.

"Get behind the wheel," I told Labia, "and if the law comes along, tell them your 
disabled mistress is in the bra shop. No, make that 'differently abled'."


**********

By the end of the day, I had spoken to several more custom bra makers, and 
arranged for three to come along to St Cat's the next day for informal interviews 
and discussions. There were a couple more I would have liked: a powerful-sounding 
Ms Shaw, and a little Spanish lady from Florida, but they both seemed pretty tied 
up with something big of their own.

Mrs Cooper was a little mouse of a woman. Victoria, Pansy's Third Form sister, had 
recommended her. She said that she and her mother and her Auntie Tanya all had 
their bras made by her, as well as her sister and cousin Suzanne. Can't be bad, I 
thought, that's more than twenty-four feet for starters. She obviously knew a bit 
about it.

Confusingly, Suzanne had recommended someone called Sandy. She said he (he?) made 
bras for her Nana Trudy, and for Clarrie, as well as for herself, Pansy and 
Victoria. That can't be bad, either, I reasoned, that's another thirty-one feet.

And there was Mrs Boothroyd.

We had the makings of a strong team, if they could work together. Mrs Boothroyd 
knew all about the potential of the St Cat's boob-juice, and swore by her Junior 
and Ultra-Boomer range as being set to carry us forward into the Twenty-First 
Century. Brave words indeed.

Mrs Cooper maintained that good old-fashioned methods worked for her mother and 
they would work for our girls. "The secret's in the cut," she said. "Put your 
breasts in my hands. Not literally, girl," she snapped,  when I took her at her 
word. I put them away again, feeling unfulfilled.

Sandy was a queer one, and no mistake. "I trained as an engineer with the 
Marines," he revealed. "I use methods developed for bridging uncrossable ravines 
and chasms. If you need proof of my methods, take a look at young Clarrie."

I looked out of the window and - just like in the movies - at that very moment she 
was crossing the car park. Her breasts were supported in a most improbable manner, 
the nipples fully three feet in front of her. She came to a halt, puzzling how she 
could reach the handle of the door. Finally, she solved the problem by approaching 
in reverse. Fortunately, they were double doors.

"How do you do that?" I asked him.

"Engineering," he replied. "Counterbalance weights hanging down her back. I used 
kevlar bags filled with bismuth. It's a problem, with her bra on, she weighs an 
extra 140 pounds, but Clarrie's a good strong country girl."

"How about sex?"

"You're very kind, but not just now, thank you. And as for Clarrie, she always 
does it from on top, she tells me, so the extra weight is someone else's problem."

Poor Davie, I thought. Still, he's a good strong country boy.

I addressed all three of them. "You all know enough about St Cat's by now. It is 
only a matter of time before a number of our girls become much larger than the 
national average. I would like you to submit your designs for a range of 
sophisticated, cost-effective foundation garments aimed at the modern young woman. 
Our facilities are at your disposal. Already, I believe, some of our Fifth Form 
girls have done some computer-aided design work on moulded breathable fabrics for 
bra cups. The Lower Sixth Form Lactation Studies Group has published a paper on 
Maternity Bras for the Modern Schoolgirl. Sir Roger Pym has some advanced ideas he 
tells me he would like to see brought to fruition. The sky's the limit. But 
growth, when it comes, will be sudden and staggering in its immensity. We must be 
ready! That is all, I thank you."

There was a standing ovation lasting several minutes, during which I took my 
leave, waving to the three bra makers extraordinary. Some of them more 
extraordinary then others.


**********

It was Friday before they came to me, all together.

"We have collaborated, after the manner of international aircraft manufacturers," 
said Sandy, acting as spokesman, although in his case, 'spokesperson' would have 
been more accurate a title. "We have allocated different areas of responsibility. 
Mrs Cooper is acting as design authority for the body band. She has an excellent 
background on elastic materials and is an acknowledged expert on multiple hook 
release assemblies." Mrs Cooper gave a little bow of thanks.

"Mrs Boothroyd's is a world-renowned leader in expansive cup assemblies ," said 
Sandy, and Mrs Boothroyd lowered her head modestly. "Her pioneering work with 
velcro has reached its pinnacle in the Ultra-Boomer, with which, if my hands are 
not mistaken, you are yourself familiar, Miss Cuntworthy."

"Grunt."

"Sorry?"

"It's Grunt. You said 'Cunt'."

"I did?"

"Yes. He did, didn't he?" I appealed to the others as women. They shrugged and 
held out their hands.

"Never noticed," said Mrs Boothroyd.

"Wasn't listening," said Mrs Cooper.

"You did, anyway. And it's Gruntworthy."

"Must've been a slip of the tongue. I can't imagine 'cunt' passing my lips."

Nor could I, for that matter.

"Finally," Sandy seemed to swell like a mating bullfrog, "I will be overall Design 
Co-ordinator, with special responsibility for shoulder straps and materials."

"Excellent. Have you produced a prototype?"

"We have. Our seamstresses assembled it minutes ago. As in the case of aircraft 
manufacture, the various components were produced separately and shipped here just 
in time for final assembly. In fact, you will note that the assemblies are in 
different colours." He raised his voice and cried out in ringing tones, "send in 
Kirstie!"

There was a dramatic pause, then the door burst open and two shadowy figures 
thrust the recently enhanced First Former into the room. She spoiled the effect 
somewhat by tripping over the mat. She was still finding her feet. They were down 
there somewhere.

"It's certainly pretty," I remarked. The body band was kingfisher blue, with a row 
of twelve heavy duty hooks.

"The hooks came from a manufacturer who is new to the field. They were intended 
for a military application, which explains their olive drab colour. Now, note the 
cups."

They bore the hallmark of Mrs Boothroyd, dozens of velcro straps covering the 
crimson material of the cups, which appeared to be of an unfamiliar material.

"The cups are made of a material developed for aerospace applications, and have a 
bursting strength of 500 per cent above the anticipated load," announced Sandy. 
"Breathe in, Kirstie, please!"

Kirstie began to inhale, and the bra creaked a little, before expanding before our 
very eyes. I touched one of the cups, now drum-tight and extremely full of girl. 
"It's amazing," I said, and sank my finger deep into the soft material. It 
yielded, the finger disappearing up to the knuckle in firm rubbery flesh.

"Note the crossed velcro supports, the subject of a patent application. Now, watch 
this ... you may breathe out, Kirstie."

She did, not before time. Her eyes had glazed over and she was turning blue. As 
her chest returned to a relatively normal size, the velcro readjusted itself so 
that the cups still fitted perfectly.

"Remarkable!"

"And finally, note the shoulder straps. Only two inches wide, but inflatable. If 
the weight of the breasts increases while the garment is being worn, the straps 
automatically inflate to spread the load across the shoulders. A boon to lactating 
women, or women whose breasts expand suddenly and without warning. Walk around, 
Kirstie, let's see it in action."

She did, falling over less frequently now, and breathing occasionally to 
demonstrate the cup technology. There was a future for Kirstie in specialised 
modelling, I could see that.

"How's the milking going, Curse, is Miss Baps looking after you all right?" I 
asked her.

"Oooh, yes, Miss! And the other girls are brilliant. Some of them are on five 
gallons a day. I thought I had a big yield, but I'm only average. Miss Baps - 
ain't she HUGE, Miss - says it's the country air, but I think it's something in 
the water down there. And the dairy! It's fantastic! They've got music and videos, 
and special vibrating seats at every milk station, and boys if you want them. She 
wouldn't let me have one, not even just a little one to try, I'm not old enough, 
but all the older girls have their own boy! Just to use when they're being milked. 
I get off just watching ..."

Obviously, Curse was doing fairly well at her new vocation.

"What size is this bra," I asked Sandy as Curse continued her monologue in the 
background.

"Basically, it's a 32. We don't use cup sizes at all, they only cause confusion, 
and the self-adjusting cups make them irrelevant anyway. This one goes up to about 
a hundred, but Kirstie doesn't get near that, even when the milk comes in. 
Anywhere from fifty inches upwards, it will fit and compensate automatically."

"It sounds brilliant. Congratulations, team!"

"Actually, we're glad it works. We were worried until we got it all fitted 
together. It's a great relief, especially as we're on television with it tonight."

"You are? But wait a minute, St Cat's commissioned and funded this project. I hope 
you've cleared it with Moggie."

"All done. She said to tell you, we're going to call it the ScatBra!"

"Scat? Is that a happy choice of word?" I wondered out loud.

"I did wonder, myself," said Sandy, looking a little worried. "But she said she 
was thinking of linking it with the release of St Cat's ScatPants, whatever they 
are."

"I don't think I really want to know! I said.





Part II





Chapter 4:- The ScatBra


"You can't let her call them that, Smegs! Use your influence. ScatPants, for God's 
sakes! It will attract entirely the wrong type of clientele. What are they, 
anyway?"

"They're just ordinary panties with the St Cat's logo on the front. It's short for 
St Cat's Pants, what did you think?"

"I didn't know what to think. It sounded to me as if they'd be heavily Type 'C' 
stained."

"You really are GROSS, these days, Shan. Thinking such filthy things. You aren't 
the girl I used to admire so much in the Fourth Form."

"Oh, Smegs! Did you really? I really fancied you, too."

"You'd fancy anything with tits, perve."

"Anyway, could you persuade Moggie to change the name of those pants. Please?"

"Too late," she said briskly. "The bags are all printed. They're going to be very 
big in Japan."

"Even unsoiled?"

"They can have them soiled for an extra charge, of course. But basically they're 
aimed at the man who wants to wear what the daughters of Britain's most discerning 
parents are wearing beneath their skimpy little pleated skirts."

"Perverts! Why panties? Why can't they wear St Cat's T-shirts, sweatshirts and 
stuff?"

"They're not big enough!"

"We could make them bigger."

"We can't make our customers bigger, Shan. Especially the Japanese ones. They're 
too far away. Are you wearing one now? A ScatBra?"

"No, this is the Ultra-Boomer Mark XXIV. They've only made one of the new 
ScatBras, and that was a small size, it only goes up to about a hundred inches. 
Curse modelled it. It looked great."

Smegs gnashed her teeth. Perhaps I shouldn't have referred to a 100-inch bra as a 
small size. I suppose it just sort of slipped out. She's so sensitive these days.


**********

But I was able to try a ScatBra in my size - the label said 'medium' - later in 
the day. They had obviously done a lot of work on production engineering since the 
first appearance of the prototype. This one was all the same colour, a lurid green 
which reminded me of Kermit the Frog.

But I am getting ahead of myself. I had been sketching some ideas for marketing 
when the phone rang. It was Sandy.

"Miss Cuntworthy, get your arse down to the assembly area, the girls are just 
finishing something off for you."

There were a number of words in that sentence which caused me some pain and 
confusion, but I decided only to deal with the more important ones.

"Assembly area? Girls?"

"Miss Thunderbolt has assigned us a room off the pantie soiling plant. We hope to 
get air conditioning later in the week. And the girls are our seamstresses. Tell 
them I sent you."

So I knocked on the door of the assembly area. It was certainly warm in there, but 
the smell wasn't as bad as he had made out. I mean, you could tell that someone 
was soiling panties in a pretty intensive way next door, but it wasn't too 
oppressive. In fact, I found it quite pleasant. Certainly arousing. But then, I am 
easily aroused.

Perhaps that was why I was even further aroused by the sight of the seamstresses. 
Two of them, they were the shadowy figures who had thrust Kirstie into the room 
earlier. They were undistinguished-looking women, clearly of working class 
origins. Perhaps if they had been dressed, I would never have noticed them at all.

But they were naked. Because of the heat, I supposed. The nearer one looked me up 
and down as I came in.

"'Ere she is, Clit," she shouted, flicking her lank, greasy-looking dark-brown 
hair back from her face with a bony hand. "Sand said she 'ad fuckin' great 
whoppers, we'd be sure to reckonnise 'er!"

Her companion, Clit, was blonde, mostly. She scrutinised me as well, while picking 
her nose. At last, she inspected something attached to her finger and flicked it 
away. It stuck to the ceiling above my head. "Well, 'e was right, Flaps. Corr, 
look at the soddin' fings. You got a licence for them, lovey?"

I ignored her, sniffed, and introduced myself as Comptroller of Bra Studies.

"Wiv a 'p'?" asked Flaps, who obviously had the benefit of an education.

"Naturally," I told her.

That was when Flaps stood up. Until then, both women had been sitting behind their 
sewing machines. I could tell they were naked by their bare shoulders. But 
standing, Flaps made me feel weak at the knees. "Fuck me!" I said, and those who 
know me well will be aware that such words do not pass my lips lightly.

"You seen summat, 'ave yer?" asked Flaps, rudely. "You'll know me next time yer 
see me, yeah?"

I thought I probably would. Flaps was a skinny woman, in fact, her shoulders and 
arms were positively bony. But her tits! How can I describe them. Remember Miss 
Dumbo? Donna Dumbo. the Queen of the Inserts. who was probably teaching the finer 
points of exotic dancing to our Fourth Form at this very moment? Well, Donna's 
aren't real. Flaps's were. They wobbled with passion as she awaited my reply.

"Fuckin' HELL!" Shan, I thought. Is that really the best you can manage?

I know, I know! With the benefit of an expensive education, I ought to have been 
able to express myself more adequately. But while I was still trying to get over 
the impact of Flaps's tits, Clit chose that moment to stand up as well.

I had to sit down. I found a chair and dropped into it gratefully. Clit and Flaps 
stood shoulder to shoulder in front of me. I've never been any good at descriptive 
passages. My old English teacher used to despair of me. 'Chauntaille,' I remember 
her saying. 'Let it flow, release it.'

As I said to her then, I'll do my best. Clit was a little taller than Flaps, about 
five feet one, perhaps. It must be the inner-city working class conditions that 
stunts their growth. Why doesn't it affect their tits, then? Flaps's weren't 
completely visible, now that I had slumped into a chair. That, and the fact that 
they descended to below her navel. You remember Belinda Balloons? Yes, her, the 
one with the giant Dunlop rubber breasts? Well, Clit's were real. I knew they were 
real because they went in and out as she breathed.

"I reckon she's one o' them lezzies, Flaps," she grated, elbowing her partner in 
the right breast. "She can't take her eyes off of our boobs."

"I'll give 'er lezzie if she comes over 'ere," said Flaps, "I'll get my Kevin on 
to her, give 'er a good nine inches up her slot, that'll cure 'er little problem."

I could think of worse cures for my problems.

"Nine?" Clit was looking at her friend with one eyebrow raised.

"Well, seven and an arf, then. All right! Six. It's what 'e does wiv it that 
matters."

I'd gone off Kevin. I stood up again, feeling slightly recovered. "Sandy said you 
had something for me."

"Oooh, Sendy sed yoo hed something FAW me!" Flaps mimicked.

Did I really sound like that? Gosh, quite pleasant, really.

Flaps reached into a box beside her machine and produced a bile green bra. My 
heart leapt at the sight of it. The ScatBra! For me?

In seconds, I had stripped off my blouse and the huge heavy-duty creaking Ultra-
Boomer. As music swelled and birds sang, I took up the featherweight ScatBra and 
began to lower my breasts into the cups. I had unexpected help. On my right, 
Flaps, her tiny, skeletal fingers lifting and stroking one breast into its cool 
silken cup; on my left, Clit, caressing my gigantic orb as she eased its bulk into 
the other one.

Their fingers were cool and practised. The soft kisses they placed on my nipples 
before loading them into the bra and tucking them away out of sight were moist and 
hot. They eased the inflatable straps over my shoulders, touching rather more than 
was strictly necessary, I noticed. I didn't object to that in the slightest, 
especially as the bits of me they were touching seemed to be suddenly erogenous. 
In fact, I was erogenous all over.

The last of the twenty heavy duty hooks was fastened and Clit and Flaps stood back 
briefly to study the effect.

"Come over to the mirrow," suggested Flaps, her voice sounding somehow more 
musical than before. She led me by the hand, and we floated on winged feet across 
the room.

Clit appeared behind me as I studied our reflection. I looked staggering, I have 
to admit with all due modesty. The two seamstresses thought so too. They squirmed 
against me, their tits hot and squashy, thrusting their unclothed loins forward in 
curiously naive motions, like wild animals, completely without inhibitions.

I didn't reach the position of Comptroller of Bra Studies without recognising an 
imminent orgy. Nor did the seamstresses. They kindly gave me a hand or four to get 
the ScatBra off and back into its box before diving in with working class abandon.

A bit of rough never hurt a well-brought-up girl, I always think. The thought did 
occur to me that these two had been responsible for getting Curse ready for her 
fashion display earlier, but I am sure they wouldn't have despoiled a First 
Former.

But they certainly despoiled me.


**********

"Phworr, who have you been with?" exclaimed Smegs, flinging open a window and 
leaning out.

"Sorry," I said. "I was trying on the new ScatBra with Flaps and Clit, the 
seamstresses, and things got a bit out of hand."

"I could have guessed that much."

"We started off in the assembly area, but we sort of rolled around a bit on the 
floor, and next thing we knew, we were in the pantie-soilery."

"Cor, abandoned sex, or what!" Smegs sounded envious.

"Yes, and the girls doing the soiling got a little excited, too ..."

"They do, working in there, I've noticed ..."

"... and they started throwing the panties around ..."

"I'll sack the lot of them," shouted Smegs, getting up and grabbing the phone.

"... and we were wiping ourselves with them, oooh, everywhere, you know?"

"Everywhere?" Smegs sat down. "Maybe we'd better run a special batch. Charge an 
extra 50 per cent. Did they ...?"

"Yes. The foreman ... foreperson ... foregirl ... she put them in a separate 
plastic bag after we'd finished with them."

"She's a good girl, that one," said Smegs, "she'll go far. But don't let me stop 
you, carry on." Smegs resumed the position, with both hands exploring her intimate 
regions. I lent her a hand, and she obligingly made room for me to kneel between 
her thighs, spreading her legs even wider.

"Well, where was I? We'd rolled into the soilery, and unfortunately, a container 
of girl-juice got upset. It was on the hot-plate, just simmering." Smegs's eyes 
began to water at the thought. "And it fell off, and spread all over the floor, 
and we all rolled in it. It's ever so slippery, you wouldn't believe!"

"I tried it once," sighed Smegs, "but we only had a gallon. Not fifteen. I hope 
they mopped it up afterwards."

"Oooh, yes. They wiped it up carefully, and squeezed it back into the container. 
We didn't lose much. In fact, funny thing. There seemed to be more there than when 
we started."

"Excellent!" Smegs seemed pleased. In fact, she came, fairly energetically, at 
that moment, so it was difficult to tell whther she was just pleased, or 
positively ecstatic. She came again, wetly, and I removed my fingers and sucked 
them. "Put them back, you bastard," she screamed.

It's good to see Smegs back to something like her old self. When I left the 
office, she was on her hands and knees, mopping up something with her discarded 
knickers. I hope she sent them down to the pantie soiling plant afterwards.


**********

I bumped into Moggie a moment later.

"Phworrr, who have you been with?" she said, most originally, staggering to an 
open doorway and fanning her face with her panties, which she plucked from her 
sleeve. I looked at them in a marked manner and she realised her mistake.

"Smegs," I said. "Well, Smegs most recently, but it was the new seamstresses 
before that, we had an orgy in the assembly area, but it sort of spread into the 
panty soiling plant, and a few fluids became spilt."

"I bet they did," said Moggie. "Seamstresses, eh? A bit working class for you, 
aren't they?"

"Well, yes, actually, but they've both got the most tremendous tits considering 
how petite they both are. Would you like me to descibe them to you?"

"I'd love it, but sorry, no time. I'll try and slip down there later and see them 
for myself. Is the air conditioning working in there yet?"

Moggie keeps a finger on the pulse.

"No, that's why Clit and Flaps are both working without any clothes on. Stark 
bollock naked. Not a stitch. Absolutely starkers. Not even a pair of knickers 
between them."

"Is that their names? You know, I think I've just got time to nip down there now 
and meet the workforce. Show the flag, don't you know?"

"I'm sure you'll be pleased with them. Honestly, their tits are immense for such 
small women. You know Belinda Balloons and Donna Dumbo? Well, they're not real. 
Clit and Flaps are just as big, but they're one hundred and twenty per cent solid 
woman. And they won't even have dried out yet from my session with them earlier 
..."

I was talking to myself. Moggie had suddenly clutched at her groin and rushed off.





Chapter 5:- Victoria


I felt on top of the world. It was a crisp Autumnal day, the sun had driven off 
the mist, and the nip of frost had turned to beads of water on the grass and 
flower beds. I greeted Jeremy as he pottered amongst the rose bushes. He stared at 
me, open-mouthed.

One gets used to this reaction, but Jeremy knows me of old. We were each other's 
first lovers, after all. We had almost grown up together since then. Or grown out 
in my case. The only difference between today and last week was the ScatBra. It 
was certainly an experience for the wearer. Once you got used to the noise of the 
cups constantly altering their size to accommodate the tiniest fluctuation of your 
breast size, it was just like wearing any other bra, if you ignored the sixty 
pounds of counterbalance weights slung down your back.

It wasn't as bad as it sounds. The weight was carried in a special section of the 
body band, which was understandably deep to make room for the twenty heavy-duty 
hooks. It made you feel tired for the first hour or so, but personally, I told 
myself how much more I would appreciate it when I took it off at bed time.

I stopped next to Jeremy and raised his lower jaw. He thanked me, and I said he 
was welcome.

"You're looking particularly gigantic today, Shan ," he said, and I blushed 
prettily at the compliment.

"It's the new ScatBra," I said, unbuttoning my blouse to show him. The cups 
groaned as they accommodated my swelling nipples in the chill air.

"Bloody hell!" he observed, and touched one areola cautiously. I gave a low moan 
of ecstasy. These cups were so strong, yet as thin as tissue paper. It was all I 
could do to keep away from him, I wanted to have him there among the leaves on the 
ground. I apologised as I climbed to my feet, and he said he fully understood.

As I moved on my way and thanked the polite girls who opened the double doors for 
me, then, I felt, as I said, on top of the world.

"Good morning, Miss!"

I turned round. It was Victoria, the cousin of Suzanne, the elder sister of Pansy. 
"Good morning, Victoria," I said.

"You're looking particularly gigantic today, Miss," she said.

"Why, thank you, Victoria," you're looking quite huge yourself!" She blushed 
prettily at the compliment, and looked down at her feet. She could just see them. 
She obviously had something else she wanted to say.

"What is it, Victoria?" I asked, softly.

"Oh, Miss." She was silent for a long time. "Miss. I want you to review my role."

"Your roll, Victoria?"

"No, Miss, my role." This time, she rolled the 'r' in the French manner.

"Excellent pronunciation, Victoria," I said. "But what do you want me to do?"

"Well, Miss, my sister and cousin. They're younger than me, but they've been in 
about six chapters lately, and I haven't had more than a passing mention. I want a 
bigger part."

"Victoria," I warned her sternly. "Our readers' suspension of disbelief is at risk 
if you talk like this. They have enough trouble as it is, without you talking 
about your part in this narrative."

"Sorry Miss, but I feel strongly about it. Couldn't I take part in one of the 
orgies you keep having? Or you could make me sit on Jeremy's face, or something?"

"No, you're far too young for explicit action of that sort. You will have to wait 
until you reach the Lower Sixth."

"Don't talk to me about the Lower Sixth," she muttered fiercely. "Load of huge-
titted cows."

"Do I detect that you would like bigger breasts, Victoria?"

"I wouldn't mind, Miss," she said, blushing and looking down at her chest.

"They're quite big already, Victoria."

"Shit, Miss. Sorry Miss, but they're not even as big as that Suzanne's. I bet 
you're going to make *her* bigger again!"

"You're both growing girls, Victoria. Anything might happen."

"Don't give me that crap, Miss. You could let me fall into that vat that's still 
in the lab. I could trip over my shoelace, easily. Or I could be overcome by 
fumes."

"No. Out of the question. And if you carry on talking like this I will write you 
out permanently and send you to study breast development in the rain forests of 
South America. Or among those South American Indians who play those pan pipes and 
things. Is that clear? Right! How about a spell in the pantie soiling plant? It's 
quite horny in there."

"It stinks, Miss. It's tits I want. Like yours, or Clarrie's new ones. They're 
ridiculously huge."

"That's not my fault," I reminded her. "It was the brew the First Formers mixed 
up. It was too strong."

"See? The First Formers again. They get into everything. Please think of 
something, Miss, please."

She was pressing herself against me in a strangely arousing manner. Other girls 
were beginning to stare. "Stop it, get off," I told her, and she stood back 
reluctantly. "But I promise, I will try and think of something."

"Ooooh, Miss. Thank you!" She placed a wet kiss on my cheek, standing on tiptoe 
and balancing by holding on to the side of one of my breasts with both hands. She 
turned to go. "Must dash," she said, "we've got Miss Balloons for Primary Solo 
Wanking. And Miss! You can call me Toria. It's much easier to type!"

I shall decide later whether to send her to Peru or somewhere more uncomfortable.


**********

Strange that she should have come into the story the way she did, because later 
that very same morning she became involved in it again.

Belinda Balloons burst into the staff room.

"Ere! You're the bleedin Controller of Bra Studies, ain't yer?"

"If you mean Comptroller, with a 'p', naturally," I replied.

"Well, look what some kid in the Thirds has done to my breast!" She raised her 
sweater over her elephantine mounds and showed me.

"One's bigger than the other," I observed.

"No, it fuckin' in't, see? One's smaller than the other, that's wot! I've got a 
puncture. Me first in three years."

"Well that's not bad. I bet in the old days, they used to get a flat every twenty 
miles. We've come a long way since ..."

"Spare me the 'istory of road transport, kid, and tell me what you're going to do 
about the girl who stuck a pin in me breast. It must have been an 'at pin, it went 
right froo me breast and stuck in me tit! I felt it!"

"That's serious. Who was it?"

"It was that Victoria. The one with the biggest tits in the class."

"Oh, that one. I knew we were going to have some trouble with her before long. Is 
she?"

"Is she what?"

"The biggest in the class?"

"Easy, the little slag. Tits like melons on her. Bloody disgustin' great things."

Well, there it was, straight from the horse's mouth. Just let Victoria complain to 
me again, that's all.

"I'll see her, straight away. I know her aunt. We're very close". Well, we used to 
be, but I'm thirty inches ahead at the moment. "Are you going to see the nurse 
about that?"

"No, I'm going down the garage. They can get one of the boys to put a patch on it 
and pump it up again. It'll be a fiver at least, and I bet they ask if I want 'em 
balanced and the tracking adjusted."

And off she went. The sooner we have Belinda's bust naturalised the better. It 
must be hell in those things in summer. I stormed into the Third Form's Primary 
Solo Wanking class, abandoned by Belinda, and now engaged in Free Studies.

"Attention, please, girls. Quiet please!" They stopped what they were doing and 
looked up at me. "Right, Miss Balloons has had to go to the garage for treatment. 
I want you to carry on from where she left off. How far did you get, Toria?" 
(She's right, it is easier to type).

Toria sat up on her desk and her skirt fell down over her thighs. "We'd got our 
panties off, Miss. One or two girls didn't like to, but we sorted them out when 
Miss Balloons had gone. We'd done the bit where you lie back on the bed. We're 
using our desks instead of beds. And we were just going to start running our 
fingers up and down our rapidly moistening slits, Miss."

Some of the girls gasped and blushed, I noticed. I would mark them down for extra 
homework. Toria carried on, with a little grin on her face. "And that was when 
Miss Balloons had her unfortunate accident, Miss."

"We'll discuss that later, Toria. Meanwhile, girls, let me see you leaning back on 
your desks." They complied, some with more agility than others. I walked up and 
down the desks, adjusting a posture here and there. "Right, then. Fingers ready. 
Anyone left-handed?" Three girls put up their hands. "Use whichever hand is more 
comfortable. Okay? Now, using the middle finger, just gently rub it up and down 
the front of the slit ... WAIT FOR IT, ANTHEA! God, girl! A video has to last 
thirty minutes or the punters don't get value for their fourteen-ninety-nine! Make 
it last. Gently, now ..."

And away they went. One or two moans went up from around the room.

"Hold it. Who moaned then?" Other girls giggled and pointed out the moaners, who 
blushed. "We're not doing moaning until we've got the fingers right. When I tell 
you, that's when you can moan, but not until then, understand? Right, up and down, 
up and down. Good! Now, then, without losing the rhythm, introduce another finger, 
let it slip just inside, feel that? Good! Keep going. Faster. Now get your thumb 
and just let it press lightly against your clitoris. That's your love-button, 
Toria!" The giggles had a more urgent note to them now. "Just touching it lightly, 
keep those fingers moving. Put the tip of your tongue out, and just touch your 
lips. That's great, lovely!"

I watched the class hard at work, all of them concentrating deeply on the task in 
hand. Heavy breathing was breaking out. "Keep at it through this bit," I warned 
them, "you still have five minutes to last out. Now, go for it. Moan if you like. 
If you come, KEEP GOING!"

And they did, their fingers became a blur. Some of them introduced little 
refinements of their own, but I let them get away with it, just this once. In a 
crescendo of moans and howls, the Third Form reached its first massed orgasm, and 
subsided, panting. Then they sat up on their desks, chattering and discussing the 
experience.

"That was excellent, girls," I congratulated them, "especially for a first 
attempt. It will get better, believe me!" The buzz of conversation grew louder at 
that.

"How was it for you, Miss?" asked one skinny girl in large spectacles.

"The earth moved, Saskia," I told her, and she lay back with a contented smile.

"Toria, I will see you outside," I said. "Girls, you may carry on. Phillipa, would 
you try not to fake it this time!"

The door closed behind us and we stood in the corridor.

"Thanks, Miss. That was wonderful!" She had a dreamy expression on her face. She 
was extremely pretty, as well as being the biggest breasted girl in the class.

"There you are, Toria. Don't say I never do anything for you. I have made you the 
prettiest and biggest breasted girl in your entire class. You've had an entire 
chapter devoted to your little game, you have punctured your Masturbation 
Techniques Mistress and, with one exception, your entire class has attained an 
orgasm simultaneously."

"Thank you, Miss."

"You are happy now?"

"Ooooh, yes, Miss. Except ..."

"Yes, Toria?"

"You don't fancy a good spanking, do you, Miss?"


**********

I can draw a veil over the rest of the conversation. As it happened, the massed 
orgasm had excited me almost to the point of spontaneous ejaculation. A good 
spanking might calm my tattered nerve-endings a little. We did it in the staff 
room, which was fortunately unoccupied, because by the time I dragged Toria in 
there by her hand, we were unstoppable.

She used the flat of her hand, and when this became too painful for her, she found 
a metre long ruler and wielded that. It left some most amazing red marks, and I 
knew I wouldn't be able to sit down for the rest of the afternoon.

At last, I told her to stop.

Some twenty minutes later, she gave me one more for luck and told me to get up.

"Thank you, Toria," I said.

"Thank YOU, Miss!"





Chapter 6:- The Number Of Characters Is Getting Out Of Hand


"What was all that noise just before lunch, Chauntaille?" Moggie grabbed me in the 
corridor as I was hobbling carefully to my study for a lie-down. It wasn't going 
to be easy. I couldn't lie on my back after the spanking from Victoria, and I 
couldn't lie on my front, period, unless I let my tits dangle over the edge of the 
bed.

"What noise?" I said, feeling guilty and going bright red. Which noise did she 
mean, was it the Third Form orgasm or me getting a good thrashing?

"Ah, you obviously know something about it. You look as guilty as hell. Well?"

"Er. Was it a sort of moaning noise, building to a climax. Lots of young female 
voices?"

"No, you fool! That was the Third Form Primary Solo Wanking class. They sounded 
nicely together, from what I could hear with a glass pressed against the wall."

"Oh, yes, Moggie, they all came within seconds of each other. One faker."

"Only one? Not bad. Philippa?"

"Yes."

"She needs extra tuition. I'd thought of giving it to her. *Very* nice bottom!"

"Oh, excellent. Firm, yet surprisingly large for her build," I enthused. "Very 
fleshy down there, as well."

"Down where? There?"

"Aaaargh! No, a bit further to the left. No, *my* left! THERE! Ooooh, Miss!"

"Ooooh, Chauntaille! But I was getting side-tracked. That noise. It sounded more 
like corporal punishment, except that it went on for hours!"

"Forty minutes, Miss," I blurted, then buried my head in my hands.

"So it was you, Chauntaille. So, who was the child, and what had she done? This is 
a serious matter. If it came before the European Court of Human Rights, we would 
be in deep shit, I need not remind you."

"It was Victoria, Miss," I admitted.

"That quiet girl. Very pretty? Biggest tits in her class? Hasn't said anything for 
a dozen chapters?"

"That's her!"

"What did she do, to deserve a spanking?" Moggie looked excited beyond measure.

"She was building up her part. Wanted bigger tits, more action. All that stuff."

Moggie nodded. "So, you beat her for forty minutes?"

"No, Miss. She beat me."

"My God, Chauntaille. I never suspected you were into this sort of thing. You 
should have said sooner."

"Honest, Miss, I didn't know. Victoria suggested it. She asked if I fancied a good 
spanking, and I thought, shit, why not? You know me, I'll give anything a try!"

"And how was it?"

"For me? Fantastic. I shan't sit down for days. I came about twenty times! In 
fact, I still am, slightly."

"Sounds like a good one. But I would appreciate it if you didn't involve the girls 
again, Chauntaille."

"Not even Toria?"

"I'm afraid not. Although I may have a word with her myself about the matter, some 
time." She made a note on a piece of paper. "No, if you need a good thrashing, any 
time, night or day, see me."

"Thank you, Miss!"

"My pleasure. And you may call me Moggie again now."

"Thank you, Miss!"

"And there was a message for you. From Megan. Apparently the twins are arriving 
for a visit this afternoon. Does it mean anything to you?"


**********

Did it mean anything?

The twins! Cindy and Melanie, our friends ever since the First Form at St Cat's! 
Coming here to see the old school, and to see us! A proud moment for the Deputy 
Headmistress and the Comptroller of Bra Studies of St Catherine's High School for 
Girls. I found Smegs in a state of high excitement. I coughed politely before 
entering the office.

"Oh, hi!" she said, not bothering to pull her skirt down as it was only me. "Just 
finishing, if you don't mind watching ...? Take a seat."

"Go ahead, don't mind me. And I'll stand if it's all the same to you." I watched 
until her eyes closed in sheer pleasure. She moaned softly, then finally withdrew 
the cucumber and laid it on the desk.

"That's a big one," I said admiringly, picking it up and licking the excess juice 
off it.

"I was lucky. It was the last one they had. Nice curve to it," she said, taking it 
from me gently and holding it up to the light to look along its splendid length.

"It's a bit like Darren's. Could I borrow it later?" I said.

"For a little while. I know you won't damage it, a vegetable marrow is more your 
size."

I didn't argue with her. It was true, I could manage a marrow, although I could 
squeeze myself tight enough to make a cucumber's eyes water, if necessary, and 
Smegs knew that as well as I did.

"What about the twins, then, when are they coming?"

"They're arriving tomorrow morning. We'll be able to show them round the classes. 
A pity old Sir Roger's here, randy old bugger, but Clarrie will keep him sedated. 
And the twins will love seeing the old place again, even if it is all brand new. 
Some of the new classes are going to get them going! Exotic Dancing!"

"Third Form Primary Solo Wanking!"

"Lactation Studies!"

"Breast Enlargement!"

"Fruit and Vegetables as Sex Objects!"

"What's that one?"

"I just thought of it, I'll suggest it to Moggie."

"Are they bringing the babies?"

"All of them, they said."

"All? How many have they got, for crying out loud?"

"Quite a few, apparently. It was a bad line, but Cindy said something about 
twins."

"Gosh!"


**********

"Is that them?" I asked. Smegs was looking out of the window into the car park.

"Don't think so," she said. "It's some sort of bus. A little bus, but still a bus. 
There's somebody getting out. It's a big woman in an apron. And another, and 
another one. They look like nurses. Bloody hell, look at the tits on them!"

"I can't see, you're hogging the window. And anyway, I'm not tall enough."

"Look out the other window, they're heading this way. Shit, it's the twins! But 
who are all those others? It's a coach party. They can't bring all their friends."

"Smegs," I said. "They've all got babies. And there are a whole bunch of toddlers 
with them. Dozens of them. They're still getting out of the bus!"

The last one got out, and the whole party stood around, as if wondering where to 
go. I counted them. The twins, plus four big-busted young women, each holding what 
seemed to be two babies, one in each arm. Then there were at least a dozen little 
kids running around. Too many to count.

"Shit!" said Smegs in admiration. "They've been busy since they left school! We'd 
better get out there and meet them."


**********

"Multiple births run in the family," said Cindy, bouncing a child on her knee. "So 
we were always likely to have twins."

"And triplets," Melanie reminded her. "We've had three sets of twins and one set 
of triplets each since we left St Cat's! Not bad?"

"I'll just introduce them," said Cindy. "My oldest are Vanessa and Virginia, 
Melanie's oldest are Veronica and Vanda, they're all two and a half, they were 
born during the exams, remember? Then there were my Sharon, Shelagh and Samantha, 
and Mel's Stephanie and Scarlett, they're nearly two, then there was my Theresa 
and Tabatha, and Mel's Tamsin, Tara and Tonya, and ..."

"Perhaps we'll meet them all later," said Smegs, although I was doing my best to 
write them all down. I thought I might have missed a few already. "How many 
altogether?"

"Eighteen. Can't you count? said Melanie.

"And the nurses are Petra, Petronella, Pauline and Paula."

"Yes, they would be," said Smegs. "Tremendous tits, though, girls!"

The nurses thanked her politely.

"Don't you recognise them?" grinned Melanie. "They are all from the old Junior IT 
Studies Group. They save us so much trouble feeding this lot. They're all still on 
the breast, and the four P's have more than enough milk to go round."

"Well, it's lovely to see you again," I said. "What a surprise, so many kids. And 
all girls, too!"

"It was a surprise to us as well, some of them."

"The ... erm ... the father? Is he ...?"

"Could be almost anyone," admitted Cindy. "I know, it sounds terrible, doesn't it. 
But the first lot were all Jeremy's, or Darren's or the disco lad's, we know that. 
After that, it gets a bit vague. We could narrow it down to nine or ten boys, I 
suppose, but it seems so unfair, really, to spoil their enjoyment by singling out 
anyone for the credit."

"Who thinks of the names?" Smegs asked.

"We've got a computer program that spews them out as fast as we need them. Well, 
almost as fast."

"Well, you certainly look well on it! You've kept your figures beautifully."

They had, too. The twins were always well-endowed, without being ridiculously so. 
And of course, being related in some way to Tanya and her sister, and thus to 
Toria, Pansy and Suzanne, you could expect them to have a fair ration of breast. 
And although Sir Roger would have no way of knowing, they were his granddaughters, 
as well! It might be as well not to tell him!

"Well, since you mention it, Shan, so have you," laughed Cindy. "Those are without 
doubt the biggest tits I have ever seen in my life. They are gigantic." It seemed 
like another one of those times to blush prettily. I'm getting quite good at it.

"Thank you, Cin. You're so sweet."

I suppose it was the noise of all the children that attracted Moggie's attention. 
She came in and looked around in amazement. The twins recognised her and their 
jaws hit the floor.

"Miss Valentine! We thought you were dead, burned to a crisp," Melanie said with a 
nice turn of phrase.

"It's Miss Thunderbolt," she said. "Headmistress. But it is a delight to see you 
again, looking so fit and so hugely well-developed. Are these all your children?"

"Yes, Miss. These here are the oldest, they're ..."

"No, please, let us," I said, "Tarantula and Tuna ..."

"... and Torquemada and Testarossa," said Smegs. We were prepared to introduce the 
rest, but Moggie had spotted the four P's.

"It's Petra and Petronella, isn't it? And Pauline and Paula?"

"Yes, Miss."

"Bloody shit, look at the size of you."

"We're four months pregnant, Miss."

"Ah, that would explain it. You always were among the smaller girls in the Junior 
IT Studies Group."

"How big are your busts now, for the sake of Chauntaille's American readers?"

"Sixty-nine inches, Miss."

"Seventy-two, Miss."

"Seventy-six, Miss."

"Seventy-nine, Miss!"

"Well done, Paula. Pregnant, then? What are you hoping for? Boys or girls?"

"Girls, of course, Miss. Then they'll grow up into huge-breasted teenagers for 
someone to write about in ten years time."

"How thoughtful of you."

"We've left our other children at home, Miss, to avoid confusion. We're always 
leaving them behind all over the place. We've got two each, Miss. Their names are 
..."

"Hang on, girls, I've run out of paper," I told them.

"Anyway, girls," said Moggie, "Lots to do. I'll see you before you go?"

"Yes, please, Miss." Cindy fumbled nervously with one of her babies. "We were 
wondering. Now the children are all grown up and thinking about leaving home, if 
there was a job we could do here?"

"We might be able to fit you in part time. What subject were you thinking of?"

"We'd rather thought about Birth Control."

"Sounds like an excellent idea, Cindy. See me before you leave."

"I'll see you later as well, Twins, in the lab. I've got First Form Sexual 
Chemistry."

"Things are looking up, Shan, by the sound of it," said Melanie.

"You don't know the half of it!"





Part III





Chapter 7:- More Sexual Chemistry


"How's the Potion going, Pansy?"

"Oh, it's you, Miss. We thought you'd been fired."

"Not quite, Pansy. I'm the new Comptroller of Bra Studies."

"Is that with a 'p', Miss?"

"Naturally. Right, then. Update me on this Love Potion. You were up to thirty-six 
minutes, and as far as we could tell, it was pure innocent love, no sex?"

"Yes, Miss," she said, glumly. "You're sure you won't let us put a bit of fuck 
into it? Just a little bit?"

"Pansy! No fuck, understand?"

"All right, Miss," she said happily. "Suze," she yelled across the lab. "We've got 
to take the fuck out, we're not allowed!"

"Who says?"

"Miss!"

"Oh, fuck!"

"Language, Suzanne," I said. This was not at all nice, coming from First Formers.

"Sorry, Miss." 

They seemed to have learned their lesson. They had stopped arguing with me. They 
agreed with everything I said. I knew they were good girls deep down, once I'd 
shown them who was boss.

I moved off around the class, where the girls were working in twos and threes on 
various projects. The first group were the Advanced Breast Enlargement Group, who 
were improving the boob juice we had produced earlier in the term.

"We've made it more consistent, we think, Miss," said the leader, a totally flat-
chested girl called Anastasia. She polished her spectacles on her blouse. "But 
we've reached the limit of what we can do without a human subject."

"That's a problem, Anastasia. Our hands are tied. We can't just choose a girl at 
random."

"No, Miss. That's why we advertised on the school notice board."

"You did WHAT?"

"And we got seventy-seven replies. We're interviewing every evening this week, 
Miss, in the dorm. We hope to make an announcement by the weekend, and enlarge our 
chosen girl on Sunday. Then she can order her new bra and stuff on Monday 
morning."

"How thoughtful, Anastasia. Anyone we know among the applicants?"

"One or two, Miss. There's Victoria, in the Thirds ..."

"I've already told her she's having no more tit than she's got. She's already the 
biggest in the class ..."

"And a couple of the Lower Sixth ..."

"But they're all gigantic already ..."

"Not big enough, apparently. They're jealous of you and Sir Roger's Clarrie, Miss. 
One or two of them are setting their sights on the magic two hundred inches, so we 
heard. Oh, and there's Miss Thunderbolt, of course!"

"Miss THUNDERBOLT!"

"Yes, Miss, hasn't she told you? Ah, obviously not ..."

Moggie! I moved on in a daze. Moggie, wanting to get bigger again? Wanting it so 
badly that she would trust herself with Anastasia's First Form brew. I hadn't 
realised how jealous she was of us. I would have to tell Smegs about this.

But, meanwhile, life goes on. The next group were working on a synthetic girl-
juice substitute for use in the tuna cannery.

"It tastes right," I told them, after a cautious sip; there's an awful lot of girl 
in there. They looked pleased, grinning at each other and wriggling. "But the 
colour needs some work. You won't be able to sell bright green tuna."

The girls looked crestfallen and poured their mixture away, then sat in an unhappy 
little group, sobbing quietly. I hardened my heart against them and moved on.

The last group were working on a pantie project. The leader, a chubby, bright-eyed 
blonde called Shona described it to me.

"You know babies, Miss?"

"Yes, Shona, I've met one or two. Noisy creatures, inclined to smell."

"Well, their nappies, disposable ones, let the water through when they piss, so 
baby stays dry. Well, our panties work the other way. Our girls stay wet."

"Do they really?" I knew how they felt. All I needed was a good spanking and I 
stayed wet for the rest of the day. "I'm sure the soiling plant will be 
interested, Shona. How is it working?"

"We've all been wearing the same panties for a week, Miss, and they haven't dried 
out yet."

"I see," I said, moving away several paces. "Carry on, then," I shouted.

I went in search of Pansy and Suzanne. I had just remembered to tell them that 
their mother's cousins were coming round on a visit. But there was no sign of the 
girls. They were nowhere to be seen. 

"Has anyone seen Pansy and Suzanne?"

"No, Miss."


**********

We pieced it together afterwards. The two stacked First Formers had walked boldly 
into the Lower Sixth classroom, where Belinda Balloons was doing spontaneous 
orgasms without the use of hands. Pretty advanced stuff: even Belinda herself 
couldn't guarantee a finish more than four times out of five.

"'Ere y'are. Grab yourselves an orange each out of the basket. You've got to come 
while you're eatin' the orange. Right? This will be useful for when you've got a 
bloke, or when you get married."

The girls took their oranges and got down to it. One or two of them got the knack 
of it straight away, others resorted to fingers, and had to be chided by Belinda. 
She bent low to study the girls at close quarters, shouting encouragement.

"That's great, kids, yeah. This is 'A' level wankin'. Go, go, go!"

Pansy and Suzanne slipped into the room unobserved and stood watching as the Lower 
Sixth girls came, with grunts and sighs, amid the slurping of oranges. Swiftly, 
the two youngsters selected a suitable group of drained and exhausted subjects and 
moved in, holding out a beaker full of a fizzing liquid.

"Here, sniff this. It's like smelling salts. It will help you recover quicker."

Three of the Lower Sixth took a deep breath of the mixture, their enormous breasts 
expanding like balloons as they sucked the vapours into their lungs. Than, as 
suddenly as they had arrived, Pansy and Suzanne disappeared, to watch from behind 
the teacher's desk. Pansy had her clipboard ready, and Suzanne clicked a 
stopwatch. They didn't have long to wait.

The classroom door burst open, and in came Jeremy, Darren and the disco lad. They 
breathed in deeply and homed in straight away on the three girls who had sniffed 
the beaker. And they wrapped their arms around each other.

"Darling!"

"Oh, my sweet!"

At this point they departed from the script. All three boys literally ripped off 
every stitch of their clothing. The girls took a little longer, as their 
brassieres had at least a dozen hooks each. Then they grabbed each other again.

And lo, they made babies.

Belinda Balloons and the remainder of the class stood in an admiring circle and 
offered encouragement. The boys showed imagination in their choice of position, 
which was appreciated by the onlookers.

The disco lad and his girl went for an straightforward but well-executed 
missionary.

Darren, always more outrageous, stood up against the wall while one of the more 
flexible of the Lower Sixth girls wrapped her legs around him and lowered her 
upper body backwards to the floor, her breasts falling over her shoulders. This 
brought frenzied applause.

Jeremy, perhaps remembering his inauguration all those years ago in Fuller's 
Garage, Fillamore Deepleigh, chose a doggy approach, well suited to his selected 
partner, whose breasts dangled below her and flattened themselves against the 
floor.

All six of the participants came within ten seconds of each other.

Pansy noted the fact triumphantly on her clipboard and nudged Suzanne in her plump 
thigh. They left, silently.

"What did they think they were *doing*? I thought you said you'd put plenty of 
fuck in it," said Pansy.

"I did. It was double-strength fuck, too. I can't help it if they don't know how 
to fuck, can I. You'd think they'd know how to do it by now."

"They didn't even do it the other way, sitting on their faces."

"There was only one pair of them had any idea, that was the disco lad and Tricia 
Horrocks, and they'd got it upside down!" Suzanne sounded disgusted. "It's been a 
complete waste of a whole load of Potion."

"We won't waste it on *them* again," said Pansy. "I'm only a First Former, and 
even I know how to fuck better than that lot!"

"Yeah, but who could we do it with? Miss would kill us if we did it with Jeremy 
and that lot. Not that they know how to do it anyway."

"Davie. He knows how to do it. I'm going to use Davie."

"Hang on, Pan. You can't have him all by yourself. I'm having him, too!"

"All right, Suze. We can both get on top of him at the same time. Clarrie's twice 
as heavy as us, so two of us will be just like him having one Clarrie."

"When can we do it, then, Pan? I can't hold out much longer."

"We'll mix some Potion, and keep it in the dorm. Then at the last minute, when 
Davie's around, we'll pour the fuck into it, and take a sniff. Then we'll wait for 
him to arrive, and we'll do it," she ended simply.


**********

"Where have you two been? You missed seeing your mothers' cousins. They asked 
after you."

"Oh! We were doing some research on the Potion, Miss."

"Yes, we're arriving at a conclusion, Miss."

"Never leave the class without asking me first, do you understand. For all I knew 
you might have been starting an orgy in the Lower Sixth or something!"

"Oh, Miss! You say the stupidest things sometimes."

"What's this stuff in this beaker," I asked, swirling it round and sniffing 
cautiously. It fizzed a bit, then died down.

"Dunno, Miss!" said Suzanne.

It was just at that moment that the mouse escaped. It was Adeline, our white 
mouse, who was assisting Anastasia and the Breast Enlargement Group. I didn't 
really blame her for trying to get away.

"There she goes, Miss, under your desk."

I gave chase, on hands and knees, calling, "Adeline? Adi, Adi, Adi? C'mon Adi! 
Gotcha you little bast..."

Adeline crept on to my palm and swished her tail happily. I withdrew my hand and 
prepared to stand up. That was when I felt my panties being moved gently to one 
side. I recognised the touch instantly.

"Jeremy?" I said. "Is that you, darling?"

He entered me, as they always say in women's romances. I know, it's a horrible 
expression: it makes me sound like the Channel Tunnel. Well, yes, I would be the 
first to admit that there are certain striking resemblances, but if the Channel 
Tunnel was as wet inside as I was, people would refuse to travel through it, and 
I, for one, wouldn't blame them.

Meanwhile, back at the entrance, things were warming up nicely. It was quite like 
old times back there. I could almost smell the Connolly leather seats of the 
Jaguar. "Ooooh, Jeremy, yes!"

"Ooooh, Shan, YES!"

Smegs, I thought, you can keep your cucumber. You are welcome to it.

The First Formers gathered round to watch. One or two offered advice, but mostly 
they were silent. Several were making notes. As if in a dream, I could hear 
distant voices.

"How's it going, Suze?"

"Nine minutes. Not much longer. She had the dregs that were left over in the 
beaker. Most of the fuck will have evaporated. Maybe another minute or so ..."

She was surprisingly close to the mark. We came earth-shatteringly. Adeline had 
escaped again, I noticed. Either that or I had crushed her in my fingers.

"It's all right, Miss," said Pansy, after Jeremy had withdrawn from the room, 
"I've caught Adeline. She's a bit scared, but she's okay."

"Good, thank you, Pansy."

"Miss?" Her cousin was grinning at me, head tilted on one side.

"Yes, Suzanne?"

"You know what you were doing just then, with Jeremy?"

"Yes, Suzanne?"

"What was it called?"

"That was called sexual intercourse, Suzanne. Some people call it fucking! Your 
mummy did it with your daddy, whoever he might be."

"What, like THAT?"

"There are hundreds of different positions. What you just saw was only one way of 
doing it. That's the position we call doggy fashion."

"Doggy fashion!" gurgled Suzanne. "Oh, that's a great name, Miss!" She and Pansy 
were falling about helplessly. After a few minutes, Pansy stopped laughing and 
wiped her eyes with a hankie.

Shaking her head sadly, she said, "Oh, Miss. Whatever are we going to do with 
you!"


**********

It was a slightly uncomfortable walk back to the office. Meeting Moggie on the way 
was the last thing I needed. I could feel something trickling down the inside of 
my thigh. I wanted to wipe it off my leg and lick it off my finger. She wanted to 
talk.

"Ah, Chauntaille, I think the twins's Birth Control suggestion is excellent. It's 
only right and proper that our girls should learn this stuff from people who 
practise it at first hand, every day of the week. So I have engaged the twins for 
the next two terms. Unfortunately, by April or May, they will be getting rather 
large. They are two months pregnant at the moment, of course."

"Oh, of course."

"But it will show the girls what happens at first hand if you don't take 
precautions. An ideal object lesson. Still, I mustn't let you keep me hanging 
around here chatting all day, Chauntaille." She pushed me playfully in the 
shoulder, and I reeled back against the wall. "I have to get away and see one of 
your First Form girls, young Anastasia. It's a rather important matter. You will 
excuse me?"





Chapter 8:- Cocktail Time


I made it to the office and got rid of most of the seepage. I won't describe the 
process: some things are better left unsaid. Smegs watched with interest.

"Is that semen that you're wiping off your inner thigh with your fingers and 
licking off with such an expression of lascivious relish?"

I offered her a finger to taste.

"Hmmm! Not bad! Whose is that?"

"It's mine now," I sighed, dreamily, "someone gave it to me."

She savoured it again. "Jeremy?"

"Yeah! He doggied me in the lab."

"Doggied you! What about the First Formers?"

"No, just me. They all stood and watched. Their turn will come all too soon. 
Meanwhile, for us older ones, time is a-wasting."

"We're only twenty-two, Shan!"

"You've seen some of these kids coming up behind us? I mean, it's not too bad for 
me, being incredibly attractive, with a ten-foot bust, but if I was six feet tall 
and only sixty inches, I'd be getting distinctly worried by now."

You can always tell when Smegs is upset. God knows what it was this time. The door 
slammed behind her and a girlie calendar fell of the wall. I picked it up. "Ah, 
July, I remember you well," I said, aroused despite myself, and hung the calendar 
back on its hook.

She came back in. "I wonder what Moggie will think when I tell her you've been 
getting doggied instead of teaching First Form Sexual Chemistry."

"It was part of the lesson. I took a sniff of Love Potion. I'm pretty sure they'd 
put some fuck into it."

"You trying to tell me there's some substance called 'fuck' that the girls add to 
their pure innocent love potion?" Smegs was becoming animated.

"That's right. I told them to take the fuck out, and they said they would. 
Obviously they didn't."

"Just as well they didn't!" Smegs was pacing around the room excitedly. "This is 
great stuff. It's obviously a related substance to the Uncontrollable Horniness 
hormone that contaminated our boob-juice! These kids have isolated the mystery 
substance. They've got it in a bottle. They even call it 'fuck'. We'll make 
millions." 

God, she's so mercurial. She hadn't finished.

"We'll bottle it, sell it direct to the public, cut out the middle-person. 
ScatFuck!.'ONE SNIFF AND YOU'RE LAID!' It can't miss. Think of it. Saturday 
nights. Half the population is sitting at home gagging for it. They grab this 
bottle, open it up, and sniff. Minutes later, a knock on the door, and wha-hay!"

"It has to be a woman who does the sniffing. It wouldn't work if men sniffed it."

She looked at me pityingly. "So what? The woman takes a sniff. Somewhere within 
range is a bloke who wants it as well. So they both get it. What could be simpler? 
Right! Which girls are working on this stuff, Pansy and Suzanne?"

"Of course, who else would it be?"

"You're right. Nobody. Let's get them in. It's time to take it out of their little 
hands. They are not fit persons to have control of fuck."


**********

Apparently, Moggie hadn't entirely trusted Anastasia's group to produce a safe, 
workable boob-juice. And once she discovered she was only one applicant out of 
seventy-odd, she took direct action. She walked into the lab and approached the 
cowering Anastasia.

"I'll take charge of that," she said, seizing the spray bottle the girl was 
holding.

"But, Miss, we ..."

"No buts, Anastasia, I am taking this bottle away for safe keeping. You will agree 
that it is highly dangerous to have this sort of thing floating around on the 
loose. I know this from personal experience."

"But it's not ..."

"I know you're worried about the work you've done already. Don't worry, you will 
all receive A-plus for this project. Now, I will just test the spray for evenness 
and consistency." She looked around for a target. "Just undo your blouse, 
Anastasia, will you?"

"Miss, please, I was trying to ..."

Moggie helped the girl with the buttons. The rest of the group watched with horror 
as the headmistress pumped the spray handle. Nothing came out. She tried again. 
"It's blocked," said Moggie, inspecting the nozzle. Again, she aimed at 
Anastasia's concave chest and pumped vigorously. Still nothing.

"You shouldn't have used a second-hand bottle, girls. I will mark you down to a B-
minus for this." She inspected the nozzle again, and pumped the handle furiously. 
"Come out, you fuckin' bastard!" she howled. Obviously, she had hit on the magic 
words. It gushed out in a drenching spray, soaking Moggie to the skin, straight 
through her blouse and bra.

She stood looking down at herself stupidly. "Very clever, Anastasia. You'll get a 
D for this!"

"I tried to tell you, Miss. You wouldn't listen. That's not boob-juice in that 
bottle."

"It's not?"

"No, Miss. We tried to stop you ..."

"What was it in the bottle, Anastasia?" Moggie's voice quavered with emotion.

The girl mumbled.

"WHAT?"

"We don't know, Miss," said Anastasia more loudly. "There's everything in it. A 
bit of boob-juice, a bit of Love Potion, some milk-stuff, an awful lot of fuck 
..." She shook her head. "We were going to throw it away, Miss. After we'd tried 
it out on Adeline."

"Now you've tried it out on ME," squealed Moggie. "Anything could happen. Where's 
the antidote?"

"There isn't one, Miss. If we don't know what it's going to do to you, how can we 
stop it?"

"It's starting to work," Moggie whispered. "It's tingling. It's started!"

She was right. Her soaked blouse, clinging to her like a second skin, began to 
stretch as her breasts started to swell inside her bra. The girls watched open-
mouthed. "Help me get this stuff off," yelled Moggie, and Anastasia went in search 
of a knife. The other girls struggled with the buttons of Moggie's blouse. It was 
difficult with the soaked material clinging to their fingers. By the time they 
wrestled it off and dropped it on the floor, Moggie was bulging dangerously out of 
her bra cups.

"Hold still, Miss," said Anastasia, and she slipped the knife under Moggie's bra 
strap. She sawed through the wet elastic, which eventually let go with a subdued 
twang. Two more slashes severed the shoulder straps. Moggie let her breath go with 
a rush, and tore the remains of the bra off. Her breasts wobbled massively, and 
the class applauded politely.

Then the door opened. Darren and the disco lad burst in, breathing deeply. They 
advanced on the horrified head-teacher, and while the disco lad whispered sweet 
nothings in her shell-like ear, Darren thrust his mighty prong into her aching 
snatch.

That was the point where I arrived at the lab. I had only wanted to invite Pansy 
and Suzanne up to the office for preliminary discussions on ScatFuck. Instead, I 
was confronted by a howling mob of First Formers gathered round their 
headmistress; who was topless and magnificently overdeveloped, swearing undying 
devotion to the disco lad while enthusiastically pleasuring herself on a sweating 
Darren.

History may repeat itself, but life is never dull at St Cat's.


**********

The headmistress reclined on the green leather top of her desk. Miss Labia tutted 
and moved various papers away from the spreading pool of juices forming around 
Moggie's upper thighs. Her breasts had ballooned spectacularly, quivering above 
her chest.

"They're nearly as big as yours, Suze," whispered Pansy, as the girls inspected 
them critically.

"Who made up this awful cocktail?" said Smegs, holding up the almost empty spray 
bottle.

"It wasn't us, Miss. It was Anasta..."

"No tales, Suzanne," I told her. "What we want to know is what is in it? The 
hospital will want to know..."

"And we may want to market it ..." interjected Smegs.

The story came out. The cocktail consisted of chemicals which hadn't quite turned 
out to plan. The boob juice had been far too strong, Moggie would probably start 
giving milk an a couple of hours. The Love Potion and the fuck had not been the 
final, definitive version. "We were going to throw it away, Miss," Pansy ended 
forlornly.

"And Miss Thunderbolt *did* grab it out of Anastasia's hand. It's her own fault, 
Miss," said Suzanne.

"Hey, look," whispered Pansy. "They're even bigger than yours now!"

Suzanne pouted petulantly. "Why does *everyone* have to get bigger boobs than me?" 
she complained, bitterly.


**********

Sir Roger loved the new Moggie. He had turned up at St Cat's on his own.

"Clarrie's indisposed," he explained. "She's staying in bed today."

Poor Davie, we thought.

But Sir Roger had found a substitute; a new, improved Moggie. Although she still 
didn't have even remotely the biggest breasts in St Cat's - at least, not yet - 
she nevertheless seemed to him to exude rampant sexuality. We didn't tell him it 
was all due to sexual chemistry. First Form Sexual Chemistry. At first, we tried 
leaving someone on guard every time we left the office, but in the end we left 
them to it, sending Suzanne and Pansy away in case they saw something they 
shouldn't.

Myself, I found the whole thing disgusting, and stayed away.

Smegs had the cocktail analysed and a sample made up for testing on the public.

"See," she said to me, "even the darkest cloud has a silver lining! Some good will 
come of this near disaster."

"Nearer than you thought. Moggie was trying to spray it on Anastasia!"

"Urgghh, that would have been too terrible to contemplate," Smegs said with a 
shudder.

"Yes, my readers shouldn't even have to think about the likely effect of this 
ghastly cocktail on an innocent young girl like Anastasia. Imagine, if it had been 
her, instead of Moggie."

"Don't even think about it, Shan."

"I won't," I said. "How are the love-birds?"

"Sir Roger took her over to the Fifth Form as a living demonstration of modern 
breast enlargement techniques."

"A bonus. How's it going?"

"Not too bad, apparently. Moggie still wants to fuck the whole time, but Sir Roger 
can't manage it all that often. She moans and groans a lot, and lies there 
thrashing about, but the girls are getting used to it. One or two sympathetic 
orgasms, but most of them are concentrating hard on the tits. They're still 
growing, by the way."

"Good. It's what she would have wanted."

"She hasn't died, Shan."

"No, it's what she *does* want. She was one of seventy-seven applicants to be a 
guinea-pig for Anastasia's boob-juice."

"Who were the other seventy-six," asked Smegs, whipping out a note-pad, "will they 
pay for a dose, do you think? A tenner each would be seven hundred and sixty 
pounds. Keep us in Tampax for a year or two."

"Smegs! Don't you dare. The applicants were all pupils of St Cat's, you can't 
extort more money from them. Breast enlargement is specifically included in their 
school fees."

"Oh, come on!. The bloody parents never read the small print. I mean, there's 
nothing in the rules that gives us the right to use the girls' bodily fluids and 
secretions in our pantie soiling plant, but we still do."

"I don't think that's the same thing at all. Those juices and secretions are waste 
products. All we're doing is tidying up after the girls."

"Tidying up to the tune of four million a year, Shan. We'll be able to BUY St 
Cat's in another year. Then we'll write our own rules."

Me, I think I'll take my share of the money and retire somewhere quieter.


**********

"Moggie! You're up and about." She shouldered her way into the office and slumped 
down into her chair, her breasts splodging against her thighs.

"Cor, I'd forgotten what it was like, carrying these things around. I don't know 
how you put up with it, Chauntaille!" she steadied them with her hands.

"Last we heard, you were with Sir Roger's BE class, getting fucked."

"He's useless. We've managed it twice all day. TWICE! I ask you. How can a healthy 
woman in her prime survive on sex twice a day? I'm frothing!" She raised her 
skirt, and Smegs took a look herself.

"Gosh, you are frothing, as well. I know I do, sometimes, but it's the first time 
I've actually seen it. I feel privileged. Shan, have you seen this, come and have 
a look."

I joined her on the floor, peering into Moggie's moist interior. "Golly, yes. I'd 
never have believed it."

Smegs dipped her finger into the froth and tasted it cautiously. "I wonder if this 
stuff would sell," she mused.

"What are you two up to down there?" Moggie demanded. We stood up and smiled 
reassuringly at her. "Anyway, I've decided. Sir Roger can't handle the workload. 
I'm getting some more men in. They'll be my personal assistants, but we'll need to 
describe them in the books as teachers. We may need to lose some of the existing 
teaching staff, but so be it."

"Did you have anyone in mind," I asked.

"It will have to be Fanny Albatross," she said. "It's a pity, as she's the only 
teacher we have for conventional subjects, but I'm sure the girls would be happier 
if we didn't have all that Maths, English, French and stuff."

"Not French," said Smegs, running a finger down a list. "Miss Dumbo has taken over 
French. Apparently it's a speciality of hers."

"Is that a fact?" Moggie raised an eyebrow. "I might have to give her a test on 
it. Nothing written, just an oral test."

"I already did," said Smegs, "but don't let me stand in your way. She has the 
longest tongue I ever saw, by the way. She tickled my tonsils with it, anyway."

"I had my tonsils out when I was five," I told them, but they didn't seem 
interested for some reason.

"Right, then." Moggie was in a businesslike mood. "Delegation! Smegs, you get an 
ad in the local papers. Chauntaille, you can go and fire Fanny Albatross!"





Chapter 9:- The A Team


"So, is this, then open rebellion? Is that what it is?" Moggie stood behind her 
desk with her clenched fists resting on the green leather top. She glowered at 
Smegs and me.

"Not per se. More a spirit of openness and consultation. Glasnost and 
perestroika," said Smegs.

"That won't get you anywhere. You just want a slice of the action, that's all."

"That too. Why should you get to have all the fun? A short list of sixty men, of 
all shapes and sizes, to judge from the Polaroids, and you want to interview them 
all yourself. We want to help you, that's all. Is it much to ask?"

"But they're *my* men," Moggie whined. "It was my idea to employ them. I know what 
I want from them. Nobody else can do this for me."

"What happened to delegation round here? We're putting our foot down, Mogs. We 
help with the interviews or we're out of here."

"Go on, then. See if I care!"

"If we go, the pantie soiling plant goes with us. They're behind us one hundred 
per cent. So is Scat Enterprises, and the body of the teaching staff. Balloons, 
Dumbo, Sir Roger and the twins."

Moggie bit her lip. "I still have the final say in the selection?"

"Of course you do. You're still Headmistress for the time being."

"And you don't get to screw any of them?"

"Don't push it, Mogs."

"All right, you can screw them, but it's got to be straight. Nothing fancy."

We let her have her way on that one. Fanciness is open to interpretation. An 
industrial tribunal could take years to decide on it.

"Can you hear a noise?" said Moggie. "Shouting?"

"Sounds like the girls." Smegs went to the window and peered out. "It is the 
girls. They've got banners. They're chanting something. Sounds like, 'WHAT DO WE 
WANT? INTERVIEWS WITH ALL PROSPECTIVE APPLICANTS FOR NEW MALE TEACHING POSTS! WHEN 
DO WE WANT IT? NOW!'"

A catchy slogan. Original. Trips off the tongue.

"This is Pupil Power, Mogs. They want to screw the new teachers, too. I don't 
think you have a choice in the matter. Look at that banner. 'WE FUCK OR WE WALK!'"

"That's a bit rude," I said, "which girls are they?"

"Bunch of Second Formers, nobody vital to the plot," said Smegs, and I gave a sigh 
of relief.

"Who's the ring leader? Take her out!" Moggie shouted.

"Seems to be that Victoria girl from the Thirds. Pretty little thing. Lovely pair 
of tits on her."

Oh, no. Not her again. I should have sent her to Peru while I had the chance.


**********

Each of the applicants was to be vetted by a selection committee, a cross-section 
of the school staff and pupil body. The committee's brief was to narrow down the 
field to a short list leading to a separate final selection process.

The committee consisted of Smegs and myself, Belinda Balloons and Donna Dumbo, 
plus two girls each from the First and Third forms. 

We held a meeting to decide on our strategy. How did I know that the First Form 
representatives would be Pansy and Suzanne? And that Victoria would get in on the 
act as one of the Third Formers? The other one was Nesta Meiss, a curiously 
slender girl with the biggest pair of spectacles I had ever seen. I suppose her 
parents thought she'd grow into them.

"Who's she?" I asked Victoria in a stage whisper.

"That's Nesta, she's part of the Junior IT Studies Group."

"Gosh, have we still got one of those? But what is she doing on the interview 
panel for new male teaching staff? What does she know about sex?"

"Everything, apparently! She's the Firewall Database Stuffer."

"The what?"

Victoria looked at me pityingly. "The school's computer system has a firewall to 
prevent pornographic material getting in via the Information Superhighway," she 
explained, speaking clearly and distinctly, like a social worker. "There's a 
filter system to stop any messages which contain anything rude. Filthy pictures of 
ladies, little boys, people sitting on other people's faces, stuff like that. And 
naughty words."

"Naughty words, too?" Is there no end to the lengths the school would go to in 
protecting the gently-nurtured from the hard world?

"Nesta sits at the computer and reads every message on the sex newsgroups. If she 
finds a rude word, she adds it to the database, and from then on, any message 
containing that word is automatically barred. So, she knows all the rude words, 
which means she knows everything there is to know about sex. Simple, Miss! I bet 
she even knows some words you don't."

I wandered over to the girl, who was cowering in a corner with a frightened 
expression on her glasses.

"Hi, Nesta, how's it coming?"

"Oooh, Miss!" she whispered and blushed deeply, studying her shoes.

"What did I say?" I asked Victoria.

"You have to be careful what you say to Nesta. Just because she's exposed to sex 
all day long doesn't mean she doesn't get embarrassed by it. Think before you 
speak."

That's put me in my place, I thought. I'd better stick to safe subjects.

"Weather looks chilly out there," I said, nodding to the window. "Cold enough for 
snow."

Nesta looked blank, her mind searching for something. "Snow?" she said at last.

"You know, that white stuff?"

"White stuff!" She went scarlet. "Ooooh, Miss!"

"What is it this time?"

"I think you mentioned white stuff, Miss. You know, the incestuous baby-making 
sperm that Daddy pumps into his little ..."

"... I think I get the picture, Victoria, thank you. I'm sorry, I didn't think." 
Nesta had her hands clamped to the sides of her head in case I spouted any more 
filth. I hoped she would get through the meeting without being traumatised.

Smegs called the meeting to order.

"Right, we've got a lot to do, so let's get on." Nesta, I noticed, had her head 
buried in her arms.

"There are sixty men to get through this week. We'll be interviewing today, 
Wednesday and again on Friday morning. Now each of us is aware of a different need 
to be filled by the applicants, so each applicant will need to be interviewed by 
one of the Juniors, one of the Middles and one of the Seniors as well as two of 
the staff. We will thus be divided into two teams, Team A and Team B. Team A will 
consist of myself and Miss Gruntworthy, Galia Melons from the Sixth, Victoria from 
the Thirds and Pansy from the Firsts. Team B, obviously, will be Miss Balloons, 
Miss Dumbo, Fionnuallagh O'Graodeiagh from the Fifth, Nesta and Suzanne. Any 
questions so far?"

Suzanne had her hand up. "Please, Miss. After the first interviews, when we're all 
together, we have to go off and see the men one at a time?"

"That's right, Suzanne. We will see the applicants in batches all together, then 
when each team has seen five men, we will split up and take one each individually. 
As soon as we've finished with each one, we will pass him on to the next available 
interviewer who is available. Happy?"

"Sort of, Miss. But what if some of us take longer to do our interviews than 
others?"

"Good point, Suzanne! Some of the men may finish more quickly, as will some of us. 
Or some of you. It will be acceptable to find one of the men you haven't yet seen 
and take him out of turn. So, as soon as you've finished with a man, send him back 
to the waiting room. We'd better have several waiting rooms available, we don't 
want them comparing notes."

Several of the girls shook their heads wisely at that.

"Now, a few house rules, unfortunately." Groans went up. "The Junior and Middle 
girls will not be allowed to screw the applicants ..."

"Oh, rotten, Miss!"

"... but you will have a free hand short of actual penetration."

That shut them up at least. Pansy and Suzanne giggled and nudged each other, and 
mimed sitting on someone's face. Victoria looked apprehensive, and Nesta went 
scarlet and wrote the word 'penetration' on a small notepad.

"The Fifth and Sixth Forms may operate in the missionary position, but you will 
not be allowed to move during the performance ..."

"Missionary, Miss? Oh, Bor-ing!"

"Done properly, there's absolutely nothing wrong with the Missionary position, 
Fionnuallagh, as you should know with your background," chided Smegs. Nesta was 
writing furiously, her face now crimson.

"The rest of you will have free rein up to the limit of your imaginations." 
Belinda and Donna Dumbo had their heads together, perhaps planning a double act.

It was going to be a gruelling selection process. I felt nothing but the deepest 
sympathy for the applicants. It was a sign of their true dedication that not one 
of them dropped out when told the details of the selection procedure.

"We don't *have* to screw them all, do we?" I asked Smegs.

"I suppose not." She looked at me strangely. "Although it would be rude not to. 
They might even complain of discrimination if they didn't get shagged by the 
entire panel, especially if it was the one with the biggest tits who claimed she 
had a headache."

"Oh, shitting hell. That's all I need. I'm not doing anyone I don't fancy."

"Look, it's not too late to replace you. We would have women falling over 
themselves to take your place."

"It's a violation of my human rights, making me shag some of them. Have you seen 
them? Yuck!"

"You can always turn the lights off. Or do it doggy fashion, so you can't see 
them. Then you could pretend it's Jeremy!"

Bitch.


**********

"Send in the first applicant, please, Pansy. Mr Absolom."

Pansy stood up and wiggled seductively to the door. I watched her bottom with 
interest, although her older sister seemed less pleased, and Galia Melons looked 
as if she was about to protest. The First Former came back into the room, leading 
Mr Absolom by the hand and gazing adoringly up into his eyes. Even I felt she was 
overdoing the Lolita bit.

With a final squeeze, she released his hand, ran her fingers down the middle of 
his back to the cleft of his buttocks and sighed, "This is Mr Absolom, Miss!" 
before slithering back to her seat. We all leaned forward across the desk. I 
wasn't sure whether we were trying to appear attentive and eager, or we were 
attempting to see his groin. At least, I can't speak for the others.

"Good Morning, Mr Absolom," oozed Smegs, "I hope you had a pleasant journey. 
You've already met Pansy and you seemed to have got on fairly well ..." and she 
introduced the rest of us, one at a time. There was some hot competition here, I 
noticed, looking round the panel. Apart from the two Juniors, who were almost 
panting for some non-penetrative action, Galia Melons, sitting next to me, had 
loosened her tie and unbuttoned her blouse to reveal the top of the cups of her 
burnt orange Junior Boomer. I peered down into her cleavage. I was sure I could 
see clear down to her knees.

And there was Smegs. I was disgusted at the way she was simpering and sucking up 
to this nerd. God, Smegs, where's your dignity? She rested her breasts on the desk 
and tilted her head to one side like a cute little puppy dog as she asked 
questions. Yuck!

"Right, no further questions, team? Then if you would wait in waiting room number 
eleven for a short while. You will find erotic reading matter and a coffee 
machine. Victoria will escort you out."

She certainly did. As Pansy rose to fetch the next applicant, Mr Ackroyd, Victoria 
was determined not to be upstaged by her younger sister. Her skirt was hiked up 
almost to her creamy upper thighs as she smiled at Mr Absolom and heaved him to 
his feet with her moist little hand. Then she guided him to the door, plastered 
against his thigh. The poor man was having difficulty walking. As he went out, 
Pansy led the next one in.

"Ah, thank you, Pansy, Mr Ackroyd, I hope you had a pleasant journey ..."

And we all leaned forward across the desk.


**********

"Right, that's the first five done," said Smegs, "time for the individual 
interviews". She stood up, unbuttoning her top and moving purposefully toward the 
door. "May the best man win."

It degenerated into an ugly scramble to be first. I managed to get Mr Baker, whose 
bottom had rather caught my eye earlier, although I was forced to elbow Galia in 
the stomach and kick her on the shin when she threatened to beat me to the door. 
Sobbing, she ended up with Mr Absolom. Smegs cornered her Mr Ackroyd, Victoria 
pulled rank on her younger sister to get Mr Clark, leaving Pansy with Mr Carter. 
She had finished wih him in three minutes, and had to hang around the waiting room 
chewing her nails until another became available.

The system had its disadvantages. By the time I received Mr Ackroyd to my bosom, 
he had already been thoroughly sluiced by Smegs and popsicled by Pansy, and he was 
in no condition to take any more. And when Mr Carter, my fifth applicant, finally 
staggered into my arms, he fell asleep on the floor and I had to award him 3 out 
of 10 for technique and a 5 for artistic interpretation.

So much for the morning. With a fresh batch in the afternoon, we found the same 
problem. One of mine (no names) couldn't get himself ready for action although he 
was only my second. Victoria had drained him immediately before: God alone knew 
what she had done to him. I made a mental note to ask her later. But at least, we 
had a set of marks, and we found ourselves broadly in agreement. It had been a 
triumph for Smegs's organisational ability, she told us.

Later, we compared notes with the B team. With their different personalities, they 
evolved a different technique from ours. The two teachers worked as a pair, which 
saved time - in theory, at least. Fionnuallagh's Missionary position became more 
freely interpreted as time wore on, although by managing to observe the no-
movement rule, she no doubt saved herself several Hail Marys. Nesta spent her 
whole time writing down filthy words, which left Suzanne to deal with three men at 
a time. She did her best, while staying strictly within the laid-down parameters.

The week wore on. Wednesday's men were hard-working and most of them stayed awake 
throughout, and Friday's batches brought a holiday atmosphere to the place as we 
bustled through our morning's work in a thoroughly professional manner.

On Friday afternoon, we met up in Moggie's office and handed her a short list of 
five names.

"Choose any three. We couldn't separate them," said Smegs. Moggie's eyes lit up at 
the crystal clear Polaroids taken by Pansy and Suzanne.

"Excellent quality pictures. Congratulate the girls concerned. Look at the fine 
detail. Every hair shows so clearly, every wrinkle. Look! You can even see right 
into the ..."

"... yes, we've seen them, thank you!"

"Who's this girl sucking Mr Absolom ...?"

"Sorry, Mogs. You can't see her face."

"Just as well, perhaps. You never know where these pictures might turn up."

She continued to study the photographs. Finally she put down her magnifier. "Have 
them all in next week. One a day ought to do it. Then I can give them a thorough 
going over."

Yes, she probably could.





Part IV





Chapter 10:- Invitation


"When is the new man going to start?" I asked Smegs. "Will he be here before 
Christmas?"

"Not officially, although he might come along. Apparently he's at a loose end."

"Strange how the other four on the short list all turned us down after Moggie's 
final vetting."

"And the other fifty-five asked not to be considered. Most odd. I've got some of 
their replies here; various excuses ... double hernia ... sudden recurrence of 
flat feet ... complete nervous breakdown ... loss of self-esteem ... jail ... male 
menopause ... chronic diarrhoea ..."

"How does he spell that?"

"Correctly. He must have looked it up. I suppose he'd have plenty of time while he 
was sitting there. So they all have watertight excuses, apart from Mr Frazer, 
whose colostomy bag burst while Moggie was interviewing him. It's a wonder he got 
through the first vetting. Who saw him?"

"The B Team. Suzanne had her hands full and didn't look too closely. But she's 
inexperienced, she'll improve."

Moggie burst in excitedly. Her breasts seemed to have reached their intended size, 
as they hadn't grown any more since I last saw her a few days before. And the 
lactation scare seemed to have passed; the headmistress remained mercifully dry. 
Smegs looked at her with sadness. Smegs now had easily the smallest breasts in the 
room.

"This ScatBra really does wonders," Moggie enthused. "Truly a boon to the well-
endowed. I shall not hesitate to recommend it." She breathed experimentally a few 
times before clutching at the desk and sitting down hurriedly.

"Mr Ackroyd is in the area and will be dropping in next week. I invited him to our 
Christmas celebrations and a glass of something afterwards at my place. His name's 
Desmond," she said dreamily.

"How nice!"

"I hope so. I thought perhaps he could meet a few of the girls, unofficially, 
before he takes up the reins, as it were."

"Or the sword of office," suggested Smegs.

"Or the cudgels," I said.

"Sorry?" Moggie doesn't always understand such references. "Perhaps a few of the 
girls from each year, informally. We could have it at my place after the Christmas 
Party and Disco. No booze for the girls, of course, but plenty for the grown-ups. 
Who knows what might happen. Anyway, you're all invited: and Sir Roger and his 
Clarrie; Miss Balloons and Miss Dumbo; the twins, without their nannies; and 
Jeremy and Darren. The disco lad will be there in his official capacity, of 
course."

"Just the four of them?" Smegs looked aghast. "Only four men, and all those 
girls?"

"Five," I said, "you forgot Sir Roger".

"How did you know it was Sir Roger I forgot?"

"It ought to be enough," said Moggie. One for me - that will be Desmond, I suppose 
- one for Balloons and Dumbo if they want him, and one each for the twins. Sir 
Roger will have Clarrie."

"What about me?" Smegs wailed.

"I suppose you could bring your own, but there'll be plenty of girls if you feel 
like a bit of sex. Not that we're having an orgy. Just a few friends round for 
drinks and maybe a spot of fucking."

"Oh, that's all right then," said Smegs, "I thought I was going to be missing 
out."

"Good!" Moggie rose to leave, her breasts showing their relative inexperience by 
carrying on upwards after she reached her normal standing position. They nearly 
lifted her off her feet before they started going down again. She staggered a 
little. "Oh, and by the way. It's fancy dress. The theme will be a Harem, you 
know, eunuchs, belly dancers and things, flimsy clothes for the girls, the usual. 
I've told Desmond he has to come as the Pasha. Right, no time to hang around here 
with you lot. There's work to be done. See ya!"

The door closed behind her.

"Oh, so it's Desmond, is it? Sodding Pasha! Harem! Fancy bloody dress? Shitting 
hell!" Smegs seemed unhappy about the idea somehow.

"Oh, it won't be too bad," I said, unconvincingly. I was wondering about my ten 
feet of bust in a filmy harem costume. "Don't modern harem girls just wear their 
ordinary clothes nowadays? Cut-off jeans and low-necked T-shirts and stuff?"

"I'm bolloxed if she thinks I'm coming in five yards of muslin to a lezzie orgy," 
Smegs insisted anti-socially. She can get stuffed."

"Oh, come on, Smegs, it won't be too bad. And if the worst comes to the worst, we 
can always do it to each other. Or I can get Jeremy for you."

Sometimes there's simply no talking to Smegs. She gave me such a look. I made an 
excuse and left.


**********

It was a fait accompli. That's one of those things radio presenters always get 
wrong; they always say fate accomplay. They have the same trouble with day boo and 
day-jar-voooo. But I digress. It was a fait accompli.

A notice appeared on the school notice board. I happened to be passing and saw the 
excited crowd hanging around it. A short-sighted girl was standing very close to 
the board like a cat in front of a television screen.

"It's not Sam Tretowall is it?" I said in disbelief, coming up behind her.

The girl turned round. "No, Miss, she's my sister. She remembers you, Miss."

"Yes, she probably does. Well, what's it say?"

"A fancy dress party, Miss, after the Christmas Disco. You've got to come as a 
harem girl, it says. I don't think I'll go, Miss."

A girl spoke up from the crowd of girls who were still hanging around. "How many 
of us will be allowed to go, Miss?" It was Toria. She might be in Peru by then, 
with any luck.

"Oh, no more than half a dozen from each year. There's not much room. You'll have 
to draw lots for the privilege, won't you?"

"We'll think of a way, Miss. Some of the girls won't want to go, anyway. Will 
there be boys, Miss?"

"Not many, Toria. This is a girls' school."

"May we invite one, Miss? Just one?"

"You'd have to ask Miss Thunderbolt, Toria." Either that, or let him turn up as a 
fait accompli. I had a feeling of deja vu all of a sudden. (You'll just have to 
imagine the acute accent over the 'e'. Not to mention the grave accent over the 
a.)


**********

As I made my dignified way up the corridor before the admiring gaze of the Third 
Formers, I heard Toria say "I'll be going, and three of my bestest friends. And my 
boyfriend, Davie!"

The response was gratifying. Gasps were gasped, lower lips were bitten. Nipples 
became erect, panties suddenly moist and Nesta went crimson and wrote 'boyfriend' 
in her notepad.

A similar scene was being played out in the First Form classroom.

"We're going!" announced Pansy, her arm around Suzanne's plump shoulders.

Suzanne looked round the other girls, selecting suitably flat-chested candidates. 
"You can come, Anastasia," she said considerately, "and you, Shona!"

"And we're inviting our boyfriend, Davie," sighed Pansy, feeling her loins melt at 
the very mention of the name.

The response was gratifying. Gasps were gasped, lower lips were bitten. Those 
girls with nipples erected them. Panties became suddenly drenched and everyone in 
the room, including Pansy and Suzanne, went crimson.

The two girls moved away from the group, satisfied with the effect of the 
announcement. "Those harem clothes are really thin and see-through," whispered 
Pansy. I'm going to leave my bra off!" Once again, the effect of what she was 
daring to say was wreaking havoc down below.

"So am I," breathed Suzanne. "Davie will never have seen anything like us! Gosh, 
I've gone all wet!" She dragged her cousin closer and whispered hotly in her ear. 
"What about splashing some of the Love Potion around at the party, Pan?"

"Ooooh, Suze! Oh, golly! Vee! With Davie there? He might ... Ooooh! Shall we put 
plenty of fuck in it?"

"We'll put plenty of everything in it. Double strength everything. It will work on 
everybody!"

"Ooooh, SUZE! Shit, I think I just went."

"Went?"

"I've BEEN!"

"Pan! Without using your fingers?"

"Yes. Well, mostly."

"You should tell Miss Balloons. She'll give you an A, same as she gave me."


**********

Meanwhile, the Sixth Form were holding a conference. Rotunda Ampleforth stood on a 
desk, squinting round at the lesser beings about her. "I will be going to the 
fancy dress party. As the most well-endowed girl in the class, it is only right 
and proper. I will allow some of the smaller ones to accompany me."

She turned her head again, then waited for her breasts to stabilise."Galia Melons 
and Lascivia Sparstead, while not even approaching my stupendous size, you will 
represent the Sixth admirably. You shall go to the ball."

"She's better leave before midnight," muttered Galia to her neighbour. Lascivia 
was a late developer, so the generous bosom she had received from the boob-juice 
back in the Junior IT Studies Group was now becoming miraculously enhanced as if 
by a get-a-life nerd armed with a computer graphics morphing program. Rotunda 
might have to look to her laurels before long.

"Fat old cow," said Lascivia, a girl of few words, most of them of three letters 
or less.

Rotunda hadn't finished. "I intend to have a man. Naturally, once I have made my 
choice, I will not be denied. I have unfinished business with Sir Roger, but if I 
see anything else which takes my fancy, I may take him. I am only telling you this 
to avoid disappointment and embarrassment."

"For you, yer moo!" grunted Lascivia.

"Did you say something, Lascivia?"

"Sod off!" she said under her breath.


**********

Belinda Balloons and Donna Dumbo were discussing the party in the staff room. "You 
fink there'll be any blokes worf 'avin, Don?"

Donna was getting used to Belinda's speech patterns. She couldn't always 
understand what she was trying to say, but since it was usually about sex, she 
generally managed to work it out.

"We'll get by. That new teacher, Ackroyd, he'll do. We'll work him over. And the 
other three kids. You seen that Darren? He is HUNG!"

"I been tryin' to get him in one of me videos, but the camera bloke says he can't 
take any new talent, he's all booked up wiv 'is mates. Load of wankers. Can't act 
for shit."

"So long as that Sir Roger's not gonna be there. If he is, he might just find 
himself dressed as the Chief Eunuch."

"Cor, that'd get young Clarrie goin'! Still, she'll be takin' care of Sir Roger 
all night. We'll 'ave all the rest of the blokes. Includin' Desmond."

"Desmond. Hey, Moggie won't get a look-in, even if she does have eighty-inch 
tits."

"Breasts," corrected Belinda automatically.


**********

"Well, the arrangements seem to be coming along well," I said to Smegs. "When the 
Disco ends at eleven-thirty, the girls will go to bed, apart from the fifteen or 
twenty who are coming to the fancy dress do. You done your costume yet?"

"I already told you, I'm not coming. Wild horses wouldn't get me to Moggie's 
orgy."

"I've bought the material for mine," I told her, "That Sandy's making it up for 
me. Baggy pants, all loose, so you can see through them, but only just. I might 
wear pants, or I might just let people see my pussy if they choose to get down on 
their hands and knees and look through the material at close range. And the top 
..."

"I don't want to hear about your soddin' costume."

"... will be sheer transparent gauze, so you'll see every detail of my breasts and 
nipples. It will be almost like being nude, except that there'll be this fine 
clingy material draped across my tits. I tried it in the bedroom the other night, 
just draped a bit of the stuff across my chest, and the old nipples sprang to 
attention like the Grenadier Guards ..."

"Shan ..."

"... I got so wet, well, you're my bestest friend, so I can tell you, I sat on the 
bed and brought myself off ten times in succession. Just remembering it has got me 
all wet again. Excuse me a minute ..."

Even as I pressed myself against the corner of the desk, I heard Smegs say that 
she wouldn't go to Moggie's party for all the tea in China. I finished myself off 
and sat down again, my knees like young rope. "If Jeremy and Darren and the disco 
lad are busy, I fancy some of those Sixth Form girls. Or that Fionnuallagh from 
the Fifths. She's an ex-convent girl, and you know what they say about those."

"No, what?" Smegs was interested despite herself.

"I don't kno