Copyright ©2004 Some Sort of Dog
Maybe I should have known better than to take a statement like that at face value, but the Brooks cousins were more like tried and trusted employees of St Cat's than flibbertigibbet students.
"Why did you choose her?" I asked them when they presented themselves in my office on Friday morning. Their victim was looking understandably nervous, shivering in her underwear. I felt my voice rising as I stared at the girl. "And why is she half dressed?"
"I don't know," said Suzanne. "It's the way she was when we collected her from her class."
"What's her name?" I asked the cousins.
The two Sixth Formers shrugged. "She's in the Firsts," said Pansy, as if that explained everything. She was half sprawled in her habitual position on the floor with her breasts resting on the floor beside her. If ever we might have needed one, Pansy would have been a splendid advertisement for a new range of St Cat's 150-inch-plus shirts.
"The Firsts have got maths this morning," I said. "Why should she be stripped off in maths class?"
"Please, miss. I took my clothes off, miss."
"You took your clothes off in maths? Why? What's your name, anyway? Do I know you?"
"We met the other morning, miss, in Chemistry. Perkins, miss. Maisie Perkins."
The name rang a faint bell now she said it again. I'd thought at the time it sounded like an Dickensian chambermaid in a costume drama on the BBC. Surely nobody was called Maisie Perkins. But something was changed. The Maisie Perkins I had met on the first day of the school year was a nondescript, skinny, black-haired, mousy creature with a pair of pretty bog-standard G-cups. She still hadn't offered any explanation for stripping down to her undies in a maths class but maybe her teacher had ordered it for some reason. Meanwhile there were more pressing matters to attend to.
"What happened to your bust, Maisie?"
"Do you like them, miss?" she asked with a hint of pride. She took a deep breath and turned slightly sideways. "They grew."
"Is that the bra you were issued with on Tuesday?"
"Yes, miss. Isn't it terrible? I haven't grown out of a bra so fast since I first started growing!" She placed her small hands underneath her breasts and pushed them upwards.
"Stop!" I cried, before she could shove the things right out of her bra cups. I challenged Suzanne. "Why did you choose Maisie?"
"We wanted to try a really top-heavy girl but we didn't think you'd want us messing about with either of the really big-titted ones, miss. That Form Head with the huge floppy udders would have worked okay, or the ol' chairman's granddaughter. She sticks out miles but we thought you'd probably got her singled out for something special. So we chose this one."
The cousins could be relied upon to make a wise choice, I had to admit. Barbarella Sinkinson and Arabella Mason-Dixon were a little too specialised to be used as guinea pigs for radical new treatments. Skinny little Maisie was just about ideal.
"She's a bit bigger than she was yesterday," Pansy confessed.
"She must have nearly stopped growing now, though," said Suzanne.
Maisie looked disappointed. She let go of her bra cups and allowed everything to slump down into a more natural position just below waist level.
"You'd better see Miss Clitress about an emergency fitting, Maisie," I told her sternly. "You seem to be unduly sensitive to Cream."
Suzanne and Pansy sniggered. "You reckon she's sensitive? You should see your little Mason-Dixon girl!"
I felt a sudden flush come to my cheeks. "What about her?"
"She's grown, too," said Maisie. "Lucky she doesn't wear a bra, or she'd have exploded out of it by now."
There were three strong cases for punishment here. Arabella Mason-Dixon for not wearing a bra, Maisie Perkins for telling tales about her classmate, and Maisie again for trying to stir up panic by talking about girls exploding. But once again, there were more important matters in hand.
"Take her bra off, Suzanne," I commanded, and sat back to enjoy the show. "Take your time...."
Twenty minutes later I was in danger of running out of industrial paper towel, and Maisie still had her bra on.
"We could cut through the strap, miss," said Suzanne. "But it's these new hooks, I can't get them undone without breaking my nails."
"What size is it?"
Maisie shrugged, an interesting sight, then Suzanne consulted the label at the side. "It says it's a 30A, miss."
"What kind of a size is that? It's a ScatBra, isn't it? It ought to be something like a SBSMSMCW4FT."
From over by the wall, Pansy sniffed. "Miss Clitress says she's not using that old system any more. She's been ordered to fall into line with European standards."
Heresy! "How can she fall into line with European standards when our girls aren't European standard themselves? What happens after Z? What about your bra, Pansy? What is the European standard bra size for a girl with a 186½-inch bust?"
"The label says 32V."
"V? V? A 32V is about eleven feet too small!"
Pansy shrugged her shoulders. Her breasts took no part in this operation, remaining firmly on the floor beside her. "Miss Clit says it doesn't matter as long as it fits. And mine fits, miss. I just need to sit down all the time, that's all."
This was terrible news! The St Cat's ScatBra sizing system was a model of conciseness. At a glance it described a range of six band sizes, at least ten extensible cup sizes and the full range of counterweights. Now, at a stroke, it was to be swept away by order of some faceless bureaucrat in Brussels. If St Cat's were based in Italy or France the order would be airily ignored. Here, it would become Holy Writ within seconds. Instead of our wonderfully simple system we were to be lumbered with something that nobody understood. I picked up the phone.
"Go away," said Clit. "I don't want to talk about it."
"You can't just accept it! How can Pansy Brooks be a 32V-cup, for God's sake?"
"She is. We have a range of 26 cup sizes. Our A-cup goes from an ordinary D-cup and stretches up to about a J. B-cups fits anything up to a Q. C goes up to what would be a Marks and Sparks Y-cup, if there was such a thing. The bigger the cups are, the more they stretch. So Pansy wears a V-cup, and we've got four more sizes in hand, just in case. A Z-cup should take us up to about a 30-foot bust, if we ever need it. Now go away!"
I was left staring at a silent telephone. "She hung up on me," I protested.
"Does it really matter, miss?" said Suzanne. "This thing is way too small for Maisie, so are we going to cut it off or what?"
Instantly, I had spotted the flaw in this new system. "If ScatBras are so wonderfully stretchy," I said, "how come this one won't stretch big enough for a scrawny little First Former?"
"Because she's a B-cup now, miss. I'd have thought even you could have worked that out. You can see she's way more than a forty inch bust. Stretchy bra cups make sense, miss. When Maisie gets a B-cup it will last her until she reaches something like 48 inches. Think of the money St Cat's will save! Can we cut this thing off now?"
The door burst open, admitting Miss Labia with a pair of garden shears. Without a word she approached the quavering Maisie and sliced through her bra strap with a resounding crunch before retiring to her outer office.
Maisie gave a bleat of relief and shrugged out of the vandalised undergarment. Then she massaged her reddened breasts with both hands.
"Goodness me!" I exclaimed, then feeling that this hadn't quite done Maisie justice I added, "Fucking Holy shit! Get a fucking load of those fuckers!"
Suzanne looked pained. Pansy grinned then put her fingers in her ears. I was about to berate her for hypocrisy when the quadrangle clock struck silently just outside the open window. Suzanne said "Ouch!" while I stuffed fistfuls of industrial paper towel in my ears. The clock continued until it had struck at least twelve.
"You ought to get that thing fixed, miss," said Pansy.
"There's no point in having a clocksmith in to mend it until the treacle has all worked its way through."
"Yeah, but it's getting worse! It struck fourteen that time."
Maisie had backed away from us with an expression of concern, although she was still massaging her remarkable breasts. They rested heavily upon her belly, just above the elastic of her panties, the stiff nipples pointing ever so slightly downwards where they protruded between her stubby fingers.
"They're tons bigger than yesterday," said Suzanne gloomily. "Are you sure you want to make her bum bigger?"
"Of course!" I heard myself say. "Just get on with it."
I was kind of half expecting her to produce a pair of lime green pants in that one-size-fits-all size. Instead, Pansy reached into the ubiquitous Tesco bag and handed something to Suzanne. She strode briskly across to Maisie, plucked aside the elastic of her panties and inserted two thick pads of white cloth, one against each almost nonexistent buttock. Then to my surprise, she stepped back smartly.
"It won't happen as fast as that, will it?" I asked her.
"We don't know. Seeing what happened to her boobs after one little session of Cream, anything might happen."
"It was quite strong Cream," I said. "It set fire to the spoon before we even started stirring it."
"That's normal enough these days," said Suzanne. "They've changed the wood they use for making spoons."
"My bum's getting hot," said Maisie, trying to look over her shoulder. "Are my panties going to catch fire?"
"Don't be silly, girl!" But I took the fire extinguisher which Suzanne handed me and checked the instructions for use. It looked horribly complicated. "Just in case they do," I advised. "Think of something really sexy and try to flood your knickers."
"But I'm a virgin, miss!" This was a shameful admission for a healthy eleven-year-old. What was more, I could think of no valid link between virginity and knicker-flooding.
"How long will it take to work, Pansy?"
"Could be an hour or two. Maybe by Monday."
That wasn't very helpful at all. "You'd better go back to your classes. Take this with you." I gave Maisie the fire extinguisher and patted her encouragingly on the head. "Nothing should happen but if your arse does catch fire, either get your teacher to give you a quick squirt or run down into the quadrangle and sit in the fountain. If anyone complains, tell them you have my permission."
That ought to have set the girl's mind at rest, but for some reason she began to cry. Probably the stupid little cow's time of the month.
Suzanne was already helping her cousin to stand up, pulling her to her feet with one hand and steadying her by hanging on to her Head Girl Sash of Office with the other. Pansy left the office first and the other two processed after her in descending order of bust size. Silence descended briefly, after which the quadrangle clock struck what seemed like thirty-two.
"I am totally horny. Let's Cream the First Form tomorrow!" said Valentina as soon as she burst into the dorm.
Helvetica was stuffing underwear into a Tesco carrier bag. "It's Saturday tomorrow. I'm going over to Lord Ted's tonight."
"Oh, shit! I'd forgotten that boyfriend of yours. Do you have to? Tell him you've got a headache or something."
"But I want to go. We're good for each other."
"But he's such a twit!"
"I know, but he's a twit with a nice fat cock. I need a fat cock."
Valentina blinked at her bestest friend. A flimsy nightie went into the bag. Since forfeiting her virginity before the start of the summer holidays Vets had turned into a raving nympho. There had been a brief hiatus or lacuna when the fickle boyfriend allowed himself to be seduced by the temptress Andromeda Dawkes, but things had since got back on to an even keel. With any luck it wouldn't last. If it did, the weekends would become unbearable.
"Come over there with me," said Helvetica. "We can find you a nice boy."
"Nah, I'd rather have the real thing. Would you mind if I found a girl for the weekend?"
Helvetica didn't see that it had anything to do with her. She shrugged. "Sure, why not? Pick yourself a First Former. I bet they haven't all found girlfriends yet."
"You don't mind? You won't be jealous or anything?"
"Of course not. We'll still be sleeping together during the week."
"When are you leaving?"
"Now." The bag was bulging. Helvetica tied the handles together in a knot.
"You're not even staying for tea?"
"On a Friday? Lord Ted's have kippers on Fridays. With brown bread and real butter."
Valentina pulled a wry face. "Stinky kippers!"
"They're good for sex!"
"They smell like Fourth Formers' pussies."
"I know!" said Helvetica with relish. She bent and offered her lips for a kiss. Their breasts collided gigantically. "See ya Monday."
"Right."
Valentina watched her friend plod heavily to the door, adjust her hair in the full-length mirror, scratch her crotch, sniff her fingers, and then she was away for three nights of sex with the Lord Ted's 1st XI Cricket Captain, Rupert Dawson-Thwaites.
And so, Valentina Nightingale was alone and at a loose end. She was also horny as a young goat. She touched herself briefly, then decided that no self-respecting St Cat's girl could be found wanking away on a Friday evening. She'd go down to the restaurant, have her scrambled eggs on cardboard and look out for a nice, tight little First Former.
Valentina found just what she was looking for, almost without trying. These days, the restaurant was thinly populated on Fridays at teatime. While the weather was favourable, even those girls without a steady relationship liked to stroll over the fields to Lord Ted's for the evening to see if they could pull anything worthwhile.
As a Form Head, Valentina was allowed to sit anywhere she liked. She stood in a queue with three girls in front of her and looked around the room. Her heart gave a leap. There was a First Former, on her own! Bearing her scrambled eggs on toast before her she casually made her way to where the girl stood at an otherwise empty table.
"Mind if I join you?"
The girl mumbled something. She couldn't refuse anyway; if a Form Head wanted to sit there, there was nothing anyone could do about it.
Valentina found herself staring. She didn't remember seeing this girl before. She was undoubtedly a First Former as her sweatshirt bore the plain white trim. Interestingly, she was without a doubt naked under her sweatshirt. A pair of no-messing nipples poked out downwards from a massive set of wobblers that rested on the table. Could those magnificent titties be the reason the girl was eating standing up? They jiggled enticingly as the girl sawed at her toast.
"You can sit down, you know," said Valentina encouragingly, hoping to see if the girl had learned to eat with her breasts resting in her lap. Maybe they'd grown this huge during her first week! Unusual, but much stranger things had happened at St Cat's.
"I daren't. I might set fire to the chair."
Wow! Was this a come-on or what! This First Former was advertising the fact that she had a hot bottom, and Valentina had come along at just the right time. The little slut! She gulped and stared harder at the little pile of belongings on the table. An almost new bra — which someone had chopped neatly in two halves — a cast-off shirt, and....
"Is that why you've got a fire extinguisher?"
"Yeah."
That was all. No explanation. The girl had such a hot arse that she needed a fire extinguisher in case her chair caught fire.
"What's your name?"
"Maisie."
"Mine's Valentina."
"I know, you came into our dorm. You give milk, don't you."
"I don't remember seeing you."
"I've grown since then. I was only like thirty-six inches. I think I'm forty-nine and a half now. Maybe even bigger. They're still growing, look." She gave her impressive chest a wobble from side to side.
"They're lovely ones," said Valentina in a choking voice.
"Are yours real? They Creamed mine."
Ah, that explained it! "Mine are natural. I've had lots of babies, but I've always had big tits. My sister Jenufa's got the biggest pair in the world but nobody's ever seen her."
"Nobody's seen her? Not even you?"
"No."
"Is she much older than you?"
"I don't know," said Valentina, who for some reason had always assumed that Jenufa was her younger sister. Since nobody ever saw her, it scarcely mattered.
"I've had mine since I was nine, but they've only just got this big." Maisie wobbled them again, losing control and sending her fire extinguisher skittering away across the floor.
"I'll get it!" Valentina crawled after the appliance on her hands and knees and retrieved it from under a table. She adjusted her fast-moistening crotch before returning to the remains of her meal. Maisie had sat down cautiously and was now twitching her bottom on the chair.
"You doing anything tonight?" said Valentina thickly.
"I've got some homework. And my boobs are so hot I thought I'd rub some more Cream on them."
"You mean cream, or Cream?"
"Cream. It makes them bigger but it's lovely and cool."
"Why not come to my dorm," said Valentina. "There'll only be half a dozen of us there."
"Come to yours? What for?"
"A bit of fun. I can Cream your boobs for you if you like. Or anything else you fancy. You like milk?"
"Milk? You mean yours?"
"Of course! I've got gallons."
Maisie thought about it. "Okay," she said, blushing quite prettily.
They gathered up their things and walked out of the restaurant. Valentina carried Maisie's fire extinguisher.
"Who's she?" said half a dozen girls.
"She's mine," said Valentina menacingly.
"That's okay, we didn't say we wanted her," said Gabrielle. "She's got nice tits for a First Former, though."
"She's got a skinny arse," said another girl whom nobody would accuse of being underendowed in the rump department.
"She's got a hot arse," Valentina gloated, with a possessive hand on Maisie's pert but miniscule bottom.
"Is that what the fire extinguisher is for?"
"Yes, as a matter of fact. You want to make something of it?"
The other girls drifted away, leaving Valentina and Maisie standing by the Form Head's bed. "D'you want to go to bed now, or shall we have a shower first?"
Maisie forlornly waggled her exercise book. "What about my homework?"
"What is it?"
"Maths. I missed this morning's lesson while I was in Miss Gruntworthy's office."
Valentina took the book from her new friend. "It's a pity Helvetica isn't here, she could do this stuff standing on her head. Hang on, let's try ... who can do right angled triangles?"
A timid girl approached. "I can do them. The square on the hypotenuse is equal to the sum of the squares on the two adjacent sides."
"Yeah, right, Sweaty Betty," said Valentina as she handed over the book. "Just look after Maisie's homework, okay?"
The timid trigonometrician blushed. "What do I get for it?"
"Get for it? What do you want, a medal?"
A tiny voice. "No. Just a little feel of her tits."
"But she's mine! Find your own girlfriend."
"I can't." She hung her head. "My armpits smell."
"Wash them, then!"
Maisie whispered to Valentina, "Why do her armpits smell? Is she French?"
"No, so she's got no excuse!"
"She can have a little feel if she does my homework, can't she?" said Maisie.
"You want her to? You heard what she said about her armpits."
"She could help you Cream my boobs after our shower. Or she could come in the shower with us and wash her armpits."
Valentina didn't think that was a very good idea at all. It was only half a dozen questions on triangles, after all. Surely that wasn't enough to qualify Sweaty Betty for a starring role in an orgy. Fortunately, at the suggestion that she might join the lovers in the shower, Sweaty Betty had melted away into the background. And luckily she'd taken Maisie's triangles with her.
Apart from those Cream-enhanced tits, there wasn't very much of Maisie at all. When a St Cat's girl sees a girl with such a huge bust combined with a sub-microscopic waist and not enough hips to hang a skirt on, her natural instinct is to make that bust even bigger. Maisie had a long way to go if she was to become the First Form Head, as she would have to overtake first Arabella and then Barbarella. Arabella was within reach, but as long as Miss Clitress was prepared to put Barbarella on the Dangle Table she was going to be the only serious contender. Even so, anything might happen to topple Barbarella from her position. She might choose to leave St Cat's altogether, humiliated by being forced to support her breasts right up there in front of her face where everyone could see them. She might even become the first St Cat's girl to explode. That would leave a vacancy and it would be prudent to get Maisie ready to step into the position.
"You look more than forty-nine and a half now," said Valentina.
"You can measure me if you like."
Valentina instantaneously and copiously flooded her knickers, something that happened fairly regularly when she was breast feeding but not when she was just day-dreaming about eating out a First Former. As luck would have it, there was a tape measure in her purse.
"Take your sweatshirt off!"
"Oh, Valentina!"
"You can call me Tee. What do they call you at home?"
"Skinny, usually."
"I don't think they'll be calling you that any more. Come on, get them out for Auntie Tee."
It took quite a while to get the sweatshirt off, with those great big rubbery tits wobbling around inside it. The rest of the girls in the dorm lay on their beds and pretended not to be looking. Soft, moist sounds filled the air, until the shirt was off and Maisie was revealed in all her magnificence. At that moment, those girls who were probing themselves gently with a finger suddenly found an urgent need to use four, or even eight.
"They're huge, Maise!"
"I know! They hadn't stopped growing, had they!"
"They're not going to, either," Valentina muttered to herself. She carefully arranged the tape measure round the back of the girl's chest, then remembered the way things were always done and dropped it to Maisie's waist. "Fuck! I can't believe it!"
"That's why my brothers call me Skinny."
"Fifteen inches! What about your hips?"
"They're just as small."
"They can't be!"
They weren't quite, but they were only twenty-seven inches.
Valentina caressed Maisie's buttocks. She had more or less lost control. "Are these things padded?" She squeezed the pert cheeks harder. Then she was on her knees, clawing at her new friend's panties. "They are! You're wearing bum-falsies!"
That brought the other girls flocking round, just in time to see Maisie with her panties round her ankles and Valentina pulling out the two thick cotton pads and sniffing deeply at them.
"Cream?" she said.
"Stuff," said Maisie. "I don't know what its real name is. It may even be called Stuff."
"The name doesn't matter. What's it for? Who put it in there?"
"The Head Girl and her cousin. And Miss Gruntworthy. I think it's s'posed to make my bum bigger."
Valentina marched her over to the full length mirror. "Has it started working yet?"
"I don't think so," said Maisie after looking over her shoulder for a few seconds. "But it's really really hot! Just like when they Cream your boobs, only hotter."
Maisie found herself being marched back to the bedside. "We've got to measure you again before it starts to work. There. Twenty-six. Twenty-five!"
"Ouch!"
"We'll call it twenty five and a half. And you've got a fifteen-inch ... no, a fourteen-inch waist, and ... your bust is ... fifty-two!"
"Oh, wow!"
Maisie's cry was echoed by the totally outclassed Third Formers. "Wow!" Twenty-eight times.
"Lie on the bed! On your tummy. With your breasts hanging over the edge."
"What for?" Maisie asked, while doing what she was told. Her nipples swayed backwards and forwards a few inches above the polished floor.
"The Five Minute Dangle. It's unofficial, but when Vets comes back we can hack into the records and put your real stats in there. 52-14-25½ is pretty good. Miss Gruntworthy won't give lines or anything to a girl with a figure like that. She'll be too busy creaming herself."
Maisie frowned. "Does she use Cream, too? I thought it only worked on growing girls."
"Nobody knows what she does," Valentina admitted. "But she loves sleeping with First Formers."
"She wouldn't sleep with me, would she? I wouldn't know what to do."
"You don't need to, she does it all. But I'll teach you a few nice things anyway." Valentina gave one of Maisie's boobs a prod, setting it swinging. It collided with its partner with a soft slap. "The dangle's working. They're a couple of inches longer already!"
"It doesn't make them any bigger, though, and it hurts," Maisie protested.
"It makes the measurement bigger, and that's what matters at St Cat's. Look at your Form Head. Some silly name or other."
"Barbarella?"
"That's her. When she goes on the Dangle Table she's got a bigger bust than me! But her tits aren't much bigger than yours."
Maisie blushed and bit her lip. "Aren't they really?"
"You know they're not. And yours are solid and meaty and firm. Yours are real tits, not saggy flaps."
"Gosh!"
"Don't get up, stay there."
"But my nipples are touching the floor!"
"That's all right, it won't affect your measurement too much. Your nips are only touching the floor 'cause they've got so much longer."
"Whose bed is this?" Maisie asked.
"Mine. Why?"
"I'm getting wet. It always happens when I lie on my tummy and think about rude things."
Valentina bent and kissed the short hairs at the back of Maisie's neck. Then she set off down her back, laying a trail of soft kisses, down between her prominent shoulder blades, down to the absurdly small waist, nibbling at each individual vertabra until she arrived at the crack between the girl's taut little non-existent buttocks. That's where she stopped: even lovestruck Third Formers know where to draw the line.
"Gghuurrk!" said Maisie, her narrow hips rising and falling as she bucked against the bed.
"Time for the tape measure again," Valentina announced. "Stay down there!" And she busied herself with the tape, holding it carefully down the sides of Maisie's swelling breasts, right down to the floor where the prominent nipples were now squashed and compressed under the monstrous weight of her bosom. "There! Oh, my God!"
"How big is she now?" several husky voices wailed.
"Sixty!"
"Oh, fucking hell!" The Third Formers were now masturbating frantically, hugely aroused by the shameful thought that the new First Formers were so much bigger, girl for girl, than they were.
"Woo-woo-wooooh!"
"Time for a shower," Valentina exulted, offering a hand to her little girlfriend and standing her upright, her erect nipples like cocktail sausages. "Look at that puddle on my bed!"
"S-sorry! I'll wipe it up."
"Don't worry!" Valentina dipped her hand in the sticky mess and smeared it liberally across the girl's wobbling udders. "There, it feels like Cream, doesn't it?"
"Y-yeah."
Valentina quickly removed the rest of her clothes and stood there in all her matronly magnificence. Maisie and the Third Form girls averted their eyes from Valentina's monstrous milk-swollen tits. "Come on, then," she said, literally drooling with lust. "You won't need a towel."
Forty minutes later, kissed all over, soaped and sponged and fingered in more bodily orifices than she knew she had, Maisie was half dragged, half carried back to the dorm and into Valentina's sex-scented bed.
There her education proceeded, and she learned more in the next six hours than she'd learned in her previous six years of schooling. Around about midnight the lovers drifted off into sleep and the remainder of the drained, drenched and thoroughly spent Third Formers could finally get some rest.
When the birds began their chorus the following morning Valentina was astonished and delighted to find herself being awakened by the most delicious sensations between her legs.
"Oooh, wow!" she yelled. "Fucking wow!" It was several minutes before she could slide a thick nipple between her little lover's swollen lips. "Baby have little drinkies," she cooed. "Tee cuddle Baby's gweat big titties and squeeze Baby's little tiny bum!"
There was a moment of silence.
"Fuck me, Maisie! What's happened to your arse?"
Valentina flung back the bedclothes, revealing Maisie lying face down on top of her, suckling away contentedly with great slurping sounds.
Maisie wasn't 60-14-25½ any longer.
The measuring took longer than expected as Maisie had a shuddering orgasm every time they touched her bottom. At one stage, the girls decided she must be having five orgasms at the same time.
"Twenty-eight," Valentina declared, slumping on to her bed, her vast naked tits bouncing a few times in her lap before slipping off the sides to go flopping almost to the floor. "Fuck. Ow!" she said.
"Twenty-nine," said Gabrielle who had taken over the tape measure.
"Whatever it is, she's at least two inches bigger than last night," said Sweaty Betty. She touched Maisie gently on the buttocks and sent the girl into another awesome climax.
"Stop touching her like that," said Valentina. "She's still mine."
"I did her right-angled triangles!"
"That doesn't entitle you to give her orgasms all the time."
"Maybe she likes orgasms."
Maisie nodded dumbly.
"Say she's grown somewhere between two and a half and three and a half inches in seven hours," Sweaty Betty persisted, "her bum's going to be like ... somewhere between forty-three and fifty inches by Monday morning!" She gave a kind of grunt and everyone realised that she'd just enjoyed an orgasm herself. They all respected Sweaty Betty for this; they knew of no other girl who could bring herself off solely by the use of arithmetic.
Only Gabrielle had her doubts. "A fifty-inch bum sounds rather a lot for a First Former. That's even bigger than Helvetica Bold's. Or Ol' Gruntworthy's."
"Maybe she only grows at night," Valentina suggested. Everyone looked expectantly at Sweaty Betty.
"In that case it becomes somewhere between thirty and a half and thirty-two and a half inches. How does that sound?"
The girls agreed that sounded altogether more feasible. Not only was Maisie going to need a new bra, she would also need a new skirt.
"But she'll still have at least three-hundred-inch hips by Christmas."
"Unless she stops growing."
"Why should she?"
"Wow, just think how big she'll be by the time she leaves St Cat's and goes to college!"
"About two hundred yards," said Sweaty Betty.
Maisie began to cry, until five girls placed their hands on her bum.
"God, it's so hot!"
Maisie carried on crying, getting louder.
"We'll never get back to sleep with this noise going on," said Valentina. "We might as well get up and have breakfast."
"How are we going to get Maisie dressed?" said Sweaty Betty.
Silence fell.
"I'll take care of that," said Valentina with a smirk. "Nice try, though!"
Helvetica dumped her bag on her bed and glared round the dorm at the disgraceful scene. At seven o'clock on a Monday morning, the place ought to be a-buzz with eagerness as thirty schoolgirls rejoiced in the prospect of the fresh new week of education ahead of them. Instead, the place was like a rather pungent tomb.
Up at the far end, six beds had been pushed together to make a single play area where maybe a dozen semi-naked and unmistakeably female forms were sprawled in attitudes of fatigue. Nobody was moving.
Valentina's bed contained a humped, bulky figure, completely shrouded in the duvet. Helvetica strode around her own bed and prodded her friend in the bulkiest part, which was presumably her bust. A bleary eye surfaced and regarded her.
"Wha...? Oh, it's you!"
"What's been going on in here? An orgy? It smells like a fish shop."
Valentina exposed her nose to the atmosphere. "I can't smell anything."
"I'm not surprised. Anyway, it's gone seven. Get your arse out of bed."
"I'm too knackered."
"Did you find a girlfriend?"
Valentina looked around. "Where is she?"
"Who is it? She's not with that bunch over there on the beds?"
"No. She was in here with me a little while ago. She had a drink and I fell asleep. You should see her! She was pretty spectacular on Friday, but you should see her now!" Valentina sat up and reached beneath the covers. She came up with what was obviously an empty Cream tub. Then another. Then two more. She stacked them neatly on the bedside table and placed the lids inside.
"What have you been doing in there?"
"Creaming Maisie. And those Brooks girls have been doing her bum. I think it all might have got a bit mixed up. It certainly got messy."
"You'd better tell me all about it at breakfast. Come on! Up!"
She yanked off the duvet, sending another Cream tub rattling to the floor. A pair of ripped scarlet panties lay on the bottom sheet like a warning flag.
"Those are hers," said Valentina. "They'll be no use to her now." A fixed expression came over her face and she tumbled out of bed, grabbing her towel. "Gotta go! Oops!" She sped out of the dorm, her tits bouncing against her thighs.
There was a pause of maybe thirty seconds, then a strange, stark naked, dark-haired girl appeared. If this was Maisie, Helvetica could see what her friend meant by spectacular.
"Hello. Where's Tee?"
"Gone to the loo, urgently. Are you Maisie?"
"Yeah. God, my boobs are so massive!" Then she tried to peer over her shoulder but failed. Then she tried to look around the side to see her behind, but couldn't see what she wanted to see. She lumbered round in a few ragged circles like a dog chasing its tail. "Has my bum grown any more?" she queried at last.
"How would I know? How big was it?"
"Tiny."
"It's grown, then. I certainly wouldn't call it tiny now."
"Suzanne Brooks and Pansy are making it bigger," she explained. "But they're nothing to do with these." She hefted her breasts, which were flushed, dark pink, and literally gigantic. "I need some more Cream to cool these down. Does it only work once, or does it keep making you bigger every time?"
Helvetica regarded the stack of empties beside Valentina's bed. "It keeps working, but it takes a couple of days before it really works. It might be a good idea if you stopped for a while. If you've been Creaming all weekend, you're going to grow a lot more than you are now."
Maisie went pale. "They're going to get bigger than this? They can't!"
"You want to bet?"
The girl began hunting for her clothes. "Nothing is going to fit. I'll have to go to classes naked!"
"That wouldn't be the best idea you've ever had. You're in the front row at Assembly, so Miss Gruntworthy will probably notice if you're not wearing any clothes. We can find you a blouse, and a long tie, and we can probably get a skirt that will fit round your bum. But your bra is going to be a big problem."
"Can't I go without?"
"With those nipples?" Helvetica opened her wardrobe and pulled out a blouse. "What's your bust size?"
"I was forty-nine and a half. But then Valentina made me dangle them over the edge of the bed and said I was sixty. But I'm miles bigger than that now."
Helvetica rooted in her wardrobe and found a blouse. "This is a seventy-five. We certainly won't have a bra that will fit you, not in here. My cups would be okay, but I'm huge around the chest compared to you. Maybe one of Tee's old ones...."
Valentina returned, looking relieved but walking with care. "Ah, you've met. Jeez, Maisie, your tits are giganto!"
"We'd noticed," said Helvetica. "We're wondering where she can find a bra to fit."
"I gave all my old ones away to my sisters," said Valentina. "Who does she look most like?"
"She doesn't look like anybody I know."
"No, I mean her bra size. We could borrow one from one of the other dorms."
"Jane Crapp? Andromeda Dawkes?"
"Drom's won't fit; she's fatter than Maise. One of Jane's might do, she's skinny enough. But she wouldn't let us borrow one of hers, you know what she's like. Especially if she finds out it's for a First Former. A First Former with a bigger pair than she's got."
Helvetica was on her way to the door. "I'll get Drom to nick one from Jane. She'll do it for me." At this thought, Helvetica almost began touching herself intimately but she fought the impulse, gripping her hands into fists. "You'd better find her a skirt."
It took only five minutes. Jane was out of the Second Form dormitory and Andromeda requisitioned one of her bras without hesitation. She held it up, the vast cups flopping over her hands. "A First Former, you said? Shit, kids grow up so fast these days!"
"Not as fast as you did when we were over at Lord Ted's. I'd better be getting back. Thanks for the bra."
"Any time!"
Helvetica proudly carried her prize back to the dorm, but discovered Valentina kneeling on the floor with her face buried in Maisie's crotch.
"Oh, excuse me!"
"Sorry! I was measuring her for her skirt and we both kind of got carried away."
"A thirty-four will fit her. Get one off Sweaty Betty. Now, try this bra."
It badly needed adjusting. Jane Crapp must have worn it for a date, or for a bet. The straps, the jiggle dampers and the counterweights were all pulled up to the maximum uplift positions. Maisie stood there, tottering slightly, with her nipples almost out of reach in front of her.
"God, she can't wear that!" said Valentina, coming back with one of Sweaty Betty's slightly stinky skirts.
"There's no time. We've got to go to breakfast, even if the rest of the class can't get out of bed. We'll try and adjust it later if we get a chance. Here, put this blouse on."
The effect, with Maisie buttoned into a blouse, was even more devastating. Her breasts now thrust endlessly out in front, perched improbably above her stupidly-tiny fourteen-inch waist, which gave way to a pair of hips — and a bottom — which were threatening to destroy Sweaty Betty's size 34 skirt. She looked cartoonish, as if her tits must have been suspended in some bizarre way from the ceiling.
Valentina walked round the girl on a tour of inspection. "Will anyone notice the ribbon on her blouse pocket isn't white?"
"Too late to do anything about it now. Maybe people will think she's a new Third Former, specially brought in to increase our average bust measurement."
"She'll do that, all right! She'll be Deputy Form Head now."
Maisie blushed. "I don't have to be, do I? Arabella's so nice, I wouldn't want to put her out of a job."
"You're not allowed to refuse. You'd be Deputy Form Head if you were in the Seconds, as well. Not in the Thirds, 'cause of Helvetica. But definitely in the Fourths. And you'd be Form Head if you were in the Fifths!"
"And they're going to get even bigger!" Maisie wailed.
"Who told you that?"
"I did," said Helvetica. "You've rubbed all that Cream on her tits...."
"Not all on her tits," said Valentina. "I told you it got rather messy. A load of it went on her bum and her pussy. And on my tits, of course...."
"Then I sucked your tits and got it on my mouth!" Maisie gasped.
"She'll be like Mick Jagger!"
"Mick Jagger with an eighty-inch bust!"
"Ninety!"
"A hundred!"
"Oh, no!" Maisie began to cry. "They're too big! Take them away!"
Helvetica shook her head. "You'd better not let Miss Gruntworthy hear you saying that, or you'll be writing lines for the rest of your life. Come on, let her blow her nose with some industrial paper towel and let's get our breakfasts." Helvetica stood up and looked down at the diminutive tit-queen. "Stand up straight, girl, pull your shoulders back. If you slummock around like that, they'll be dragging along the ground by the time you're twelve."
"Who's that!" It was one of those moments in the school restaurant where everything goes quiet for a moment then the noise level rises dramatically, and you know something big has happened. Usually at breakfast time it's a girl who has dressed carelessly or in a hurry — a breast escaping from a bra or a shorter-than-usual skirt revealing a flash of whatever lies underneath — but this time there was a slightly different quality to the sound. It was the sound of a hundred female voices asking the same question: "Who's that!"
Smegs lifted my fork out of her mug of coffee and flung it away before bothering to turn round and look. But then she reacted in a pretty major way. Her jaw dropped. Her coffee dribbled unnoticed into her lap. "Fucking hell!" she muttered. On second thoughts, it wasn't so much a mutter as a subdued yell, and several girls on adjacent tables nudged each other and blushed prettily.
"Are those things real?" I asked. It was one of those rhetorical questions, like I wasn't expecting an answer
."They can't be balloons," said Smegs.
I hadn't even suggested balloons. They don't make balloons that size.
"They don't make balloons that size," Smegs added, which more or less confirmed things.
"She's a Third Former," I said, spotting the flash of ribbon on her breast pocket. This wasn't too difficult as her breast pocket was about a yard in front of the rest of her.
"No, she's not," said Smegs. "We haven't seen her before and there are no new girls in the Thirds."
"She looks a bit like ... no, she can't be...."
"Who?"
"Young Maisie Perkins from the Firsts. But she can't have grown that much since Friday."
Smegs groaned. "How much? How big was she?"
"Her bust was less than fifty. And the rest of her was tiny. I mean, her waist is pretty small...."
"Pretty small? It's about fourteen inches!"
"That's right. And the Brooks girls were going to start giving her a bigger bum, but not as big as that, not in less than three days."
"Thirty five, I'd say," said Smegs. She seemed to have found a small pair of binoculars from somewhere and was studying the new arrival. "She seems to be with the Terrible Twins from the Thirds."
Indeed, the newcomer was mincing along in the wake of Helvetica and Valentina, but she was four feet or more behind them. But then again, her tits were nearly up the two Third Formers' bums. At that moment, coming to the end of the queue, the trio stopped and Helvetica turned to say something to their little companion.
"It is young Perkins," I said. "But her tits are incredible! That's one hell of a growth spurt."
"They're about eighties, at a guess," Smegs said out of the corner of her mouth without lowering her binoculars. "How big is that Form Head of theirs, the dangly one?"
"Oh, no danger there, she's well into three figures on the Long Dangle."
"So what? That little cow's got twice as much titty as her, any day. Who's the Deputy?"
I was on firmer ground here. "Arabella Mason-Dixon, at the moment, but Maisie blows her away."
"It's no good, Shan, you've got to change the rules!"
"Again?"
"Why not? We've been through all this before. It's okay sticking a girl on the Dangle Table to give her a huge bust measurement as long as she's got the biggest tits in her class anyway. But when another girl is clearly bigger and firmer as well, it's a different matter. A travesty of justice. That girl blows what's-her-name — what is her name, anyway...?"
"Barbarella Sinkinson."
"That's her. Blows her into the middle of next week. And talk of the Devil, here she comes now. Look at her!"
I looked. Barbarella Sinkinson, strapped down tight in her usual bra, looked little bigger than her friend Arabella. Maisie, who had just collected her bacon and eggs and was following her new friends to an empty table, was three times as big as her own Form Head and her Deputy. The bra was giving her an enormous protrusion but a bra couldn't do all that on its own; there had to be tit inside it. And Maisie was certainly providing that tit.
But change the rules again? Dare I even mention it? Miss Clitress would go ballistic. On the other hand, Maisie Perkins was undoubtedly going to be in the bra facility this morning for a new bra. She must have borrowed somebody's this morning. Now would be the ideal opportunity to persuade Clit that we simply had to update the rule. She'd get her hands on Maisie's gigantic globes, she'd put her on the Dangle Table ... who knows, maybe Maisie would become Form Head in her own right? No, too risky. And those things looked so firm, she might not dangle more than an extra foot or two.
"She's well hoisted up," Smegs reported. "At a guess, I'd say she's borrowed that bra from Jane Crapp. The little slut."
I didn't know which little slut she was referring to, but anyone who could wear a ScatBra on max elevation — at breakfast time — was a slut, beyond a shadow of a doubt.
"Okay," I said. "I'll announce the change this morning."
In the event, I didn't. it was a Monday morning and Clit wouldn't be at her best until she'd had a cup of tea, so I decided to delay my announcement until she'd had a chance to get her greasy corsetiere's hands on the newly-enlarged junior.
I had to hang around outside the bra facility to hear the results.
"What have you been doing to this poor little girl?" she snarled when she brought Maisie to the door to let her out. She didn't seem to be in any hurry to let the poor little girl go.
"She grew," I explained. "Girls do grow at her age."
"She's still growing," said Clit darkly. "She was on eighty inches in that ill-fitting bra when she came in. She was eighty-five on Short Dangle. Then I measured her for an hour or so and Short Dangled her again. Eighty-nine. So I measured her some more."
No wonder poor Maisie looked so exhausted.
"Then I Long Dangled her."
"Well?"
"Don't ask! It's a disgrace, the things you do to these poor girlies!" Clit grabbed a fistful of her wringing wet crotch. I wondered if she was going to send Maisie up the thirteen steps to the top of the Dangle Table yet again.
"I'm changing the school rule," I blurted out. "Maisie's breasts are obviously much larger than Barbarella's in sheer bulk."
"Quite right, too," said Clit, shocking me to the very core of my being. "I need a bath."
"You what? Go and have a shower in the staff bathrooms."
"No, I need a bath installed in here. A water tank. We can dunk girls' breasts in the tank and measure their true volume. And their weight, too, in case anyone needs to know, although I can't imagine why anyone would want to. See to it, please!"
"Sounds like an excellent idea. I'll have a word with Maybach Q Zeppelin X." I half expected Clit to change her mind again but she simply nodded and pushed Maisie out of the door, slamming it and bolting it behind her. Maisie was back in my care. I must say she looked more comfortable in her new bra, but still absolutely enormous. So did her bum. I wondered if she was still getting bigger. It felt decidedly warm to the touch. Where would it all end, I asked myself, but — not for the first time — I didn't get a sensible answer.
"I'm bigger than Valentina," she confided in an awestruck whisper. "And I haven't started milking yet!"
"Milking?"
"Miss Clitress said I can make lots of milk as long as I get sucked regularly. She knows by looking at my nipples. She sucked them for a long time but nothing came out yet. She said maybe tomorrow."
"She's going to suck you again tomorrow?"
"Not just tomorrow, every day, she said. I can't do it myself any more, my nipples are too far away."
"I can see that, yes."
"Valentina would do it, but she doesn't want to get Cream in her mouth, of course."
"Oh, no, of course!"
"Is my bum any bigger yet?"
Glad of the excuse, I willingly groped it again. "It's certainly bigger than it was on Friday."
"No, is it bigger than it was this morning?"
"Miss Clitress didn't suck your bum as well as your tits, did she?"
"Boobs, miss. They're not tits, they're boobs. Tits is a terribly naughty word."
Suitably chastened I turned and stalked off. I didn't care if Maisie hadn't finished scolding her head mistress, she'd never be able to catch up with me, not with tits as ridiculously huge as hers. Still getting bigger, too, and Clit making a standing arrangement to suck the girl until she started lactating. Not to mention what she might be doing to the damned girl's arse.
"This place is going to the dogs," I complained as I rushed up the stairs to my office. Idly I wondered what had become of my fire extinguisher.
I wasn't expecting to find the office occupied, and certainly not by two men.
"Mr Zeppelin told us to call on you before we started work," said the older one, a kind of softly-spoken middle aged man with crinkly greying hair and a porno star's moustache.
"Work? You don't work here. This is a girls' school."
"We've seen one or two of them, haven't we, Harvey?" He addressed the younger one, who wore baggy khaki shorts and a T-shirt.
"Yes, Mr Terpilowski."
"Harvey's my assistant, aren't you, Harvey?"
"Yes, Mr Terpilowski."
He stuck out his hand. "Henryk Terpilowski, Academic Photography. School Groups a Speciality. Competitive Rates."
I grasped his almost delicate fingers and squeezed. "Chauntaille Gruntworthy, Headmistress, St Cat's High School for Growing Girls. Exclusive and Expensive. Who invited you?" The answer was obvious enough. Maybach Q Zeppelin X must have hired these charlatans to photograph the girls. Without so much as a by-your-leave.
"You don't have any group photographs on the walls," he pointed out. "Must have group photographs on the walls of schools. School groups, class groups, drama groups, sports teams ... what sports do the girls play, Miss Gruntworthy?"
What planet was he from? "Not many. A bit of swimming. The smaller girls used to play hockey and netball but it's been getting difficult for them lately."
"Getting difficult, eh? You hear that, Harvey?"
"Yes, Mr Terpilowsky."
"In what way difficult?"
"There are Support and Mobility issues."
"Support and Mobility? Oh, yes, I like it! I like that, don't I, Harvey?"
"Yes, Mr Terpilowsky."
I try never to deliberately stare at my guests' crotches but I couldn't help noticing the movements in Harvey's baggy shorts. Either he was smuggling ferrets in there or he was blessed with a male member of the most outlandish size. His shorts came down to his knees and so, I could see, did their contents.
"I hope you're not going to embarrass me again, Harvey," said Mr T.
"No, Mr Terpilowsky."
That made a pleasant change, at least.
"Harvey likes girls, Miss Gruntworthy, but — you don't mind me calling you Miss Gruntworthy, do you? — but he does have an embarrassing problem when he's near them. Especially the ones with, well, you know?"
I thought I knew. Harvey was staring at my chest. And if staring at my modest chest could give him a raging hard-on he was going to be in deep trouble in the company of seven batches of thirty nubile girls.
"He has to wear shorts, unfortunately. Don't you, Harvey?"
"Yes, Mr Terpilowsky."
"If he wore jeans or trousers, the doctor says he could easily break something." He sighed and changed the subject, although I'm sure he could have happily gone on discussing young Harvey's wedding tackle for another hour or two. "Now, our equipment is in the car downstairs. I propose doing it this afternoon when the sun is right for that pond in the yard."
"Pond? Yard? You mean the fountain in the quadrangle?"
"We'll erect a kind of stand." Then he rolled his eyes. "Oh, my, I can't believe what I just said, can you, Harvey?"
"Yes, Mr Terpilowsky."
"Anyway, this will place the camera above the subject so we can look down and the girls will look up. A much nicer angle. I don't much care for heights so Harvey will mount the erection and do all the work."
I was sure that would make a change, too, for both of them.
"We will photograph each class on its own, three times. Mr Maybach Q Zeppelin X's orders."
"Why three times?"
"Once in their uniforms, once in their underwear and once in the altogether, of course. It will only take twenty minutes or so if the girls can undress quickly. Then each class will move away and they can put their clothes back on in their own time while we photograph the next group. We'll be done by teatime, won't we, Harvey?"
"Yes, Mr Terpilowsky."
I regained my voice at last. "But what about their regular lessons?"
"It's a lovely day," Mr T beamed. "It will do them good to be out in the sunshine instead of being cooped up in a stuffy classroom. That's what Mr Zeppelin said, anyway, isn't it, Harvey?"
"You can have an hour," I said. "Start at two and be finished by three. You'll hear the quadrangle clock strike." More likely you won't, I thought, but that doesn't mean it's not striking.
An hour would be more than enough, but not even the most carefully-planned operation ever goes perfectly smoothly. So we probably wouldn't be finished until long after three, and after stripping off in the quad, the girls would be far too excited and sexually aroused to do any more work that day.
I decided to let the guys start taking their pictures with the oldest first; the Sixth Formers. As these were more mature girls — young women, really — I felt I could depend upon them to get back to their studies in an orderly manner. Then we'd work our way down through the classes to the youngest.
There was no time to call everyone together for a briefing so I cruised round the school dropping in on all the classes, warning the teachers and the students that lessons this afternoon were going to be seriously disrupted. I also told the girls that they must go back to their dorms at lunchtime and make sure they were wearing clean underwear.
That was sufficient information. There's no point in telling people too much.
Promptly at two in the afternoon the Sixth Form — both Upper and Lower — appeared in the quadrangle and stood staring at the unusual sight before them. Next to the wall around the fountain, a substantial tubular structure had been erected with a flat platform on top, just big enough for one man to work a camera. The man in question was Harvey, wearing shorts for all the usual reasons. Down below, Mr Terpilowsky fluttered to and fro, looking the girls up and down.
"Oh my, Miss Gruntworthy! They're very pretty girls but they look so very untidy! They bulge all over the place!" He flapped his hands at them. "The ten tallest at the back, please, standing on the wall. Then the next ten, sitting on the wall. And the ten shortest at the front, kneeling on the ground. That's good. Oh, dear, look at them!"
I could see what he meant. With one or two notable exceptions, the St Cat's girls with the biggest breasts tend also to be the shortest ones. Thus, when the ten shortest girls in the Upper Sixth Form knelt at the front of their group, nothing of their knees was visible at all. All that could be seen were their heads and their shirts. The effect was no doubt all the more noticeable from Harvey's elevated viewpoint. Further difficulties were posed by the protruding breasts of those at the back interfering with the girls in the middle row, whose breasts were in turn resting on the shoulders of the front row girls. It gave the impression of a tight-knit little community but it was a community completely devoid of legs and feet.
"Everyone look up at Harvey!" Mr Terpilowsky trilled, and the Upper Sixths twittered and raised their eyes.
Harvey edged his way round the camera, a large black box on three legs, then dived under the cover of a big black cloth and did something very technical at the back of it. "All ready?" he shouted down at them. "Three, two, one, now!"
At this point, the tip of his appendage made its appearance out of the left leg of his shorts.
"Ooooh! Wow!" the girls chorused.
"Once more like that," yelled Harvey, apparently unaware of anything unusual in his appearance. "Three, two, one, yes! Thank you!"
"Oooh, not at all! Thank you!"
Mr Terpilowsky pranced in front of the group. "Now, don't move, girls. Remove your shirts, please, and hand them to Miss Gruntworthy. And your skirts. Thank you!"
I gratefully accepted the pile of dank clothing and dumped it in a pile on the ground. They could sort it out easily enough when this was all over. In fact, I was feeling quite pleased with progress so far. The guys would be finished with the Uppers in five minutes, and they could expect to improve with practice. We'd be finished in no time.
"Thank you! Look up at Harvey!"
The girls were only too pleased to do as they were told.
"Big breaths, now, girls! Ready, Harvey?"
"Ready. Watch the birdie. Three, two, one, okay! And hold it there, just one more. Thank you!"
The girls expressed their heartfelt thanks to Harvey, not taking their eyes off the leg of his shorts.
"Everything off, girls, please!" Mr Terpilowsky squeaked. "Come along, it isn't cold."
It might not have been cold but nobody had thought to inform the girls' nipples of this fact. They made an impressive spectacle.
"Ouch, Sarah! You'll have somebody's eye out with that!"
"Sorry! Just put it where it's out of the way. I can't reach."
"Settle down. All ready, girls?"
"No, hang on! One of my nips is smaller than the other."
"Get a move on up there! Ours are digging into the floor down here."
"Three, two, one, yes!"
"Whose is that milk dripping down my back?"
"Sorry, that's me."
"Did you just cum, Emily?"
"Me?"
"Who farted?"
"Oh, no! Jennifer!"
"Ready again? Three, two, one, oops!"
On the word 'oops', the last six inches or so of Harvey's schwanz popped out into the open air. He'd been doing okay until now, being so busy that he hadn't raised more than a lazy semi, but with the completion of the sixth exposure he happened to look down on the naked girls as if seeing them for the first time and, whoomph! Erecto.
With great presence of mind he draped his black cloth over it. A howl went up from the girls of the Upper Sixth. This was not the sort of example I expected from our most senior girls. Youngsters might be listening.
"Break it up!" I yelled, wading in amongst the flopping tits in the front row and hauling a couple of girls to their feet. "Grab your clothes and get back to your classes, or whatever you're supposed to be doing. Go on! Out of it!"
I'll give them their due, they did as they were told. With no more than a fleeting glance of regret at Harvey up above them they descended on their piled-up belongings and wandered away, arguing among themselves. A minor tug-of-war had broken out as four girls disputed ownership of an immensely thick-strapped bra — not a ScatBra, I observed — but it was all fairly good-natured, with the usual tweaking of nipples, tugging of pubic hair and general goosing which you naturally expect when girls are naked together.
"Lower Sixths!" I called, then stopped in confusion as I saw that the Lowers were already in position, posing and smiling sweetly for Mr Terpilowski.
Up in the sky, Harvey had made himself look relatively decent, arranging his manhood so it pointed vertically upwards inside his shorts and certainly inside his shirt as well. So if he and the girls behaved himselves he should be pretty safe.
The Brooks cousins were in the front row, sitting down, and there was some consternation when Mr Terpilowski realised that each of Pansy's breasts was wider than Pansy herself, so there was only room for eight girls in the front row. One girl had to be added to each end of the middle row. And then, when it came to the nude shot, Pansy's unleashed puppies spread even wider and two more girls were despatched to the back row.
Mr Terpilowski was shaking his head at this irregularity. "That girl is unnecessarily large," he protested when the Lower Sixths finally dispersed to their private studies. "She ruined my artistic composition."
"She's Head Girl," I told him. "She has a fifteen-and-a-half foot bust."
"It's a disgrace. My Harvey enjoys big breasts, but those were just plain ridiculous, especially at her age."
"She's sixteen," I maintained. "What else do you expect? Come back here in a year or two's time if you want to see some really big tits. I've got some girls growing now that are going to blow Pansy Brooks clear out of the water!" I don't quite know what prompted that wild claim, but I'd said it now so there was no turning back. I looked round for Smegs and found her standing by my side with a big fat grin on her face.
"Well done, Chauntaille!" she said. "What possessed you to tell him that? Where, precisely, are you expecting to find a girl with an even bigger pair than that ridiculous Pansy creature in the coming year?"
"You've seen how they're growing in the Firsts and Seconds. Do you think they're going to be able to stop?"
"Girls have always grown at St Cat's. What makes you think one of them is going to grow bigger than sixteen feet?"
"Why shouldn't they?" I demanded shrilly. "Pansy's only a V-cup. There are four more sizes still to go. Clit wouldn't have allowed four more sizes if she wasn't absolutely certain we were going to have a girl with a thirty-foot bust sometime soon."
"We can't handle a girl that size!" Smegs declared. "The Dangle Table's only nine feet tall. It would have to be raised to something like fifteen feet just to be on the safe side. And a fifteen-foot tall table wouldn't fit inside the bra facility, so it would have to be outside. Or in the Assembly Hall." Her face lit up in anticipation. "That would be nice! Public Dangling!"
"Good day, ladies," said a harsh voice at my side and a couple of feet above my head. "How's it going?"
"Mr Maybach Q Zeppelin X. What a surprise! We're progressing quite well, in fact. We've done the Sixth Forms — that is Years Twelve and Thirteen or whatever stupid memorable name you have for them, Junior and Senior — and we're...."
"They've done the Fifths and Fourths while you've been rabbiting on," said Smegs. Sure enough, the imposing figure of Helvetica was mounting the wall, head and shoulders above her nearest rival. Mr Terpilowski was trying to get her to stand in the middle of the row.
"How many girls should there be in this class, Miss Gruntworthy?" he was yelling.
"Thir ... no, twenty-nine."
"But I was told there are thirty girls in each class," he said with a petulant stamp of his foot. "My composition was designed around that figure."
"Well, you'll just have to redesign it, then, won't you! One girl isn't here, she's down at the fish and chip shop in the village."
"Please, miss?"
"Quiet, please, Valentina, I'm talking to Mr Maybach Q Zeppelin X."
"It's important, miss."
"Wait!"
"Hurry up, Tee," said Helvetica. "I'm standing next to Sweaty Betty up here, and it's not pleasant."
"I only wanted to tell her that Sally's...."
"I won't tell you again, Valentina. Temporary Form Head or no Temporary Form Head, you must keep quiet when I'm holding a conversation with the Chairman of the School Governors, Maybach Q Zeppelin X."
"Don't mind me, Miss Gruntworthy. Maybe the girl has something important to tell you." He lowered his voice and cleared his throat. "What's her name, by the way?"
"Valentina Nightingale. She's Nurse's little girl."
"Little? That must be 'bout a hundred-inch bust she's got there."
Maybach Q Zeppelin X's skill in judging girls' bust sizes was unnerving. A sure sign of a misspent youth.
"Does she...?"
"Does she what? She's only a Third Former, you know."
"Yeah? So does she?"
"She's had several babies," said Smegs. "If that answers your question."
"Not exactly," said Maybach Q Zeppelin X. "Does she give milk?"
"Milk?"
"You heard me."
"Well, yes, as a matter of fact. She does."
"Excellent. I thought I recognised a milker. I wanna list of all your milkers. Put your woman onto it. What's her name, Mizz Pudenda or sump'n?"
"Labia."
"Please, miss...?"
"I suppose you're going to complain that we've kept you hanging around so long that your milk's coming in," I said to Valentina.
"Not yet, but it will if you keep talking about it. All I was going to say was that Sally's on her way up, so we need to leave a space for her in the photograph. Quite a big space."
"Sally Chung? Coming here? Why didn't you say so, girl? Mr Terpilowski, there's another girl on her way. Quite a large one."
"I've only just got them sorted out, now you tell me there's another one coming?" He stamped his foot again.
"We're going to have to move this class out of the way and bring in the next ones," said Smegs, which only seemed to rile Mr Terpilowski even more.
"No, no, no!" he squealed.
I tried asking Valentina for more information. "When is Sally going to be here?"
"She was coming in a taxi, but they had to wait until the van came back from a delivery in Birmingham; the one with the big double doors at the back?"
"Ye gods! How big is she?"
"How would we know, we haven't seen her for months."
"Second Form, please!" I shouted, clapping my hands for attention, and Jane Crapp led her flock into position as the Thirds dissolved into a shambles and straggled away in all directions. The Form Head positioned herself in the middle of the front row with Andromeda Dawkes in the second row directly behind her. Of course, somebody had to be in front of Andromeda but I could see it wasn't going to work.
"Get your tits off my head, Dawkes!"
"I can't help it. Bend down a bit more."
"Move along a bit, one way or the other."
"It won't make any difference. I stick out a long way. Why can't I come on the front row with you?"
"'Cause you can't, that's why!"
Jane Crapp couldn't handle the opposition, that was why. She was still Form Head but possibly only because of a quirk of mathematics. Andromeda enjoyed five square meals a day and 90% of it went straight to her tits. It was only the fact that she led the kind of full and active sex life that made her the envy of the entire school that kept her size down to anywhere near Jane's proportions. I suspected that Jane was resorting to Cream to maintain her slender lead.
They reached an uneasy compromise. Andromeda took her tits off Jane's head and rested them on her shoulders. This worked reasonably well but I could see problems ahead when they all took their blouses off. And all Hell was set to break loose when they stripped naked.
In the end, the only thing that broke loose was Harvey's straining manhood, which was still arranged vertically inside his polo shirt. The tip of it, a tasteful purple, appeared in the V-neck, which was certainly something you didn't see every day. The girls of the Second Form were struck dumb by the sight, transfixed — not literally, although they'd clearly like to be. As soon as the shutter clicked they melted away, open-mouthed, dreaming of sex.
Still no sign of Sally Chung's van, so it was the turn of the First Form girls. As Mr Terpilowski arranged them tastefully in three rows I became aware of Maybach Q Zeppelin X hovering at my elbow.
"Who's that one?" he jerked a thumb at Maisie Perkins's bosom. She was on the end of the middle row and made things look distinctly lopsided. Mr Terpilowski was flouncing around and sighing theatrically. Eventually he hauled Maisie down to the front row and placed her next to Barbarella Sinkinson, with Arabella Mason-Dixon providing balance on the other side of the Form Head.
"I thought you said Form Heads had to have the biggest tits!" Maybach Q Zeppelin X commented with an unpleasant sneer. "She's smaller than the other two; Mason-Dixon's brat and that other one with the big ass."
"It's not as simple as that," I defended myself without conviction. The twittering of the girls died away as they looked up at Harvey who, I observed, had rearranged his genitalia once more, apparently trying to wrap it around his waist. I had a feeling that wasn't the best idea he'd ever have, and sure enough, by the time the First Formers took off their skirts and blouses to reveal absolutely no underwear at all, the mighty weapon squirmed free and hovered in front of him at ten degrees above the horizontal.
Mr Terpilowski was distraught. He had a picture of the First Form in their uniform and another one stark naked, and nothing in between. He stamped his foot and demanded that the girls put on their bras and panties.
"We didn't bring any," explained Arabella Mason-Dixon. "We thought it was a nude shoot."
"Good Grief!"
"I want that one!" said Maybach Q Zeppelin X, pointing at Maisie.
"She's only eleven!" I protested. "The age of consent is sixteen."
"Sheesh! I don't wanna marry her," said the Chairman of Governors. "I just want to...."
"Oh, wow! Look!" I pointed desperately into the middle distance, where a minor disturbance had broken out around the entrance to the quadrangle. And deliverance was indeed delivered. The jabbering crowd of girls parted like the Red Sea and an enormous white shirt appeared, the biggest St Cat's shirt I had ever seen. Above the shirt was a slightly familiar face. The shirt undulated slowly into the quadrangle, moving with a curious gliding motion as if it rested on several sets of wheels. Somewhere out of sight, it apparently had legs, or at least, feet. Possibly it also had pudgy arms, although it might have been my imagination.
Maybach Q Zeppelin X was still creaming himself at the thought of not marrying Maisie Perkins, but he couldn't ignore the fact that just about every girl in the quadrangle had now turned to watch the approaching shirt. He followed the direction of their stares.
"Holy shit!" he said. "Who is that?"
"I suppose you don't want to marry her, either? Her name's Chung. Sally Chung."
"She a student here, too? How old? Eighteen? Twenty?"
"Thirteen. But I think she's left."
"She can't leave school at thirteen."
"How would you propose trying to stop her?"
"I'd think of a way. She's mine. Chung, you say? Chinese?"
"Yorkshire," I said firmly. "Leeds. Her family are in fish and chips. That explains the size of her bust, apparently. A kind of allergy."
"No shit? Chinese!" he repeated. "How big is she, anyways?"
It was the first time I had heard Maybach Q Zeppelin X admit to not knowing a girl's bust measurement to the nearest inch.
"She hasn't been measured officially this year. Pretty big, though," I admitted. Under the latest school rules — in fact, under any set of school rules St Cat's had ever had — Sally Chung was Head Girl by a mile. Eat your heart out, Pansy Brooks.
The shirt sailed past and hove to, blocking the view of the quadrangle fountain and beyond it, the bra facility from which, for some unfathomable reason, were coming sounds of sawing and hammering.
"Hi, Miss," she fluted.
"Hello, Sally. You're looking very fit."
"Ah'm hoongreh," she admitted. "What's for tea?"
I stared at her. The question must surely be academic; Sally would never get her bust through the double doors into the school restaurant. Even Pansy touched both sides of the door frame.
"You'll have to feed me outside," Sally went on. "Ah'll never get me tits through t'door."
"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it, Sally. Meanwhile, the nice gentleman wants to take a picture of you with your classmates. Over there."
Sally shuffled round to look at Mr Terpilowski, who had a panic-stricken look on his face. Her rear aspect revealed that she was wearing jeans, which made her a damned sight braver than I was. The dangerously tight denim was stretched drum-tight across a backside which wouldn't have been out of place on a small hippopotamus, although her legs were remarkably shapely considering the work they had to do. Possibly she'd been studying the new dress regulations because the lacy top of arguably the biggest thong in Christendom peeped out of the waist band. Sally's waist, interestingly, was small enough for her to qualify as an hourglass figure, despite its surely being in the region of forty inches.
She lumbered away and sat down on the ground in the front row. A chorus of Third Form protest rose from around and beneath her, with Mr Terpilowski's bleatings forming a shrill descant. It took Harvey, up on his tower, to organise the class into a meaningful composition, with Helvetica and Valentina and a couple of their bigger-breasted colleagues draped around Sally's perimeter, and the rest of the class crammed together in the back row. The front row consisted solely of Sally Chung.
It took a while for Harvey to expose his negative — he had to call it a day after the 'fully-dressed' picture as he had run out of film. Two or three of the back row would tumble into the fountain from time to time until, by the ninth attempt, the entire back row was a collection of drowned rebellious rats, who refused to remove their shirts in case they caught their death of cold.
By this time, Maybach Q Zeppelin X had grown bored with the whole business and was making fretful noises. He wanted to be alone with Sally, he said.
So we all trundled off down to the school restaurant and installed Sally on the grass outside. Half a dozen Third Formers took Sally's food order and headed inside.
Maybach Q Zeppelin X fished in an inside pocket and produced an envelope. "You may wonder why I find Sally here so important and significant. Take a look at this."
The envelope contained a glossy brochure printed in lurid colours. The front cover bore a picture of mysteriously oriental countryside with almost snow-capped mountains in the distance. Across the middle, somewhat obscurely, it announced:
Greater East Asia D-Cup Gurl Sphere |
This meant little or nothing to me. I tried to open the brochure to see if there was any more information inside but it seemed to have been glued together. Maybach Q Zeppelin X took it from me and opened it up. "It's the ink," he explained. "Makes the pages all sticky."
It looked more like something else to me, and when he handed it back I had an inkling as to why the pages might be stuck together. On the first inside page was a girl in a sailor-style blouse and a plaid skirt with white ankle socks and shiny shoes. Somewhat inexplicably she was squatting in the middle of a road and displaying her spotless white panties. Her black hair, captured in a yellow Alice band, was pulled into two pony-tails, her face radiated innocence and joy. She was undoubtedly of Japanese origin.
She also had a pair of mind-boggling tits.
Beside her, in English, an information-packed sidebar told me that the girl was Mayu, she was thirteen, 147cm tall, and went on to imply that her measurements were B133, W46, and H70.
I snapped my fingers urgently and several girls produced calculators. They watched as I translated the numbers into something more meaningful.
"That's bullshit!" I stated weakly.
"They don't lie," said Maybach Q Zeppelin X. "You can see how big she is on the next page."
Sure enough, the next page was a sunset scene, with Mayu's distinctive silhouette in profile. She'd have sailed into St Cat's without needing to sit an entrance examination.
"Who is she?" I said, fumbling with the pages.
"Just an average student," said Maybach Q Zeppelin X. "They probably chose her for her pretty face. She isn't even a Class Head."
"You mean it's a school?" I yelped, and the windows of the school restaurant were instantly lined with anxious girls' faces, eager to see what all the noise was about. "A kind of Japanese St Cat's?"
"It's bigger than St Cat's. In every way. They have 1500 students...."
"I've been thinking, perhaps we ought to expand St Cat's," I suggested. "We could start admitting girls at ten." I was thinking of the younger Mason-Dixon sisters.
Maybach Q Zeppelin X wrinkled his nose. "Are you some kind of pervert?"
That was rich, coming from him.
"They're bigger than St Cat's in other ways, too. What's the average bust measurement here?"
I was lost without Miss Labia's clipboard. "Fifty-something. Maybe a little bit less."
"One hundred forty-five!" he announced, slapping the brochure with the back of his hand. "That's centimetres, of course. Fifty-seven point one inches," he added, and the calculator girls nodded in agreement. "We're miles behind."
"How big is their Head Girl?" I asked wildly, clutching at straws. No Japanese girl could possibly approach Pansy Brooks. Or Sally. Surely not?
"It's all in there," he said airily. "Read it. You'll see why we need to boost our average bust size. And if we can't catch them, which I seriously doubt, we need to establish a lead in other areas. Like butts. Those skinny girls of theirs don't have butts. That's why Sally here has come along at just the right time."
"Ah'm not goin' to be no Head Girl," Sally protested. "Ah'll be t'Form Head if you like, but that's all."
"You're going to be my secretary," said Maybach Q Zeppelin X grandly. "I'm going to build an office right here on the school campus. Your duties will include the formulation and typing of a complete set of new school rules."
"Ah can't type!" yelled Sally. "How can I reach t'keyboard?"
"Voice recognition," said Maybach Q Zeppelin X. "You just say the words and the computer types them. It won't be hard work, and there'll be all the food you can eat."
Sally considered these terms of employment. "Ah can't coom in on Fridays. They need me down in t' shop. Friday's our busy day."
"That's okay, no Fridays. There'll be other benefits, of course. You don't have a boyfriend, do you?"
"Boyfriend? Me?"
The girls arrived with Sally's food, and she promptly forgot all about her new position of personal and private secretary to the Chairman of the Board of Governors of St Cat's High School for Growing Girls.
"Ah'd forgot how good t'food was here," she mumbled indistinctly after ten minutes or so during which we all fondly watched her eat. "Nearly as good as fish an' chips every day!"
It was time for me to slink away. I slipped the prospectus for the Greater East Asia D-Cup Gurls Sphere into my cleavage. The back page, I had noticed, was a mass of statistics.
"Who is that guy, anyway?" Helvetica complained as she slumped on her bed and watched her friend gloomily as she prised the lid off a tub of Cream and investigated the contents with a finger.
"Maybach Q Zeppelin X," said Valentina. "He's American," she added unnecessarily. "The new Chairman of the Governors."
"But why does he need a secretary? With her own office? And why Sally?"
"He fancies big tits. The bigger the better. You saw the way he looks at your tits, like he's undressing you with his eyes. The creep."
"Yeah, but ... Sally?"
"He won't get far with her. She'll flatten him."
"I don't see how they could do it, anyway," said Helvetica. Now that she had discovered the joys of sex, she had developed an interest in positions.
Valentina gave a dismissive sniff. "From behind, no problem. Shit, though, I'd heard Sally was huge, but she's ridiculous! I mean, she's big all over, but those tits! I wonder what her bust size is."
"Does it matter? They're twice as big as Pansy's, and they said Pansy's the biggest Head Girl ever, so she must be at least, what, 150?"
"More than that. More like 180."
"God, imagine just trying to walk!"
"Imagine when the milk comes in!"
The dormitory door banged open and Maisie Perkins came bouncing in, surprisingly topless. "Sorry I'm late, there was a girl outside the restaurant and they were feeding her. You should have seen her boobs! Are you going to make me as big as her?" She stretched out on her back with her giant globes thrusting towards the ceiling.
"We'll do our best," Valentina promised, scooping out a handful of Cream and splodging it squarely on Maisie's left nipple.
"Oooh, wow! It's cold!"
Helvetica pushed herself upright and wandered across the room. She took a dollop of Cream and applied it to Maisie's right breast. It felt so hot. She tried to imagine what it would be like to Cream Sally Chung. It would take a couple of fifty-gallon drums of the stuff.
"That's nice," said Maisie. "I'm still getting bigger, aren't I?" she added in an anxious tone.
"Oh, yes," said Valentina, helping herself to another fistful. "You're so much bigger each time, we don't need to measure you. It's obvious how much you've grown. Must be three or four inches a day, at least!"
"Oh, wow!" said Maisie. And she came, embarrassingly noisily for a First Former who had certainly not yet received any Screaming classes. Not officially.
It went on for quite a while.
"She's on wheels," said Maisie, once she'd finished.
"What?"
"That girl they were feeding? The one with the tits as big as cars? She had like wheels under them."
"Not a wheelbarrow? Sally wouldn't use a wheelbarrow."
"No, not a wheelbarrow. They were like skateboards, 'cept they'd only got like one pair of wheels each? Kind of flat bits of wood with a pair of wheels. She had four or five under each boob. I could see them 'cos she was lying down and one of her boobs had like rolled over." Maisie giggled. "Her nipples are like half cucumbers! Only pink, not green. Are my nipples any bigger than they used to be?"
"Oh, yeah!" Valentina panted. "And your moo-oons!"
Helvetica rolled her eyes. Everybody was getting orgasms but her.
It's pretty rare to see Miss Clitress outside the bra facility these days. Suddenly, there she was, her angular shadow, arms akimbo, stretching across the close cropped grass. She watched Sally eating for a while. Maybach Q Zeppelin X was helping her, maintaining a steady supply of food within reach of her chubby fingers. Remorselessly it disappeared.
"And what do you think you're up to?" Clit demanded shrilly.
"Sally's having her tea," I explained, feeling none too confident of the outcome of this conversation. People didn't win arguments with Clit; not headmistresses, not Chairmen of the Governors.
"She hasn't been measured for months!"
"She hasn't been here."
"Exactly. You know the rules, Miss Gruntworthy. She has to be measured."
"She's too big!" I protested, grateful that there wasn't a First Former within earshot. "You can't dangle her; the Dangle Table isn't tall enough." There: my master stroke, my trump card, my coup de grace.
"All taken care of," said Clit in quiet triumph. "The Dangle Table can now accept girls of any conceivable size."
"It can't. You can't make it any taller without raising the roof."
"I haven't raised the roof. I've lowered the floor."
"You what?"
"Took up the floorboards under the front end of the Dangle Table. The girls can dangle into a pit, and it goes down another fifteen feet."
"You can't dangle me!" Sally squeaked. "Me tits'll drop off!"
"They look pretty firmly attached if you ask me," said Clit. She jerked a thumb. "Come on, girl. We'll only be an hour or so."
"Ah'm his secketary. I'm not a schoolgirl no more."
"You're thirteen, Sally, so you're not allowed to leave school. That means you've got to be measured. It's the law."
I took up the argument. "Why? The only reason to measure a girl is to decide if she's Head Girl or not. Sally's obviously the biggest girl in the school by a long, long way, so why bother? She doesn't want to be Head Girl anyway."
"I'm surprised at you, Miss Gruntworthy. The girl obviously needs a bra. Her tits are all the way down to the ground! I'd guess they're at least eighteen feet."
"Well, that's close enough, isn't it! Let's just take her as eighteen feet. Her waist is about forty-something and her hips are maybe eighty. Call it 216-40-80. Close enough for jazz?"
Maybach Q Zeppelin X suddenly emitted a curious croaking noise. "An eighty inch fuckin' butt!" he groaned.
"Nice try. But how big is she on twenty-minute dangle, Miss Clever Clogs? You care to guess at that? And while you're about it, perhaps you'd care to make her a bra? No, she's coming with me. You can have her back afterwards, don't worry."
And to my surprise, she held out a hand as if to pull Sally to her feet. Instead, the Third Former glided smoothly across the grass, her little feet scampering to keep up with the rest of her. Anyone would think she was on wheels.
"You should have thought of that before you started ripping up the floor!" I stormed.
"It's not my fault," said Clit. "It's this ridiculously shaped girl of yours!"
"You were the one who insisted on measuring her," I shouted.
We both stood with hands on hips, looking up at Sally's frightened face where she lay on top of the Dangle Table. Hanging over the edge, her breasts stretched downwards from her chest, became more or less cylindrical or tubular before passing through the large square hole in the floor and disappearing into the darkness below our feet. We edged closer and peered into the abyss.
"They're too heavy to lift them out of there," said Clit.
"One at a time?"
"Still too heavy. What if we dropped one?"
I nodded agreement. It sounded too painful even to think about.
"Are you okay up there, Sally?" I called.
"Ah'm getting' hoongreh again, Miss," the girl admitted.
"Hang in there," I advised, as if Sally had any choice in the matter.
"Why not fetch what's-his-face? The American guy?"
"Maybach Q Zeppelin X? What could he do?"
"He might be able to help lift. If we could get one of her tits up on to the floor, we could maybe get the other one out easier."
"Why don't I ask Smegs? She'll know what to do."
"She's useless."
"We're all useless right now. How about Jeremy? Maybe he's got a car jack or something. Or some planks."
"Sheets," said Clit. "We could wrap a bedsheet round one tit, then tie the corners together and hoist it out with a block and tackle. Or something. We need a sailor. Or a deep-sea fisherman."
I bit my tongue. We'd had more than enough problems with grand pianos and deep-sea fishermen about the place. I wasn't going to tempt fate now by wishing for a deep-sea fisherman to appear.
Meanwhile, we had a young girl lying on her belly on a table with nine-feet-long legs. Her breasts dangled over the edge and down through a hole in the floor, continuing downwards for an unknown distance. This was St Cat's first ever girl with a ten-foot plus cleavage.
We admitted defeat.
Clit went to the phone and dialled the fire brigade.
We should all be eternally grateful to our brave firefighters. Three appliances came clanging and whooping into the school grounds. It's probably one of their rules and regulations that a call from a school always gets a minimum of three fire engines. They came to a halt and out spilled what looked like two hundred personnel, ninety percent of them male. Hoses were attached to hydrants and speedily run out in all directions. A pump dangled a hose into the quadrangle fountain. A ladder extended upwards from one of the fire engines, allowing an intrepid firefighter to peer through one of the dormitory windows. On closer inspection he appeared to be wielding a small camcorder.
"Where is it, headmistress?" demanded the fire chief, who had briefly dated Smegs a year or so ago.
I pointed to the bra facility. "In there."
The man sniffed the air. "Can't see any smoke."
"There isn't any smoke. Who said anything about smoke? There isn't a fire."
"No fire?" He flung a hand round, indicating all his equipment. "There must be a fire! What is it, a kitten up a tree?"
"No, it's a girl down a hole. That is, she's lying on a tall table, but part of her is down a hole in the floor. Oh, come and have a look!"
Of course, they cleared all the spectators out of the bra facility, so we never saw exactly how they rescued Sally from her absurd predicament. Maybe we can get Smegs to date the fire chief again, but personally I doubt if she will, as he falls short in the fire hose department. We'll have to wait until he publishes his memoirs.
I cornered Clit once the firemen had sprayed a few thousand gallons of water randomly around the quadrangle, tidied up their equipment, had a cup of tea and gone home.
"Well?"
"Well what?"
"Well? How about Sally's new bra? How long before we see it? She can't walk around with her tits on the floor like that."
"Maybe in a day or two, okay? I'm a bit short of elastic. And heavy-duty hooks. I'll need forty pairs of hooks." Clit wiped a sheen of sweat from her brow. She was panting.
I took out my notebook. "I've been running a bit of a book on her bust measurements. Looks like I stand to make a few hundred. Most of the guesses are around the eighteen feet mark. Helvetica Bold is the only one to go for twenty feet."
"Oh."
"Well?" I inspected the tip of my pencil. "What was it?"
"Her bust? I guessed right. She's eighteen feet six inches, like I said."
"She's more than that! The table is nine feet tall, plus the width of her back, plus the distance across her nipples. And she dangled below the floor!"
"I wrote it down somewhere. You don't need it right now, do you?"
I fixed her with a steely eye. "Clitress, look at me. No, look at me. You didn't measure her, did you?"
"Of course I did!"
"You didn't. You'd remember if you had; the biggest St Cat's girl ever, ever, ever. You forgot to do it."
"There wasn't time! The fire brigade arrived too early. I was just going down into the hole with my tape measure when they threw me out. Thrown out of my own bra facility!"
"Oh, God! We can't put her up there again!"
"I got a good look at them. They hung down at least four feet into the hole, so that's nine feet plus four feet each side. That's thirteen, maybe thirteen and a half feet each side, so call it twenty-seven. Then she's about three feet across the back. And another three feet across the nipples. That's thirty-three feet. And I did her other measurements. She's 396-38-75. More or less."
"Why 396? Why not a nice round 400?"
Clit was aghast. "You can't do that! You can't mess around with a girl's measurements just to make the numbers look tidier."
"But you guessed at the numbers in the first place! For all we know, she could be 380. Or 420. As if it mattered. She's got to be the biggest girl in the whole world. Including Japan."
"Japan?" Clit looked at me strangely.
"There's a school there, same as St Cat's, but with 1500 girls. They're claiming an average bust measurement that's bigger than ours. It's all in this brochure...."
I dug into my cleavage but my hand came up empty.
"Funny. It was in there...."
"Maybe it's slipped down. Try from underneath."
I groped lower, while Clit averted her eyes. Nothing. What a bummer. I hadn't finished reading it, and no doubt Maybach Q Zeppelin X would be wanting it back to wank over. Or to. Americans always wank to things.
"I found it just outside," said Maisie Perkins. "It's all kind of Chinese."
"Let me see." Helvetica reached for the luridly-coloured brochure. She studied it, turning the pages, which seemed to be in the wrong order. "It's some kind of school. Oh, wow! Look at those tits!"
Valentina and Maisie leaned across for a closer look.
"Not as big as ours," said Valentina with a sniff.
"No, but they're still enormous! She's only a skinny little kid."
"I'm a skinny little kid," said Maisie. "Are mine enormous?"
"Yes." Helvetica continued thumbing through the little booklet. "1,500 gurl from all countries of Pacific Rim with average 145cm bust. What's that in English ... shit, it's fifty-seven inches!"
"Fifty-seven's nothing," Valentina declared. "Even Maisie's bigger than that."
"But that's the average for the whole school. They must have some girls — gurrrrls — with gigantic busts. Especially if they're all skinny little kids like this one."
"She's pretty, though," Valentina conceded. "I'd give her a good licking out. And look at those pure white panties. They must have been just washed!"
"I wonder how big their Head Girl is."
"She couldn't be any bigger than Pansy. Could she?"
"Why not? Sally Chung is. And Sally comes from Hong Kong, so that proves that gurl from all countries of Pacific Rim can be bigger than us."
"I wouldn't want to be as big as Sally," said Valentina.
"I would," said Maisie firmly. "Cream me some more."
"It's okay," said Maybach Q Zeppelin X, who seemed to be in rare good humour now he was installed in his brand new office. "You can keep it, I got fifty more copies."
That was a relief, anyway. A further search for the brochure, extending right down inside my panties, had revealed nothing. He leaned back in his chair, which was wider and deeper than mine.
"I got Sally to get enlarged copies of all these little pictures off the Gurl Sphere school website."
"They've got a website? With pictures?"
"Seems to be under construction at the moment; it's just a kind of online version of the printed brochure." He picked up the glossy document and indicated a page crammed full of tiny images, too tantalisingly small to see the detail, although they all seemed to include extremely well-endowed girls. He raised his voice. "Sal? Anything on those pictures yet, honey?"
"Just downloaded, sir," said Sally from the outer office. "Print ... all pictures!" she added in a metallic voice, and on Maybach Q Zeppelin X's green leather-topped desk a printer whirred into life.
"Good girl! This voice recognition software is a boon to busty girls like Sally. What are her measurements, by the way? Did Clittie finish her bra yet?"
"She's still waiting for the hooks. Unofficially, though, Sally's 420-38-75." I'd decided to go for a nice round thirty-five feet.
"Four hundred...?"
"On the Dangle Table, of course."
"Oh, of course!"
"Normally, she's only about twenty feet. Either way, she's twice the circumference of Pansy Brooks."
"Holy shit!"
But then his attention wandered to the pictures chugging slowly out of the printer. He picked up the first and held it close to his nose.
"Holy shit!" he said again. And then again.
"Print ... captions!" Sally intoned, and a single sheet of A4 rattled obediently from the printer. As Maybach Q Zeppelin X seemed engrossed with the pictures, I grabbed the paper and read it.
1. Six Gurl (14) show panty from behin'. Gurl Sphere supply 27,000 pair dirty panty each week to srot-machine company.
2. Class Head Gurl (12), Akiko, T138, B250, W41, H64.
I made a grab for the pictures on the desk, looking for number 2. Disappointingly, the girl was in a swimming pool, submerged up to the neck, although there were signs of a polka-dotted bikini bra disturbing the surface of the water a yard or so in front of her. Damn.
3. View of Math Class (15). Gurls study all subject same like normal gurl.
The corresponding picture showed several rows of desks. Girls sat behind them, all beaming innocence and good health, although there was no evidence of any class work on the desktops. Possibly this was because the desktops were completely covered with acres of creamy breast. Not one of the girls was showing less than two feet of cleavage. Unusually for a mathematics class, they all wore brassieres and no blouses. I made a mental note to brief Miss Lundberg.
4. Sexual Chemistry Class (12). Gurls mix breast enrargement chemical.
I stared at the picture, my hair literally standing on end. A group of buxom girls in white aprons, protective goggles and — curiously — multi-coloured hard hats were stirring a mixture in a large beaker. In the background, a girl was pouring liquid into a large plastic tub from which arose clouds of pink steam. On the bench lay a wooden spoon, smoking gently. This was crazy! They'd stolen our unique process! Move on, Chauntaille.
5. School Orgy (All Age). Regular orgy for all gurl.
The picture showed a more or less standard all-girl orgy. 69-ing was pretty general, and none of the floor was visible. Nothing new there, then.
6. Bra Fitment (13). School corsetiere fit all gurl (not just Class Head) with bra using Dangoru Table.
And there was a table with nine-foot tall legs and a ladder up the side. A girl lay placidly on top of it with a pair of truly majestic two-feet-wide danglers. She'd have been Head of any class at St Cat's, without a doubt. Disturbingly, there was an aperture in the floorboards and the ends of the girl's breasts passed through the floor and out of sight. Okay, she wasn't as big as Sally Chung, but she had to be something more than twenty feet around the bust. Less than two days ago, I thought, Clit had modified bra facility floor in front of Dangoru Table in exactly the same way to accommodate Sally. Yet Clit had never even heard of the Gurl Sphere. Coincidence, or what?
7, 8 and 9 were close-up pictures of bras, showing heavily padded shoulder straps, heavy-duty hooks apparently forged from titanium, and FreeTips-style cups.
10. FreeTippu Bra Design (9). Kimiko, T118, B125, W32, H58, show nipple through special bra with hole in end.
Clearly selected for her suitability, Kimiko protruded through the holes in her bra cups and her two-inch thick nipples extended into space way ahead of what appeared to be a more than substantial bust. I could only assume that the girl's age was a misprint but there was insufficient data to determine whether or not her bust measurement included six-inch long nipples. Did it matter? The absurd creature was less than four feet tall.
Down at the foot of the page was a chunk of small print. The captions sheet rendered it in a readable size.
Gurl Sphere use services of special ultra-power computer, the Fucking Machine.
That explained everything. The Fuckh Machine was behind it all. I might have guessed it. I searched the bunch of photographs again, half expecting to see a grand piano being repossessed by a bunch of deep-sea fisherman, but there was nothing. If Gurl Sphere was under control of Fuckh Machine, just as St Cat's was, it was perfectly logical that students of Japanese school should be consistently bustier than St Cat's girls. This way, our girls would be constantly busy in the Sexual Chemistry lab, brewing up new varieties of Cream. Meanwhile, however, in Japan, their gurls were constantly busy brewing up potions of their own. Talk about a vicious circle. We'd end up with a world populated with gargantuan-breasted girls, and gurls. Busts would be routinely measured in feet. Or yards.
I could hardly wait.
A plaintive wail arose from the outer office. "Mr Zeppelin, ah'm hoongreh again."
"Would you mind fingering me, please, Maisie?" Valentina suggested politely.
"Eeeuurrgh! It's not very nice, touching girls down there."
"What? We're Creaming you, the least you could do is shove a few fingers up our pussies!"
"Speak for yourself," said Helvetica. "I'll make my own masturbatory arrangements, thank you very much."
"That's what I'm doing," said Valentina. "I'm arranging for a First Former to jill me off. Use four fingers, please, Maisie."
"Shan't!"
"After all we've done for you? We've Creamed your bust up to something like seventy inches! We've nearly made you into First Form Head. We've given you a plump, sexy bum and great big pointy nipples that never go down. And when we ask you to stick a few fingers up our pussy you say 'shan't'! You're an ungrateful slut." Valentina scraped the Cream off her fingers into the tub and slammed the lid in place.
"You can't stop now!"
"Too late, I've stopped."
"But you've only done one boob."
"Tough titty. Lots of girls have one bigger than the other. Get used to it."
Maisie scrambled off the bed and burst into tears. She fell over a couple of times on her way to the door.
"Wow!" said Helvetica as the door slammed behind Maisie. "Poor old Maise! There aren't many girls at St Cat's with one bigger than the other."
"She'll find somebody else to Cream her if she ends up with a smaller one," Valentina sniffed. "Not that it will make much difference now she's so big. I doubt if she was going to get much bigger. Not until somebody invents a new SuperCream formula. Anyway, come on!"
"Where are you going?"
"Got to find another girlfriend. It's a Saturday. I can't wait until Sexy Chem on Monday to get touched up, can I?" She clambered into a pair of jeans.
The friends plodded down the stairs and came to a halt in front of the notice board, where a small crowd had gathered. A skinny, myopic girl was trying to get close enough to read a bulletin for everyone to hear, but she was having difficulty leaning far enough forward over her breasts. Helvetica and Valentina listened impatiently for a few moments.
"Let me through," Helvetica demanded at last, shouldering a path through the soft mass of smaller girls and sending several of them sprawling helplessly across the slippery floor.
"New clothing regulations? Not more new clothing regulations!"