The St Cat's System

Dedicated to Cee, without whom...

Part I

Chapter 1:- Alone At Last

IT WAS one of those perfect Spring mornings which always show St Cat's at its best. The dew sparkled on the grass around the caretaker's shed, showing my footprints as they weaved between the trees, crossed the roadway, then continued up to the door of the main building.
     Everyone will know where I spent the night, I thought, as I opened the double doors and slipped inside. My footprints now left damp impressions on the parquet and up the carpeted stairs. They went up about five steps, turned round and went back down again. I still forgot where the bedroom was, sometimes. Since moving in with Corinne, shortly before Christmas, I occasionally found myself about to go into our cosy old upstairs room.
     Down the broad corridor I crept, and slipped in through the extra wide doorway. It still gave me a little thrill to run my fingers across the smooth, polished brass plaque beside the door.

CORINNE MEADOWLARK B.A. (Hons)

Support and Mobility Mistress

CHAUNTAILLE GRUNTWORTHY

Junior Sex, Erotic Literature, Pornography (Soft), Sexual Chemistry

Strictly Private — NO Boys — Girls By Appointment Only

I had wanted our measurements on it as well, but Corinne had dissuaded me.
     The huge double bed looked even more inviting than usual, despite Corinne not being in it. The windows were flung wide and the curtains were blowing as the breeze got up. Corinne would be back this morning. She had gone to the airport last evening to escort the party of homecoming St Cat's girls from Cantelopia, where they had been having their babies.
     I had wanted to go with her, but Moggie had insisted that I stay on the premises.
     "Miss Mountains will be away. She has already asked permission to spend the night at Lord Edward's, Chauntaille," Miss Thunderbolt had told me, not unkindly. "And I have an important meeting with the School Governors. I am sorry, dear. I know you don't want to let Corinne out of your sight for a moment, but it is only for one night, after all."
     I was practically inconsolable, and wept buckets in Miss Thunderbolt's office, as well as being pretty embarrassing when Corinne got on the bus and disappeared from view down the drive.
     "Don't cry, Miss," Pansy had said soothingly, placing her daughter in her buggy, where she gurgled happily up at me. "It's only for one night. I'd come and sleep with you myself, but you know how people would talk. Besides. I'm getting huge. I'm only five months, but it feels like quins this time."
     "Five months, Pansy? Do you have permission not to wear proper school uniform?"
     "Miss Thunderbolt said it's all right, Miss, 'cos I'm so huge. In fact, she says if I stay pregnant for the rest of my time as St Cat's, I needn't wear school clothes again. I don't know about that, Miss, it would mean having seven more babies, not counting this one," she stroked her already vast mound, "and of course, I'd have to be pregnant again when I went on to university ...!"
     "Of course!" I returned to the point doggedly. "But I'm sure Miss Thunderbolt didn't give you permission to wear a bikini, did she?"
     "She didn't say I couldn't, Miss. And it's a very nice bikini. Suzanne crocheted it all by hand. There's five pounds of silk in each of the bra cups, and only five ounces in the pants. It's really soft, Miss. Have a feel."
     She offered me a breast, raising it in both hands. I declined it with dignity.
     "I know how silk feels, Pansy, thank you. I hope you won't be wearing a bikini to travel home tomorrow."
     Pansy giggled helplessly. Everything wobbled. "Oh, Miss, you're ever so funny."

We indulged in a long squishy cuddle, and the other girls looked at us fondly as they went on their way to their classes on this, the last day but one before the Easter Holidays. I enjoyed a good cry anyway, then sought comfort in Jeremy's shed, where I was so throughly comforted that I felt this morning as if I had spent the night on horseback.
     I flopped heavily on the bed, on my back, and investigated matters with both hands. It was a bit difficult to see what was happening down there, even without my bra on, and not for the first time I was grateful for the mirror on the ceiling. "Ouch, Jeremy," I said to myself. "Even for me, you are a little on the large side!"
     Quite what it was like for some of his younger girlfriends, I shuddered to think. Jeremy rarely slept alone, I knew. He would give it all up for me, if I asked him. Maybe one day! Meanwhile, I knew he was there for me, and he would politely expel any girl from his bed whenever I came knocking on his door. There's always something special about your first boyfriend.
     It was seven o'clock. Just time for a quick nap before breakfast. Unfortunately, I became sidetracked.
     "Oooh, woo! Woowoowoowoowoowoowoo WOW!" I yelled. The echoes rang round the room. "Gosh! That was loud, even for me. Fourteen!" I added as an afterthought, in case anyone was listening. One must set an example for the girls, and school rules require girls to announce the number of their orgasm. "Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, TWENTY! Bloody hell, Shan!"
     I lay panting in my own personal puddle. It must be lack of match-fitness. It wasn't excess fat any more. Now I had got my figure down to a shape best described as mind-blowingly voluptuous, I could walk five miles or shag for three hours without breaking wind. Is that what I really mean? Perhaps not. You know what I mean.
     There was a soft knock on the door.
     "Miss? Are you all right? Is there anything you want?"
     "Come in, Amy, darling!"
     "Hello, Miss," she said, twenty-five minutes later.
     "Hi, Amy! I missed you."
     "Thanks. I missed you, too."
     I got off the bed and inspected my hair in the dressing-table mirror. "Will the girls talk if we appear at breakfast together, do you think?"
     "Probably, Miss. Especially if you're dressed like that. Come here and I'll put your clothes on for you. Where are they?"
     "I must have left them at Mr Jeremy's," I sighed dreamily. "He might bring them back later. My panties and bra are in the top drawer. Skirts and blouses are in the wardrobe. You can choose." This was luxury. One's very own maidservant to dress one in the morning.
     I glanced at Amy for the first time. "Where's your school uniform?" I asked her.
     How had I failed to notice that she had been wearing a scarlet latex dress? I really must have been too preoccupied with what her hands had been doing to notice how she was dressed. I had wondered where the smell of hot rubber was coming from.
     "I've been on a heavy date." She smoothed her hands down her thighs with little squeaking noises. The sound seemed to excite her for some reason, so she gently rubbed her hands down the sides of her colossal breasts. No bra, I observed. The mighty mounds heaved and wobbled massively inside the glossy rubber sheath. The dress had a high neck, so she looked curiously festive, like a pair of hugely over-inflated party balloons with legs. Nice legs, too. Black stockings. The hem-line of her dress was up to the cheeks of her bottom at the back. Fortunately, her breasts descended so low in front that one couldn't really tell if her dress covered her crotch.
     Perhaps I ought to explain that Sexy Amy does have extremely large breasts. Even bigger than mine. Only Corinne's are larger, but that goes without saying.
     "Do I really have to put my uniform on for breakfast, Miss? It is the last day of Term, after all."
     Her hands were all over me, fastening my bra, switching on my readout, buttoning my blouse, adjusting the fit of my panties ...
     "Oh, it will be all right, I suppose. Nobody will ever notice, I'm sure! And it is the last day."
     "Oh, Miss, you've soaked this pair as well! What am I going to do with you?"

The girls had tied yellow ribbons round the tree trunks. Balloons dangled from the school gates. Inevitably, whenever girls hang up balloons, they always have two round ones and a long one tied up together in a suggestive manner. I don't know where they learn such a thing. I think they must be born doing it. Either that, or their mothers teach them to do it while they are still babes in arms. Mothers, after all, are obsessed with male genitalia. Whenever they get together, they discuss nothing else.
     Girls strolled with their babies and toddlers in the sunshine, probably discussing male genitalia. They were all ready to leave for home, or wherever they were spending the Easter break. Some would be staying with friends. One group of Second Formers, I knew, had arranged for a three-week orgy at a large farmhouse in the country. They had invited me, but I had to decline. Pleasant as it would have been, I was getting too old for that sort of thing.
     Besides, I was going to be staying here, at St Cat's, with my lovely Corinne. A Second Form orgy was the last thing I needed. Sitting on boys' faces, lots of noisy games, boisterous squealing, blow-jobs and wall-to-wall rumpy-pumpy or whatever the tabloids call it these days. No, give me the quiet life.
     We had all been out here waiting for this bus for at least half an hour. Some of the girls had been walking around under the trees for the whole morning, waiting for their friends to come back from their ordeal at the harsh hands of the harem matrons and the shaven-headed eunuchs.
     There were thirteen girls in this latest returning party, from the Pasha Mandingo's harem in Cantelopia. Corinne had called from the airport to say that there were sixteen babies with them, aged between one and three months. The girls, she said, all looked disgustingly healthy, plump and buxom, glowing with vigour and ragingly horny after a whole night without sex.
     "I have never been so embarrassed in my life," she had said that morning. "As if it's not bad enough having to walk around the airport arrivals lounge on my own looking the way I do, with everybody staring at my chest; I now have to act as nursemaid to thirteen absolutely staggeringly beautiful, downy-limbed, sleepy-eyed and horny-as-fuck barely teenage mothers, busting for a shag and wearing harem costume!"
     "They sound like perfectly normal schoolgirls to me ... HAREM costume? You mean they're travelling in their harem clothes?"
     "Pasha's orders, they said. Their own clothes would be too tight anyway. Too tight round the top, and in some cases too tight round the bottom and middle as well. It's like a fancy dress ball. No wonder you didn't want to come ...!"
     "Cee! I did! I would have given anything to be there with you. I had a nightmare night on my own."
     "On your own? You slept on your own?"
     "Not exactly, no. But I missed you so much, it hurt, and it still hurts, Cee!" It did, too. I could still feel it where Jeremy had rodgered me so thoroughly last night.
     She had softened a little. "I'll see you about three, love, okay? If we survive this bus journey. Bye-ee!"
     They had survived. The bus was coming slowly up the drive. The upstairs front window of the double-decker bus was crowded with girls pressing their faces against the glass for their first glimpse of the old school after four months away. I felt tears pricking at my eyes. Our girls, our wonderful girls, were home!
     As the only member of staff, apart from Corinne herself, I stepped forward officially to welcome them home as they greeted their friends. They seemed to have matured so much.
     "Hi-ya, Miss. You look great!"
     "Hello, Veronica. You're looking very fit yourself."
     "Thanks, Miss. This is Leanne." The baby looked like all babies, but I gave it a little rub under its chin the way you do. It began to cry, and Veronica swiftly pulled up her blouse thingie and lobbed out a splendid milk-dribbling breast. "Excuse us, Miss," she sighed, closing her eyes and opening her mouth as Leanne sucked on her nipple hungrily. I moved on.
     "Hi, Miss!"
     "Hi, Rachel. You've put on a bit of weight, dear."
     "You've lost some, Miss. You were shamefully huge when I left. You're gorgeous now."
     I blushed prettily. "Thank you. Hello, Sarah, Kimberley, Trudie, Oksana."
     The girls greeted me by turns. Most of them were staring at my so-recently improved figure. Perhaps, I reflected, I could have chosen some clothing which would have created a little less impact, but it was too late now.
     My new ScatBraŽ was pulled up to its maximum uplift position, forcing my breasts out into staggeringly vast spheroids inside my white open-necked shirt. My waist was cinched by a broad black belt which emphasised its new tininess compared with my burstingly-tight scarlet stretch pants. A bit too tight, I realised, as I tweaked the already soaking material out from where it was diving into my clearly outlined muff.
     The girls, properly brought-up as they were, made little or no comment on my obvious arousal. I apologised as one of my surging, thrusting nipples poked one of the new babies in the eye. A little wet mouth wrapped itself around the peak of my right breast. "Please, Elaine, not here," I insisted weakly, and the girl — a Fourth Former who ought to have been old enough to know better — withdrew and dabbed at the carmine lipstick mark on my shirt with her hankie.
     "Is that readout right, Miss?"
     "Yes, Salacia."
     "Golly, Miss! Your hips are more than twice as big as your waist. And your bust is three times the size of your hips!"
     "I'm glad to see you have kept up with your school work, Salacia. Your derričre is bigger than I remember it."
     Salacia blushed prettily. "They gave me a special diet, Miss. The Pasha was very proud of my bottom, Miss. He called me his little Boum-Boum. I won the prize for the biggest and most lickable arse five weeks running, Miss!"
     "I can well imagine."
     "It's not as big as Tammy's, though, Miss!"
     "Little Tammy Makepiece? Her bottom is bigger than yours? Where is she?"
     "Coming out of the emergency exit of the bus, Miss. She can't get through ordinary doors."
     Tammy, I noticed, had been eating well this last four months. She waddled over, supported by four friends. "Wow, Tammy," I said, uncertain of how to avoid offending her. "You're fucking huge!"

"Thanks, Miss. Shameful, isn't it! I weighed 492 pounds when we took off from Cantelopia, and only about a hundred of that was my tits! They've really been looking after me. I had twelve meals a day, not counting snacks. A pity about sex, but a girl can't have everything."
     "There are always ways round every problem, Tammy. I'm sure you'll find the right boy one day. Some men really love women with Considerably Fuller Figures."
     "As long as he has a willy two feet long, Miss, he shouldn't have any trouble! You wait 'til you see the size of my ..."
     "Thank you, Tammy. I have already eaten this afternoon."
     Completely hidden behind Tammy came another familiar face, a deliciously petite and achingly beautiful girl, almost painfully slender and only four feet ten inches tall. She was accompanied by her breasts, resting on two of those useful trolley things they use for carrying baggage at airports.
     "Hello, Magdalene. Nice try, but Cassandra is still going to be Head Girl, I'm afraid."
     "Never mind, Miss. I've got plenty of time to grow. Anyway, you ought to see them when the milk comes in. Meet the twins. Corinne and Chauntaille," she added shyly, blushing up at me from under her eyelashes like the Princess of Wales. I tore my eyes away from where her vast, pink, dark-chocolate-tipped breasts bounced gently on their trolleys and looked at the two identical girls.
     "Which is which?"
     "Neither, Miss. I can't tell them apart yet. I thought we'd wait until they grow up a bit first. The one with the biggest tits will be Corinne, the one with the biggest arse will be Chauntaille."
     "As you wish, Magdalene." Children can be so unconsciously cruel. I wiped away a tear as I moved away from her and scanned the crowd for Corinne.
     There she was! Still on the bus, standing on the step by the door. With her hair down like that, down to somewhere below her little bottom, she looked almost painfully young and desirable. She looked younger than any of the girls. Her mammoth breasts strained at her loose sweater. Dressed as I was, I could never hope to get within ten feet of being able to kiss her, but I held out my arms and approached the bus, the milling girls parting like the Red Sea.
     "Cee, it's been so long. You look incredible!"
     "Shannie, darling!"
     Somehow, our breasts squashed together sufficiently to allow an embrace. The girls watched us, blushing.
     "Shan, not here, please!"
     "Not where? Oh, here!"
     Somehow, we were right inside the bus, sprawling on the back seat. Girls were peering at us through the windows, wide-eyed and panting with growing lust.
     "We'd better get off. The driver will want to get home."
     "I don't know," I said. "He seems in no hurry to leave."
     It was sadly true. The poor driver was making friends with three of the young mothers on a grassy bank beside the front of his bus. Their three babies were being tended by willing and still not yet pregnant volunteers from the First Form, cooing and slobbering and getting decidedly broody.
     "Come on, then." Corinne led the way and we stepped down from the bus, unnoticed in all the coming and going. Mostly coming.
     "Come to bed, Cee! Please? I missed you so much."
     "Later, Shan," she giggled. "It's only been one night. There's plenty of time. And I want you, too. You look stunning. You are really voluptuous now. I think that's the only word for it."
     I placed an arm round her shoulders. She felt so soft and cuddly and vulnerable. My spleen was practically having convulsions.
     "Here, Shan." Corinne stopped and busied herself with something behind my back. "Where are the adjustment straps on this thing. See if I can adjust your bra through your shirt." I felt her little fingers probing and tugging, then my breasts began their descent. "There, is that better, love?"
     Down they went.
     "I feel terribly dangly, Cee!"
     "Rubbish, girl. You can't walk around with your tits hoisted up round your neck like a First Former. You're a grown woman. Anyway, now I've let them down a bit, they cover that huge wet patch round your puss!"
     "Oh, no! Cee? Am I really wet? I can't see myself down there."
     "You're sopping , Shan. About five gallons-worth. It's all right, it doesn't show any more. You're a bit more like my very own Shannie, too, with your boobs round your knees where they belong!"
     "Oh, Cee, darling! Let's hurry up and get rid of all these girls!"

"Have they all gone yet?"
     I peered out of the window. "I don't think so. A couple of taxis still out the front, and the last of the mums and dads' cars. You can't see very well from down here. We had a better view from upstairs."
     "Only a view of the quad and the fountain. At least, from here we can see who's coming and going." Corinne collapsed into an armchair. Inside her sweater, her breasts settled comfortably around her thighs. "What a journey. I am never doing that again. I shall resign first."
     "Poor old you." I went over to her and stroked her hair. There was miles of it.
     "I've got split ends," she said dully, hauling up a handful of locks and inspecting it at close quarters. "I'm going to have it all cut off. Shoulder length." She craned her neck to see herself in the dressing table mirror.
     "Don't you dare!"
     "It would be so much easier to wash and dry and everything. I'll call Doggie Fashion, or whatever they're called, and make an appointment." Corinne grinned to herself. She knows how to wind me up. All she has to do is threaten to get her hair cut. I know enough by now not to react, not to take the bait.
     "You do that," I seethed, "and I will never speak to you again. And it's not Doggie Fashion, that's something else entirely, as you are well aware."
     "Well, what is it then?"
     "I'm not telling you, you'll only call them and have them cut all your lovely hair off."
     Corinne shook her head so her hair fell over her face, then she parted it like a pair of stage curtains and peered out at me.
     "Talking of Doggie Fashion, dear, did you sleep well last night?"
     "All right," I muttered defensively.
     "So did I!" Corinne sighed expansively. "The hotel was really quite splendid. Loads of really hunky blokes in the bar." She stretched like a cat, studying the effect in the glass. "I didn't have to buy a drink all night."
     My fingers had gone numb and achy.
     "What's the matter, love?" Corinne looked at me with her head cocked to one side.
     "You know."
     "I don't," she insisted. "You had Jeremy last night, didn't you? Can't I have somebody as well? Are you the only one who feels lonely?"
     "Lonely? You were lonely, Cee?"
     "Of course I was. I wanted you. That's why I went to bed after dinner and watched naughty videos until midnight. They had this one where three girls are on their own and a bloke comes round delivering pizzas ..."
     "On a motor bike?"
     "Yeah!"
     "And the girls were a blonde, a brunette and a redhead?"
     "That's right!"
     "And the pizza bloke was wearing tight jeans?"
     "That's the one. You've seen it?"
     "No. You were on your own in bed?"
     "Jeez, Shan! It was a single bed, about three feet wide. I had to leave my tits in the bathroom. I couldn't get a wink of sleep for thinking of you. Come here!"
     I had wandered across the room. I went back to her.
     "Alone at last!" she murmured, as our fingers found each other.
     "Oooh, yessss!"
     Then there was a knock on the door.

Chapter 2:- Big Brother

"COME IN, Amy."
     Corinne stared at me. "How do you know it's her?"
     "Who else would it be?"
     "We're just leaving, Miss," said Amy, squeezing through the doorway. Toria was right behind her. "We just wanted to say bye-bye." Amy moved her breasts past me and turned her head to kiss me over her shoulder. It was a sopping wet one.
     This is a good time to practise self-control, I thought, failing miserably and dumping about a gallon of love-juice into my pants. Unfortunately, I wasn't wearing any.
     "Sorry, Miss," Amy said with some regret, as I fetched a cloth and a bucket and started drying the floor.. At least, you won't be doing that once I've gone.
     "Don't be too sure," Corinne muttered, accepting a sloppy kiss from Amy. I watched closely, but Corinne appeared to have her bodily fluids under control. She is so capable.
     "Bye, Toria," I kissed her on the cheek, then I stood up with some difficulty and kissed her again on her face. "Take care of her, don' t let her get into trouble."
     "No, Miss. I mean, yes, Miss."
     The two friends were not really suitably dressed for travel on public transport, but there are limits to what you can do to disguise tits that size. If you can't beat them, join them. That seemed to be their philosophy in their choice of clothing. Victoria had opted for a smart navy skirt, sensible shoes and dark stockings. "You've forgotten to put your shirt on, Toria," I felt obliged to remind her.
     "It didn't fit, Miss. I must have grown a bit more. I'm going to drape a bed sheet over my shoulders. It's not windy, so it should be all right."
     "She'll be all right," Amy confirmed. "Do you like my T-shirt?"
     "It's very pretty, Amy. Aren't you going to be wearing anything else? Jeans, perhaps? A skirt, shorts? Panties?"
     "Nobody will notice me, Miss. We'll be with some of the other girls. They're much prettier than me."
     That was perhaps a matter of opinion. "Panties, please, Amy! I can see every hair on your snatch."
     "I could shave, Miss. We've got ten minutes after the bus arrives at the station. I could shave my puss there, on the platform ...?"
     "I could help her, Miss," Toria offered.
     "Panties! No arguments, please."
     "Okay, Miss," said Amy cheerfully. "I've got a pair in my purse. I put them there in case it turned chilly this evening." She rummaged for a while, producing a fat roll of five pound notes and a hankie, then came up with a pair of fluorescent lime green open-crotch briefs. "These used to be Toots's. She gave them to me because they're against the law in Cantelopia."
     "I'm not surprised," I said, as Amy perched her cute bottom on the dressing table and pulled the flimsy garment up into her divine fulcrum. At least, it covered up some of her fuzz. It would have to do.
     "Off you go, then. Enjoy yourselves. See you both in three weeks' time."
     "Bye, Miss. We love you!"
     I blushed prettily as the door closed behind them.
     "Little sluts," Corinne gasped. "They'll get arrested."
     "Not in Borcester, the police know them there. They'll get home all right."
     I wrung out the love-juice-soaked cloth into the bucket. "Coffee, Cee?"
     She eyed the bucket with distaste. "So long as you wash your hands first."
     "Of course."
     She can be so hurtful. I don't suppose she really means it.

"Alone at last," I sighed, curling up in an armchair and gazing at Cee where she sprawled untidily on the rug, sipping coffee.
     She pulled a wry face. "You sure you washed your hands before you mixed this stuff, Shannie?"
     "You watched me do it."
     "Only joking, love. It tastes fine. Just a bit fishy. Must be something in the water."
     "There's always something in the water at St Cat's," I reminded her. "Anyway. Alone at last."
     "Yes." She stretched like an even bigger cat than usual. "Darling?"
     "Yes?"
     "We won't be alone long tonight."
     "We won't?" That icy feeling came back to my insides, the way it always did.
     "No. We've got a guest coming. My brother, Michael. It's just for one night."
     "I didn't even know you had a brother." What a pain in the arse, I thought. "What's he like?"
     "Quite a nice looking boy I suppose."
     "A boy?" I felt instantly depressed. That's all I needed, a brat hanging around the place. We couldn't even send him off to sleep in one of the girls' dorms.
     "He's, oh, I suppose he's a year older than me, just about, but I always think of him as a boy, somehow."
     "Older than you?" I felt my spirits returning. "Gosh!"
     "He's on his way to Oxford, and he asked if he could stop off here. He's seeing his old professor about some crazy thing he's discovered."
     "From where? Where's he live?"
     "The Outer Hebrides somewhere. Some tiny island called Fuckh. Just him, a shepherd and his wife who live seven miles away, and a few thousand sheep. He's been doing research for two years and he thought that would be the quietest place he could find."
     "Apart from a few thousand frustrated sheep, I suppose it would be. When's he getting here?" Two years on a remote island with nothing but sheep for company. Michael would be ripe for the plucking. I felt a familiar moistness in my groin.
     "Oh, Shannie, look what you've done on the chair, you messy girl." She tossed me a roll of industrial paper towels. "Anyway, Michael's not like that. He's not interested in sex or anything. He's a genius!"
     "You mean geniuses aren't interested in sex?"
     "Of course not. Far too busy thinking."
     "Can't they think and fuck at the same time? I can."
     "Yes, Shan, of course you can, dear! You'd better forget about it with Mike. He's not that kind of boy."
     I love a challenge.
     "I'd better change into something more presentable," I suggested, getting up and tearing off my clothes.
     "He won't notice you, Shan, honest!"
     "Even like this?"
     "Not even like that!"
     "Golly! Poor Mike!"
     We shall see, I thought, and opened my bottom drawer. Ah, that ought to do it, and I pulled out the harem costume I had confiscated earlier from one of the larger homecoming queens. Almost transparently sheer material, open crotch with a slit even bigger than mine, and still with the musky girl smell of its recent wearer clinging to it. Wow! I dumped another load of juice on to the carpet.
     "Sorry, Cee. I'll mop it up in a minute."

He was beautiful! Typical of Corinne to hold out on me like this. No wonder she had never mentioned her brother before, in case I had shot off on the next plane to the Outer Hebrides or wherever. We had heard the taxi outside, and peered through the window.
     "It's Michael," Corinne cried, scrambling for the door, and I followed, curious. Next thing I knew, she was introducing us in the hallway, and everything went into soft focus. My knees melted and my spleen danced a tarantella. Fortunately, I had already taken my panties off, or they would have been drenched. I tried pressing my knees together to stop the gushing juices making a splashing noise on the parquet flooring, but it was no use. I didn't dare look down in case there was a puddle round my feet, with white capped waves, and little boats tacking round my ankles.
     "Shan! Wake up. I said, this is Michael."
     "Hello, Michael," I murmured moistly.
     "Hello, Shan. Or should I call you Chauntaille. Corinne has mentioned you several times." His eyes flickered away for a brief moment. "Nineteen."
     "Sorry?"
     "She mentioned you nineteen times. The first was the day after she first came here to St Cat's. You conducted her interview ..."
     "It's okay, Mike, "Corinne interrupted, "you don't need to tell us every one. And call her Shan."
     "Oh, it's no trouble, the fourteenth was on the twenty-first of August, when she said she was looking forward to getting back to school after the holidays. She mentioned that she was getting wet, just thinking about it. I assumed she was in the bath at the time."
     "Michael, no!"
     "Sorry, Corinne." Belatedly, he thrust out a hand. "Hello, Shan."
     I gripped it softly, dribbling a little from several orifices. "Hello, Michael. Lovely to feel you. See you, even." I led the way into our room. Corinne followed, then Michael with an old fashioned leather suitcase that must have weighed tons. He swung it easily. He was so strong. He had Corinne's hair, and eyes. Not as long as hers, his hair, but it was still slightly too long and draped itself over his collar at the back. The collar of his jacket was slightly askew and I wanted to straighten it for him. I wanted to take his trousers off for him as well. I compromised and settled for the collar. "Let me take your jacket and trousers," I offered.
     "Just the jacket will be fine, thank you," he said politely, and shrugged out of it. His shirt was full of man. What a waste, just him and all those sheep. Inevitably, I found myself wondering. Was there a special sheep for him, or did he just take the first one that came to hand. Perhaps he was going steady with one. I felt foolishly jealous, then I braced myself, thinking I was more than a match for any sheep on God's earth.
     I hung the jacket over the back of the chair, smoothing the collar gently with one hand. The other one was feeling inside the aperture of my harem pants. Michael appeared not to notice.
     "Shannie. Perhaps you'd like to make coffee?" Corinne's voice was insistent. "Wash your hands first."
     "Oh? Oh, yes, fine. Michael, sugar? I mean, sugar, Michael?"
     "Four, please. Good for energy."
     Sounds promising, I thought, and busied myself with the kettle. Fortunately, I could manage the kettle fairly well with one hand. Corinne and Michael were chatting away about nothing in particular, his journey or something. Drifting out of my reverie, I realised at one stage that Michael was describing his journey in extraordinary detail, down to the average speed of the train at intervals of a mile from Glasgow Central to London Euston. What an unusual young man. Surely, someone with such attention to detail would be a meticulous and thoughtful lover.
     "Are you all right, Shannie?" Corinne asked as I moaned in helpless lust and spilled three mugs of coffee all over the work-top.
     "It's all right. I'll make some more."
     "I'll do it. You come and talk to Mike."
     So I came and talked to Mike. More or less alternately at first, then simultaneously. Before long, I found that both my breasts had worked their way out into the open, and the nipples, I could see by the stark shadows thrown by the lamp on the coffee table, were almost obscenely erect. Fortunately, Michael appeared not to have noticed. He was telling me about his research.
     "Michael's been telling me about his research, Cee," I said desperately as she brought the coffee mugs over and set them down without spilling a drop. Well, Michael was her brother after all, so he wouldn't be having too much effect on her, but there was such a thing as incest, wasn't there? She sat down on a big cushion on the floor and looked up at him like a little sister.
     "Have you finished that last bit of work now, Mike?" she asked him.
     "Yes." Michael became more animated, almost turned on. "That's what I'm going up to Oxford for tomorrow, to see Professor Anschluss. I worked several nights last week completing my notes. Ninety-one hours, in fact. It's all on my computer now, ready to present the details to him. He guided my hand on my first faltering steps, as it were."
     God, all this and he could walk on his hands, too! A delightful image came to me, of Michael, golden and naked, walking on his hands on a deserted beach. I strolled by his side, walking on my feet, licking the tip of his cock, which must have been several feet long and as thick as my thigh.
     "... chaos theory," he was saying, while Corinne drank in his every word, her little mouth half open. Now and again, she took a little sip of coffee and nodded as he went on with his description. I wasn't understanding a word, but Cee was enraptured by it.
     "So you mean," she said after about twenty minutes, "you mean, everything in the world is governed by this chaos theory, so every action anywhere, no matter how infinitesimal, has an effect on every other."
     "Do pay attention, Corinne," Michael said sharply.
     Yes, Corinne, for God's sake, pay attention, I thought.
     "Not the whole world. The entire Universe. Think of it as an equation. Something simple, like this..." He looked around the room, spotted my calendar on the wall and tore it down. It was still open at January, a snow scene with a rather pretty girl riding a pony bareback. You could see how cold she must have been. He took a pen and began scribbling a quite unnecessarily long equation on the page. It went on for ages and ended in a triumpant array of brackets and cube root symbols. "Like this," he said, and Corinne bent forward, nodding intently. "Now, if we replace this function, here..." — he jabbed vigorously with the pen which went clean through Miss January, I dreaded to think where — "with a number of separate equations, thus..." — off he went again. Jeez, that pen was going to run out in a minute. Did he think teachers are made of money? "See?" he ended, looking up at me.
     "No, I'm Shannie. That's Cee. She's your sister," I offered by way of explanation.
     "No, do you see how an apparently infinite number of equations form part of a single master equation to govern every action and reaction in the Universe? Shannie?" He ended on a question mark.
     "Meeeeee?" I squeaked. "Why me?"
     "Come on, Shan, concentrate." Corinne pointed to the back of Miss January. "Forget the contents of each equation, just imagine, if 'x' is changed over here, it automatically effects 'y', and every other instance of 'y' in the whole equation is changed at the same time. The only thing is, instead of an alphabet with twenty-six letters to be changed, we have an alphabet with an infinite number of letters, right, Michael?"
     I was reminded forcefully of one of Corinne's bras for some reason.
     "Not infinite, though, Corinne. We have now established finity!"
     "Finity?"
     "Finity?" I queried. "He sounds like an Irishman. I thought it was Scotland where you were staying."
     Michael looked at me blankly. "Finity," he said with immense calm, "is the absence of infinity. Using a modest computer installed on the island of Fuckh, I have iterated and reiterated until Corinne's alphabet — a most competent corollary, Corinne..." Corinne blushed prettily, while I practiced saying 'a most competent corollary Corinne', to myself. I needed another gulp of coffee after five aborted attempts. Michael hadn't finished. He hadn't established finity. "... the 'alphabet' while extremely long, is nevertheless finite. It has an alpha and an omega."
     "Twenty eight letters, then?" I said brightly, trying to help Michael with his addition.
     "Twenty-eight billion, perhaps," he said crushingly. "Fortunately, we don't use them all, of course."
     "Oh, no, of course!"
     "I have devised a system of what I call destructive iterative looping. No need to go into the details, but it reduces your alphabet to just a few million letters. Far more manageable."
     Still a fucking enormous bra, though, I thought, and giggled to myself.
     "This deserves a drink," I said. My mug was empty. I fancied something stronger before my concentrated assault on Michael's inner being. I got up and poured a generous measure of white wine and downed it in one gulp. "Oops! Pardon me. Drink, Michael? Cee?"
     "Erm, yes, please," Michael said, as if intrigued by the concept of humans imbibing fluids.
     "Make mine a big one," said Cee.
     Huh, I thought. If anyone's getting their hands on a big one tonight, it's me.

Chapter 3:- Michael's Secret

I SWILLED the wine round in my glass and drained it.
     "I' better open another wine box," I said to no one in particular.
     "If you're sure, Shannie." Corinne sounded tipsy.
     Michael drained his glass without a word and held it out to me. His laptop computer wobbled on his lap and he grabbed at it, giggling.
     "Right, give it me again, Mike." Corinne peered at her brother intently, getting it right on her third attempt. "You can alter just one single pramet ... parramatta, taramasalata, parameter, at random, type it into your machine, and it will affect the rest of the Universe. That's crazy. We'd all notice straight away."
     "No, that's the whole point." He sounded almost sober. Shit. It was going to cost me an arm and a leg to lay this bastard tonight. "We can alter any parameter, let's posit a temperature rise of half a degree on the polar ice cap of one of the distant planets in our solar system, I won't do it now, for reasons which will become obvious later."
     "Posit!" I repeated to myself. "He uses the word 'posit'." Michael had carried right on positing.
     "Once it was implemented, all the sub-equations would shift themselves to take account of the new value, and each occurrence of that value in the master equation would change. Balance would be restored in a matter of milliseconds. Seconds, in the case of a big alteration. But to the observer, that's us, no change would be discernible. To us, the new scenario would become the status quo."
     I began jigging insanely and hopped about arythmically for a few seconds, singing, until the others stared at me and I stopped. "Status Quo," I said, to be helpful. "That was Don't Drive My Car" I said, in case they hadn't recognised the tune.
     Corinne ignored me rudely. "You mean, we wouldn't know anything had changed, because, to us, it had always been like that?"
     "Right, sis!"
     "But Mike, if you alter anything, and you don't know it's changed because when if does change, it has always been that way, how do you know if what you did has worked?"
     "That was the one stumbling block. Guess who solved it for me."
     "Your favourite sheep?" I muttered. I was becoming a little grumpy. I do when I'm a little drunk.
     "Almost, Shannie. In fact, you're quite close to the mark. It was the shepherd. Yes, a simple shepherd. I actually hugged him, and as Corinne will tell you, I'm not often given to displays of raw, naked emotion."
     "No, she hadn't told me, no," I said, glowering at my ex-girlfriend.
     "He'd just bought a computer to help him do his household accounts, things like that, and he asked me to come around to his hovel and show him how to switch it on and everything. Well, I told him, I don't know much about computers, but we got it going, and after a while I taught him how to save files and things. Then suddenly , it came to me in a flash of light"
     "It did?" I said. "What a waste."
     "I realised if I could isolate and identify a series of parameters which governed my own characteristics, with particular attention to those which might be changed or modified by any effects I had directly or indirectly caused by my actions ..." I was starting to nod off "... physical characteristics, bodily dimensions ..." I was wide awake all of a sudden "... and save them to a file, I could arrange for that file to remain unchanged until after the rest of the Universe had changed. Just a few seconds would be enough. The Universe would change, but I would remain the same as I had been before. I would then be able to observe at first hand the effect of the changes."
     "Gosh!" I was impressed despite myself.
     "Of course, if I was going to make a significant change, I could save a copy of the entire Universe before starting. But that would take a little longer. A few minutes. I can do it now, though," he ended modestly.
     "You can?" Corinne shook her head. "You can make a copy of the entire Universe, then change something in the old version, check it out afterwards and see if you like it, and if you don't, you can make it all better again?"
     "Yes, and within a reasonable time-frame, thanks to destructive iterative looping."
     I filled the glasses again and tossed another empty wine box into the corner.
     "Show us," I dared him.
     "What, now?"
     "Why not?"
     "I've only got my little portable computer here, I need a huge one."
     "So do I," I muttered. Despite the effects of the wine, I was getting horny again.
     "Can't your portable talk to your big machine?" Corinne sounded excited at the prospect of these machines having intercourse.
     "I suppose so. I never tried."
     Corinne giggled. "You could make a little tiny teensy-weensy change to something that would only affect us here. If you connect to your computer up on Fuckh, you could access the details of the files that control us down here, then change something, and we could all watch." She was already on her feet and weaving toward the terminal which was sulking in the corner of the room. "What's your address?"
     "I don't know. It must be written down somewhere. Or on the portable computer. Here, you have a look. I need a wee-wee."
     "I'll show you where it is," I said eager for my chance. Michael rose to his feet and we lunged toward each other. Eventually, I secured his arm and dragged him away toward the door. Corinne was bent over the portable, hitting keys apparently at random. She issued little squeaks of delight or alarm at times. "Leave her to it," I said, "she's very good at computers."
     Together, we reeled along the passageway to the toilet.
     "I can't go in there," he said. "It's for girls."
     "This is a girls' school. We don't have boys' loos. We do it the same, only we sit down first." He looked uncertain. "I'll show you, come on!"
     We went inside, and I showed Michael how to sit on a toilet to have a piss. As an afterthought, I stood him up again quickly and made him take his trousers and pants down. He tried to hide himself, but his hands, I was pleased to see, weren't really big enough.
     "It's all right, I've seen one of those before," I told him. "Sit down. No, you need to let it hang down inside the bowl." I helped him and he thanked me politely. "Now you do it. You piss."
     "I can't. Not with anyone watching."
     "But I grabbed it just now and pointed it into the toilet bowl for you. Yet you can't piss with me watching?"
     "No. Of course not."
     "I'll go over here and wait, then." I strolled away, whistling. Eventually, after what must have been aboout nine hours, I heard a dribble of water.
     "That's better, Shan, thanks!" Michael came over, zipping himself up. I barred his progress.
     "Michael! You are really hunky, you know that?"
     "Hunky? Sorry."
     "No, hunky's all right. It means you're sexy. Fuckable. I want your body." I flung my arms around him and he disappeared between my breasts somewhere. Over his shoulder, in the mirror, I could see my nipples, which looked so rude I came immediately and comprehensively.
     "Oops," Michael said, "I'm wet. I must have forgotten to shake the drops off. I'm always doing that."
     "You need a woman to do that for you, Michael!"
     "No, it's no trouble. I can do it. It only takes three and a half seconds."
     "Anyway," I whispered. "I'll tell you a secret. You didn't forget to shake your cock. I made you wet. It was my love juice!"
     "Your ...? Sorry, Shan. You've got me stumped there. Love? Juice?"
     The door opened and Corinne came in.
     "All connected," she said. She stared at us, I was studiously brushing a hair from Michael's collar.
     "Oh, hi, Sis. Shan was just telling me about love and juice."
     "Really?"
     "Tennis," I explained. "I was teaching Michael how to score at tennis."
     "Michael doesn't really need to know how to score, Shan. He's a mathematical genius, not a tennis umpire."
     "You never know, Cee. With Wimbledon coming up, and the summer and everything...?" I stepped away from Michael, noticed the appalling patch of my fluids around his crotch and turned him round to face the wall.
     Corinne spun him round again.
     I turned him back.
     "Shan, I want to see. What are you hiding from me?"
     "Nothing!"
     "Turn my brother round, then. A girl has a right to see the front of her brother."
     "It's just the same as the front of any other man." I held him by the shoulders and slammed him against the wall. Corinne tried to grab him, but her breasts were far too big for her to reach.
     "If my tits weren't so fucking huge, I'd ... Oh, hello, Anastasia!"
     "Hi, Miss! Hi, Miss Gruntworthy! Fuck me, who's this you've got?"
     "It's Miss Meadowlark's brother Michael, you can't have him."
     "Oh, never mind, if you're using him. I just thought, if he was a spare ...? Only Clark's gone sick and I'm horny as fuck with no boys on the campus. You don't know of any ...?"
     "No, Anastasia."
     "Oh, well. I'll have a wank or two, then. Later, right? See ya, Miss. And you, Miss. And YOU, Michael!"
     She departed, wiggling her buttocks about a foot each way, leaving a faint but haunting aroma of hot girl.
     "Who was that?" Michael bleated. "I thought the students were on holiday."
     Anastasia came back in. "I forgot to have my piss," she explained, disappearing into a cubicle. Seconds later came a mighty gushing like Niagara Falls. "Miss?" Anastasia bellowed over the din of her emptying bladder. "I don't know if you'd noticed, but you've made Michael all wet round his crotch." She paused for a grunt and a resounding fart that almost shook the condom dispenser off the wall. "Christ, I needed that. Better out than in. Anyway, Miss. you should dry him out with a hair-drier before he starts to smell."

"All done. It's downloading the data now." Corinne rubbed her hands together and hiccuped.
     "More wine, Cee? It's good for the brain."
     She held out her half-pint mug and I filled it, then did the same with Michael's glass, which seemed to have turned into a flower vase. Sure enough, the flowers were now in the coal scuttle, and the coal was in a heap on my bed. I lay on my back and drained the wine bottle, which felt pleasantly cold against my pudenda. Nobody was looking. It felt even better inside. Bottom end first, of course.
     Corinne was droning on again. "So you're getting the data for all the people who are left on the campus here at St Cat's? You, me and Shan. And Anastasia?"
     "Get Smegs as well," I said. "She's due back here tonight or tomorrow, when she's finished shagging."
     "I'll get hers after this lot," said Michael. "What's her name? Smegs what?"
     "Megan Mountains."
     Michael entered the name without comment, and the machine whirred and clucked to itself. "There. It's finished. We should now have files containing the vital parameters of those five people. Let's look at yours, Shannie."
     The screen flickered, like they do, and a heap of data spewed out and scrolled down faster than the eye could follow. At last it stopped, and there at the bottom of the screen, it said 'Hips, still shamefully large, shamefully, shamefully. 45 inches.'
     "Thank you, machine," I snarled under my breath.
     "What shall we change, then?" asked Michael.
     It was tempting, sorely tempting.
     "Let's do Anastasia," suggested Corinne.
     "Do her?"
     "Change something. Then we'll invite her in and have a good laugh. C'mon, Mike. Change a bit of Anastasia!"

Anastasia was intrigued. Well, she would be, of course.
     She was tip-toeing along the corridor past the teachers' bedroom. Not that it was really on her way from her own bedroom on the upstairs floor to Miss Mountains's bedroom, also on the upstairs floor, but Anastasia fancied a peek at Miss Meadowlark's brother again. Maybe Miss Gruntworthy wouldn't be using him this evening after all. Anastasia was aching for a shag. Gagging for it.
     Miss Mountains would do at a pinch, but she was still out at her party thing. Anastasia had decided to nip along to Miss Mountains's bedroom and be waiting for her when she returned. It would be a pleasant surprise for the teacher to come home and find an insatiably horny and insanely huge-breasted student warming her lonely bed.
     Meanwhile, a quick squint through the keyhole at Michael would help to occupy the time. The teachers were well away, Anastasia could tell. Even Miss Meadowlark was squealing girlishly and drunkenly, and she could hear Miss Gruntworthy's deeper voice as well as that of Michael, who seemed to be droning on about something horribly technical.
     Anastasia was level with the door and about to bend down and peer through the keyhole, when she heard Miss Meadowlark saying, " C'mon, Mike. Change a bit of Anastasia!"
     Which was why Anastasia was intrigued.
     She leaned forward slightly and applied her eye to the keyhole, sighing as her burning nipples came into contact with the cool wooden floor. "Fuck," she muttered. The key was in the lock, so she couldn't see through it to the vision of loveliness within. At least, she could hear his voice. Better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick.
     "Why do you want her changed, Sis? She seemed a normal enough young girl to me."
     I suppose I am, really, Anastasia thought, with a glance down at her St Bernard-sized breasts resting on the floor in front of her. Compared to his sister, anyway. She listened again.
     "... we have to do first is to protect our patterns, as we call them. The method I use is to save my present parameters to a file, immediately before I make the changes to reality. The computer has to be told to recognise only my existing pattern, and to disregard any changes which might occur as a result of altered reality. Look, say we changed Anastasia into a frog ..."
     Anastasia gave a little bleat of alarm and took a pace back from the door. Her breasts followed after a decent interval, thwacking heavily into her thighs and making her go 'oof!' It was several seconds before she dared creep forward and listen again.
     "... and I might step on her by accident, killing her and falling down and breaking a leg. I don't want that to happen, so I protect my pattern first. If anyone squashes Anastasia and breaks a leg, it won't be me."
     Anastasia was filled with a great sadness. Michael was going to change her into a frog. How unfeeling, these scientist people. No consideration, no appreciation of a beautiful young girl-woman. She took her glasses off and stared helplessly around her. Perhaps if I had contact lenses, he wouldn't turn me into a frog, she thought. But it would take too long. He was going to turn her into a frog very soon. She backed away and fled upstairs, cuddling her breasts in her arms.

"What shall we do to her?" Corinne giggled. "Not a frog, they're all nasty and slimy."
     "Make her pregnant," I suggested.
     "A bit far-reaching," said Michael. "It's okay so long as we can reverse it, but if anything goes wrong at this early stage of the development of the system, it could be a problem bringing a new child into the world. Make it something that only affects Anastasia, as far as we can limit it to her."
     "Make her tits even bigger," Corinne laughed. "So long as they're not bigger than mine, of course. Although, thinking about it, they couldn't be."
     "She'd never be able to walk, and her boys have all gone home," I said.
     Michael looked mystified at all this breast talk. Perhaps, being Corinne's brother, and having led what could well be described as a sheltered life, Michael assumed that vast breasts were perfectly normal.
     "Just her nipples, then," said Corinne. "Make them twice as long."
     "That wouldn't show," I said. "Make them six inches."
     "Nine inches!"
     "A foot long!" I said. There were no further bidders.
     Michael shrugged and stared at us. "All right, then. Nipples a foot long." He tapped a few keys and studied the screen. It says here they're an inch and a half long. I'll change it to a foot ... there!" He tapped away again for a while, as we watched him. "I made them a bit thicker, too, so they don't bend too much." We nodded. It seemed to make good sense.
     Corinne's eyes were shining. "Is that it, then? Are they a foot long now?"
     "Not yet, I haven't executed it. We have to protect our three patterns, or we'll never know what we've done. This won't take long." He typed in several lines of text, then hit the enter key with a thump before sitting back. "Done."
     "All ready, then?" Corinne leaned forward. "Let me do it!"
     "Just type 'execute' and hit enter."
     She did. Nothing happened.
     "Give it a second or two," said Michael. The walls seemed to shudder faintly, the lights flickered, and a dull thud sounded from upstairs.
     "That was it?" I asked. "That bang came from her bedroom, upstairs."
     "That's it. It's done." Michael grinned at us. It seemed a bit of an anticlimax to me, somehow.
     "I wish we'd made her pregnant now."
     "Let's go and see her," said Corinne, dragging me up off the settee.
     "I have to disconnect from the main computer first, hang on." Michael logged off, or whatever you call it, and closed the lid of the laptop.

Part II

Chapter 4:- The Parameters Of Amy

SMEGS LAY on her bed, playing with herself. She was absolutely pissed off. The party at Lord Ted's School had been a total waste of space. All the decent boys had gone home to their Mummies and Daddies. In the end, she had ducked out of the door and strode off to the car park. She was even sober enough to drive back to St Cat's. It was only ten o' clock when she flung herself on to her bed.
     There had been voices coming from Shan's and Corinne's room downstairs, but in her present mood, she didn't feel like joining them, even though one of the voices had been male. So when Anastasia knocked on her bedroom door and poked her head round it, Smegs was quite pleased to see the Second Former.
     "Come in, Anastasia," she said, continuing what she was doing with her left hand and waving to the girl to sit on the bed.
     Anastasia squealed with joy and sat down to watch. "Gosh, Miss, look at your bloody flaps. They're the biggest I've ever seen."
     Smegs blushed prettily before coming in a reasonably comprehensive manner. "Thanks, Staze," she panted. "How can I help you?"
     "I was bored, so I thought I'd drop in on you for a bit."
     "If you want a bit, you've come to the right place." Smegs slid over to the far side of her bed and tweaked aside the duvet. "Dive in. Take your jeans off first."
     "Thanks, Miss." Anastasia wiggled her hips and worked her jeans down before stepping out of them. "Wow, Miss," she gurgled happily, slipping into the bed next to the teacher. "Sorry about my cold arse, it's because my jeans are so tight. They affect my circulation. I'll soon warm up." She began to demonstrate how quickly she could warm up. Within ten seconds, she was panting furiously and humping Smegs's backside like a shortsighted puppy.
     "Wow, Anastasia, that's nice. Who taught you to do that," yelped Smegs, adding, "thirty-one," as an afterthought.
     "It was Miss Gruntworthy, Miss. She learned it from Miss Meadowlark."
     "Huh! That little blonde bitch with her big blue innocent eyes."
     "Don't you like Miss Meadowlark, Miss?"
     "Huh!" Smegs said again. "She's just a bloody moo. Lezzie bitch." She lowered her blonde head and slurped hungrily at Anastasia's plump-lipped snatch.
     "Gosh, Miss. Who taught you to do that?"
     "Miss Gruntworthy. Another bloody lezzie, she is."
     "No, Miss, she's bifocal. She does it both ways. In fact, there's a man in her room right now. I saw them all in the bogs, all three of them."
     "In the bogs? With a man?"
     "Yeah. It's Miss Meadowlark's brother. I think Miss Gruntworthy fancies him. She'd made him all wet round his thingie. And then they all went back to their bedroom and they were talking. I listened at the door, but I ran away when I heard them saying they were going to turn me into a frog."
     "Turn you into a frog?" Smegs clutched Anastasia's moist, clammy hand. "How?"
     "It was Miss Meadowlark's brother, Miss. He's got this computer that turns girls into frogs. I don't know why. It was Miss Meadowlark who suggested doing something to me, and her brother who wanted to make me a frog. Miss Gruntworthy didn't say much."
     Smegs blinked helplessly at the girl. How strange, she thought, that Anastasia had always had such extraordinarily long nipples. They were a foot long, amazing. They'd always been like that, of course, ever since she had been at St Cat's. It must have been embarrassing for the girl, but she never complained, except when they became erect and got caught in doors and things. Strange, Smegs realised she had never seen a pair of nipples even a third of the size of Anastasia's: even Corinne's were smaller, and her tits were ridiculously huge. The little lezzie bitch.
     "Are they still down there?" Smegs asked.
     "They were when I came upstairs. They were drinking quite a lot, and making loads of noise. They were talking too loud, that's why I heard them."
     "I'm going to creep down and see what they're playing at. Would you mind, love? We can go back to bed later."
     "That's all right, Miss." Anastasia grinned happily. To Smegs's horror, she was winding a nipple round and round her finger like a length of thick rope. She pulled her finger out quickly, and the purplish nipple actually stayed slightly coiled, like a telephone cord. "Wheee!" she cried, waving it around. She scrambled out of the bed and performed a bump and grind routine, thrusting her hips lewdly. Then with a sudden twitch of her chest, she started her nipples twirling like a stripper's tassels, in opposite directions.
     "How do you do that?" asked Smegs.
     "I've always been able to do it, Miss. I'm made that way." She stared down at her whirling nipples, concentrating hard, then stopped, panting slightly. Her nipples continued for a while, before they bumped into each other and stopped, flopping down under their own weight, like rather oversized penes.
     "I'll see you later, Staze, okay?"
     "Okay, Miss. I'll go and have a shit. I've got a turtle's head sticking out here."
     How coarse these girls are, Smegs thought with a shudder. She gathered up her bathrobe and climbed into it, stepped into her slippers and opened the door. Anastasia slipped out, still without her too-tight jeans, waved her fingers and disappeared down the corridor.
     From the other direction came loud voices. Two women and a man; while not necessarily drunk, with the sound of having drink taken, as they sometimes say. That little bitch, thought Smegs, bitterly. She turned and followed Anastasia down the stairs, and arrived outside Corinne's and Shan's bedroom door. It was half open. With a quick glance round, Smegs squeezed inside.
     On the table was a litre wine bottle and two empty glasses. A third glass lay on its side. There were several more bottles and two empty wine boxes in the corner. The room smelled like a winery.
     Smegs stepped closer to the table. There was a laptop computer there. Its lid was open, and a pair of cables trailed away across the floor, one to the electricity supply, the other leading to the telephone socket. She squatted beside the table, aware of her lack of panties. Her knees creaked, too. It had been several years since Smegs had been the terror of the netball court. The smell of her recent sexual activity wafted up around her nose and she toyed with the idea of touching herself intimately again, before putting it aside. There was something interesting on the computer.
     The screen showed a list of words down one side, with values alongside them. She studied the list, which appeared, among other things, to be a list of physical characteristics. Her eyes lit up as she noticed 'brst dims', 'areola diam — left' and 'areola diam — right'. What, she thought, have we here? She studied the accompanying numbers, but was unable to visualise them as they were all apparently in millimetres.
     Whatever they were, they seemed to apply to one person. They represented a list of one person's — one female person's — most vital statistics. Who is it, she thought, and reached out for the Page Up key.
     Voices were coming closer, down the stairs.
     "Shit, they're coming back." Smegs looked hastily round the room. The heavy curtains were drawn to keep out the chill of a cool spring night. Quickly, she hurried across the room and slid behind the floor-length curtains, thanking her lucky stars that her bust was a mere sixty inches. Only a couple of melon-sized bulges betrayed her presence.
     The noisy trio came in and slammed the door behind them. Already, there came the clink of glasses. Smegs prepared herself for a long stay.

I poured a generous slug of wine for Michael, and took one myself. Corinne had slithered down into her chair, her eyes glazed.
     "Did we really change Anastasia? We still haven't seen her. How will we know she's changed at all, if you say she'd think she's always been like that?"
     Michael removed my hand from his crotch. I put it back, and he sighed with resignation and left it there.
     "Remember, I protected our patterns before making the change to Anastasia. You, and I, and Corinne, all know about the change, so we will notice the difference in Anastasia. It's a pity we couldn't find her. I always like to check out any changes as soon as possible afterwards, while we're still in the early stages. We will have to find her afterwards and have a look at her."
     "You only protected the three of us? So if Smegs came back and saw Anastasia, she would think she'd always been like that?"
     "Of course. And when we change her back, she will think she has always been like that, too, and so will anyone else who meets her."
     "And are we still protected? Do we have to be unprotected again before you change Anastasia back? Or afterwards?" My mind was clear, alert and incisive. A small drink does that to me.
     "Good point, Chauntaille," Michael patronised me. "You have an excellent mind for a girl." He glanced across at Corinne, who was now snoring gently. "I sometimes wish Corinne was as bright as you. We are protected at the moment. I must unprotect us before reversing Anastasia's change, or our own history will have no data for the time we were protected. This may be unimportant, but if any of Anastasia's actions have impinged upon our histories, there will be anomalies when we unprotect. Since we are probably not going to change Anastasia back tonight — Corinne will want to see her — we had better unprotect our patterns until then. I'll do it now."
     I watched as he fiddled with the machine again, logged on and did something computerish with the keys, tapping away with one finger on each hand.
     "How long have you been working on this thing, Michael?"
     He stared anxiously at the screen for a moment, then his face cleared. "Done it. Three years, now," he added. "Only two years on Fuckh, when the Uni decided I needed a quiet environment for my studies."
     "Have you made any other changes?"
     "Oh, lots, yes. I made temporary changes at first, up on the island, then changed them back again."
     "Nothing permanent? How do you know it doesn't wear off?"
     "How can history wear off? I may have made some permanent changes, but I wouldn't necessarily know, would I?" He giggled like a Fourth Former.
     "You wouldn't?"
     "Not if I failed to protect my pattern first. But then if I didn't, I wouldn't know I hadn't, would I? I can say, as a scientist, that I might have made some changes and I don't know about them. I probably have! I know I didn't, of course, but I probably have."
     My brain was spinning. A thought occurred to me. "Couldn't you just change everything so that your research has all been done and everything is successful?"
     "I might have done," Michael tugged at his chin. "But if I did that, I would have to unprotect my pattern and allow it to change before I made the changes to history, or I would always know the system didn't really work and it was just pretending."
     "So did you?"
     "Did I what?"
     "Did you unprotect your pattern, then change history so the system would pretend it worked, whether it did or not?"
     "How would I know?"
     It was time for another drink. I drained my glass at a gulp and fell over briefly on my way to the fridge for a new bottle. I completed the journey on hands and knees, my nipples trailing across the carpet. I wished I hadn't been wearing harem costume. If I had been completely naked, Michael would have been able to see right up inside my gaping wet pussy and probably see daylight, so long as I opened my mouth. Just in case, I kept my mouth shut. I didn't know Michael very well, just yet.
     I slid back to Michael's chair, and thrust a brimming glass up at him, between his legs. He seemed a little taken aback, especially when I tried to link arms with him and sip my glass. Well, it always works when they do it on television, but perhaps I was being a little ambitious, doing it from on the floor between his thighs. I refilled my glass and dabbed at his groin, which was dripping with chateau-bottled Australian Dobermann-Pinscherswein. The '94 Spätlese, if you are familiar with it.
     "I did some sheep," he said suddenly.
     "What?"
     "I changed some sheep. There weren't many people on Fuckh. So I did some sheep. Just little changes. Made them black, stuff like that. And I gave one of them two heads."
     You gave a sheep two heads? Why?"
     "I dunno?" He shrugged off-handedly. "Black sheep aren't a good idea. It seemed to upset the shepherd for some reason. So I gave one an extra head."
     "And that didn't upset him?"
     "No. But next day, when I went out to see if it had worked, there was this great high wire fence, topped with barbed wire. And there was a huge concrete building inside the wire. And all over the hillside, hundreds of sheep, new-born lambs, all of them with two heads, five legs, six legs — terrible. I walked round the perimeter wire, and there was a gate with security guards with sub-machine guns and dogs, and a great big sign saying Keep Out, Danger.
     "I found out later it was a Chemical and Microbiological Defence Establishment, with a staff of thirty, doing God-knows what. There was a helicopter pad with a great huge H in a circle on the ground. I was in a bit of a panic, and I asked the shepherd how long it had been there, and he said it had been there five years or more.
     "I was panicking even more, when I realised I had somehow corrupted the two-headed sheep file, and lost a couple of parameters. I always save them immediately now, but then, I was new to it all. It was no more than a couple of lines, a couple of parameters, but I couldn't remember what they said, and I couldn't just guess."
     "What did you do?" I gasped, putting my fingers into my mouth in horror. I took them out again in horror shortly afterwards, as they had all too obviously been buried deep in my crotch.
     "What could I do? I guessed at the missing parameters."
     "What happened?"
     "The two-headed sheep died. And next morning, when I went out to see if all the other sheep had died, too, everything had gone, the two-headed, six-legged sheep, the perimeter fence, the laboratory, the security guards, everything!"
     "Everything?"
     "Not quite everything. The helicopter pad was still there. The shepherd said that about five years before, a bunch of soldiers came out to Fuckh for a week with bulldozers and machinery. They levelled off a bit of the hillside and built the landing pad. Then there was an election, and some defence cuts. The plans for a laboratory on Fuckh were shelved, and the lab was never built. The shepherd's wife had been really mad. She'd planned on opening a little general store and brothel."
     "How terrible."
     "The helicopter pad is still there now. I tried, but I couldn't make it go away."
     "So you didn't ever try changing any humans, until Anastasia tonight?"
     "Oh, yes! I didn't really want to, but I had to. Trouble is, there was only the shepherd and his wife to try it out on. Then my luck changed. Corinne got a job here. And she offered to help, well, you know what she's like."
     "Yes," I said flatly.
     "I sent her a few files, just for samples, some of the files for a few of the girls."
     "You mean you have parameter files for everyone in the world?"
     "Of course!"
     "Carry on ..."
     "I sent her these files, and she chose one. A girl called Amy something. And she changed just one line of the parameters and sent the file back to me."
     "What did she change? I tried to think what was the first change that had occurred to Sexy Amy after Corinne had arrived at St Cat's."
     "I don't know! How could I? A parameters file, a pattern, is thousands of lines long. Not knowing what it had said before, I hadn't a chance of seeing what was different after. Anyway, I protected everyone's patterns at St Cat's, and bunged in the changed Amy file."
     "Go on."
     "Corinne called me back the next day. She said three-quarters of the girls at St Cat's had suddenly always had enormous breasts! I changed it back, but it didn't work, she said. Ever since then, St Cat's has been a complete dog's breakfast."
     A strange chill had crept over me, like someone had just stepped on my grave, as my old granny might have said. She never did, but other people's old grannies say that sort of thing all the time. They never seem to say anything else, some of them. But there was this strange chill in the deepest recesses of my being. I had a look, and my worst fears were realised. A whole glass of wine down the front of my harem pants. I tore them off, and Michael watched me with well-disguised interest. I sat there with my legs apart, drying out. Well, not really drying out, but with my thighs apart like that, I just kind of glistened pinkly in Michael's direction.
     Ask anyone who knows me, I'm not small down there. The Good Lord did not skimp when he doled out the pussy to Chauntaille Gruntworthy. Cavernous is one word for it. It's a totally inadequate word, as it happens, but that's not my fault, I didn't invent the language.
     Michael seemed transfixed by the view, so I parted my thighs, very subtly, just a little bit more, about a foot or so. He gulped a little, so I decided to give him the full treatment and ran my fingernails gently up the length of my slit, as I had seen it described in erotic literature. I suppose the effect is lost a little when all four fingers and the thumb all disappear with a faint splash into the interior, to emerge, dripping, at the top. Still, once they were in there, I made the most of it. "Woo," I said, more or less conversationally. "Woo-woo-woo-woo-woo-woo-WOW!" Quite a lot.
     Corinne stirred in her armchair, muttered "woo-woo-woo," and went back to sleep again.
     "Tell me more about the changes you made at St Cat's, Michael," I murmured comfortably, draped on the settee, twitching occasionally, little dribbles of juice oozing out. Thoughtfully, Michael raised my thighs and laid a number of copies of the local newspaper beneath me to soak up the worst of it. I thanked him politely as he wiped his hands on several sheets of industrial paper towel. We always like to have a roll or two handy about the bedroom.
     "We've been working on Amy's pattern ever since that first time. We only change one parameter at a time, by an infinitesimal amount, one way or the other. Every change we make affects not just Amy, of course. The effects are felt all over the school, and elsewhere. Amy's parents, the other girls' parents, and anyone their parents sleep with; they all have subtle little differences in their histories with each change we make. It is difficult to keep track of, so I had a team of programmers working for a month designing a routine that would summarise the changes we made and the effects they had. And the effects of the effects, and the likely effects of those effects, even unto the fourth or fifth generation. Chauntaille, you would not believe some of the things that have happened, just by changing that single parameter of Amy's."

Chapter 5:- Michael's First Time

SMEGS SHIFTED uneasily behind the curtains. She could hear the conversation, and the revelations were making her hair curl. This was the biggest thing since the invention of the wheel. The ability to alter history of any part of the Universe, all by the use of a single computer on Fuckh.
     "And I have the secret in my hands," she sighed to herself. She became more excited as she realised what changes she could make. She could end war for ever, save the planet from extinction, stamp out crime, disease and pestilence. She could sort out that fucking little bitch Corinne once and for all.
     She could hardly wait. Michael droned on, and Smegs became more and more excited at the possibilites of this wonderful discovery. Her fingers dived into the front of her bathrobe and sought her aching wetness.
     What was that? A noise behind her, at the window. Something, someone, scratching on the glass. Carefully, so as not to disturb the curtains or make a noise, she turned to look out of the window.
     Anastasia was standing out there among the rose bushes, her nose and her breasts pressed against the glass. She would catch her death of cold out there. The little window at the top was open.
     "What are you doing out there with no jeans on, you little fool?" Smegs hissed.
     "What are you doing in Miss Meadowlark's and Miss Gruntworthy's room," Anastasia retorted, quite reasonably.
     "Nothing."
     "You're playing with yourself again, Miss," Anastasia pointed out. "Let me in and I'll give you a hand."
     "I can't, you'll make too much noise. Anyway, I'm listening."
     "Oooh, Miss. You mustn't. I'm telling!"
     "Ssshhh!"
     Anastasia began to sob. Smegs watched as tears ran down the glass until they reached her ridiculously long nipples. Although she knew they had always been as long as that, she also knew they hadn't. It had happened a couple of hours earlier. It was a spooky feeling. And tomorrow morning, they would be changed back again, and Smegs would know they had always been that size. Or would she? If Michael and the two teachers did change Anastasia back to her original shape, while protecting their own patterns, what would she, Smegs, remember of it all. She would know Anastasia had never had nipples a foot long, even for a few hours overnight. Or would she? Would all memory be erased, including the memory she now had of Michael's secret system. Would that disappear, too?
     I have to get out of here, she thought. I have to get to the IT lab and find out how to protect my pattern, before they get around to changing Anastasia's back again in the morning. The huge-breasted Second Former was still crying outside the glass, while keeping an eye on Smegs for her reaction.
     Smegs smiled at her, and held a finger to her lips. Then she pointed upwards, and placed her hands together against her cheek in a go-to-sleep gesture, and held up her ten fingers. She blew a little kiss to Anastasia, and watched with relief as the girl nodded eagerly and disappeared into the darkness.
     Now, all she had to do was to get out of this bedroom herself. For a moment, she toyed with the idea of flinging aside the curtains and striding across the room with all the dignity she could muster, but decided it might not work. She would possibly get away with it, and be away out of the door before anyone realised what was happening, but Michael would realise she probably had the secret of his system.
     Stiffly, she turned to face the room again, feeling her nipples erect where they had been pressed against the cold glass. She wondered what they looked like, protruding through the curtains into the room. If anyone should chance to look this way ...

"How long has all this experimentation been going on?" I asked, fascinated. I imagined all the changes to Amy over the past year or so. This news from Michael would explain most of those.
     "Ever since Corinne came to St Cat's. Or a short while after that, actually. But the effects of the changes have been more far-reaching. They go back about eight years!"
     "Eight years, then you mean ...? You mean, my breasts, the accident in the lab, Smegs, everything? It's all the result of Sexy Amy's parameters?"
     "The result, and the cause, too. Every change we make affects everything else. If we make Amy's breasts a little bigger, it affects the size of your breasts when you first had the accident. At least, we've got it stabilised to the extent that you did have the accident permanently. That is, the accident doesn't casually drop in and out of history ever time we alter Amy's pattern. All we get are little changes, some of which affect all of you here — in which case nobody notices a thing — and some which affect only one or two of you — in which case you see a difference in one or more of your colleagues."
     "That explains everything," I said. "Well, not everything, but one hell of a lot. All these dramatic changes of size ..."
     "Yes. Corinne has been affected more than most. Now, we only change Amy's parameters at school time, never during the holidays, so Corinne can be present to study the effects. It's been a huge strain on her."
     I bit my lip. No wonder poor Corinne had been so strange at times. All that stress, seeing history changing all around her the whole time, and seeing her own breasts changing in size from one week to the next. "Does Corinne herself know how much she changes?"
     "Sometimes. Not always. When she became so vast she needed all those boys to carry her breasts around, she didn't know anything about it, which was why she didn't seem at all upset by her size. She had always been that way, so far as she knew, so getting a team of boys to carry her around was nothing more than an unheard-of luxury!"
     "But all that business about recruiting the boys — that ridiculously complicated day with the interviews and stuff, all the medical examinations ...?"
     "All necessary, dictated by the rearrangement of history. How else do you expect to introduce two dozen boys into a girls' school?"
     "Hey! Tell me about it," I said.
     "Actually, it's been an immense drain on our resources up on Fuckh. Every night, we get a huge stream of data on all the St Cat's girls fed back from here to Fuckh. It ties up a significant proportion of our machine capacity, just trying to keep pace with the changes which all stem from Amy's lousy parameters. We have had a high capacity link installed at Government expense, we have had to arrange for your school computer system to gather measurements of all the girls ..."
     "... And all the staff ..."
     "... And all the staff. We had to arrange for special foundation garments to be designed to give constant feedback of measurements to the computer. A dedicated undergarment technician — one of two who were brought in when brassiere design got out of hand — has been trained as a computer genius to mastermind the whole measurement monitoring programme."
     "Clit!" I gasped.
     "I beg your pardon?"
     "Clit, the bra woman. I wondered how she suddenly knew so much about computers and technology. God, it's incredible! But all these other changes round here. Are they all part of it? I mean, my breasts, and Corinne's are part of it. It won't suddenly all collapse and not exist any more, will it?"
     "No, your minimum dimensions have been permanised. Just as Corinne's breasts will always be the largest at St Cat's — on her insistence — yours will always be at least a certain size. They won't suddenly disappear. It would cause far too much disruption elsewhere. That's where the system looks after itself these days. By limiting the changes as far as possible, it avoids setting itself impossible tasks."
     "So my gigantic love tunnel ..."
     "Your what?"
     I showed him, then wiped my hand on some industrial paper towel.
     Michael frowned in concentration. I don't think it was mentioned in any changes we have performed. It may be that you were born with it. I mean, you were certainly born with it, but not that size. Shall we say you were already programmed genetically to be unusually large in that respect. I assume it is a particularly large example, since you say it is. Your ... love tunnel? Why do you call it that?"
     "It's the biggest I ever saw," I said with a hint of pride. "But you never heard of it being called a love tunnel before?"
     "It's not in any of the medical dictionaries."
     "No, it wouldn't be. It's my tunnel, and I use it for making love."
     "You make love? You manufacture it? Here at St Cat's? But I understood you used to manufacture sexual products, and girl-milk, and undergarments with special attributes, but love? I didn't think it was possible to manufacture such a thing."
     "Michael." I edged closer to him. "Have you never seen one of these before?"
     "Not really," he said uncomfortably, wrinkling his nose a little. "Not for 17 years, 8 months. And it wasn't that big, anyway. Only about fifteen per cent of the size of yours. But I had put that down to statistical spread. As a scientist, one keeps an open mind, of course."
     "Oh, of course."

Smegs's mind was boggling behind the curtains. All this stuff about history being altered! Already, thoughts were forming in her mind about what she could do with her new-found power. And it would be completely undetectable! All she had to do was learn how to protect her own pattern, so she would be able to enjoy the effects of the changes.
     She could hardly wait to get started. All she had to do was get out from behind these curtains.

I was still worried abut the whole thing collapsing. All it would take would be another mistake with a single parameter, and we would all end up as A-cups. Disastrous.
     "It won't happen, Chauntaille," Michael reassured me. "We have a minimum size parameter for you all, and Corinne sets the upper limit. That is the reason for her being the largest."
     "You mean it's not just her wanting to be the biggest for selfish reasons?"
     "Why should she want that? There's nothing desirable about large breasts, is there?"
     "No, I suppose not. So she is the biggest so you can keep all the others down to a particular size?"
     "Yes. It was the easiest way to do it. Into each girl's pattern is written a line which says ..." he tapped at a few keys. "Here, come and see for yourself. I arrived on his lap like a shot and wound my arms and legs around him. My lips attached themselves to his.
     "Oh, Mike!"
     "Sorry? Look at the screen, Chauntaille."
     "Here." Patiently, he lifted a breast out of the way and pointed to the display. I read the words.
     'KEEP DIMS Breast [all] < CEE,' it said.
     "That's it? That's all it takes?"
     "So I could change that word CEE to Chauntaille and I would be the biggest?" I grabbed for the laptop.
     "No, Chauntaille. Don't try it. It would destroy everything. We would lose weeks of work. Months. It's the only stable factor we have for upper breast size. If you changed it, some or all of the girls could grow exponentially."
     "But they'd always stay smaller than me? I would still be bigger?"
     "Of course you would, Chauntaille!"
     I made another grab for the computer. "Lemme have it. I want to change it."
     "NO!"
     "YES!"
     We grappled silently, more or less.
     I was surprised at my own strength. Sitting on Michael must have helped. I am still quite shamefully heavy. Holding him back with one hand, I placed the laptop on the settee where Michael couldn't reach it. Typing has never been my strong point, but it was only one word I had to change. It took three tries to get the spelling of my name right, but that's not unusual.
     "There," I shouted in triumph, and hit the Enter key.
     Michael was still trying to grab the bloody computer from me. He was so wriggly, and my tits were so vast that I couldn't see him once he got behind them. My left one was hanging over my shoulder and had draped itself over the back of the settee to rest massively on the floor. It was making it impossible for me to react quickly to Michael's lunging and struggling.
     Corinne wasn't helping matters at all. She had a habit of lying on the floor, sucking on my nipples even when the milk wasn't in. She always claimed she didn't want to miss a drop, and that one day, if she drank up every drop of my milk, the hormones would make her breasts as huge as mine. Well, she was welcome to the fucking things. If she ever tried having a 387-inch bust, in fact, measurements of 387-26-46 — I just put those numbers in for the geeks who get hard reading them — she would change her mind a bit quick.
     All I had to do was to type Cee's name instead of mine, and I would be down to a manageable size, smaller than Corinne. I would be able to see Clit, and get proper bras again, instead of those ridiculous wheels Jeremy had made for me. I would be able to look at myself in the mirror and see something besides an enormous pair of moons. I might even be able to put my own shoes on!
     "You mustn't do it, Chauntaille," Michael's voice came indistinctly from behind my right breast somewhere. "Don't try it. It will destroy everything. We will lose weeks of work. Months. You're the only stable factor we have for upper breast size. If you change it, some or all of the girls could grow exponentially."
     "Tough shit. I've had giant tits up to here. Or more importantly, down to there. Corinne can have them, and see how she likes it."
     "Chauntaille, NO!" Michael appeared, climbing up the North face of my right breast. I hoped he wasn't using crampons. I took a deep breath and he started to lose his grip. I could feel his fingernails slipping down until they found a grip on the pebbly surface of my areola. There was plenty there to get hold of, as they are more than two feet across. But he was occupied for a few vital seconds, long enough for me to find the laptop and bring it round to where I could see it.
     "Shit, where's it gone this time?" Actually I knew exactly where it had gone, and it felt divine in there, but it was going to have to come out for me to type in the new and vital instructions. I wrenched it out — all slimy and juicy, it was — and laid it on the gentle bulge of my tummy.
     Right, was it 'Corinne' I had to type, or 'Cee'? 'Cee' would be quicker, and easier to spell. I can never remember if Corinne has one 'r' and two 'n's, or the other way round. Or both. C-E-E was so much simpler. And Enter.
     The laptop slithered down my slippery belly again and lodged itself in my foaming doo-dah. By the time I had got it out, Michael had at least stopped struggling against the inevitable.
     "Where has this thing been?" he asked petulantly. "It's all wet and it smells of anchovies."
     Something seemed to have awakened Corinne. Probably all the noise Michael had been making.
     "What the fuck ...?" She is so coarse when she wakes up. As bad as one of the girls.
     "No!" said Michael, more quietly.
     "Yes!" I insisted.
     "What are you arguing about?" Corinne wanted to know.
     "I want the biggest tits at St Cat's," I explained, quite reasonably. "Why should you have them?"
     "Because," said Corinne.
     "I told her that, Sis. She wouldn't listen. She's being most unreasonable."
     "I'm not! I want to be the biggest, that's all. It's not much to ask."
     "No, Shannie," said Corinne. "It's not as simple as that. Anything could change. You might get pregnant, or anything."
     My eyes opened wider. "Pregnant?"
     "You nearly got pregnant a few months ago. Lots of people thought you were. It was all because of the link between the size of your breasts and those of Amy's. It's tremendously complex. Please, Shannie, don't meddle with it. You've seen what it did to me. I needed six strong boys for each tit. You don't want that, trust me, Shan, love."
     I suppose I didn't, really.
     "I could manage. You never let me try, that's all."
     "It was you I was thinking of." Corinne wiped away a tear. "I was going through terrible torment when you put on all that weight."
     "All that weight on my waist and hips? It was you?"
     "No!" Michael interrupted. "Corinne was doing her best to keep your size down. If it hadn't been for her, you would have been twice as big. She insisted that we didn't let you free-run, as I wanted to."
     "You wanted me to get bigger? Twice as big?" I pounded at him with my fist.
     "It would have been the best way," he insisted. "We'd have got you back to a reasonably manageable size eventually, in a year or two. Corinne's way has taken more of our resources: it has cost us weeks of work, just to keep you to the size you are now, or have been. You can thank her for that."
     "Is this true, Cee?"
     She nodded.
     I sat quietly for a moment or two. They sat and looked at me.
     "I love you, Cee!"
     "I know, Shannie. I'm sorry."
     We cuddled for something like five minutes before I realised she had fallen asleep again.

Smegs listened to the argument over the laptop with impatience. Shan was so childish at times. Most of the time, in fact. All she wanted now was to have the biggest breasts at St Cat's again, after all this time. Just to be bigger than that bloody Corinne Meadowlark. Childish.
     And now la Meadowlark had woken up and they were coo-ing sweet nothings at each other again. Like a couple of newly-weds.
     Sheesh!

I still wasn't happy with Michael.
     "You wanted me to explode," I told him, reasonably enough.
     "Explode? Chauntaille, what do you mean? Who ever heard of anyone exploding?"
     "I'm sure it happens all the time, only it's hushed up. Whenever there's a mystery explosion, they blame a gas leak, or terrorists. I bet most of the time it's an exploding girl whose belly or breasts have got too big. You'd have let that happen to me, if Corinne hadn't insisted."
     "Nobody explodes, Chauntaille. If you had reached, say, a hundred inches around the hips and the waist, it wouldn't reach that size by blowing up like a balloon. It would grow naturally. Either that, or you would wake up and you would always have been that big. Either way, your skin would stretch naturally to accommodate your new size. You wouldn't explode!"
     "I don't believe you," I said. I didn't believe him. Girls were always exploding in stories. That Smeggy Doll had exploded and covered Miss Rhys ap Llewelyn Owen with gloppy yellow innards. Some of the bigger girls were always just about to explode whenever their period was due.
     "Have you ever seen a St Cat's girl who looks like an over-inflated balloon? They all have a natural appearance, don't they?"
     "How would you know, you haven't seen any?"
     "But they do look natural, don't they?"
     Yes. As it happens, they do."
     "Well, there you are, then. I rest my case."
     Sometimes, I wonder why I even bother trying to get into some people's pants at all. I stood up abruptly, so abruptly that one breast flopped off the table and hit me a powerful blow in the crotch region. The other one tried to do the same thing, but missed and swung like a great cathedral bell, dragging me off balance so I trotted several paces across the floor. With a skill born of long practice, I regained my equilibrium and set off at a brisk walk in the direction of the window. Anyone who knows me is aware that I am at my most dangerous when I prowl round the room.
     "Even these curtains have got tits, now," I observed. "And nipples, too. That's the effect you and your bloody computer are having on this place, giving curtains tits." I cupped one soccer-ball-shaped tit gently and gave it an affectionate squeeze. The nipple grew even larger. Most satisfactory. "These curtains even smell of girl," I said, spinning round and aiming myself at Michael again.
     Perhaps I ought to really try and get into his pants, instead of pissing around the way I had been doing. Clearly, with someone like Michael, a more direct approach was called for. I had tried such subtlety as taking my clothes off and wafting my genitalia in his face. I walked over to him suddenly, hoisted him upright, and flung my arms around him. We kissed wetly. Well, I did it wetly, he just kissed. In fact, he didn't really do anything, he just sort of stood there.
     Still clutching him tightly, I slid down until my arms were around his waist. I gripped tighter, and allowed my weight to sink to the floor. He didn't even protest when his trousers slipped down over his bum and down his thighs. Maybe he hadn't noticed.
     He'll notice this, I thought, whipping a hand into the aperture at the front of his shorts and bringing him out into the open. He was quite a nice size, but totally limp. I haven't seen many limp cocks in my time, but I still know what to do. It slid into my mouth like a raw herring.
     "Eeek!" said Michael. "Don't do that!"
     "Why not?"
     "You'll bite it off!"
     "No I won't. What would I want to do that for? I've never bitten one off yet."
     This didn't seem to reassure him at all. I sucked harder, and did things with my tongue. Ah, so. Was that a glimmer of life?
     "Wheeep. Chauntaille!"
     "Michael!"
     "No, spit it out at once."
     "Shan't. It's mine!"
     He tried to back out, but I gripped more tightly with my lips, and hooked a fingernail around behind his balls. It wasn't easy, as they were trying to climb up into his abdomen. They weren't getting away as easily as that. I yanked them down again. Michael bleated in panic.
     "Just enjoy it, Mike," I urged him. "Chauntaille is vewwy gentle. See? How's that feel?"
     I mustn't really tell you what I did, but evidently, it felt all right. Michael didn't say so in so many words, but I could tell he was beginning to enjoy it. Funny how that little trick works just as well with men as with women. And it certainly works with women. Michael was a bit more of a mouthful now.
     "There, that's better, isn't it!"
     "Yes, Chauntaille."
     "It's getting lots bigger now, isn't it? Is Michael being a naughty boy?"
     He wriggled a little. "No!" he blurted urgently.
     "What's the matter, Michael?"
     "I want a piss!"
     Now I'm game for most things, but I know where to draw the line. Out it came, and I held it in the palm of my hand, where it twitched gently. I stroked a fingernail along its length.
     "You still want a piss?"
     "I must do. It gets stiff like this in the mornings, in bed. When I get up and have a piss, it gets better and goes small again. So I obviously need a piss. It has been worrying me, Chauntaille."
     "It has?"
     "Yes. I've had lots to drink, yet it didn't get big, so obviously I didn't need a piss. But you made it big for me, Chauntaille. Thank you. I can have a piss now."
     "I'll come with you," I said, dragging him to his feet.
     "No, if you're watching, I won't be able to do it."
     I stroked it again, and it didn't get any smaller. "Michael, darling. I know a better way to make it better. To make it small enough to fit into your shorts again. Shall I show you?"
     Michael nodded cautiously.
     "Here you are then, all you need to do is to put it ... in HERE!"
     "In there? In your love-tunnel?"
     It went in, without touching the sides.
     "There. That's nice isn't it? Chauntaille make it all better."
     "You mean I can have a piss in there? In your love-tunnel?"
     "No, don't piss, Michael. Just relax and let Chauntaille show you. There, now. That's good, Yes? Yesss!"
     He seemed to agree.
     "It's getting bigger, Chauntaille. What's happening?"
     "We're making love, Michael. We're making babies."
     "Babies? You mean, like sheep?"
     "Something like that, Mike, yes. Woo! Woo-woo-woo-woo-woo-WOW! WOWEE! WOW, Mike! Yaroo! Forty-something. Eeeek! Michael, come ON!"
     "What do you mean, come on, I'm already here."
     "Come, then!"
     "Come where? I can't come any closer, I'm right inside you!"
     "Come on, then. Forty-five. I just remembered. Forty-six, forty-seven, eight, nine, fifty! WOOOW!"
     "Why do you keep counting, Chauntaille?"
     "It's the school rules."
     "How very strange."
     We pounded on in silence for a while. At last, Michael spoke.
     "Chauntaille."
     "Yes, dearest heart?"
     "It's got smaller again. May I take it out now, please?"
     He fell asleep shortly after that, poor thing. Surely it hadn't been his first time. If I'd realised that, I'd have been more gentle with him. Why couldn't he have said?

Chapter 6:- Miss Mountains Finds The Password

SMEGS STRETCHED and risked a look through the curtains. All three of them were fast asleep, snoring like pigs. That bitch Corinne was going to get a shock when she woke up and found her brother with his pants round his ankles, obviously well-serviced by Shan.
     Creeping silently at first, Smegs realised there was no point in such caution. She straightened up and walked boldly to the coffee table. The laptop computer was still sitting there, its screen glowing faintly. As she moved it, the display came to life with one of its endless lists of parameters. Smegs scrolled up and down experimentally, then picked up the machine, unplugged it from the telephone line and the main power supply. With a quick look round the room, she made for the door.
     On the way to the IT lab, she bumped into Anastasia, coming out of the toilet, apparently ready for bed.
     "God, Miss! What kept you? I got fed up waiting for you."
     "I couldn't get out from behind those curtains. Miss Gruntworthy came over once and squeezed my tits. I nearly died."
     "Gosh, Miss! Lucky you! Didn't she find you?"
     "No, she was too busy trying to screw Miss Meadowlark's brother. She made a rude remark about the curtains smelling of girl. I'm surprised she didn't realise it was me. Anyway," she waved the computer in the air. "I've borrowed this. We've got to go to the IT lab and transfer some data. I heard some interesting stuff while I was behind the curtains in there. Very interesting! You'd better come with me, Staze."
     "What are we going to do, Miss?" Anastasia tagged along happily by Smegs's side, looking up into her eyes with puppylike devotion.
     "We're going to transfer some files from this little machine to the school computer, then we'll do something called protecting our patterns, then we're going to make a few little changes to reality."
     "Golly. Can you do that, Miss? You can turn people into frogs?"
     "We can do more exciting things than that. But later, not tonight. What we need to do first is to transfer this stuff. I have to get the laptop back before that drunken lot all wake up."
     "Isn't this exciting, Miss! I love doing exciting things with you. This is almost as good as sex."
     "It is?"
     "I did say almost."
     They arrived at the IT lab, which was deserted and almost in darkness, just the glow of half a dozen screens casting a blue glimmer on the ceiling. Smegs sat down at the nearest terminal, fiddled about with a cable for a moment, then sat back with a satisfied grin.
     "That ought to do it," she said. "Now ... it's transferring files." It finished its task in a remarkably short time. "I'll just try something else, I'll see if we can log on to Fuckh."
     "Miss?"
     "It's in Scotland. It's an island off the West Coast, where Miss Meadowlark's brother has his computer. Apparently, and not many people know this, there is a high capacity data link between Fuckh and St Cat's. SHIT!"
     "What's the matter, Miss?"
     "It's asking for a password, curse it."
     "Try Fred, Miss."
     "Nobody uses Fred, Anastasia."
     "No, Miss. That's why everybody uses Fred."
     Smegs tried FRED. It didn't work. She tried CORINNE. That didn't work either.
     "Come on, Staze! If you were Miss Meadowlark, what would you use as a password?"
     "Chauntaille, Miss, of course!"
     "Of course. How do you spell it?"
     "Don't ask me, Miss. I never write it down. Chantal? Shan-tail?"
     "Don't ever let her hear you call her that, Anastasia. Let's try this." She typed the name with care.
     There was a happy little beep from the loudspeaker.
     "It accepted it. Anastasia, you are a genius! That little fucking great-titted bitch-cow."
     "Sorry, Miss?"
     "Not content with taking my favourite girlfriend, she even uses her fucking name for a password."
     "Never mind, Miss. After this, we can go to bed and I'll give you a good licking-out."
     "Thank you, Anastasia, I'll look forward to that. You're a good girl! I'll even try something special for you tonight, for being such a good girl." Smegs concentrated on the screen, as the Fuckh computer did its stuff at the other end of five hundred miles of twisted pair. "It's so fast, I can hardly believe it has time to do everything. Right, I've just protected my pattern, and we have a couple of minutes. Stand still, Anastasia."
     Anastasia froze into immobility, only her nipples twitching gently.
     "Here we go, then." Smegs typed 'Anastasia, Revert' and hit the Enter key. Nothing happened. With a worried frown, she scrolled up the page and peered at the list of parameters again. She typed in a new entry, thought for a moment, and added another line of information. Then her finger hovered over the Enter key for a moment, before she brought it down with a thump.
     The screen went black. All the screens in the room went black. Anastasia gave a squeak of fright. The walls seemed to shudder, and a small cloud of dust arose from somewhere as the screens lit up again.
     "There, done it." Smegs turned in her chair and stared closely at Anastasia. "Shit, it worked. Look at your nipples!"
     Anastasia did. "Sorry, Miss, they are rather big, but I'm rather a big-breasted girl."
     "No, look at them. They've shrunk."
     "They haven't, Miss. They've always been this size. Are you ready for bed, now, Miss?" Anastasia clutched at her groin. "I'm horny as fuck!"
     Smegs grinned a secret little grin. "Are you really?" She never believed in looking a gift horse in the mouth. "We'd better get you to bed, then, hadn't we!" Swiftly, she unplugged the laptop and closed the lid. "Let's go, kid. We'll drop this off on the way. I can come back here any time, now I know the password. We'll have some surprises for those three sleeping beauties down there."

Corinne woke me up.
     "What have you done to Michael?" she demanded.
     "Do what? Whaddya want? Whaddya mean?" Corinne looked as fresh as a daisy and considerably more edible. She held me at arms' length. "Cee, let me, please. I want you now!"
     "Go and brush your teeth first!"
     "You promise?" I leaped up, and someone hit me on the head with a small but well-aimed sledge-hammer. "Bastard!" I complained.
     "But first," Corinne said, "answer the question. What have you done to Michael?"
     I looked in the direction she was pointing. I could see her point. Somebody had certainly done something to Michael. Looking at the state of him, it was unlikely to have been Corinne who had done it.
     "Oh, shit," I said. "He seems to have been fucked."
     "He certainly does. How did you do it, Shan?"
     I groaned. "I don't remember. I can't even remember if I enjoyed it or not."
     "Oh, I've never known you not to enjoy it, Shannie, don't worry. It's him I'm worried about."
     Michael was draped on the settee with his trousers and shorts round his ankles. There was a certain amount of love-juice congealing around his groin, his thighs and his knees. Whoever had been making babies with Michael had been a very wet girl. The evidence seemed to point firmly at Chauntaille Gruntworthy.
     "You should have stopped me, Cee. You know what I'm like. He's got to go to Oxford today."
     "We'd better get him up and into the shower," said Corinne with a shudder. "Give me a hand. Christ, Shan, he's covered in your goo. You really are dreadful."
     "Sorry, Cee!" I hung my head in shame. I had despoiled her brother, left him lying in a puddle of my juices, and — tragically — I didn't even remember doing it.
     We hoisted him to his feet, surprisingly without awakening him, and frog-marched him away to the showers. The first blast of water woke him up. He began to struggle. God, he was strong, and so wriggly. It took all our efforts to restrain him, by which time we were both soaked to the skin anyway. Well, by then, we were right there in the shower with him.
     "I've got his pants off, Cee, how are you doing up there?" She seemed to have done just fine, peeling his shirt off. We stood there, panting under the needle jets of water, as Michael came more or less to his senses.
     "He always takes a while to wake up in the mornings," said Corinne. "Come on, you!"
     Michael seemed to notice me for the first time. He gave a shriek and clung wetly to Corinne.
     "Keep her away, Cee!" he yelped.
     Corinne held tightly on to her brother. "It's all right, Mike, I'll protect you."
     "Hello!" It was a bright, girlish voice with a lead crystal St Cat's accent. The sound of it went through and through my head.
     "Morning, Anastasia," Corinne greeted her. "Don't worry about Miss Gruntworthy, she has a headache."
     "Can I join in, Miss. It looks ever such fun."
     Anastasia wasn't hanging about waiting for a written invitation. Her nightie flew off into the corner and she hopped lightly over the edge of the shower tray. She still wore her glasses, I noticed, always a dangerous sign. She certainly went straight for the jugular, although I never knew the jugular was right down there.
     "Ulp! Corinne! She's grabbed my willie!" Michael howled. I stood back and watched an acknowledged World Class expert at work. Within seconds, Anastasia had Michael erect and throbbing, as far as I could tell. Most of him was inside her mouth.
     "Mlppnnlp, Miss!" she announced.
     "No, Anastasia. Let him out at once. He has an appointment in Oxford."
     That was when I realised, as did Corinne, that there was something strange about Anastasia. In fact, there was nothing strange about Anastasia, which was strange. Corinne and I exchanged significant glances.
     We got out of the shower, leaving Anastasia to get on with it unaided.
     "Her nipples," I hissed. "They're normal sized."
     "I can see that," said Corinne. "He must have changed them back last night without telling us."
     "He didn't, he said he was going to do it this morning."
     "How would you remember? You don't even remember fucking him."
     "I think I do, now. It's coming back to me, slowly. Watching Anastasia brings it back to me."
     "You did that to him? What she's doing?"
     "Yes," I said, remembering more clearly. "Not quite like that, but Anastasia's a lot younger than us."
     "How does she do that?"
     "God knows!"
     "So you remember he didn't change her back?"
     "He was going to change her nipples back this morning, after we'd had a chance to see them when they were a foot long."
     "Then what's happened? It can't have worked properly." Corinne shook her head, and lowered her voice. "It's still not reliable, you know. It keeps doing things like this. I've told him not to try showing it to his Prof until he has sorted the bugs out of it."
     "What can we do?"
     "Michael will know what to do. He can probably change her backwards and forwards a few times until it works. Like switching her on and off. He did that with Amy. It worked in the end."
     "I'll ask him," I said firmly, and stepped forward to the edge of the shower cubicle. Kneeling down to place my mouth next to Michael's ear, I yelled at him over the seething of the waters and the howling of Anastasia. "Mike, did you change Anastasia's nipples back last night without telling us?"
     He opened one eye wide and stared at me from his nightmare. I was inches from his face, and above us, like a great swooping dragon, was Anastasia's shadow as she plunged up and down on top of Michael. Her breasts flailed crazily around, out of control. It must have been really painful for the poor girl, although she didn't seem to be complaining.
     "No," he said, after a space of about twenty action-packed seconds.
     "Well, look at them, they're her normal size. You must have changed them back and forgotten all about it."
     "I wouldn't forget a thing like that," Michael said haughtily. Not easy to be haughty when you are getting rodgered in a shower and being interviewed at the same time.
     "What if you changed her back without protecting your pattern first? You wouldn't remember anything about it."
     "I wouldn't have done that. It's standard operating procedure to protect one's pattern."
     "You forget other things. I bet you forgot the fuck we had."
     "Fuckh?"
     "Making babies. We made some babies last night. In fact, you're making some more right now, if you're feeling lucky this morning."
     "Is she always like this?"
     "Most of the time, yes. All our girls are a bit that way inclined. It's probably your fault, messing around with their parameters."
     "Get her off me."
     "You want her off? You've finished?"
     "I'd finished ages ago. Pull her off."
     "You should have said earlier. Silly boy. Anastasia!"
     "Yes, Miss?" she panted, without breaking her rhythm.
     "You've got to stop at once."
     "Oh, Miss!"
     "Now, Anastasia!"
     She stopped on the up-stroke, and gave one last determined squat, which almost qualified as rank disobedience, although I gave her the benefit of the doubt. It was what I would have done myself.
     "Come on, climb off him at once."
     Anastasia patted Michael's cheek and bent to give him a little kiss. "Thanks, Michael," she murmured, dismounting. "Thanks for the use of your brother, Miss Meadowlark."
     "Any time," Corinne said airily.
     "I'm still horny as buggery, Miss." Anastasia was wriggling around and clutching at her groin in an obscene manner.
     "I'd better take her away from here, Corinne," I said, taking Anastasia's sweaty hand. "You see if you can find out what Michael did to her. I shouldn't be long. Come on, child."
     She came with me willingly, and I led her away up the stairs to her room, the walls of which were papered with posters, pinups, both male and female, and erotic art of every description. She insisted on showing me her collection. It was inevitable, I suppose, that I would get turned on by it all, and Anastasia was still frothing from her recent encounter with Michael in the shower.
     "Come on, then, girl, but just a quickie," I told her sternly as we tumbled jubilantly on to the rumpled bed.
     I don't know. I used to pride myself on my stamina and staying power. Perhaps it comes to us all eventually. At twenty-three, I was no spring chicken, after all.
     It was the St Cat's clock striking eleven that roused me from my dazed and battered slumber. I reached out automatically for the alarm clock, and found my hand in a bowl of fruit. I can never resist a ripe pear.
     "Oooh, Miss! Fruit!" And Anastasia grabbed the succulent blushing globe from my hand and sank her teeth into it with almost orgasmic relish. She didn't stop until it was all gone. She even sucked the stalk clean, before sitting back on her haunches with her knees wide apart. My gaze was drawn to her moist ripe pinkness. Like a fruit ready for plucking.
     At least, she seemed to have placed her lust on hold for a while.
     "Oooh, Miss. I love fruit so much. I mean, sex is great, but I'd even give up a fuck for a peach or a dish of strawberries."
     "Here you are, then," I gasped. "Have the whole bowl.

Continued