"AS FETISH Mistress, you will have full responsibility for fetishism amongst the
girls, of course," I said grandly.
Megan took it in her stride. We were strolling in the quad,
and one of Smegs's strides was equal to three of mine. I can't take long strides these
days, with my breasts walloping me around the knees all the time. "What about the
staff?" she demanded. "You all seem to be pretty well obsessed with breasts, and
sex and stuff."
"We all seem to be obsessed? What about you
and your inflatable dolls and soiled undies?"
Smegs sniffed dismissively in a businesswomanlike kind of
way. "Those aren't fetishes, they're commercial enterprises. Anyway, the dolls
business seems to have gone pear-shaped. The wheels have come off. It's gone
belly-up."
She speaks in riddles. "What do you mean?"
"Nobody wanted to buy any. Kia was saying all the kids
have gone off Sindy and Barbie dolls and stuff. Another little toy like Smeggy would be
one too many, even if it did do all those rude things."
"Wait a minute. Who said that?"
"Kia. My partner." I must have looked even more
blank than usual. Smegs began to explain everything slowly and carefully, as if she worked
in a home for the elderly. "You remember Kia, dear," she shouted. "Oriental
features, black hair. Nice tits and bottom, but a bit petite compared to your average St
Cat's girl? Rumiko's bosom buddy? You remember Rumiko? Japanese girl. Vast boobies? Looked
after the soiled panty operation for me?"
"Never mind Rumiko. Kia is a real live girl?"
I had to get this straight.
"Well done, Chauntaille! Well spotted. Kia is indeed a
girl. A student at St Cat's. You remember St Cat's? St Catherine's High School for Growing
Girls? You're the Headmistress there."
Smegs's irony can be a blunt-edged weapon at times. I
decided to ignore it.
"How long has Kia been here?"
Smegs shrugged. "Fourth Form. She was already here when
Rumiko arrived. That's why Rumi palled up with her, even though she's Japanese and Kia's
from Korea. I suppose all the other girls looked alike to her." Apart from smelling
of sour milk.
Of course, Smegs would have no way of remembering that Kia
had been a life-sized inflatable doll until last week. Or even a thousand dolls. A pity,
really. It would have been nice to get Kia laid out on the bed again, with her pump
connected to her little valves, and milk and girl-goo gushing out. Great pity.
"Couldn't you make a full-sized doll instead of those
little Smeggies?" I suggested craftily.
Smegs looked at me with a curled lip. "And you said I
was the one with the fetish. You are a disgrace, Shan. To think that you, the headmistress
of a respected girls' school..."
"I'm sorry." I hung my head in shame. "I
don't know what came over me. I ... I seem to be obsessed with smut and sex and sleaze
lately."
Smegs put her arm around my shoulder. "It's all right.
Probably just too much shagging with Jeremy. Why not try a spot of straight girl-sex. It
will be like a breath of fresh air. I'm tied up tonight, but the girls are all back from
hols, and some of them won't have had a good eating out for two weeks."
The idea certainly sounded appealing. My position as
Headmistress would entitle me to the pick of the girls. "You're tied up tonight?
Where?"
"The Bondage Group Inaugural Meeting. It could go on
for some time. We've got a guest speaker from the local Scout Group talking about knots
and varieties of rope. He's..."
"I just remembered something. Water sports!"
Her nose wrinkled. "What about them?"
"The Third Form seem to be developing an unhealthy
interest. One of them, Daphnia, is reading newsgroups and getting hold of obscene
material. As Corinne and I were leaving the IT lab, I swear she was lying on the floor
with another girl on her face, and there was a hell of a lot of steam about. I hate to
think what they were doing."
"When was this?"
"Today. Lunchtime."
"Those dirty little swine! They promised me they
wouldn't start the Water Sports Group until tomorrow. Right, it's a good spanking for them,
for a start."
Smegs stormed off, close-hauled on the starboard tack. I
hoped I hadn't got young Daphnia into trouble. A good spanking sounded okay, though.
Perhaps Smegs was right. Perhaps we were getting a little obsessed with sex. A
germ of an idea was forming in my head. St Cat's High School for Growing Girls needed more
teaching staff. Full time staff. We were muddling through at the moment, by doubling up on
classes and letting the girls get on with lessons on their own. I had a radical proposal.
We had seven Forms. We would have a teacher for each Form.
"You're out of your mind, Shannie!" Corinne said
supportively. "Where is the money coming from?"
"I shall approach the Board of Governors, as Moggie
used to. Whenever she needed more cash, she went to the Board and asked for it."
"She slept with them, Shannie."
"She did?" The idea sounded a bit extreme. I
thought about those Board members I had seen. Surely, not even Moggie would have slept
with that little lot. "I shall address a meeting of the Governors. They can hardly
object to the school employing a reasonable number of teachers, after all. Just think,
Cee." I got up and strode around the room, a light of vision burning in my eyes.
"A teacher for each class. You could take one Form, Smegs another. We would bring in
five more teachers. Five!"
"Five? That's a huge increase in the salary bill.
Anyway, what about you?"
"Me? I am Headmistress of St Cat's. I will no longer
teach. I shall sit in my office and manage. Girls will bring their problems to my door.
The door will always be open."
"It might as well be. Labia listens at the keyhole the
whole time anyway."
I ignored her. "Girls will come to me. I will be able
to counsel them. As many as twenty or thirty girls a day." I sat down abruptly,
feeling moist and slightly light-headed. The group of girls who had gathered round our
table in the school restaurant dispersed. Corinne mopped my brow with a napkin. Anastasia
poured a glass of water and spilled only half of it down the front of her blouse as she
handed it to me. She inspected her brimming cleavage with a bemused frown, then dived into
it with both hands and produced several boiled potatoes and a chicken drumstick.
"Five new teachers." Corinne shook her head.
"You live in a dream world. But I wish you every success. We are overworked.
Sometimes I wonder how we manage to maintain our high standards."
"Our students are the crême de la crême,"
I told her, somehow avoiding the use of a Miss Jean Brodie accent. "Our girls are
hand-picked for their academic brilliance, their intelligence, their wit ..."
"Their fucking great tits."
Anastasia gasped and blushed. Miss Meadowlark did not often
descend into the gutter like this. A group of First Formers at the next table twittered
like silly schoolgirls.
"I shall call an extraordinary meeting of the Board of
Governors for next Tuesday." I had decided. "I shall see them alone, without any
other members of the teaching staff. I shall take Jeremy, of course." Corinne cackled
rudely, an unpleasantly disrespectful sound. "And some of the girls, to make a
favourable impression. We will put on a professional presentation. Do you think we have
enough time, is Tuesday too soon?"
"What for, rehearsals?"
"No, we need time for Clit to kit out the girls with
new bras and uniforms."
They looked stunning, I had to admit.
I had selected a totally random cross-section of girls,
Seniors, Middles and Juniors. And Sixth-Formers, of course. To stress the truly
international nature of the St Cat's student body, I made sure to include a fair
sprinkling of overseas students. In fact — apart from Michaela, in her role as Head
Girl of St Cat's High School for Growing Girls, and Anastasia, in her role of Arguably the
Biggest-Breasted Twelve-Year-Old on the Entire Planet — they were practically all
overseas students.
They stood in a respectful line in front of my green
leather-topped desk for the final inspection.
Outside, in the corridor, a row of wheelbarrows gleamed in
freshly-painted glory. One each for Michaela, for the Countess Langsdorf of the Upper
Sixth and Princess Marguerite of the Lower Sixth; Anna-Maria Oxberry of the Fifth Form and
Victoria Woods of the Fourths; plus one for Anastasia, who didn't really need a barrow but
wasn't going to be left out. The Third Form representative, Lim-Bim-Xuoyung Ng, and the
First Form's, Toots, were both fully self-supporting and proud of the fact.
"You've picked the girl with the biggest breasts in
each class," Corinne pointed out, a little unnecessarily.
"Oh, have I really?" I studied the
eighty-something feet of bust before me. The girls did seem rather large, now I came to
it. "I suppose I have."
Corinne laughed and nuzzled against my breast like a pony in
search of sugar lumps. "You silly old thing. Of course you did. You were never likely
to do anything else. Well, now you've chosen your A-team, there's only one thing to
do."
"What's that?"
"Make them all Head Girls!"
A buzz of excited speculation arose from the girls.
"We can only have one Head Girl, Cee."
"Why not have one for each Form? Michaela is still Head
Girl of St Cat's, but the others can be Form Heads. Let them each wear a Sash of Office, a
different colour for each Form."
The girls seemed to swell a couple of feet each in sheer
pride. That made it more like a hundred feet. The office was no longer big enough. Corinne
took over. "Okay, girls, you can breathe out now. I'll go and see Clit about some
sashes. I'll leave you to whatever you were going to do in here."
"I was inspecting them," I muttered.
"Of course you were, Shan, darling." She kissed me
softly, squeezed Anastasia's hand, and left the office. She said something rude to Miss
Labia on her way out.
How had I done such a thing? I had simply walked around the
classrooms, choosing girls at random. Somehow, quite by chance, they had turned out to be
the biggest. Victoria had an expression of triumph on her face.
"Are you really bigger than Sexy Amy,
Toria?"
"Yes, Miss."
"Bigger than Rumiko?"
She blushed slightly and hesitated. "Yes, Miss."
I didn't believe her. "I don't believe you,
Toria."
"Miss. We measured each other last night, in the dorm.
I'm two inches bigger than Amy, and a quarter of an inch bigger than Rumiko, Miss."
"A quarter of an inch?"
"About an eighth, anyway," she mumbled.
I decided to let the matter rest. Rumiko's most recent
staggering growth spurt had brought her comfortably into wheelbarrow territory, but if she
didn't want to challenge Victoria on outright bust size, that was her decision.
Moving along the line, I approved the fit of each
tight-bottomed little microskirt, each burstingly overloaded blouse, each creaking bra. My
fingers checked hemlines, and fourteen creamy thighs parted obligingly to allow me ready
access.
"Thank you, girls." My voice was shaky as I wiped
my fingers on the towel Miss Labia brought into the office for me. "Thank you,
Labia." I wrapped the fragrant towel carefully in a plastic bag and placed it in the
desk drawer for later.
Then the lights flickered.
"I thought we'd finished with all that sort of
thing," I said.
"What sort of thing, Miss?" Anastasia and the
others seemed not to have noticed.
"The lights. You didn't see them flicker just
then?"
"You're seeing things, Miss," Anastasia said
kindly. "You've been working too hard."
"I suppose so. Anna-Maria, you're looking
slimmer."
Anna-Maria blushed prettily. "Thanks, Miss. My bottom
is much too big, though. It's shameful, shameful!"
"Oh, I don't know. Mine's far more shameful than
yours."
"No it's not, Miss. Mine's dreadfully shameful.
For a girl of fifteen. You're middle-aged, Miss. You're allowed to have a shamefully huge
bottom."
"Thank you," I said acidly. I walked round behind
Anna-Maria, running my hands down the lush curves of her generous backside. No doubt it
would be shameful by the time she was middle-aged like me. Shameful.
"Anastasia," I murmured quietly, "come here a minute."
She came to my side, her ScatBra MaxiLift UltraBust SexiPlus
JuniorMiss TeenStonker ® invading my personal space. "Yes, Miss?"
I moved her away a little. "Anna-Maria's waist wasn't
always as small as this?" It meant it as a statement, but it came out as a question.
"As small as what, Miss? Of course it has. She always
looks to me as if she's going to snap in half, especially with her vast tits and her
shameful bottom. It's shameful, Miss."
"But she used to be quite fat. In fact, I noticed how
fat she was getting when she was parking her wheelbarrow. But look at her now. She looks
ridiculous."
Anastasia's face was expressionless. "She's always been
like that, Miss. Look at her skirt. She can't have been fat five minutes ago, can she? Her
skirt would have exploded."
Anna-Maria turned round. "What are you whispering about
behind my back?" Half-turned like that, she really did look absurd. I stepped back
involuntarily, in case her top half really did become detached from her bottom. She looked
as if someone had twisted a balloon to divide it into two halves. My hands would have
easily encompassed her waist.
"Ouch, Miss, you're squashing my tummy!"
"Sorry!" I let go and she expanded slightly. Even
expanded, she was still a preposterous hour-glass shape. Preposterous.
"You're sure about this, Anastasia? I got the distinct
impression she was fat until the lights flickered."
Anastasia's hand was cool on my brow. "You'd better sit
down, Miss. I'll get old Labia to bring you a nice cup of tea."
Corinne bustled in with a handful of gaily coloured material. "Here we are,
then," she sang out, "Sashes of Office."
She gave the orange one to the Countess Langsdorf, an
extremely long black one to Anastasia and the yellow one to Princess Marguerite. Toots
tied her virginal white one round her middle, before helping Victoria with her blue one.
Lim-Bim-Xuoyung Ng pulled her own purple one so tight I thought she had garotted herself.
"I was a bit worried about yours, Anna-Maria,"
Corinne said, holding up a scrap of green material. "But you seem to be as slender as
I remembered." Anna-Maria turned her back obligingly and hoisted her breasts for
Corinne to slip the Sash of Office of the Fifth Form Head round her waist. She tied it in
an extravagant bow. "It must have been an optical illusion, perhaps because she has
such a big bum," she observed. "Plenty of material there, I don't know why I was
so worried. I could have had it made even shorter than fourteen inches!"
Was I the only one who noticed when the lights flickered
round here? I passed a hand across my fevered forehead and took another look. Anna-Maria's
waist was just as grotesquely microscopic as before. But her bottom really was shamefully
huge now. Shamefully.
"I always think Anna-Maria looks as if she's going to break in two," said
Jeremy, shaking his head. "Look at her! She's like one of those pictures you see of
women in tight corsets. Only she doesn't wear one."
"How do you know what Anna-Maria doesn't wear?" I
demanded.
"Schoolgirls don't wear corsets," he generalised.
We were making our way to the school minibus, freshly washed
for the occasion and gleaming in the sunshine. The Form Heads clanked ahead of us with
their wheelbarrows, apart from Toots and Lim-Bim-Xuoyung Ng, who were holding hands in
what I could only describe as an extremely intimate manner. In fact, they suddenly darted
off into the undergrowth like girls on a mission of extreme urgency. Jeremy watched them
disappear with interest.
"What's got into those two," he asked, as assorted
items of school uniform came flying out of the bushes. A purple bra sailed out to land
with a thud at our feet. With the eye of a connoisseur I recognised a ScatBra MaxiLift
UltraBust SexiPlus JuniorMiss JustAbout-TeenStonker ®. Idly, I wondered how Lim-Bim had
managed to get herself a bra made in her size — Sbmlubspjmja-ts-SSMediumCW7 —
and her Form colour at such short notice.
"Probably just a bit of Uncontrollable Horniness,"
I said lightly, fighting back the urge to join them. "It's spring, after all. Girls
do get aroused easily in spring."
"Come on, Shan, you can't go in there with them. Put
your blouse back on!" He was almost dragging me toward the minibus, my heels digging
into the ground. The wheelbarrow girls watched us, forming a semicircle with their
still-laden barrows. "Darling, we'll be late!"
"Fuck me now then, Jeremy!"
"No, Shan. Control yourself. I have to drive the
van."
"We'll help you, Miss!" Michaela appointed herself
spokesperson for the group. The others indicated their willingness to help. Relieved,
Jeremy slipped away to place the wheelbarrows on the roof rack. He dumped Anastasia's
breasts on the ground and clambered up the ladder, dragging her barrow behind him. In a
short while he was back down for the next one.
"Come on, Miss. Into the bus. We've got half an hour
before we're due at the town hall."
It had been an excellent idea, holding our presentation at
Borcester Town Hall. The Mayor of Borcester was a prominent member of the Board of
Governors, and had kindly offered us the use of his mayoral chambers.
In fact, it took us three-quarters of an hour. Jeremy drove
very slowly, watching the action in his rear view mirror the whole way. And we had reached
the edge of town when Anastasia realised someone was missing. We had to go all the way
back to collect Toots and Lim-Bim.
"MISS GRUNTWORTHY, do come in. Thank you so much for coming. Please take a
seat."
I could tell he was the mayor. He wasn't wearing his robes
of office, but he was wearing a great dangling chain round his neck, like a charm necklace
for a rhinoceros. He was a curiously short mayor as mayors go: the top of his head only
reached my shoulder. It was mostly covered with sparse sandy hair and was spangled with
freckles.
I sank into an armchair. Something gave way in the insides
of the chair and I plunged so far down into it that my feet left the floor. For a while,
the mayor and his chambers disappeared from view as my breasts rebounded skywards and
covered my face. It was just as well, as I knew I was revealing my panties and just about
everything else worth seeing down there, and the thought was making me blush prettily.
"You're very young, aren't you!" The mayor's voice
came to me faint and muffled. Eventually I managed to haul my breasts down and prise them
apart to peer at him from between them. Perhaps I had overdone the counterweights in this
bra. My frontispiece felt practically weightless. If only my bottom was the same. It
wasn't quite shameful yet, but it was certainly occupying the full attention of the mayor
of Borcester. He dragged his attention to my face. "You're a very lovely young woman.
You have a magnificent figure." I smirked encouragingly at him. As far as I am
concerned, people can talk to me like that all day.
How did Moggie deal with this sort of situation? Perhaps I
should have had a word with her and found out the proper procedure for meetings with the
Board of Governors.
"I'm sorry," I explained. "I seem to have
broken your chair." I placed my hands on the chair arms and tried to struggle free.
It was a long way up. The mayor offered me a hand and pulled me to my feet. For a while we
stood close together, my horizontally hoisted breasts resting on his shoulders. His face
sat between them like a beetroot about to be crushed between two rocks. Not a common
occurrence, you understand, but still a worrying one if you're a beetroot. To avoid
embarrassing him, I took a pace backwards.
"The rest of the Board will be here shortly.
Coffee?" He turned and shuffled crabwise towards a side table where a silver coffee
pot and about fifty cups and saucers waited. My perspective broadened. The room was
panelled in dark wood, lit by tall windows along one side. Plants with shiny leaves
scrambled to climb out of their pots. Tropical fish gaped down at us from an impressively
large tank.
I followed the mayor to the coffee table. I had to: the
underside of my blouse had somehow caught on his mayoral chain. Like a little lamb,
everywhere the mayor he went, this Shan was sure to go. One of my most forward buttons had
snagged the chain. I tried to unhook it, but it was securely caught. It might have helped
if I could see what I was doing, but not only was it caught, it was out of my reach. All I
could do was hop up and down. It seemed to divert the mayor. "What's the
matter?" he enquired, his sandy eyebrows almost on the top of his head.
"I'm hooked. My buttons are stuck in your chain. You'll
have to untangle them. You're closer than me."
It wasn't all that simple.
Which was why, when the tall double doors swung open to
admit the members of the Board of Governors of St Cat's High School for Growing Girls, the
mayor of Borcester was seen to be fumbling short-sightedly with his mayoral chain. The
chain was firmly attached to the blouse of the beautiful and spectacularly large-breasted
young headmistress of the school, who was dressed only in bra and panties. Once the mayor
had removed my blouse, I had felt overdressed in a skirt, so I took that off as well.
All in all, it was not one of my happiest moments. Not a
very auspicious start, really.
They were jolly decent about it. There were eight of them altogether, including the
mayor. Perhaps surprisingly, in view of the fact that St Cat's was a girls' school, the
Board was an exclusively male preserve. One of them was even an American. I supposed they
were local businessmen. Typhoons, they call them.
Still, one or two of them were quite dishy looking, and they
were all really helpful, rallying round, pouring coffee and passing the McVities
Homewheat Plain Chocolate Digestive biscuits. In no time at all, I felt really at home. I
mean, really at home. Nobody even mentioned that I was somewhat scantily dressed. They let
me sit on the long polished table with my legs dangling over the edge, while they all
gathered round to hear what I had to say.
"You're very young, Shan, darling," one of them
said, after about half an hour.
"And an incredibly beautiful young woman," said
another.
"You could almost be one of your own students."
"You have a sensational figure," added a third.
The others muttered their agreement.
"Your girls must be very proud to have such a wonderful
young woman as their headmistress."
I suddenly remembered something. How could I have forgotten?
Leaning forward confidentially, I told them. "In fact, I've brought a few of the
girls along today, to meet the Board. I thought it might be nice for you to get to know
some of our most promising students."
The reaction was generally quite gratifying.
A spokesman appointed himself. "It would be a pleasure
to meet some of your girls, Shan, dear. Especially the bigger ... sorry ... the older
ones."
"They're all ages," I said quickly. "But they
are all rather big girls. In fact," I fluttered my eyelashes attractively and
allowed a blush to spread down over the expanse of my breasts. "In fact, I'm very
much one of the smallest. My ... erm ... bosom, I mean!"
"Oh, surely not," croaked a spokesman gallantly in
a hoarse voice.
"You'd better judge for yourselves." My bottom
squeaked damply on the polished table top as I climbed down, then threaded between the
dark-suited pillars of Borcester's society to the double doors. I flung them wide and
passed through. My girls were in a side room. We had decided to leave the wheelbarrows on
the roofrack of the minibus, and to pay special attention to the girls' bra straps and
counterweights. It would create a better impression than having them clattering around in
the town hall with wheelbarrows.
They looked up as I came in, and gathered up their cards and
the piles of cash from the table.
"Hi, Miss!" Toots tipped what looked like fifty
pounds in loose change into a silk pouch with a gold drawstring and dropped it into her
cleavage. "We t'ought you'd forgotten us."
"Hey, Miss! You've stripped off!" Michaela was an
observant girl.
"You've all got to come and meet the board."
"Not necessarily in that order, though, Miss?"
Anastasia sounded slightly anxious.
"What are they like, Miss?"
"Are they old battleaxes, like Miss Thunderbolt?"
"Is it hot in there? Do we have to strip off as
well?"
"Not immediately, no. Not unless they ask you to.
They're all men."
"Men?" Michaela looked interested. One or two of
the others were apprehensive. Lim-Bim looked disgusted, I noted with interest. It was good
to see a straight, no-nonsense lesbian. Such a change from these wishy-washy bisexuals.
Already, they were on their feet, pawing at the carpet
fretfully like war-horses contemplating a cavalry charge. Men or not, my girls were ready
to do their best for the honour of St Cat's High School for Growing Girls. I was deeply
proud of them.
Toots wiped my thighs with her hankie. "Try to control
yourself, Miss. Dat was a waste of a perfec'ly good or-gasum."
"Are you all ready, then?" My voice was unsteady.
"Let's go!"
And head held high, I led my girls out of the room and
across the lobby, followed by curious stares as we entered the janitor's storeroom. We
turned and retraced our steps with immense dignity, our heels clicking on the echoing
marble floor, and in through the double doors of the mayor's chambers.
They all stood up as we filed in. The girls had been in no particular order as we
approached the double doors. Yet miraculously, by the time we were inside, they had formed
themselves into ascending order of age. I think it was Toots's suggestion. Certainly, she
was well to the fore as soon as I turned like an impresario to make my introductions.
"Miss Tessa Lashmore, First Form Head."
Eight pairs of eyes blinked in disbelief as Toots stepped
confidently forward, her hand outstretched. Her cleavage gleamed like the buttocks of a
carved ebony elephant.
"Miss Anastasia ..." What was Anastasia's surname?
I assumed she had one. Yet I could never remember hearing it.
"Dawkes, Miss, surely you remember?"
"Dawkes? You mean, you're ...?"
"My big sister, Miss. We don't talk about her
much." She wiped away a tear.
"Miss Anastasia Dawkes, Second Form Head."
A gratifying gasp rang out. Anastasia was undoubtedly the
biggest girl any of the assembled Board members had ever seen in their lives. Not biggest,
just biggest, if you know what I mean. I mean, plump, certainly, but not fat. Not gross at
all. Just plump. With absolutely zonking great tits. Her ScatBra MaxiLift UltraBust
SexiPlus JuniorMiss PreTeenStonker ® was in its most ridiculously uplifted mode. She half
turned towards me to thank me for the introduction and I was sent reeling backwards.
"Ooof!" I remarked. Two girls caught me before I could do any damage.
She advanced towards the Board, arriving about ten minutes
after her nipples did. Three men were trying to shake hands with her simultaneously. She
eventually held out a tiny hand extended above her cleavage.
"Miss Lim-Bim-Xuoyung Ng," I announced, above the
rising hubbub. "Third Form."
Lim-Bim glided sinuously across the room, bouncing
majestically. Somehow, Lim-Bim's ScatBra MaxiLift UltraBust SexiPlus JuniorMiss
TeenStonker ® seemed to have extra bounce to it, like certain brands of dog food.
"How old is this one?" It was an American voice.
"Thirteen," snapped half a dozen other Board
members. "Don't you people know anything?"
"No shit!"
Victoria was next, looking more radiantly beautiful than
ever. I rested a hand on her upper slopes as I announced her name, and she responded with
gently probing fingers cupping my bottom. Several Board members looked up, startled, as I
yelped. A finger up my bum always has that effect on me.
"Anna-Maria Oxberry!" I sang out, as soon as I had
recovered.
"Christ!" One could forgive this blasphemy in
front of a bunch of impressionable girls. Anna-Maria was truly awesome. How did she ever
manage to eat anything with a waist as appallingly slender as that? And how could she
avoid snapping in half?
On the announcement of the Princess Marguerite and the
Countess Langsdorf, the members of the Board, their eyes almost completely glazed over,
were obviously unsure what to do. One or two made a hasty bow. One tried to curtsey, which
was a grave mistake, as he backed away clutching at his groin. He was followed, I noticed,
by Victoria, a solicitous expression on her face.
"And finally ...!" All eyes looked expectantly in
my direction as Michaela edged into the chambers. "Miss Michaela Meadowlark, Head
Girl of St Cat's High School for Growing Girls!"
If they thought they'd already seen the ultimate, the Board
changed its communal mind. I suppose it might have been better if Michaela had been given
the opportunity to feed her twins before coming out on such a demanding visit as this.
There hadn't been time, obviously. Not only was she — and I make only a crude
estimate here — a foot or so bigger round the bust as a result of her ScatBra
MaxiLift UltraBust SexiPlus JuniorMiss TeenStonker ®; she was — another crude
estimate — an extra foot bigger because of the milk which must have been under
considerable pressure. It was emerging through bra and blouse in a fine drizzle of
individual sprays. As the sun broke through and streamed into the chambers through the
tall mullioned windows, Michaela's breasts were girdled in rainbows. The strain was too
much for the poor girl. She succumbed to the demands of her all-powerful let-down reflex
and came in probably the most comprehensive manner imaginable.
"Woo-woo-woo-woo-WOWOWOWOWOWEEE!" Three men rushed
forward to offer assistance. A small fight broke out, but an alpha male emerged and led
Michaela away to the far corner of the room. Until now, the girls had been circulating in
the manner so painstakingly taught in Social Foreplay classes, but now they were pairing
off in earnest.
Victoria had her claws into her curtseying victim, Michaela
was already being dealt with most efficiently in her corner. Even Lim-Bim, not renowned
for any heterosexual tendencies, had found a partner, the American gentleman. I reasoned
that he would always be able to claim that he had thought she was eighteen, as Oriental
girls all seem to look about twelve. Anyway, he would claim, how could she be only
thirteen if she wore the equivalent of a Japanese 65 centimetre D-cup bra, on its third
lap of the alphabet. American gentlemen know about numbers. Lim-Bim perched on his lap
with an expression of only slight distaste on her more or less inscrutable features. His
hand explored her miniscule waist in utter disbelief. At sixteen inches, it was almost as
tiny as Anna-Maria's.
Anastasia had coralled the mayor, dragging him off by his
chain which, I observed with interest, still had my blouse attached.
Things seemed to be going quite well, apart from one thing.
We appeared to be one man short. Where was mine?
Jeremy took me back indoors again after an hour or so. I walked like a gunslinger,
having been thoroughly reamed out on the front seat of the minibus in the town hall car
park. We had to stop fucking in the end, when a nice policeman knocked on the door of the
bus and asked if we would mind awfully doing it somewhere else as the traffic in the town
centre was gridlocked.
Sure enough, a solid traffic jam of steaming, hooting
vehicles had built up as people tried to drive through the town hall car park to take a
look at us. Not that they could see much through the steamed-up windows. Ours and theirs.
"There's nothing to see here," the policeman told
the disappointed crowd as Jeremy took my arm and ushered me indoors. I was of course
totally naked by now, having torn off my pants and bra in the mayor's chambers before
dashing outside in search of the most urgent sexual relief.
The crowds began to disperse. I noted with interest that an
enterprising young man had set up a small folding table at the entrance to the car park,
charging five pounds entrance fee. Elsewhere, groups of entrepreneurs were washing
windshields. Others were selling bunches of long-stemmed roses for overheated drivers to
take home to their wives, three pounds for ten, five pounds for twenty.
My darling man refused to come into the mayor's chambers, leaving me just inside the
double doors with a soft loving kiss. I tottered to the long polished table and grabbed an
empty chair, subsiding into it with a softly fragrant splash.
"We'd just about finished, Shan!" The mayor peered
out at me from behind Anastasia's bosom. I looked round the table for the first time. A
meeting of some sort had evidently been taking place. The girls and the Board were still
paired off and all, I noticed with approval, had remained faithful to their chosen
partners. But they were now all seated round the table, on the laps of their men.
"I call the meeting to order," said the mayor,
after Anastasia had obligingly rapped on the table with a small hammer.
Respectful silence fell.
"Miss Gruntworthy has come back to hear our decision,
gentlemen. We are all in agreement?"
Heads emerged from creamy bosoms to nod their assent. One
head, I noticed, had emerged not from a creamy bosom but from an equally creamy snatch,
muff, quim, minge or vagina. Sniffing the air, I recognised Michaela.
"Excellent. I think we may announce our decision.
Regrettably, funds are short: too short to finance the addition of five full-time teaching
staff to the establishment. However, the students have persuaded us of the desirability
..." the mayor looked around the table and received eager nods of assent all round
"... the absolute desirability of the maintenance of minimum class sizes and the
necessity of ending the practice of teachers managing two classes simultaneously. Girls
need personal attention."
A chorus of assenting coughs broke out. The mayor continued.
"I therefore sanction with immediate effect a sum sufficient for the recruitment of
three new full-time teaching staff to commence their duties as and from the start of the
next school year, viz, September of this year."
"Viz?" This was the only word which had
forced itself through my still sex-blurred hearing.
"You mean ...?"
"Furthermore and notwithstanding anything contrary to
the foregoing ..." girls were beginning to fidget. One or two had already resumed
snogging their partners with a noisy, open-mouthed kissing technique. I made a mental note
to have serious words with the culprits later. Noisy, open-mouthed kissing is not socially
acceptable behaviour in well brought-up young ladies.
"... we shall, of course, as Board of Governors,
conduct the selection and recruitment process ourselves ..."
Michaela had taken matters into her own hands, and I
observed to my horror, her own mouth. Little gasps broke out from her partner and quickly
spread to their neighbours on each side. Princess Marguerite and the Countess Langsdorf
took their cue from the Head Girl of St Cat's. They began giving head of their own.
"... funds for educational equipment: computers,
printers, modems. Stuff like that. And ..."
The younger girls looked on, eager to pick up any tips or
pointers from the Senior girls. Once more, my pride in these wonderfully capable girls of
mine was expressed in liquid form. Copiously. I was glad of the noise in the room. It
would help mask the sound of my juices splashing on to the priceless Turkish carpet.
"... funds for work-out equipment and apparatus. This
will enable the establishment of a small gymnasium, further to enable the enhanced fitness
of the girls in our charge and the establishment of a regime of a ... oooh ... Healthy ...
ah ... Mind in a ... Healthy Bod-eeeeeeeee."
Eight disgustingly Healthy Bodies were by now giving the
Board of Governors a most thorough work-out; without the aid of apparatus, but using the
equipment provided by Mother Nature — with chemical assistance where necessary. The
sound effects were truly disgraceful. I staggered to my feet and flung open a window. The
atmosphere would probably kill the potted plants. It would certainly over-stimulate the
tropical fish.
"No other business?" The mayor peered over and
round the busily hunched form of Anastasia, and glanced round the table at his climaxing
colleagues. "Date of next meeting?"
"WE'VE GOT to have this thing out once and for all, Corinne," I told her
sternly. "All these lights flickering all the time. It's got to stop."
"I've got it under control, Shannie," she whined
over her shoulder. She was standing at the window as if plotting her escape. As if she
could escape from an upstairs window. "Most of the time, anyway. Just now and again
it gets away from me."
"You mean like Anna-Maria's tummy and bottom?
Anastasia's glasses? All those Form Head girls I took to see the Board of Governors so I
ended up not getting any of the action?"
"They're not disasters. They're just harmless
little thoughts I happened to have. Nobody could complain about those."
"Yes, but what happens if you think something really
terrible one of these days. The lights will flicker and we'll have a girl turning into a
mythological beast or something." I strode to the window and stood by Corinne's side.
Warmth radiated from her petite soft body. We looked out into the woods. I couldn't be too
sure, but I could swear I saw half a dozen First Formers with horns sprouting out of their
heads.
"Look at the little devils, playing out there,"
she laughed. "Aren't they sweet?"
"Sweet enough to eat, yes." I had to agree. Young
girls dancing in circles in the sunshine with garlands of flowers in their hair are always
such a jolly sight. "Wait a minute. What are they doing?" A number of them had
flung off their clothes and — not to put too fine a point on it — gone down on
each other.
"I think they call it eating, Shannie," Corinne
answered dreamily.
"Cee, stop it at once!"
"Me? Stop what? I'm not doing anything."
"You're thinking things. Things keep happening.
Look at those poor Juniors out there." I waved a hand at the disgraceful scene out on
the velvety greensward. A group of Junior girls sat around with their books in the warm
sunshine. They seemed to be asking each other questions in preparation for a test
tomorrow.
"What about them, Shannie?"
"Oh, nothing." I stared at the girls, daring them
to change back into fauns or satyrs or whatever they were. Unicorns, perhaps.
Corinne giggled. "Look at that horny old bugger down
there!"
Jeremy had just come out of his shed to talk to the girls.
They were blushing and laughing, the way Junior girls do. What I found really disturbing
was that Jeremy was wearing the head of a unicorn: a slender white horse-face protruding
from the open neck of his check work-shirt. And a big central horn in the middle of his
forehead.
Perhaps I was over-tired. Too many late nights, too much
stress and worry.
"You're over-tired, Shan." Corinne pushed my hair
back from my face with a cool hand. " Too many late nights, too much stress and
worry."
"I suppose so. You didn't see anything strange about
Jeremy just now, did you?" I didn't dare look out again in case he turned into a
dragon and Saint George happened along and slew him.
"No. He looked perfectly normal to me. Have you been
invited to the Upper Sixths' party tomorrow night? It's fancy dress."
"Fancy dress? A costume party? It's the first I've
heard of it."
"They probably assumed you wouldn't be
interested."
"But I'm headmistress. They have to invite me!"
"Well, it's your school. They can't stop you if you
want to turn up. Perhaps they were too embarrassed to ask. You know what girls are
like."
"How would I know what girls are like? I'm only the
headmistress of a girls' school."
I looked outside out of the corner of my eye. Jeremy was
laughing with the group of girls. One of them was wearing a unicorn's head, and was
chasing three of her squealing classmates round the trees. "Were you thinking of
going?"
"Yeah. I'd thought of going as Rapunzel. You know, it's
good to let your hair down now and again."
"You'd thought of that?"
"Well, yes. But then I had another thought. Instead of
Rapunzel letting her hair down so her lover could climb up the tower, I thought, how about
if she'd had great big long dangly breasts instead! What do you think?"
"Better than having split ends, I suppose. Could be a
bit of a pain in the arse sometimes."
"But just think! I could lean out of the window and my
nipples would scrape along the ground!" Corinne shuddered at the thought. "Wow!
What bra size would that be?"
"About a seventy-foot bust? Probably a custom size.
You'd need to ask Clit." I sneaked a look. Corinne's breasts were still tucked away
inside her bodice where they belonged. That was a relief, at least.
"Poo, Shannie. You're a right misery-guts. Are you
coming to this party or not? I'll spend the morning thinking about my costume. If you're
coming, I'll dream something up for you as well, okay?"
"You'll dream something up for me?"
"Right! We don't want you turning into a boring old
fart, do we?"
I felt really uncomfortable. I wondered if it had been
something I had eaten at lunchtime.
The string quartet arrived at about four thirty. With my office window open, I could
hear them practising. They were really rather good, by the sound of it.
I slammed the window shut and called for Miss Labia.
"Can't you do something about that noise down there? I can't hear myself think."
Miss Labia sighed theatrically and spread her hands.
"It's only for a little while. You can't hear it anyway."
"Not now I've closed the window. It's stifling in here
now. I can hardly breathe."
Miss Labia agreed, sniffing the air and fanning her face
with her handkerchief. "It's these First Formers," she said. "The place is
crawling with them."
I looked down at the carpet. "There's only a dozen of
them. They're helping me tidy up in here."
"Twelve girls, picking up paper clips?" she said,
dripping with scorn. "Naked?"
"They're not naked. They've all got their undies on.
They've been naughty girls," I explained patiently. "This is their
punishment."
"And it just so happens that a dozen girls who just
happen to have the biggest boobies in the First Form have been naughty?"
I studied the girls as they crawled around the carpet,
carefully picking up scraps of fluff and crawling across to the waste bin in the corner.
Their breasts were all rather on the full side for twelve year olds, I supposed.
"It's not my fault," I muttered.
"Anyway, it's about time you started getting ready for
the party. Miss Meadowlark just called to ask if you were getting dressed up yet. She says
you have a duty to be there, as headmistress."
"I thought she said she was going to do something about
a costume for me."
Miss Labia opened her eyes wide. "A costume? You?
Huh!" She stalked across the room and used the toe of her shoe to separate two of the
girls who were apparently indulging in heavy foreplay beneath the umbrella stand.
"You're going as a headmistress, Miss Meadowlark said."
"But that's not a costume!"
"It is for you. We never see you with your clothes on.
You spend half the time naked."
"I'm not naked. I've still got my knickers on." I
strode moistly over to the green leather topped desk, swept a girl or two off it on to the
floor and subsided on to my seat with a juicy squelch. The girls sighed collectively. One
day, they probably hoped, they would be as wet as their headmistress. "You may go
now, girls," I ordered them. "And don't do it again. Whatever it was you
did."
"Thank you, Miss Gruntworthy," they chorused, and
fled, leaving a faint aura behind them. The sun shone glancingly through the window, its
rays visible where they illuminated the billowing steam of the First Formers' combined
loins.
"That will be all, Labia. I will prepare myself for the
party."
The assembly hall was festooned with all the Christmas decorations Jeremy and the Upper
Sixth had been able to find when they took a break from shagging each other absolutely
rotten in the dingy little store room behind the stage.
The lights were turned down low apart from the stage itself
where the little orchestra bent over its instruments, churning out what struck even me as
wildly inappropriate music.
The hall stank of girls, which was reasonable enough,
considering the fact that girls was what it was brim-full of. The whole school was there,
dressed in a staggering variety of costumes. I took one look, and turned immediately to
flee.
"Ooooh, Miss Gruntworthy!" The shrill voice came
from behind me and a soft little hand clutched mine damply. It was a fairy carrying a
magic wand.
"Anastasia!"
"How did you recognise me?" the fairy pouted. She
plucked her wand out of her abyssal cleavage and scratched her bottom with the
non-business end. The other end had a spiky-looking metal star on it. The operation seemed
to take all her concentration for a moment. I hoped Anastasia hadn't caught anything
anti-social.
"You're probably the only fairy here tonight with a
hundred and thirty inch bust," I explained gently.
"I don't know." She sounded uncertain and peered
short-sightedly around the thronged hall. She still peered short-sightedly, even now that
she had contact lenses.
"I can see your point," I said. I could see her
point. Fairies were thick upon the ground. It seemed to be one of the more popular
costumes. And some of the fairies on display were exhibiting inhibiting amounts of
pungently sweaty cleavage.
We stood aside to allow a group of animals to pass through
the doorway, led by a tall and bosomy donkey with one damaged ear. It was holding hands,
or possibly hooves, with a stocky little pig in a manner which suggested intimacy.
"What's that?" I asked as Anastasia plucked
a can out of her cleavage and took a swig.
"For energy, Miss." She offered me the can, wiping
the top considerately.
"It's beer!" I spluttered, handing it back
to her. "You're too young to drink beer!"
"You can have it then, Miss." She handed the can
back to me.
"Thanks." It was refreshingly cold, despite where
it had been.
"Cheers!" Anastasia delved for another can and
came up with one for herself. We clanked them together and drank. "I love your
costume, Miss," she said, after a gentle well-modulated burp.
"What do you mean, costume? I'm not wearing costume.
Miss Meadowlark was going to dream something up for me, but she forgot."
"Oh, Miss! You're ever so funny!" Anastasia
spotted someone across the heaving mass of flesh in the assembly hall. She dug me
approximately in the ribs with her beer can. "Hey, see you later," she said with
an attempt at a wink, and lurched off, cleaving an impressive bow-wave of girls as she
gathered way.
Good. Time to make my escape. I downed the last of the beer
and studied the label on the can. 5.9% Alcohol by Volume, it said. Why did girls
always drink the strongest stuff they could find?
"Hello, Miss, love the costume!"
"Victoria?"
"Of course! Who else would be dressed as a fairy with a
hundred and forty inch bust?" she said archly, prodding me with her wand. "Have
a Bud." A frosty bottle appeared out of her cleavage and she pressed it into my hand.
"Got to go, I'm meeting Sexy Amy. Hey, shitty music! See ya!"
Once more, I turned to go, but I was taken and dragged into
the hall by a determined and leathery hand with a grip like steel. By the time I
recovered, I was already being hugged intimately by a tall Sixth Former with a moustache
and extremely short-cropped hair.
"Don'cha love the music?" The girl whirled me
round in a no-nonsense manner, then began to kiss me with a depth of feeling staggering in
one so young and presumably inexperienced.
"Ouch! Is that real?"
"Yeah!" She ran a finger across her bristly
moustache. "I've let it grow out this last week specially for the party. You should
see my pubes!"
"No, if you don't mind. Not here, anyway."
"I'll hold you to that, Miss," she leered,
releasing me and patting my bottom suggestively. "Buffet's over there by the
band," she said, and gave me a push in the general direction.
In fact, I wasn't all that hungry: the cloying smell of girl
was enough to put me off my food, but once within twenty yards of the buffet table I was
sucked in by the motion of ravenous schoolgirls with the scent of sausage rolls in their
flaring nostrils. Within seconds, I was at the table, reaching out to spear things with a
fork.
"Ouch, who the fucking fuck do you fucking think you're
fucking stabbing, you fucking cow? Oops, sorry Miss!"
"Good evening, Michaela!" It was good to see the
Head Girl of St Cat's High School for Growing Girls setting such a splendid example to the
younger girls. And to the smaller girls. I jerked my fork out of the back of her hand and
guided it to a bowl of pickled beetroot where it could bleed less obtrusively. "God,
you're even bigger!"
"Nah, it's not all me. Well, I mean, it is me,
if you see what I mean. I had Miss Clitress give me a bit of uplift."
This was painfully obvious. Michaela's bust hovered
massively above the table, knocking over dishes and flattening the cucumber sandwiches.
One of the Junior girls who had crept beneath the overwhelming breasts of the Head Girl in
search of food was weeping gently into a bowl of potato salad, unable to get her
excessively pointy bosoms free from what appeared to have once been a trifle. I dragged
Michaela back a few feet and the poor child stood up straight with a great sucking noise,
her face smeared with mayonnaise and a cherry adorning her right nipple. I plucked a dish
from her breast, the one without the cherry. It was firmly stuck. That trifle was like
super-glue.
"Thanks, Miss," the girl sobbed, grabbing a plate
of assorted savouries and darting off into the crowd. Remarkably, she was topless. Her
excessive pointiness was all down to her absurdly puffy moons. A growing girl, I supposed.
I scooped up a handful of moon-cratered trifle. It tasted
slightly girlish, but not too bad. Within seconds, I was staring at the empty dish. It was
one of the restaurant's best set of blue and white crockery. The traditional willow
pattern, the mysterious Oriental girl standing on the mysterious Oriental bridge, waiting
for her mysterious Oriental lover. Mysterious.
"Love the costume, Miss," Michaela jerked me out
of my reverie, reaching for a chicken leg and reversing away at a brisk pace.
"I'm not wearing ..."
"Hiya, Miss! Great costume!"
"Why does everybody keep telling me I'm wearing fancy
dress?"
"Because you are." It was Smegs this time, looking
striking, dressed as an Amazon. She was wearing one of those Ancient Greek mini-skirt
things and a pair of sandals but had apparently elected not to hack off her right breast
to make it easier to draw a bow and arrow. Smegs always knows where to draw the line.
"Yours looks nice. Understated, but somehow
effective."
She snorted. "What do you mean? I'm not wearing one. I
just came back from a heavy date and I didn't have time to get dressed up for a stupid
party. It must have taken you ages to put your hair up in a bun like that. And those
shoes! It's a wonder you can even walk."
I was beginning — just beginning — to think
something odd was going on round here. My thoughts were interrupted by a figure
approaching my right elbow and bowing. "Ah, Miz Gunworthy. Ruv your costum-o!"
"Kia!"
"Miz Gumworthy. Miz Mountain."
Kia, the Korean student, was wearing one of those
tight-skirted things that must have made it purgatory, trying to walk. Like the mysterious
Oriental girl on the mysterious Oriental willow pattern bridge. When her mysterious
Oriental lover did finally appear, how was she ever going to spread her legs for him in a
skirt like that?
I did a double-take.
Literally.
Kia had another girl with her, under her arm.
"Who's that?" I think the operative word is
'aghast'.
Kia's face was engagingly blank. "It not a who,
Miz. It a what."
When Kia talked like this, it hurt my brain.
"She's not a she, Shan," Smegs explained.
"It's a what. An inflatable doll. You know about inflatable dolls? They get bigger.
This one is called Rumiko."
"Rumiko? A doll?" My blood ran cold for some
reason. Kia unslung Rumiko from beneath her arm and stood her on her feet. She stood there
wobbling gently. Wobbling in some decidedly interesting places. "Hello, Rumiko,"
I said.
Kia giggled, her astonishing cleavage rippling. "Oh,
Miz, you so funny!"
"She's a doll, Shan! You don't need to say hello.
Look." Smegs took a generous finger and thumb-full of Rumiko's exposed bosom. Rumiko
did not object. In fact, she nodded approvingly and her mouth opened a little. A pink
tongue poked out. Smegs let go of her breast and the tongue went in again. Fascinating.
"Let me try that." I grabbed a handful of Rumiko's
left breast. It was warm and extremely heavy, just like the real thing. The little tongue
came out again. In, out, in, out.
"Ouch, Miz!"
I let go and jumped back in alarm.
Kia giggled again. "Is okay, Miz Gumworthy. That was
me. Rumiko not speak. Rumiko feel nice, make roadsa mirruk, she excerent fuck. Rumiko come
rike fountain," she added modestly.
"Don't go sticking your nails through Rumi's tit,
Shan," Smegs said peevishly. "It costs a bomb to get punctures repaired. We have
to send her down to the local garage. Last time, she was gone for a week, and she came
back with greasy mechanics' handprints all over her arse. Her pussy's never been the same
since." Smegs arranged the doll's bodice to cover up a few more square feet of creamy
cleavage. I could swear the doll's eyes lowered themselves demurely.
"I take Rumiko ou'side, Miz. She need fresh air.
Infrataburro dorru orroways need fresh air."
"Oh, of course."
"See you later, then," said Smegs to Kia, as the
two of them sidled away. By the time they had reached the door, I really couldn't tell
them apart. There was something weird going on. I didn't know what it was, but something
was not quite right.
"Smegs!" I tugged at her robe thingy, making her
snarl in an Amazonian way.
"Gerroff! I'm not in the mood."
"No, not that! What kind of a girl do you think I
am?" I hurried on in case she chose to answer. "There's something weird going on
here. Some of these costumes. Look at them!"
We stared about us. All around us was a sea of girls,
heavily disguised. Over by the stage, a group of Juniors cavorted around in a ring,
wearing minimal lacy dresses which had possibly fitted them a year ago. Their bosoms
bounced ponderously to the music while the members of the orchestra regarded them with
horror.
"What about them?" Smegs said with a shrug. I
supposed she witnessed more provocative behaviour on the part of Junior girls every day of
the week.
"And what about the music? Whose idea was it to get a
band like this for teenage girls to dance to? They look a right bunch of old fogeys."
Smegs looked at me curiously. "I can't believe you
just said that."
It was one of those moments when somebody says something
just as silence falls, and you feel as if everyone has heard it. Well, it wasn't quite
like that: there was still a fair amount of noise in the hall, girls whooping and
screaming, giggling and generally enjoying orgasms.
But the music had stopped. The orchestra had ceased
torturing their instruments. I had visions of them getting up and stalking off the stage.
St Cat's would be in all the papers. 'Schoolgirl Orgy Storm As Band Pulls Out.'
The orchestra, however, was no longer looking at the lacily
bouncing Juniors with horror. Its attention had been drawn to events closer at hand. As
their eyes swivelled to the side of the stage, I gripped Smegs's arm so tightly that my
fingers seemed to go right through to the bone.
Three shadowy figures loomed out of the shadows and advanced
on the centre of the stage. More and more of the girls had turned that way, wondering
about the sudden absence of music. Several distinctly non-orgasmic screams rang out. Mine
was possibly among them. Not even Smegs was immune. Her hair stood on end, a sight almost
as scary as the scene now taking place on stage in front of us. Almost as scary, but not
quite.
For as the orchestra gathered up their fiddles and music
stands and fled in stumbling confusion, they left the stage to something infinitely more
spine-chilling.
Three hulking trawlermen in oilskins converged on the grand
piano with measured tread. Like well-drilled automatons — automata? — I'll look
it up later, they closed the lid and the sounding board, positioned themselves at the
thing's extremities and looked up at each other expectantly. Then with a concerted nod and
an unspoken word of command, they heaved the piano into motion, lugging it off the stage,
back the way they had come.
I knew without looking that a van awaited them just below
the steps leading up to the main doors, with a ramp reaching up into its dark interior.
There was probably a thunderstorm starting up outside.
SILENCE FELL like a shroud as the trawlermen bore the piano out of sight. Faintly, from
outside, came a squeal of tortured rubber as the orchestra accelerated away up the drive.
They apparently hadn't waited to be paid. Who had hired them, anyway? Who would admit to
it?
The girls were finding their voices once more. Those round
the stage seemed to be having a conference of some sort. A serious discussion. They came
to a conclusion and five of them hoisted one of their number on to the stage, their hands
lifting and pushing the girl using any available piece of bodywork they could reach.
The girl reached the stage with a small squeak of delight
and one of her friends and helpers reluctantly removed her hand from the moistly
well-filled undies above her. It was a brief and touching moment of intimacy which brought
tears to my eyes. It probably brought tears to the girl's eyes as well. She turned to face
the hall.
"Listen, everybody! Shush! Quiet a minute!"
As much out of curiosity as anything else, the school fell
silent. All faces turned to stare at the girl on the stage. She bent forward and tugged at
her revealing costume to hide herself. She had only partial success: she managed to cover
much of her bottom, but both her tits simultaneously fell out of her top. I watched them
with professional interest. Not a bad pair per se, but a schoolgirl really ought
not to be flashing her breasts on stage in front of her schoolmates.
"Stop her, Megan," I urged.
"Why me? I'm not Support and Mobility. Where's your pal
Corinne?"
"I don't know. I haven't seen her yet. It was her idea
to make this a costume party, you'd think she'd have the common decency to turn up."
"I'll give her Support and Mobility if I catch
her," muttered Smegs, mysteriously.
The girl on the stage had reloaded her breasts back into her
skimpy top again. She coughed for attention. Not strictly necessarily, I should have
thought.
"Right," she yelled in crystal St Cat's tones. The
windows rattled but remained more or less intact. Somewhere by the buffet a glass cracked,
but it seemed to be the only casualty. "Right. We've got rid of that crappy noise,
okay?"
"Okay!"
"All right!"
"Yeah!"
"So who wants some decent music?"
"Yeah!"
"All right!"
"Okay!"
"Karaoke, then?"
"Karaoke, yeah!"
"Okay!"
"All right!"
"I've got all the gear."
"Got all the gear ... got all the gear!"
They sounded like a convention of ventriloquists.
"It's my brother's stuff. Give me a hand to fetch it in
and set it up, and we'll have a Karaoke night!"
"Okay!"
"All right!"
"Yeah!"
I looked at Smegs. Was she going to permit this student
power?
"Yeah," she screamed. "Go and get it,
Celestrina!"
That was The Word of Authority. A dozen girls streamed out,
becoming wedged briefly in the doorway, then disappeared babbling into the night.
"How's it going?" a soft voice asked.
"Cee!"
Smegs snorted and moved away in a marked manner.
"Thank Christ that poxy band's gone," Corinne
grinned. She was simply dressed, all in pure virginal white silk, a clinging dress with a
high neck. Her hair was up, giving her a sophisticated look. I shuddered and lost control
of my spleen. At least, it wasn't my bowels.
"Some of the girls have gone to get Celestrina's
brother's Karaoke stuff," I told her. "I don't know if it's altogether
suitable..."
"It will be perfect! We can have dancing and stuff. Who
hired that bunch of wankers, anyway?"
"I thought it was you!"
"Me?" She swigged discreetly at a bottle of
something cold, and hiccuped politely. "I feel like having fun tonight."
I glanced at her hopefully, but she seemed to have other
plans. She was swaying slightly, weaving on the spot. I would have thought she was dancing
to the music, but there wasn't any. It must have been in her head. Music or not, the
movement was hypnotic. I wasn't the only one gazing in raptures at her slowly rebounding
breasts.
Michaela appeared briefly on the edge of the crowd, making
her way out of the hall in the direction of the toilets.
"Jeez, will you look at my sister! What an absolute cow!"
"Clit made her a bra specially."
"Huh!"
A minor disturbance heralded the return of the task force
with Celestrina's brother's Karaoke. It consisted of several large black boxes, television
screens and microphones on stands. The stage filled with chaotically busy figures doing
technical things with screwdrivers. In no time at all, Celestrina was blowing into the
microphone.
"Hello, hello?"
"Hello, Celestrina," yelled the girls.
"...one-two, one-toooo. Mary had a little
lamb..."
"...its fleece was white as snow. Woooh!"
hollered the school.
"Right! Can everybody hear me?"
"Yeah!"
"Okay!"
"All right!"
"Great. We want volunteer singers. We've got loads of
rilly-rilly great songs. Come up and see Melissa. I'll start you off. Ready, 'liss?"
Melissa nodded and extremely loud music boomed out, with an
insistent beat, the sort of thing that can cause people to come over all peculiar. And
Celestrina began to sing in a husky contralto. Husky, yet somehow loud.
I am the first to admit, I'm totally tone-deaf, but even I
could tell it was beautiful. The girl stood at the front of the stage with a hand
microphone, confidently belting out an erotic song, the words of which suggested that
Celestrina was going to do it all night long with you. Or me. Her tits fell out
again during the first chorus.
"Isn't she great!" Corinne's eyes were
alight. "I've always thought she ought to be on the stage."
"She is on the stage," I pointed out.
"You know what I mean." Corinne poked me playfully
in the ribs. "Hey," she said, "rilly-rilly nice costume, Shannie!"
The song ended amid tumultuous applause. Girls thronged
around Melissa trying to have their favourite song played. An ill-sorted quintet of Junior
wannabes was already gathering around the microphone attempting to tell us what they
wanted, what they really, really wanted. Not entirely good-natured catcalls and epithets
were being hurled by the audience, many of whom were already dancing with the glazed
expressions and curiously uncoordinated movements of British girls wherever dance music is
played.
It was perhaps because of these diversions that nobody paid
too much attention when the double doors opened and a cow came into the hall.
At first, it stood just inside the doorway, looking around
it in a disbelieving kind of way. Then it — I suppose I ought to call it 'she', as
the cow was without doubt female — set off on a lumbering, udder-swaying walk across
the hall in the general direction of the buffet.
A single scream rang out.
Apart from that scream, which had come from a girl whose
foot the cow had stepped on, the party guests took the arrival of the beast remarkably in
their stride. The dancers made way for it as it plodded past, then closed up again like
the Red Sea when it had gone by.
The cow reached the buffet table and dipped its nose into a
large dish of trifle. Surprising behaviour for one of the bovine persuasion, I suppose,
but there was no grass to be had in the school hall and cows do like eating the whole
time.
Corinne was still swaying massively to the alleged music of
the Spice Girls. I nudged her. "Did you see that?"
She focused on me. "What, love?"
"A cow just came in. It's eating the buffet."
"My bloody sister," she remarked absently.
"Greedy cow." And she took a swig of Coors and began to sing in a small and
vulnerable voice, sounding more than slightly drunk.
"Wretched noise!" growled a vaguely familiar
voice.
"Nurse!" I looked her up and down. "Why are
you dressed as a nurse?"
"I am a sodding nurse, that's why."
"But you're a nurse nurse, Nurse, not a children's
nanny." I indicated the baby buggy she was wheeling across the crowded floor. Girls
were already examining the contents: a pair of young female human twins.
"Coo! Hello! Who's a pretty girl, then?"
"Who's a baby, then? Yes!"
"Whose are those two?" I asked Nurse.
"You ought to bloody know!"
"I ought? St Cat's is full of babies. I can't remember
them all."
Nurse sighed heavily and prodded the nearer twin with a
well-scrubbed finger. "This is Jane."
"Oh, no!" I turned accusingly on Corinne, but she
was too busy singing to notice. "I suppose the other one's Jane as well," I
snarled at Nurse. "Why couldn't you call them something original, like Candy and
Mandy?"
She blinked at me. "That one's Jane. This one's
Randy."
"Randy? A girl?"
"At least, she will be when she grows up. Show me a
girl who isn't."
"Short for Miranda," Corinne sang, bending to
croon at the twins.
They gurgled happily at her. One of them said
"Mama."
"Aren't they just so sweet at that age?" Corinne
tickled the little girls under their twin chins. "I always wish they could stay that
age for ever."
"You would," Nurse snorted. "You don't have
to clear up after them. Anyway, I can't stay here all day wasting time talking to
you." She edged away with the twin buggy, trailing a cloud of broody girls. "Get
off, you little buggers!" She slapped at them with her free hand, but as fast as she
cleared one lot of girls away, others took their place, coo-ing and giggling at the twins.
"Get off!"
"Didn't they look a bit familiar, those two little
kids?" But Corinne wasn't listening. In fact, her fingers were plugged into her ears.
A new song had started, performed by two lovesick lesbian Third Formers. Within half a
dozen lines, they were so overcome by the lyrics that they subsided in a heap on the
stage, groping each other. Rude noises came booming out of the louspeakers as they became
intimate with each other in the presence of a hand microphone. "What's she doing with
that mike?" I shrieked, advancing on the stage, but the situation was already well in
hand. Celestrina had released the microphone and was wiping the worst excesses off it with
a handful of industrial paper towel.
The cow, meanwhile, had finished the trifle and turned its
attention to the bacon and mushroom quiche. I wondered whether to warn it about its diet.
Cows ought not to eat pigs. It was the sort of thing that makes politicians hot under the
collar. It seemed to enjoy it, though. It lowed mightily.
"Whose is that cow?" I approached it with
caution from the rear.
The girls looked at me with incomprehension. "She's not
anybody's, Miss."
"She's just someone who happens to be a cow."
The cow looked up at me with a pained expression before
attacking a bowl of fruit. Actually, for a cow, it had quite a pretty face. Round its neck
dangled a dinky little brass bell, hanging from a band of scarlet material. But then my
illusions were shattered as the cow raised its tail and did a poo right there beside the
table. It didn't even stop eating. I always think it's disgusting, the way cows can do
that.
The girls took no notice, edging round the spreading mess on
the floor.
A Junior with thick spectacles came in with a large shovel
and a bucket and began clearing it up. "Good girl, Indira," one of the girls
said.
"It's Indira Patel, Miss."
"Her Dad's got a newsagents shop in Borcester,
Miss."
"She's very good with cows, Miss."
"Yes, that's why we always let her clean up after
Michaela."
A chill hand gripped my heart. I knew it wasn't a real hand,
as there is far too much of me in the way for a real hand to get anywhere near my heart.
It was a metaphorical chill hand.
"Michaela?" I uttered the word with a feeling of
doom.
"The cow, Miss. That's her name. It's a nice name, for
a cow, at least."
"She's Head Cow, Miss."
"Head Cow? St Cat's has a Head Cow?"
"Of course. Doesn't every school?"
The girls looked puzzled, anxious. One of them toyed with
the stubbly coat covering Michaela's powerful rump, avoiding the nastier bits. Michaela
turned her head and grinned in a bovine way at her before returning to her buffet.
"How can she be Head Cow?" I asked, dreading the
reply. "She's the only cow here."
The spokesperson explained patiently. "She's not Head
of the Cows, Miss. She's Head Cow of St Cat's."
"But who's she head of?"
"All of us, Miss."
"Obviously, Miss!" Indira peered up at me through
her glasses.
"Obviously? Why obviously?"
"Because she's got the biggest breasts, of
course." The answer was spoken with total inevitability. "Who ever heard of
schoolgirls having breasts bigger than a dairy cow?"
It was all so chillingly logical. Why shouldn't a school
have a Head Cow, after all? It made perfect sense. A well-developed dairy cow would
probably always have the edge on even the bustiest of girls. I backed away from the little
group. "I suppose so. Carry on, girls. Indira, why not take ... Michaela outside to
get some fresh air. There's some nice grass out in the woods."
"If you say so, Miss. But Michaela was really looking
forward to this party. She's been talking of nothing else all week."
"Corinne! What's going on here?"
"It's a costume party, Shannie. Remember, I told you
about it. People dress up in funny clothes and come along..."
"No!" I said harshly, through gritted teeth.
"You know what I mean. There's something strange going on. That cow, for
instance."
"Michaela?"
"You know about her?"
"Of course. I ought to. She is my sister, when
all's said and done."
I allowed my jaw to drop open.
"Have you tried the anchovy and stilton quiche with
garlic and soured cream?" She took my hand and began towing me towards the buffet.
Michaela was being led away by a bunch of enthusiastic girls in dungarees. One of them was
beating the Head Cow across the rump with a stout stick and shouting "Wurp,
Wurp," at her encouragingly. The girl Indira followed with her dustpan and brush.
"She needs milking," I said. "Her teats are
dragging along the floor."
Corinne nudged me rudely. "I can't believe you
said that." At that moment, the lights began flickering in time to the beat of a song
being rendered by a trio of Juniors with their arms round each other. They swayed from
side to side, the way girls do when they sing together.
My breasts felt very full and heavy all of a sudden. I mean,
not just very full and heavy. I mean fuller and heavier than usual. Which made them feel
pretty full and pretty heavy, as you can imagine. Then I realised why. My severely
unfeminine business suit had half a dozen seriously industrial buttons down the front.
These had apparently thrown in the towel at the same moment, releasing the pressure within
my bodice. With a ripping noise that resounded even above the sound of the karaoke, my
shirt was sundered. I use the word advisedly. Sundered. It felt as if I had a couple of
weather balloons inside my shirt; you know, those big orange ones? Full of melted butter.
You don't often see weather balloons full of melted butter, I know. If they were, they
wouldn't be much good as weather balloons. But mine were. Rrrrrrripppp!
And out they came. I really don't know what had possessed
me, attending a party without wearing a bra. I suppose I must have been lulled into a
false sense of security by the rigidity and stoutness of my business suit. I had been
terribly wrong. Terribly.
My breasts plunged out and headed for the floor.
"Oof!" I said, appropriately enough, as they
dragged me into a bent almost double position. They rested on the cool parquet flooring
with the nipples pointing outward at forty-five degrees to each side.
"That's the way, Shannie, good to see you getting into
the spirit of the thing!"
Girls cheered.
I tried to gather them up, but even when I was more or less
upright, they hung to my knees and got very much in the way, bouncing and banging
together. "Ouch! Corinne, what can I do with them?"
"Ask some of the bigger girls how they manage. I know
I'm Support and Mobility Mistress, but I don't like to talk shop at parties." Corinne
strolled away and helped herself to something large and savoury from the buffet.
Fortunately, Anastasia came to the rescue. She had a
wheelbarrow with her. "Load yourself in here, Miss," she cried cheerfully.
"Do you need a hand?"
"Of course not! I can manage my own breasts!"
"Suit yourself. I know they're nowhere near the size of
mine, but they do seem to be filling out really nicely. If only they weren't so dangly.
Still, Jeremy says he likes them ... Oops!" She clapped a hand over her mouth and
blushed prettily. "Don't tell him I said so, Miss!"
A small crowd had gathered to watch their headmistress
attempting to load her unfettered breasts into a wheelbarrow. Those with personal
experience of mono-wheeled Support and Mobility devices were generous with their advice.
"Put the handles down, Miss. You'll never swing your
tits into the barrow like that."
"I always put my left one in first."
"Nah, load your right one, it's bigger."
"It's not bigger," I retorted hotly.
"Is it?"
Free discussion broke out over the relative sizes of my
breasts. Two girls came to blows over it, while four others found the subject so arousing
that they paired off and fell to the floor, tearing furiously at each other's clothing.
Taking advantage of the disturbance, Anastasia advised me
quietly on her own preferred method of wheelbarrow loading, which involved tilting the
barrow to one side, loading my right breast, then tilting it over the other way for the
left one. I grasped the handles and lifted. It felt decidedly weird.
"Don't worry, Miss, it feels strange at first, but
you'll soon get the hang of it, you're quite intelligent."
"Thank you, Anastasia." With all the dignity I
could muster, I began a stately plod across the floor in the general direction of the
buffet table. I wanted a word with Corinne. Anastasia came along with me, a guiding hand
on the side of my bosom. "It's Miss Meadowlark who's done this to me, isn't it?"
"Miss Meadowlark? How? Has she been creaming you?"
"No. But she's responsible somehow. I just know she
is."
"If you say so, Miss," murmured Anastasia
dutifully. "Careful, not too fast. You're going to need to stop before we reach the
buffet. Look out, Miss! Miss!"
We stopped, and girls began picking up the scattered food
and piling it back on the table, which someone had set up on its legs again.
"It wasn't my fault. The brakes must have failed."
"Wheelbarrows don't have brakes, Miss. That's what I
was trying to tell you." She helped Corinne to her feet and obligingly plucked a
pineapple ring off one of the Support and Mobility Mistress's nipples where it had perched
itself like something off a hoop-la stall at a village fete. She ate it with relish.
The lights were still flickering on and off. It was making
me feel panicky for some reason.
"You've got to stop this, Cee. Stop the lights
flickering, and stop messing about with things."
"I'm not doing anything!" She took a deep swig
from her bottle. "Hic! And I'm certainly not going to stop the lights
flickering. It's all part of the fun. Wheeeeeee!" She undertook a twirl and
crashed to the floor, taking several girls with her.
Corinne sat up cautiously. The fallen girls decided they
liked it on the floor and began snogging with each other. Wet kisses and other acts of
mutual affection made the most ghastly squelching sounds. The place was beginning to smell
like a fishmonger's.
"Help me up, Shannie," said Corinne, suddenly more
subdued. Anastasia hauled her to her feet and she clung to me. "I don't feel very
well, Shannie! Take me for a wide on your wheelybout. Outside. I want some fwesh
air." At the very thought of fwesh air, she turned gween and began looking around
urgently for somewhere to park her evening meal.
We clanked and squeaked our way slowly to the exit. Anastasia had provided a spare
wheelbarrow for Corinne to ride in. She seemed to have plenty of spare wheelbarrows for
some reason.
We were still several paces from the doors when they opened,
and two lovely oriental creatures came in. Anastasia stopped abruptly and I cannoned into
her backside with my payload. Corinne clung on tight to avoid being pitched out of
Anastasia's barrow on to the floor.
"Who the f..." she began, then realised.
"Kia! And Rumiko!" She turned to me. "Hey, Shannie. It's Kia and
Rumiko." She pointed at them with an unsteady finger.
"It's Rumiko and Kia, actually."
"We jus' go outside for breff o' fresh air," said
one of them, I wasn't sure which. It looked for all the world as if it was the doll
speaking. "Infrataburro dorro need fresh air orr time."
"They've been outside for some fresh air," Corinne
translated for my benefit. She giggled girlishly and Anastasia looked sternly at her as if
she was considering suing for infringement of copyright. "Hey, I hope they haven't
had too much. You know what happens when inflatable dolls get too much fresh air?"
And before our astonished gaze, it happened. Kia and Rumiko
looked at each other with alarm as one of them began to inflate with a hollow rubbery
hissing sound. They clung to each other's hands, but it did no good. Within seconds,
Rumiko had expanded to fill her costume, which was very traditional and and ancient and
Far Eastern, like Kia's. All very willow pattern, but with a difference. True, Rumiko kept
her tiny feet demurely together and her eyes lowered in submissive pose, but her already
substantial bosom had swiftly passed what I estimated to be the six foot mark and pressed
on toward the magic three figures.
"Oh, God, look at her!" Corinne gasped.
"She's getting huge!"
"Too much fresh air," I suggested.
The doll continued to grow. Her feet were tripping lightly
across the floor now as she apparently became lighter. Her frightened partner clung to her
fat little hand as the doll gave a lurch and skittered round in a half circle. I observed
that her bottom was already substantially larger than mine. Shamefully large, in fact.
Shameful. But something to be profoundly grateful for.
"Christ, Miss," Anastasia gasped. "Its bum's
even bigger than yours!"
"Rumiko, come down!" Kia yanked at the doll's
hand, tugging it back to earth with a sort of boink noise.
"That's not Rumiko," I told the girl. "It's
Kia. You're Rumiko."
"Miss...!" Anastasia sounded apprehensive.
"It's not Kia, Miss. You can tell them apart easily."
"Are you saying I can't tell them apart? I'm their headmistress!
This is Rumiko. Kia is inflatable. She's from Korea. Miss Mountains ordered her. Kia is a
doll."
"Thank you, Miz!" Kia murmured from beneath
lowered eyelashes.
Then suddenly, as if in a flash of light, everything became
crystal clear to me. Until now, Rumiko had always been a girl. She had come from
Japan to St Cat's. Her photo had been in all the papers. Kia, of course, was the prototype
inflatable doll ordered from Korea by Smegs.
But now, Kia was no longer a doll. Not the doll Smegs and I
had enjoyed a steamy session with in Smegs's bedroom, a doll gushing milk and love-juice
while her breasts and bosoms ballooned. She had become a real live flesh-and-blood girl.
An extremely pretty one, too, with a marvellous pair of boobs on her, considering she was
no more than two weeks old.
And here she stood before us, trying to restrain her friend,
Rumiko, from heading for the ceiling. Rumiko, who had been one of St Cat's first overseas
students, was now undeniably a doll. What would her father say?
Perhaps just as important, how had this appalling thing
happened?
"Corinne! How did this appalling thing happen?"
Corinne's eyed widened. "Your pattern...? Ah, obviously
it has...!" She stared around wildly, looking for escape. The lights flickered
briefly, and Corinne looked relieved. Events had taken a hand.
Kia had both hands full, trying to control her friend. The
doll was away again, trying to take off.
"Come down, Rumiko," Corinne shouted. The doll was
suddenly above Kia's head, grinning down foolishly and straining to be free. Girls
gathered round, yelling.
"Kia, pull her down."
"I not horra her, Miss," Kia shouted. "She
horrin' me!"
The doll gave a long drawn out sigh and inflated another
couple of feet. To everyone's horror, the girl was snatched from the ground and jerked a
couple of feet into the air. She kicked her legs ineffectually in her narrow skirt. Her
shoes fell off. Relieved of the extra ballast, the pair of them ascended another three
feet.
"Eeeek!"
One of the taller girls had managed to grab Rumiko's little
foot.
"It tickaru! Stop!"
"Oops, sorry, Kee!"
They were out of reach now, the girl and her balloon friend.
Soaring to the ceiling, already up among the Christmas decorations.
"Let go of her!" the girls yelled.
"No, don't let go now!" I shouted. "You'll
hurt yourself. Hang on tight. We'll get you down."
"Oh, yeah?" Corinne looked at me. "How?"
I had a sudden feeling that the world had widened visibly
before my eyes. Instead of everything being concentrated upon the two floating figures up
by the ceiling, I became aware of the karaoke still going on in the background, two girls
clutching the same microphone, watching the performance above their heads while doggedly
belting out something about "...don't need no credit card to ride — this
— train." The lights pulsed on and off, on and off.
Was I going mad, or was it everyone else.
"I can get them down, Miss." Anastasia's face
glowed with intelligence.
"Oh? And what do you suggest?"
"We can let the air out of Rumiko, slowly."
"Out of Kia, you mean." I sighed. "Okay,
then. Rumiko. How do we do it? They're twenty feet up. We can't lean a ladder against
anything, they're in the middle of the floor."
"We don't need a ladder."
"How can we reach her valves without a ladder? Do you
even know where her valves are?"
"They're in a very rude place, Miss. It would take ages
to get at them under that tight frock. But we don't need to get at her valves. We'll just
throw darts at her, Miss."
"Darts? But Rumiko's a real girl! You can't throw darts
at a girl."
"Kia's the girl, Miss. Rumi's made of latex. It won't
hurt, and she can go off to the garage again after we get her down. Kia said Rumi made
some good friends down at the garage. It took her a week to wash all the dried cum out of
her sna..."
"That will do, Anastasia!"
"I can do it, Miss!" It was a tiny voice behind
me. I turned round. There was nobody there. "I'm down here, Miss!" It was a
diminutive Junior dressed as Cupid. A not quite so diminutive Junior. She had a most
substantial and wholly un-Cupidlike bosom straining at the translucent bodice of her
costume. No bra, I observed.
"Who are you?"
"Cupid, Miss."
"No, I can see that. What's your name?"
"That is her name, Shannie," Corinne said
impatiently. "Cupid Archer. You never listen, do you?"
"I can hit her from here," said Cupid with
alarming confidence, whipping out an arrow and stringing her bow. The arrow looked
horribly sharp. She drew the bow and leaned back, taking aim upwards.
"No, Cupid, don't...!"
'Twangggg.' The arrow made off in an entirely unscheduled
direction and thudded into the back of one of the karaoke television monitors with a
shower of pungent blue sparks.
"Ouch! Shit! Sorry, Miss! I've never fired it up in the
air before. Not since my boobies developed, anyway." She rubbed her almost obscenely
large bosom reflectively. "No wonder the amazons had to chop their tits off to shoot
bows and arrows." She selected another arrow from her quiver and tested its point
with the tip of a thumb. Then she took aim again, while Anastasia obligingly held the flat
of her hand against the girl's chest to compress her bosom.
"Wow, you're ever so big, Cupe! Is this all you
in here?"
"I know! Tell me about it, Staze! It's really
embarrassing! And to think, I had no titties at all until six weeks ago. They're
nearly fifty inches now! Miss Clitress says if I carry on at this rate for another couple
of months, I'll be needing a wheelbarrow! And, of course, everybody stares at me,
especially when my nipples get erect. Can you feel it?"
"Yeah!" Anastasia was almost slavering with lust.
"It's like a wine cork. Come and have a feel of it, Miss! She's not wearing a bra,
and it feels like a hot sausage in there."
Reluctantly, despite Anastasia's graphic description, I
declined. "When you've quite finished, girls!"
"Sorry, Miss! Later, Cupe. In my bedroom, okay?"
With a thumb firmly on the wine-cork hot-sausage nipple, Anastasia squashed the offending
breast as flat as she could while Cupid aimed for the skies again.
'Twangggg.'
"Yowwoowwwwwwwwww! Cupid, you stupid fuckin' big-titted
rittu cunt!" Kia seemed to be getting to grips with the language.
"It's all right, Kia! It's only stuck in your skirt.
Pull it out and drop it down here so Cupid can have another go."
There was a moment of sickening anticipation as Kia let go
with one hand and swung dangerously while she plucked the arrow from her taut and shapely
bottom.
"You be more carefurru, Cupe, or I ream your ass,"
she called down, and grabbed at her inflatable friend with both hands. The crowd released
its breath in a collective sigh.
The arrow fled heavenwards again. This time, Cupid's aim was
true. It thudded into Rumiko's shameful rump with a not quite solid sound, and a hissing
made itself heard even above the wail of the music.
"I wanna be a part of it: New York, Noooo —
Yawk!"
"She's deflating, Miss," crowed Cupid proudly. She
planted her hands on her hips like Robin Hood in a pantomime and waited for the airborne
couple to descend.
The hissing grew louder, and the doll began to rotate about
her axis. Faster she spun, the air now thrusting its way past the point of the arrow with
increasing force.
"Uh, oh!"
"Hang on, Kia!"
Kia hung on, although she was being whirled round faster and
faster. She clutched at a passing Christmas streamer as she rotated. It acted rather like
the tail of a kite. Instead of spinning round and round and making us all giddy, the two
of them began a stately and ponderous progress across the ceiling, trailing more and more
decorations behind them.
"If I can — make it there, I'll make it —
anywhere, it's ..."
They lurched past one of the lights, missing it by inches,
swung slightly to the left, then set off at a brisk trotting pace over the heads of the
crowd.
"...Up to yoo — Nooo — Yor — Cue
—" breath "...Yooooooooooooooooooooooorkkkkk!"
The singer took a bow as the orchestra played the final
triumphal bars. Nobody heeded her. All eyes were aloft as the two pretty oriental girls
completed their lap of honour of the hall and commenced their descent.
While I was aware that it was perhaps an insensitive
thought, I was reminded of that film about the attack on Pearl Harbor. Diving on their
target, the two of them delivered themselves into the hands of their Maker as the last of
the air came farting out of the doll's punctured posterior.
'Splwooshhh!'
In the middle of the buffet, the centrepiece, an elaborately
decorated cake topped with whipped cream and cherries, had just been proudly delivered by
two of the cooks from the school restaurant. It occupied pride of place in the middle of
the table.
"... I don't think I can take it, 'cos it took so
long to make it, and I'll never have that recipe again..."
It broke their fall admirably.
"This is fun!" Corinne clambered out of her barrow and took another swig from
a bottle, which she thrust back into Anastasia's cleavage. "The party's really
warming up. Let's dance, Shannie!"
"You forget, dear. My tits have fallen out."
"That's okay, Miss." Anastasia, ever helpful,
stood next to me like a gentleman's personal gentleman. "I brought you a spare
bra." She handed it to me. "And a new blouse."
"Oh, thanks." I felt truly humble as I began
dressing myself decently again.
"That's all right, Miss. Get yourself strapped in, then
go and enjoy yourself with Miss Meadowlark. And if there's nothing else for now, could I
slip away, please? I've had a long day and it's really past my bedtime."
The poor child looked completely shattered. Her eyes were
huge as saucers and she was yawning every few seconds. "Of course, dear. Off you go.
And thanks for all your help tonight. You've been a very good girl. Sweet dreams, good
night!"
Anastasia raised her cheek for me to kiss it. She felt hot
and drowsy and ready for bed. "G'night, Miss," she mumbled indistinctly before
staging a remarkable recovery. "C'mon, Cupe! Last one into bed has to be underneath
first!"
Shedding magic wands and bows and arrows in all directions,
they roared off out of the door, already stripping off their costumes.
My breasts, holstered in the bra Anastasia had brought me, hovered several feet in
front of my chest, brushing delicately against the tips of Corinne's. We were just about
within shouting distance of each other. We bellowed sweet nothings, the way lovers do.
"Where did Anastasia go?" It was Smegs, glowering
at me as I lurched to the music.
"She was tired. She went to bed. Why?"
"On her own?"
"Anastasia, on her own? No, she took young Cupid with
her. Do you know, she had no boobies at all until six weeks agao, and they're nearly fifty
inches now..."
"The rotten little slag!"
"What? Cupid Archer?"
"Anastasia. She promised me tonight. What am I going to
do now? At this time of night. I've been looking forward to getting down to it later.
Christ, I'm horny as a goat."
Smegs rubbed at the sides of her head briefly, and I heard
Corinne giggle.
"What's she giggling at?" Smegs jerked a thumb
over her shoulder.
"She's had rather a lot to drink."
"Huh!" Smegs drew herself up to her full height
and thrust out her chest. She looked impressive. "I'm going to find a man and get
laid properly. Don't wait up for me!" And she turned like a ship under full sail and
set off for the door. It closed behind her. I felt a little sad for my friend.
"Bitch!"
"What?"
"She's such a bitch," Corinne snarled, as the
music came to a stop. "Stinking bitch! A bitch on heat!"
The doors burst open again and girls started screaming. At
first, there was no apparent reason for the noise, but then the screams became mingled
with another noise, an animal noise. Like baying hounds. It made the hairs rise up on the
back of my neck.
And as the girls parted, flinging themselves to one side or
the other, something long and slinky and rat-shaped came streaking across the floor.
Something inhuman, bestial and rank. An infernal manifestation, rank with the odours of
the Pits of Hell.
It hurtled blindly in my direction, heading straight at me.
Was it going to hurl itself, rat-like, at my throat? No, it kept going, and passed between
my legs, leaving a horrifically beastlike miasma in its wake. As I slumped to the ground,
with screams echoing around my head, I realised that the Beast was not alone. It was
followed by perhaps a dozen other creatures, large and small, yowling and screaming,
panting and slobbering. Their feet, cold and leathery, scrabbled for grip across my body.
Then they were on their way.
"Shannie? You all right?" Corinne pulled me up.
"Quick, they're coming round again. Over here."
"What was it?"
"Dogs. A bunch of dogs. I don't know where they came
from. They're all mad."
"Look out, Miss, here they come again!" Screaming,
giggling girls buffeted against Corinne and me as we edged toward the stage. Some of the
girls were dressed in sensible sweaters and corduroy pants tucked into wellington boots.
"It's all right, Miss! We'll catch them."
"They're kennel maids, Cee! Why are they dressed as
kennel maids at a fancy dress party?"
"God, I don't know. Maybe they're their dogs. You ought
to discipline them for not looking after their animals."
The dogs came round again, followed by excited whooping
girls. They streamed up on to the stage like a plague of rats, mowed down the singers and
poured off the other side, setting off on another lap of the hall.
In the finest traditions of show business, the singers
carried on with their song, lying flat on their backs.
"Bring those buckets over here!" one of the kennel
maids screamed, as a bunch of Juniors came staggering over with buckets of water. They
plonked them down, slopping water all over the floor.
"What are you going to do?" Corinne asked
hysterically.
"You'll see, Miss!" The Head Kennel Maid picked up
a bucket and hefted it, gauging the weight. "Right, all ready!"
The dogs were coming round again, at undiminished speed.
"What's the matter with them? They're mad."
"No, Miss. The one in front is a bitch. She's in
season, and the others want to get at her."
"What for?"
"God, Miss! Don't they teach you teachers anything
these days? They want to screw the arse off her. Give her a good seeing-to. Fuck her,
Miss! Make love. Make puppies. What else would dogs do to a bitch on heat?"
"A bitch on heat?" I glared at Corinne, thinking
thoughts I hardly dared think.
The dogs performed another pass, and the Head Kennel Maid
took careful aim with her bucket. "Yes, you bastard!" she howled, and
flung the contents of the bucket straight into the face of the leader of the marauding
pack. The dog, an off-white animal of indeterminate breed, stopped almost dead in its
tracks, an expression of utter incomprehension on its face. It sat down, blinking, and
received another bucketful right between the eyes.
"Sod this for a lark," it said, and slunk from the
hall, its tail between its legs.
The rest of the dogs completed their circuit and came in for
another run. This time, they were met by three Kennel Maids with well-aimed buckets of
water. Three more dogs lost interest in the chase. Bewildered, they sat and howled, or
scratched themselves, or bolted immediately for the door.
"We're winning, Miss. This time, girls! Come on, you
Juniors, keep this water coming!"
Supplies of matériel and reinforcements appeared.
The Kennel Maids distributed it with commendable enthusiasm.
Steam and occasional blue flashes issued from the
complicated karaoke equipment.
The dogs were routed.
The bitch stopped running. There was no one chasing her any
more. She sat down, panting, licking at her rear end, looking round for her recently
departed suitors. It was hard to tell, but I could swear her doggie face bore an
expression of acute frustration. She raised her muzzle to the skies and let out a desolate
howl.
Someone found a mysterious Oriental willow pattern bowl,
glugged a bottle of Bud into it and set it before the bitch. She sniffed at it and curled
her lip savagely.
"I don't think she likes it."
"We could try Becks."
"Or Hooch."
"Or Two Dogs..."
The bitch regarded the last speaker icily, eyeballs rolling.
Then she got up and ran to the door, snapping at anyone who strayed into her path.
"Okay, Corinne, what's been going on?"
I had lugged her away to a quiet corner and snatched the
bottle of beer from her clutching hand. The atmosphere in the hall was subdued, as if the
party was gathering its strength after its recent excesses.
Celestrina had found a guitar and was sweetly serenading an
appreciative circle of girls, sitting on the floor in front of the stage. The stage itself
was presently occupied by technicians from the science class, working on the smoking
remains of the karaoke equipment. The lights had stopped flickering.
Corinne reached out for the beer bottle imploringly. I held
it out of reach.
"You're not having any until you explain yourself. That
was Smegs, wasn't it? That dog?"
"Smegs? A dog?"
"All right. That bitch, then. The bitch on heat.
You turned my friend into a bitch."
"No..."
"The same as you turned your sister into a cow!"
The doors opened at that moment, and Michaela came lumbering
back in, accompanied by an almost excessively buxom girl carrying a bucket and a
three-legged stool. The girls sighed contentedly as the milkmaid set herself down beside
the cow's udder and began milking her. The milk squirted tinnily into the enamel pail.
"You turned the Head Girl of St Cat's into a Head Cow.
We'll be a laughing stock. How am I supposed to explain that to the Governors?"
"I couldn't help it." She reached for the bottle
again.
"I thought we'd stopped all this silly business when
you went live and neural. But it seems you have no control over your subconscious
thoughts."
"Of course I haven't. Have you any control over
yours?"
"I don't turn my sisters into cows."
"You haven't got any sisters any more. I got rid of
young Jenufa for you. You should have seen the size of the breasts on that
kid!"
"I don't want to see Jenufa's breasts."
"Pity. They're insanely gigantic. Rilly-rilly big.
You'd love them. It's okay to like them now she isn't your sister any more."
"Stop telling me about Jenufa. This is serious..."
"Jenufa's breasts are seriou..."
"Cee! Concentrate! No, you can't have any more
beer. You've got to turn Michaela back into a girl."
"I can't! Not just like that..."
"And Smegs. You've got to stop her being a dog. She's
got five classes on Monday." The door opened again and a dog came in, looking round
furtively and sniffing the air. "That's her now," I said, as Smegs trotted
across to Michaela, her tail wagging happily. The circle of girls made room for her and
she snuggled up close to the cow's udder. She nuzzled around for a while, then began to
drink deeply.
The girls all went, "aaaaaah, look at them!"
Corinne and I tore our eyes away from the disturbing scene.
"Shannie. You know what's happened. Some of my
subconscious thoughts automatically become real. That's why you know what's
happened, because I just happened to think, 'Shannie knows!'"
This was terrible. Not only were people turning into animals
all over the place, there were sweetly innocent Japanese girls turning into inflatable
dolls and nose-diving into cakes, pianos being repossessed, twins...
"What about poor Rumiko?" I asked her.
"The doll?" Corinne sounded genuinely surprised.
"What about her?"
"She seems to be a doll now, but she wasn't always. She
used to be a girl. The doll was Kia. Smegs ordered her from Korea."
"Are you sure about that, Shannie?" She nibbled at
her fingers.
"As sure as I've ever been about anything in my
life."
"Oh, shit. I never could tell those two apart. Even
though they always go about together, I never know which is which."
"What do you mean, they go about together? Kia doesn't
go about anywhere. She's made of rubber. Rumiko's the only Japanese girl in the whole
school. Lim-Bim-Xuoyung Ng comes from Vietnam and she's a straight lesbian..."
"How can she be straight if she's a lesb...?"
"You know what I mean. She only swings one way. She
doesn't do boys. Anyway, what I mean is, there's no reason to get Rumiko confused with
anybody. It isn't as if we've got a dozen Japanese girls at St Cat's, after all."
Corinne looked thoughtful. "I suppose not." She
heaved a huge sigh. "I'd better do something about it, then. Where did they go?"
"Kia and Rumiko? Some of the girls took them out to the
showers to clean the cake off them. They will probably be gone some time. It takes a long
while to lick cream cake off girls as big as those two."
"I know," sighed Corinne dreamily. I hated to
think how she knew.
"All these changes. They're not permanent, are
they?"
"I don't know. Probably not. Smegs turned into an
instant dog, so she will probably change back just as quickly. Michaela will only be a cow
as long as I think she is. I think."
"At least, those twins of Nurse's won't be causing us
much trouble now they're just toddlers again..."
"We'll make it all better, Shannie. Michaela will stop
being a cow. And Megan will wake up tomorrow morning as if nothing had happened. She might
have a bit of cramp from sleeping in a basket on the floor in your room..."
"Cee, no!"
"Be careful tonight when you let her out for a poo at
bedtime. She's still very attractive to males. But she won't have any ill-effects when she
stops being a bitch. I promise."
We looked over to where Michaela the Head Cow stood swishing
her tail. Smegs had drunk her fill and sat down to scratch herself. Then she rolled over
on her back, grinning. The girls rubbed her belly.
"I hope she recovers, Cee. She looks quite happy, being
a dog."
"Of course she is," Corinne sighed. "She's
been one all her life. She must be nearly four years old now."
"Nearly four? But how can she be younger than all the
girls she teaches?"
"Seven years for Smegs is the same as one year for a
girl."
Smegs sneezed violently three times, farted and sat up, all
in one motion. She glowered at the girls and trotted out of the door, her tail erect like
a battle standard.
"Ah, good. You won't need to let her out tonight. She's
going out for a poo now. Shannie?"
"What?"
"Can I have my beer back now? Pwlease?"
"No! You've had more than enough. I bet that's why
you've done all these things to everyone. God knows what else you've been thinking about
tonight."
She thought about it for a while, and groaned. "Oh,
dear."
"What is it?"
"You know while those two were floating around the
ceiling, before they crashed into the cake? I happened to think it was amazing how
Japanese women seem to be getting so much bigger up top these days. It may not mean
anything, but..."
"But it might, Cee. We might wake up in the morning and
find that all the women in Japan have suddenly got record-sized breasts! Not just
Rumiko."
"It won't matter, love! If they do suddenly get
record-sized breasts, they will always have had record-sized breasts. Nobody will notice.
It will have been that way since the beginnings of time."
"Oh, Jeez, Cee!"
"Don't worry. It probably didn't happen. Or maybe they
won't be record-sized. Just a few cup sizes. Hey, did you know? They have different
letters for their cup sizes in Japan. When they say they're an H-cup, they don't really
mean the same as we do, they mean something more like a D..." She stopped abruptly,
thinking.
The lights in the hall gave an enormous flicker, then went
out. Girls whimpered and screamed until they came back on again. Several couples blushed
and giggled and hastily uncoupled themselves.
"Miss?"
" What is it, Jane?"
A girl stood there holding a plate. She was dressed as if
for martial arts, with a green belt knotted negligently round her narrow waist. Her
breasts were curiously full, much larger than I remembered. She was adjusting the loose
neckline of the garment, the way people always seem to be doing when they wear those
things.
"Would you like a sausage roll, Miss? They're nice and
hot."
"Thank you, Jane. And would you bring another for Miss
Meadowlark, please?" She nodded, handing me the plate and melting away into the orgy.
"Have this one, Corinne. It might help sober you up."
"Thanks." She took a huge bite. "Wow, it's
rilly-rilly hot.!"
I watched as Jane reached the buffet table and began laying
about her with fists and feet, trying to get to the front of the scrummage of hungry
girls. Several went down under her savage yet calculated blows, falling in a rapid
succession of freeze frames under the strobing lights.
"Jane's a funny name for a Japanese girl, isn't
it?"
Corinne thought about it for a while. She had to tear her
attention away from the disturbance at the buffet table. "Not really. I can think of
quite a few Japanese girls, all called Jane. And they're all at St Cat's."
It was a startling statement, but I didn't answer. I was
still holding the empty sausage roll plate. It shook as I stared at it. I pointed it out
to Corinne with a shaking finger. "L-look!" I stammered.
The plate was decorated with the usual mysterious Oriental
willow pattern. There was that quaint little mysterious Oriental bridge with a girl
standing on it, waiting for her lover. A slender young girl in traditional Eastern dress.
A girl...?
"Cee..."
Her reply was indistinct through a face-full of sausage
roll.
I jabbed insistently at the pattern on the plate, waving it
in her face. "The girl on this plate. Look at her!"
"Mmm-nmfh. Nice tits! Those mysterious Oriental artists
certainly knew how to draw a huge pair. Of course, they had plenty of practice, with the
shape of all the women out there..."
"You ... you mean ... they've always had huge
breasts like this girl's got...?"
Corinne looked surprised. "Of course. I'd have thought
you would have noticed, you of all people!"
"Miss!"
"Yes, Jane? Eeeeeeek!"
"I've brought you some more sausage rolls." Jane's
little pink tongue protruded as she passed the plate with exaggerated care around the
outrageous outer curve of her gigantic, wobbling breast. Her arm was nowhere near long
enough. She tried again without success, over the top, then underneath. Finally, she had
to turn sideways, giving us the opportunity to study her in full and ridiculous profile.
Her breasts must have extended at least three feet in front of her, straining her bursting
white extra-extra-large gi into two absurdly exaggerated puffy-nippled peaks. How on earth
she ever got close enough to an opponent to grapple with her was a mystery.
"Come on," I said, pausing only to grab the
sausage rolls from Jane's plate. It was time to leave. I took Corinne by the arm and led
her through the burgeoning orgy to the door.
It was much cooler outside. We set off around the edge of the woods, away from the
sounds of wild music and distorted girlish voices raised in song. "Right, then, Cee,
what have you done this time?"
"This time?" She was still eating. "Oh. You
noticed?"
I brushed the crumbs of pastry off my bosom. "Of course
I noticed! Jane has grown about fifty cup sizes in three minutes!"
Corinne swallowed the last of her sausage roll. "No,
she's always been that big. Her measurements will be on her school reports for the last
two terms." She giggled. "You know the school rules make special allowance for
Japanese girls? They get free bras up to ten feet; the rest of the world only goes up to a
hundred inches. Go and look it up, if you don't believe me..." Her voice faded away
and she looked crestfallen. "Okay, I'll do something about it in the morning. I can't
guarantee to get all Japanese women back to their old size, but we can probably
reduce them a little bit." She sighed. "It's a pity, though. Young Jane is a
magnificent specimen, isn't she!"
I remembered watching Jane as she had made her way back
across the seething room. It was clear how she had earned the black belt she now wore. She
had taken a deep breath and just walked through the crowd. Girls had howled and
staggered back in all directions, thrust aside by Jane's mighty bosoms. Jane seemed hardly
to notice. Certainly the other girls saw nothing extraordinary about her appearance.
We walked on, away from the party. The girls were now
completely unsupervised. The only member of staff was, for the time being at least, a
bitch in season. The Head Girl of St Cat's was a Head Cow. Perhaps we ought to call Jeremy
and ask him to keep an eye on things. On the other hand, perhaps it wouldn't be such a
good idea. The poor boy needed his rest.
In at the door and up the stairs to the staff domestic
quarters. "You're sure you can do something about all this, Cee?"
"Shannie! Trust me. Let's just leave it to the
System..."