Five Virgins of St Cat's
by
Some Sort of Dog
© 2003 Some Sort of DogChronologically, this story takes place after the Christmas celebrations in Snowed In at St Cat's (2002).
It is now springtime, when headmistresses tend to dream up ridiculous schemes,
but no doubt the Fuckh Machine has something to do with all the weird goings-on.
1
A Dog-Brained Idea
"Right," I announced as I breezed into the classroom. Girls scattered to their desks, turning off their mobile phones and hastily buttoning their blouses. They'd been expecting Miss Malone and the sudden appearance of their headmistress, only ten minutes late, had taken them somewhat unawares.
"Good mor-ning, Miss Gruntworthy," came the breathless chant as I glared round the classroom at the Second Form. I'd caught them on the wrong foot but they had recovered well. Time to seize the initiative once more.
"Right. Pay attention." I opened the heavy volume I had brought with me and ran a finger down the column of names. "How many virgins left in here?"
It was a good question, designed to stop them in their tracks and make them blush prettily. I peered round at the forest of virtuously raised, slightly grubby little hands. Not everybody here was telling the truth. I picked on the most likely suspect; who was sitting in the front row.
"Valentina, as the mother of two disgusting little brats and now — by the look of your belly — pregnant for a third time, perhaps you could explain to the class why you feel you still qualify as a virgin?"
The girls giggled with delight.
"Sorry, miss," Valentina admitted. "I didn't understand the question."
"I need a virgin!" I enunciated clearly. "A girl who has never done it with a boy."
The hands came down one by one.
"That's better. Still no success, Helvetica? You're leaving it a bit late, you know. At St Cat's we expect girls to have a certain level of experience by thirteen."
"But I'm nowhere near thirteen yet, miss." Helvetica's face was crimson.
"We don't expect you to leave it to the last minute, child! You're a big girl, you have a bust measurement comfortably in excess of six feet, and as we are all well aware, you have a love tunnel the size of ... of ... will you please stop that infernal blubbering, girl!"
"Vets gets embarrassed easily, miss," Valentina explained, comforting her friend with an arm round her heaving shoulders and a series of wholly unnecessary wet and noisy kisses. "Were you still a virgin at twelve?"
"What's that got to do with it?"
"I bet you weren't!"
"How much?"
"Five pounds!"
A gasp ran round the room.
"Done!" I plunged a hand into my bra and produced a crumpled five pound note. Waving it at Valentina I crowed in triumph. "Let's see the colour of your money, then, fatso!"
"I've got it in the dorm, miss. But you still haven't proved you had it with a boy before you were our age." Valentina heaved herself to her feet and scanned the faces of the class. "Apart from the lezzies — and Vets, of course — we've all done it. Even Gabrielle."
A powerfully-built but mousy-looking girl with breasts of no more than sixty or so inches sprang up to contest the point. "Whaddya mean, even Gabrielle? I can get a boy any time I want. Or a man," she added darkly. Gabrielle lived on a farm. She'd also handed in a Summer Project last year in which she had single-handedly recorded the average volume of semen delivered by a typical teenage boy subject during a typical ejaculation. Except that the boy subject hadn't been typical at all. Dimensionally, by all accounts, he belonged in a stable. Although Gabrielle had claimed that Nothing Had Happened, it was generally felt that some kind of relationship must have existed.
"That's enough, you two. Sit down and be quiet. Now, let me tell you why I need a virgin. We're going to send her to Lord Ted's."
Uproar broke out. Lord Edward's Boys School was a short walk away across the fields. Most of the girls were familiar with the journey. Even the most mobility-challenged — those with the shortest legs and the biggest breasts — could make the trip in less than five minutes. My Deputy, Miss Mountains, Smegs to her friends, had been known to do it in three minutes and forty-nine seconds when in a state of deep need. Coming back, bandy-legged and oozing a glistening trail of semen, usually took rather longer.
The traffic was by no means one way. It was not unknown for the boys of Lord Ted's to pay nocturnal visits to St Cat's. Not all of them, of course: a significant majority preferred the company of other boys, or that of their teaching staff, most of whom had undeniable leanings. Lord Ted's, in common with most English single-sex schools, was a hotbed of irons. [Translator's note: Iron, iron hoof = poof.]
I let the babble of voices continue for a whort while before elaborating. "We are sending one girl from each class — apart from the Sixth Form who will be too busy with exams — to Lord Ted's for one month. That is a total of five girls. In exchange, we will receive one boy from each corresponding class. The purpose of this exchange is to allow students to become acquainted with the concept of co-education. In these so-called enlightened times, we must acknowledge that although the best schools keep boys and girls very much apart, most colleges are now mixed-gender establishments. Even so, the headmaster of Lord Ted's and myself have agreed that the students chosen for this exchange will all be in a virginal state — at least, at the start of the visit."
As the hubbub rose once more I began to stride up and down between the girls' desks, expanding on my theme.
"In fact, the headmaster of Lord Ted's tried to insist that all ten participants would remain pure in thought, word and deed throughout the period of exchange, but the stupid old goat always did live in a dream world." I came to a halt in front of Helvetica and fixed her with my best glare. "No, I shall expect you to lose your virginity, if not on the first night, then certainly by the end of the first week. The lucky girls will, of course, write a full and detailed report of their experiences. The author of the best report will receive a valuable cash reward!"
"Whose dog-brained idea was this, Shan?" Smegs snorted.
I had called the entire teaching staff together in my office and she was throwing her weight about as usual. Mainly that was because we were the only ones there. With no explanation, the others had failed to show up.
"What's stupid about it?"
"Well, for starters, how are you going to find five virgins at St Cat's?"
"I've already found them. Here's the list."
I handed her a piece of paper, and watched her eyebrows rise, one at a time.
|
First Form: Dawkes, Andromeda, 40-24-31 Second Form: Bold, Helvetica, 74-34-44 Third Form: Waters, Melanie, 85-85-35 Fourth Form: Hajji-Panayotis, Anathema, 53-28-34 Fifth Form: Brooks, Suzanne, 105-24-34 |
Smegs appointed herself spokeswoman again. "Okay, finding a virgin in the First Form can't have been easy, but Andromeda Dawkes probably qualifies, although she's such a raving dyke I'm sure she disqualifies herself. And I can't help feeling that your choice of Anathema Hajji-Panayotis might be based on vindictiveness."
"Of course it's not! I'm not a vindictive person. I may have awarded her half a million lines at Christmas...."
"And another half million when she didn't hand in the first lot at the beginning of January." She puzzled at the short list of names and numbers for a while. "How long has Suzanne been this big?"
"Since Christmas."
No comment from Smegs. I had never really told the rest of the staff what had happened when the snowstorm had marooned several of us at the school for three days which culminated in an orgy starring half the BBC.
"Okay," Smegs said at last, waving the list in my face. "What about her?"
"Hold it still. What about whom?"
"Oh, whom! Whom do you think? We're talking virgins, right?"
"Right."
"Waters, Melanie. 85-85-35. Eight months gone, that's whom. The definitive earth mother of the Third Form. Virgin. Virgin? Hel-lo? Chauntaille?"
"She is!"
"She's expecting triplets next month! She might even have them while she's over at Lord Ted's!"
"It was Sexual Chemistry," I explained. "She tried to enlarge her bust herself but it went a bit wrong. I mean, it enlarged her bust, all right, but she was three months pregnant within two weeks. It must have been pretty strong stuff; it dissolved a metal bucket."
"Ye gods!"
"You know this place has never been the same since that Fuckh Machine got involved."
"This place has never been the same, period!"
"I examined Melanie myself at Christmas. She was a virgin all right. Her dad agreed with me. He examined her, too, when he got her home."
"A father examined his own daughter? That's disgusting! He ought to be locked up!"
My jaw dropped. "He runs a birth control clinic. It's his job."
"The least he could have done would've been to have found a stranger to do it."
This thought had not occurred to me before. "You mean he should have gone out into the street and grabbed the first bloke he saw, and said, 'come in here and give my daughter an internal examination...'? Yes, I see your point. That would have been better than pulling on a pair of Marigolds and doing it himself. Still, it's done now. She's still pregnant and she's still a virgin."
"Garbage!"
"It's happened before. I can't quote Chapter and Verse, but it's somewhere around the start of the New Testament."
"It's never happened in the real world. Not here. We've never had a virgin birth at St Cat's!"
"I never said it was common, Megan. I just said it had happened before. Not with triplets, admittedly...."
"It would have made a bit of a mess of the New Testament if it had. Especially if they'd been three little girls. The Three Daughters of Man. The Holy Pentity. Still, it's your decision. There are more important questions. What about the boys we're getting in exchange?" She threw the paper on my desk and sat back in her chair.
"What about them?"
"They're all virgins?"
"Sort of...."
Smegs tore at her hair. "They're sort of virgins? Oh, God, tell me more!"
"The headmaster of Lord Ted's told me he got all the boys together, the whole school, and he asked the question. Well, he asked two questions, actually."
Smegs interrupted my story. "Let me guess. He asked for any non-virgins to put up their hands, so they did, and there were so many hands up in the air that he changed his mind and asked the virgins to put their hands up. And not one single hand was raised."
"How did you know? Were you there?"
"These are boys, Shannie! What boy is ever going to admit to being a virgin! In front of all his mates? Come on!"
"There must be some virgins at Lord Ted's!"
"There are. By the time you've excluded the thirty or so boys who sneak over here five nights a week, and the hundred or so chubby-cheeks who take turns in the time-honoured English boarding school tradition of banging each other up the back passage, you'll be left with a couple-of-hundred-odd who are not only as pure as the driven snow, they're going to stay that way for the rest of their lives."
"The headmaster found five candidates, anyway."
"I bet he did, I bet he did!" Smegs leered unpleasantly at me. "Let me tell you how he found them. Okay, he stopped asking silly questions in the assembly hall. He went round each class individually and told them that he needed a virgin for an important sociological experiment, which just happened to involve living in a school full of ragingly horny, vast-bosomed girls for a month."
"You were there!"
"And, of course, all the cock-jocks stuck their mitts up, and the first one to get his hand in the air got chosen."
"Not quite." I was glad that Smegs was proved fallible after all. "The headmaster told me that no one put his hand up at all. They were all...."
"They were all too busy wanking themselves off."
"...wanking themselves off." We completed our sentence together.
"So?"
"So they put all the names in a hat."
Smegs grinned. "Sounds like a fair and equitable British solution to me."
2
Farewell and Adieu
I had specifically demanded that we didn't make a ceremony out of it. To help achieve this, I ordered the Five Virgins to assemble outside the front doors to get on the minibus at seven o'clock in the morning, a time when any self-respecting girl would be tucked up in bed, either her own or someone else's.
There would be no tearful leave-taking; girls hugging all their class-mates, pouring sopping wet kisses into each others' open mouths. Each virgin would be accompanied only by her Form Head. We would have a brief, chaste handshake after which the girls would embus — Miss Labia chose that word — and be on their way by five minutes past. Ten minutes after that, they would arrive at Lord Ted's, and simultaneously, the Lord Ted's minibus would arrive at St Cat's. The arriving virgins would be greeted by their temporary Form Heads, and escorted to their respective dormitories in time to start the new day at seven thirty, sharp.
I had to admit it was a masterpiece of almost military planning.
For some reason, the rest of the staff failed to agree with me. Smegs had been the severest critic of the plan.
"The dorms? Are you crazy, Chauntaille? Have you ever been to the dorms at seven thirty in the morning?"
I almost suppressed an involuntary shudder. "Of course not!"
"Picture it. Thirty — make that twenty-eight — horny girls, roused from their sex-fragrant beds...."
"Stop it, Smegs! You're making me nauseous...."
"...where they have been dreaming for the previous eight hours of getting laid in every conceivable position. They wake up, roll on to their backs, finger themselves to a noisy climax or two while sucking both nipples simultaneously, then crawl out of bed and make their way to the showers for a quick grope with their bestest friends before kippers for breakfast. And into this mixture, you want to introduce a boy — I say again, a boy — who has been escorted along a dimly-lit corridor by a girl of his own age; to be precise, the girl of his own age who just happens to have the biggest fucking tits in her class! And all of this on a Monday morning!"
"What's so different about a Monday morning?"
"Panties are collected on Mondays. Some of the girls, no names, will have been wearing the same pair all weekend. Since Friday evening!" Smegs's eyes gleamed at the very thought of it.
In the end, it all worked quite well, as I knew it would.
The new boys weren't plunged into stinking dormitories full of rampant schoolgirls at seven thirty. The dormitories weren't full at all.
Unexpectedly, the whole school turned out at sparrow-fart that morning to say goodbye to their friends. I had to hold them back almost single-handedly by the force of my personality, admitting only the Five Virgins and their Form Heads to the vicinity of the school's gleaming new minibus. Jeremy had spent half the previous day washing and polishing it.
There they came: Suzanne, accompanied by her cousin Pansy, their bra straps on maximum uplift, their shirts stretched beyond comprehension; Anathema Hajji-Panayotis accompanied by the diminutive black figure of Toots; Melanie Waters, magnificently pregnant, her bust actually bigger than that of her Form Head, thanks to the new formula; Helvetica with her bestest friend...
"Where's Sally, Valentina?" I asked sharply.
"Accident with her wheelbarrow, miss. One of her tits fell out and she ran over it."
"Oh, my God! Where was this?"
"Down at the fish and chip shop in the village, miss. They're looking after her down there. So as I'm Deputy, miss, I'm seeing Vets off." And she flung her arms around her friend as if they were parting for evermore. There was a mighty meeting of tits, and as they clung to each other a great cheer went up from the assembled girls as each of the entwined Second Formers raised a dainty heel and rubbed it beneath the juncture of her partner's buttocks.
I tore my eyes away. The First Form had been a problem from Day One. The Fuckh Machine had made an almighty cock-up and delivered a bunch of preggies and milkers with nipples like oversized champagne corks and an average bust measurement substantially bigger than at least two of the other classes in the school. Only after some intensive programming work with the Fuckh Machine had we managed to get a more or less normal First Form again, in the process losing all the pregnant girls and their outrageously hypersexed, hyperdeveloped Form Head, Jane Crapp.
It was a pity, in a way, as I quite liked young Jane. Accordingly, I didn't object too strongly when the Fuckh Machine rearranged my own personal circumstances. For reasons best known to itself it had married me to Jeremy and made me pregnant.
Helvetica reversed this dramatic state of affairs.
Sadly, this meant that I didn't get a whole load of exciting wedding presents.
On the other hand, by way of compensation, the Fuckh Machine gave me back Jane Crapp.
Jane snogged Andromeda, her little virgin friend, in a manner which made me almost jealous.
"Enough of this!" I stormed, squelching my way down the steps to the minibus. "Load them up and get them out of here, it's nearly ten past!"
Something about one of the faces peering out of the vehicle triggered something in my brain. "Anathema Hajji-Panayotis. Half a million lines!" Tears spurted from her eyes behind the thick glasses.
"I've started them, miss!"
"I awarded you that punishment at Christmas, Anathema. Write out half a million times, whatever it was...."
"Something about the British working man, miss."
"That's right. I shall expect them on my desk when you return in a month's time."
"Yes, miss." She dissolved in floods of Greek tears. Excellent! A result!
Now that I was no longer up there on the steps to restrain them, the entire school had followed me, thronging around the minibus to exchange kisses and squeezes of tit. By the time Jeremy had bundled the last of the virgins into the back seats — giggling as he fought off the rest of the girls — and clambered behind the wheel, he was running ten minutes behind schedule.
In fact, as the St Cat's vehicle shot away with a squeal, the Lord Ted's minibus was already trundling slowly up the drive towards us. No sooner had it come to a halt than it was literally engulfed by girlhood, every last one of them steamed up and ready to fuck for England.
"Smegs! Give me a hand! They'll get raped!"
They didn't.
Thinking quickly, the Lord Ted's driver kept going and set off again for another lap, and by the time he had gone out of the gate, turned right along the main road for fifty yards, then come in at the next gate along, we had the girls under control, thanks in part to a fire bucketful of cold water thrown by an unexpectedly resourceful Miss Malone.
We shepherded the girls off in the direction of their breakfast. Like dogs, they could be diverted away from anything by an offer of food. Even kippers.
"Slight change of plan, Smegs," I announced. "We'll take them to the Sexual Chemistry lab until the girls have had their breakfast. Then when the girls go to assembly, you can take the boys down to the restaurant."
"Are you hoping to keep them apart for the entire month, Shan?"
"Of course not! It's only until the girls settle down. They're just naturally excited."
"And you think they'll be over it in half an hour? You're going to need more than a bucket of cold water next time."
But she helped me get the five scared little boys out of the bus and chivvy them into the safety of the lab, where they gathered behind one of the benches, shivering and whimpering.
Phase 1 completed.
The plan wasn't going too badly, considering that I'd had to make parts of it up as I went along. I'd had to abandon my little speech of farewell, wishing my girls every success and praying that they'd be back, suitably sullied and despoiled, in a month's time.
But now, as I surveyed this little cross-section of England's boyhood — the cream of Lord Ted's, if you'd pardon the expression — I began to wonder how many of my innocent little girls would actually get it on in their month at our neighbouring boys' school. If this snivelling bunch were anything to go by, our girls wouldn't get laid in a month of Sundays.
"Who's got a timetable? Where are the classes this morning?"
Smegs produced a sheet of paper and unfolded it. "Fifths are doing Maths, Fourths are next door for History."
"Good. You can take the two oldest boys with you. Introduce the Fifth Form to theirs — he's the tall, skinny one with the big hands — then you can do the Fourth Form's boy when you take them for History. Miss Malone has got the Thirds for Saving the Planet...."
"What about the Firsts? They're down in the IT lab for Advanced Webcams: Blowing Kisses With Glistening Fingers."
"Cassowary's class. Cassie, take this little boy with you but don't let him near any live cameras in case they start to fuck him."
"What, him?" Smegs said scornfully. It was true, apart from the lanky oldest boy, the others were skinny little runts. The girls in their classes were all at least head and shoulders taller than their corresponding boys; louder, more confident, they had whopping great tits and they were well-coached in the Bedroom Skills.
"Right, off you all go. I'll take this last one to the Second Form. We've got Sex: Elementary Male Masturbation. What's your name, boy?"
"Twittinghurst, miss. Barnaby Twittinghurst."
"Yes, well, I suppose you would be. Come on, then. Time to meet your new classmates."
"Yes, miss."
He followed me out of the door, his little feet pattering on the parquet as he strove to keep up. It must have been the way I felt when I tried to keep up with Smegs. I felt rather sorry for the poor chap. "Keep up, damn you!" I urged him.
"Is it much further, sir ... I mean, miss?" he panted. He didn't seem as fit as my girls. I suppose hauling a pair of watermelons around in your shirt does tend to beef up one's muscles.
We arrived and wheeled into the classroom without pausing at the door.
"What are you doing? Get back to your seats at once!"
The heap of girls dismantled itself and got up off the floor, leaving just one girl — naked, I couldn't help noticing — flat on her back. 'Flat' is a relative term, of course.
"Get up, Persephone, and sit down."
I suppose I should have asked them again what they were doing, but there were far more important matters to deal with.
"I'd like you to meet Barnaby Twittinghurst, girls," I said, turning to write his name on the blackboard. "How many Ts, Barnaby?"
"Four, miss."
I whirled round on him. If there is one thing I will not tolerate, it's a smart-arse. "You will write out fifteen thousand times, I Must Not Make Smart-Arse Comments When My Headmistress Asks Me A Perfectly Reasonable Question, Lord Ted's Boy Or No Lord Ted's Boy. Understand?"
A murmur of discontent rose from the girls, drowning out the boy's muffled sobs.
"That's a bit harsh, miss," said Valentina.
"You'll be next, Valentina, I don't care if you're Deputy Form Head or not."
"There are four Ts in Twittinghurst, miss," claimed half a dozen voices. "Count them."
I looked round at the board again and surveyed the name critically. What a bunch of tossers this Second Form was. I added an extra T in the middle of the name. It was a stupid name anyway.
There was a girl in the second row with her hand up.
"Before you ask, Persephone, I've told you before, you should have gone before classes started. You and your bladder are always the same."
"Please, miss. C'n I get dressed, miss?"
"Stand up, Persephone."
She struggled to her feet. Barnaby's sobbing had miraculously stopped.
"Are you due for a bra fitting, Persephone?"
"I was hoping to put it off until next week, miss, when Gabrielle goes, so we can go together."
"What size are you?"
"32P, miss."
"What's your ScatBra size?"
"Don't know, miss. Mum always buys my bras when I'm at home. She's got this special woman...."
"We've got a special woman here. Miss Clitress is a very special woman. So get your arse down there at once!" I looked around the class and spotted a couple of empty desks. "Who else is being fitted this morning?"
"None, miss," said Valentina. "Those are Helvetica's and Sally's. And if Persephone's going down to Miss Clit's, shouldn't she get dressed first?"
I turned my attention to Persephone. She looked okay to me the way she was, but she might attract jeers and catcalls if she went down to the Bra Facility with no clothes on.
"She'll need to undress when she gets there. Take your clothes with you, Persephone. And please hurry." I waited while the wretched girl slunk from the room and the sounds of her sobbing had died away.
"Okay! Now, gather round and say hello to Barnaby!"
The new boy was instantly surrounded by twenty-seven curious girls.
"Is he going to dress like this every day, miss?" asked Valentina.
"Of course. Why?"
"He ought to wear proper St Cat's uniform. He'd be far more comfortable in a skirt."
"He couldn't wear a skirt," said Gabrielle.
"He should be all right," said Valentina.
"I bet he wouldn't."
"Depends how long it is." Valentina squatted down and peered intently at the boy's groin. "How hard are you, Barnaby?"
Barnaby squeaked in alarm.
"No touching, Valentina!" I screamed.
"He's got a lovely bum, miss," said the girl known as Santa Claus.
"I said no touching!"
"You're right, Gabs," Valentina acknowledged. "He couldn't wear a skirt. He's not a bad size for such a little runt. Spesh'ly now he's getting hard!"
"I told you not to touch him, Valentina!"
"I'm not, miss. He got hard when Santa touched his bum."
Yes, I could understand that. The boy did come from Lord Ted's, after all.
"Back to your seats, everyone. Barnaby, go and sit in Helvetica's desk, next to ... no, have that one over there. Sally won't be in today. Everybody sitting down? All right? Sex! Anyone remember last week's lesson?"
I had a very good reason for asking. Teaching the same subject every year to different girls, one tends to forget.
"Wanking, miss," said Valentina.
"We're wanking boys this week, miss," Gabrielle elaborated.
"Cucumbers," said Petronella unhappily.
"Good. Petronella, go down to the kitchens and bring a box of courgettes. Cook will know what they're for."
"What size, miss?"
"Standard size, Petronella. Ask Cook if she needs them back. Tell her we're just doing manual relief with them this week, no penetration."
A groan went up as Petronella headed for the door. They were a rebellious bunch this morning. No doubt showing off in front of Barnaby.
"Where's he sleeping tonight, miss?" Gabrielle asked.
"He'd better have Helvetica's bed," I decided. "It's closest to the door in case he has to get up in the middle of the night."
Valentina looked pleased with herself. She smirked triumphantly at Gabrielle. "Your bed's right next to mine, Barney," she called out. "If you need a hand in the night, or anything...."
"Oh, miss!" The protest came from the rest of the girls in the class. Barnaby was struck dumb. I wondered if he'd had some crazy idea that he'd be sleeping with the rest of the Lord Ted's boys. We'd have none of that here, thank you very much!
Petronella returned from the kitchens and dumped a box on my desk. "No courgettes, miss. Cook sent sausages instead."
"Sausages? We can't use sausages!"
"Why not?"
"Well. We just can't." I looked in the box and peeled aside the wrapper. The sausages were raw, pink, fat and cold. They were only about four inches long, too, but there was no point in mentioning that unpleasant fact of life to the girls. "They're cold!" I protested.
"Of course they are. They've been in the fridge."
I dipped into the box and pulled one out. It was attached to its colleagues, but I found a pair of scissors in the desk drawer. A single sausage was satisfyingly heavy in my hand. It would soon warm up. I handed the scissors to Petronella. "Give them out. One each."
"Even him?"
"Why not? He'll know what to do with it."
Lewd sniggers from all except Barnaby himself. Maybe he didn't know what to do with it. Fair enough, he'd come to the right place to learn.
"Right, pay attention and listen carefully. Holding one end of the sausage in one hand, grasp it lightly in the palm of your other hand. Keep the fingers together so you don't trap the delicate skin. Now, without squeezing, slide your hand downwards. Now upwards. Squeeze gently on the upstroke only!"
They looked at me in frank disbelief. Some of them shook their heads. It was time for some individual attention. I began my slow walk up and down between the desks, correcting technique here, adjusting a grip there.
"Those of you with larger hands, use a couple of fingers and a thumb. That's good! Excellent wrist action, Charlene!" Might as well encourage her; that wrist action would have caused a real boy to become insensible with pain by now.
Slowly, they began to get the hang of it. Even Barnaby looked up at me and grinned. I noticed that he was using the two-fingers-and-one-thumb technique.
"I've never tried it with one this small before," he giggled. I raised a discreet eyebrow and moved on.
"It's getting warm, miss!"
"Mine's getting hard," Valentina claimed. She was swishing away negligently, not looking at what she was doing, with rapid strokes. Well, she would know how to do it, of course. "Why do we need to learn wanking, miss?"
"So you know how to do it properly and give pleasure to a boy, or if you get lucky, a man."
"Yeah, I know about all that, miss," said Valentina. "But why do we have to learn to wank, when we could just fuck them?"
"Ah, I see what you mean." I walked to the front of the class. "Pay attention, please. You all heard Valentina's question? Anybody know the reason why girls need to learn about this subject? Yes, Petronella?"
"So we can still give pleasure to our lovers when we're on our monthlies, miss," Petronella replied, blushing appropriately. The prissy little shit, I thought. Meanwhile, I had seen the folded piece of paper passed from hand to hand from Valentina to Barnaby. I had seen him open it up and read it, his lips moving silently. "Any other reasons? Yes, Barnaby?"
The boy blinked at me, looking flustered. He glanced at the message again. "Well, miss, say I'd been away on holiday without my girlfriend and I came back home and she thought I'd been having it off with some other girl while I'd been away? So instead of letting me fuck her, she might just wank me off to see how much cum comes out, and if there wasn't very much she'd know I'd been fucking all week, wouldn't she?"
"Very good, Barnaby. Now you can thank Valentina for telling you the answer."
3
Time for Bed
It had been a long, exciting day at St Cat's. It wasn't so much that there were boys on the premises; that happened virtually every evening. In fact, complaints had been heard in all the dormitories from girls whose dates had failed to turn up. It seemed that the regular nighttime visitors were deterred by the prospect of bumping into a schoolmate on his lawful occasions.
The scene in the Second Form dormitory was typical. Homework was finished and girls were getting ready for bed in a preoccupied kind of way. Of Barnaby Twit there was no sign.
"Where's yours?" Jane Crapp demanded. The First Form Head was paying a visit, standing in the middle of the Seconds' dorm, arms akimbo, her obscenely gigantic bust swelling so far out of her nightdress that the older girls were indimidated and looking anywhere but at her.
They didn't even have Sally Chung to offer competition; she was spending a second night at the fish and chip shop in the village. She had called earlier to offer her apologies and to ask Miss Clitress to start building her an even bigger bra.
Only Valentina could challenge Jane and uphold the good name of the Second Form. She shrugged out of her shirt and critically examined her reflection in the full length mirror. Too much tummy; too many babies. Jane's reflection appeared beside her. Several inches shorter and about a foot smaller round the waist, she sneered openly at Valentina's bulky middle.
Valentina turned away. Undressing further would have to wait until Jane had gone.
"I said, where is he? What have you done with yours?"
"Nothing yet. He's in the shower," said Valentina.
"How big's his cock?"
The Second Form let out a communal gasp. They'd all been wondering exactly the same thing all day long, but nobody had dared to say it until this ... this huge-titted child had blurted it out.
Nobody answered, because nobody knew.
"Average," Valentina sniffed, plumping up her pillows. "What about yours?"
Jane smirked and held her hands apart in front of her. Quite a long way apart. Then in an unmistakeable gesture, she tilted her two hands so that the space between them was almost vertical. "His name's Roderic — without a K — but I call him my Rod."
"Well, you'd better get back to him then, hadn't you, before one of your horny little friends decides to take him for a test drive."
"They wouldn't dare," said Jane. "They're all little wimps."
Little wimps with excessively large tits, she hardly needed to remind the Second Form girls. Although the massive Sally and the milk-laden Valentina kept the Seconds' average bust size up to a respectable figure, when it came to head-to-head, girl-to-girl, tit-to-tit, the ordinary run-of-the-mill Second Form girl came a poor second place to her younger counterpart. Jane's bulging presence was an uncomfortable reminder of this fact, yet they didn't know how to make her go away. She sat down, evidently prepared to wait until Barnaby came back.
"We're going to bed now," said Valentina. She went to the door and turned out the main lights.
"That's okay," said Jane. "I won't make any noise. Do you always get undressed in the dark, then? Of course, I can understand why...."
"If the dorm prefect comes along and finds you in here, you'll be in the shit."
"Of course, she'd know I wasn't a Second Former," Jane said, taking a deep breath and wobbling her massive rack. "But she won't be able to see my face in the dark. I'll just wait here for your little boy to come back. Maybe he'll want to come back with me and meet some real women. We've got a spare bed. Not that he'll need a bed of his own anyway...."
"Enough!" A shadowy and bulky figure had appeared at Jane's shoulder. "If you're not out of here in five seconds, I'll throw you out!"
"Huh!"
"Five ... four ... three...."
Jane eased out of her chair. "How typical of you lot to resort to violence...."
"Two ... one...."
"In the showers, is he? I might just take a look in there myself...."
"Zero!"
There was a brief scuffle, ending in a girly scream. The door opened, a grotesque struggling silhouette briefly appeared in the oblong of yellow light then the door closed again. Gabrielle sauntered back to her bed, brushing the dust off her hands.
"I'd have done that," said Valentina, "only the milk would have made such a mess."
"Oh, any time," said Gabrielle. "She's not as heavy as a baby cow."
The door opened again and someone blundered in, colliding with things on the way back to the bed nearest the doorway.
"Shit! Ow!"
"Barney?"
"I stubbed my toe on the bed. I think it's broken."
Valentina was at his side in an instant. "Let me have a look at it. My mum's a nurse."
The bedsprings creaked.
"Ooh, yes, it's really hot! Does that hurt?"
"Gently!"
"Oh, Barney, I can feel it throbbing!"
"You're making it wet!"
"I'm only licking it, Barney!"
"Ooh, why are the lights out anyway? It's not ten o' clock yet."
"It's bedtime, that's why."
"But this is my bed. Who are you, anyway?"
"Valentina, of course! Can't you tell? Here, feel these. Gently! You can have a drink of milk if you like."
"Milk?"
"Of course. Open your mouth. See? Milk!"
"Oh, shit!"
"Barney? Barney, come back here!"
The door opened and slammed shut, and scampering footsteps dwindled in the distance. There was silence in the dorm.
"If any one of you says a single word," Valentina snarled, "I'll skin her alive."
"I wonder where he went," said Gabrielle after ten minutes or so of absolute silence. Valentina didn't offer to skin her alive so she continued. "He'll freeze out there."
"He's not outside," said Valentina. "He's still in the building."
"You want to bet? He'll still be running, if he's got any sense. You scared the shit out of the poor baby."
"Baby? If you felt what I think I felt, you wouldn't be calling him a baby."
"You were the one who was trying to breast feed him."
"I was only making his foot better."
"Oh yeah? It sounded like it."
Valentina lay quietly for a while, thinking back. Maybe she had been a little forward. "I just accidentally brushed it with the back of my hand," she whispered, and twenty-seven pairs of ears pricked up in the darkness. "I'm sure that's what it was."
"A sausage?" Petronella sniggered.
"It wasn't cold like a sausage."
"Maybe it was cooked."
"And it wasn't one of those little two-fingers-and-a-thumb sausages like we had in Wanking class earlier." Valentina had their attention. "My hand brushed along its length, and it kind of got longer ... thicker ... harder!"
There were twenty-seven gulps. Fingers were seeking — and finding with no difficulty at all — moist, furry slits.
"Ooooooooo-ooooo-oh, wooh!" sighed one girl, the first to finish.
Gabrielle threw back her sheet and sprang out of bed. She yanked Valentina to her feet then rushed to her wardrobe and dragged out her fleecy jacket. "Come on! You know what happens to boys' cocks when they get cold?"
Valentina didn't, but she'd never lived on a farm. "Of course!" she lied.
"Come on, then! We've got to bring him back indoors and look after him. If it gets really frozen it might not just shrivel up, it might drop off altogether!"
Approximately seventy-eight fingers were guiltily removed from twenty-six moist hiding-places.
Valentina pulled on some clothes over her nightie and followed Gabrielle to the door. Then she scuttled back and grabbed her mobile phone.
"If he comes back, somebody text me!"
"What are you two doing out here?" I demanded shrilly. If I had been told that two Second Form girls would have been prowling around outside in their nighties, yes, I'd have nominated Valentina Nightingale as one of them. But I'd never in a thousand guesses have gone for Gabrielle Billings as the other. Helvetica had barely been away a day and Valentina had found a new bedfellow.
I took a closer look at the two of them. Gabrielle was wearing her St Cat's corporate fleece, while Valentina had her blazer on, but two pairs of powerful bare legs protruded beneath, reaching all the way down to the ground. Gabrielle carried a folded blanket over her arm.
"Where are you going?"
"We're looking for our boy," said Valentina.
A chill ran up my spine. If we'd started losing Lord Ted's boys on the first night I could feel a court case coming on. "You've lost Barnaby Twit?" I asked, just in case.
"With four Ts," Gabrielle confirmed. "Valentina was trying to get him into bed and he ran off."
"I was only licking his foot."
That sounded worse than it probably really was — or I hoped it did. Just in case, I asked the question.
"A foot?"
"He'd been out for a pee, and he came back into the dorm and the lights were out, and he banged it against the leg of his bed."
Another chill up the spine as I mentally compared certain dimensions. A foot was obviously a conservative estimate.
"Which way did he go?" I asked the girls.
Gabrielle sounded surprised. "There's only one way he could go. Along the corridor. He wouldn't have used the fire escape."
"All the other Lord Ted's boys do," I blurted, before realising that these were innocent Second Formers and they couldn't be expected to know about such things. They didn't react, so I thought I'd got away with it. It was time for decisive action. I'd send them off on a wild goose chase and catch this interestingly-hung boy myself.
"If you two search the quad, I'll look in all the classrooms. How was he dressed?"
"Flannelette stripey jim-jams," said Valentina immediately. "I'd unbuttoned the tops and untied the string of the bottoms but I hadn't got them off him."
"Good! Off you go, then! If you find him, bring him up to my office and wait for me there. I'll go back there every fifteen minutes, every time the clock strikes."
Gabrielle looked confused. "But the clock doesn't str...."
"I'll be able to hear it, miss," said Valentina hurriedly.
They hurried off into the darkness.
"Did you believe any of that crap?" Gabrielle asked Valentina.
"Of course not! He won't be out here! He'll be in one of the classrooms."
"So Miss Grunt will find him. You know what she's like. If she finds him, we won't get him back tonight. We'll be fucking around out here in the cold."
"No we won't." Valentina opened a door and led the way up a narrow staircase. "And she won't be searching the classrooms either."
"Where are we going?"
"You're going up the clock tower. I can't get my tits through the trapdoor. It's up there."
Gabrielle gave her classmate an old fashioned look. "You're just trying to get rid of me. If I go up there, you'll lock me in and have Barney all to yourself."
Valentina hadn't thought of that. It sounded like an attractive scheme. But loyalty to her classmate came to the fore. "I won't! If we find him, we'll share him. He wriggled so much last time, I'll need somebody strong to hold him down. Here. Put your foot in my hands and I'll give you a leg-up. That's it, push the trapdoor out of the way. You'll find a ladder up there."
"Ow, it's tight!"
"Push one of your tits through first, then the other one."
"It's easy for you to say that."
"I got through there okay before I had a 99-inch bust. When I put the treacle in the clock. You'll be all right. Go up the ladder and there's like a round brass knob in front of you? Turn it until it clicks, then the clock will strike."
"You're havin' a laugh! It never strikes."
"It does, you just can't hear it, that's all! How's it going?"
"There's this like round brass knob thing. I'm turning it now. Which way? I said which way? Valentina?"
"Sorry, did you ask a question? I had my fingers in my ears."
"For fuck's sake! Which way do I turn the fucking knob?"
"It's okay, you already did. The clock struck quarter past."
Gabrielle's angry face appeared at the trapdoor. "Let me down. You're takin' the piss!"
"Honest, it does strike, Gabs! It's just that only a few of us can hear it. There's me, and Helvetica, and the Brooks girls, and some of the teachers, and some of the other girls. Come on down. Miss Grunt will be in her office by now. We can search the classrooms and find him."
Gabrielle came down, the two of them landing in a wriggling heap as the trapdoor slammed above their heads. Dust and hairy bird-eating spiders showered down.
"Why did I have to bring you with me?" Gabrielle enquired. "You're as crazy as old Gruntworthy!"
"She's only a little bit crazy," said Valentina. "Come on. This way!"
They hurried up a few more steps, then down a few, and through a door.
"I didn't know about this passage," Gabrielle said wonderingly as they emerged into the assembly hall and Valentina carefully closed the door. They were behind one of the three grand pianos on the stage.
"This way. You do the doors on the left, I'll do the ones on the right."
They arrived at the end of the corridor, panting. There was a door in front of them, but it only led to the staff room. Valentina tried the doorknob.
"Go away!" The voice was cultured, scared, and male.
"Found him!"
"Who is it?" demanded another male voice, a little younger.
"Two of them!" Valentina cleared her throat. "This is Miss Gruntworthy, your headmistress, speaking. Who's in there?"
"Five of us," admitted the more senior spokesman.
"This is a staff common room. Open this door at once, young man!"
There was silence from within, then the sound of the key turning in the lock.
Gabrielle quickly opened the door a few inches, thrust her hand inside, seized the key, shut the door and locked it from the outside. Then she dropped the key into her cleavage where it wedged securely between her firm breasts.
"There!" she said triumphantly. And grabbing Valentina's unwilling hand, she dragged her outside, into the dormitory block and up the stairs.
"What did you do that for?" Valentina panted, hugging her breasts to stop them bouncing her off her feet.
"There were five of them in there. We'd never have been able to deal with five boys."
"Speak for yourself!"
"They'd have escaped, you fool! Not now, though! We've got the key. Okay, we can't have them, but neither can anybody else! Let's go back to bed."
"What, you mean ... us?"
"Why not? I sometimes fancy a drink of milk myself, you know."
"No shit!" Valentina thought about it for a while, then shrugged her shoulders. While hoisting Gabrielle up into the clock tower, she'd had her face only inches from the farmer's daughter's decidedly womanly loins. Valentina wasn't made of stone. "What about your girlfriends?"
"They'll be asleep by now! All seven of them. And there certainly won't be any Lord Ted's boys coming in tonight! It's just you and me, Tee, baby ... and those stonking great milkers of yours."
4
Hostages
"What's your problem?" Smegs asked at breakfast.
"I had a disturbed night."
"You weren't..." she was staring around the school restaurant. "Where are they? What have you done with them?"
I assumed she meant the five Lord Ted's boys. I bet the crafty slut had kidnapped them herself.
"I haven't seen them. I know one of them ran away when Nurse's brat tried to ravish him in the Seconds' dorm."
"That makes one, Shannie. What about the other four?"
"Maybe they're not hungry. Breakfast with two hundred girls might be a bit daunting for them." I took a bite of sausage, wondering what it reminded me of. "Shit, is that the time already?" I was too late to avoid being half-deafened by the quadrangle clock.
Smegs looked at her watch. "It's only twenty-five to, what's the rush?" She applied a small slice of toast to half a jar of marmalade.
Around the restaurant, several confused girls were clutching their ears, others were consulting their watches and banging their mobile phones on the furniture. At the table where the Second Form were clearing up their plates, Valentina jerked Gabrielle to her feet and hurried her from the room. They were carrying a plastic bag, apparently loaded with enough food for a small army. Strange behaviour indeed. Clearly the two of them had spent the night together, but they couldn't be going back to bed for more — not at eight thirty-five in the morning.
I excused myself, but by the time I got outside, there was no sign of them.
Lord Ted's was just the same as any school; a labyrinth of corridors and silly little dusty rooms.
"So whose stupid idea was it to hide in here?" snapped Suzanne.
"We had to hide somewhere," said Helvetica.
"I'm not objecting to hiding. Why couldn't you find a room with enough room to swing a cat?"
It was a valid point. There wasn't really room for five extremely bosomy girls in this store room. There wouldn't have been room even if they'd thrown out the photocopying machine that Anathema was currently sitting on, and the teetering pile of buckets, and the stack of exercise books apparently belonging to boys who had left Lord Ted's fifteen years earlier. Melanie, the most pregnant virgin in medical history, was comforting the sobbing Andromeda Dawkes and seemed intent on taking matters further except that there wasn't really room for a decent sixty-nine.
"We could break out and find somewhere bigger to hide," Suzanne suggested.
"There are only five of us," said Helvetica. "We'd take a few of them out, but little Andromeda would be no good in a fight with two hundred boys. And Melanie's pregnant. And Miss Greece can't see beyond the end of her nose."
Anathema made no protest. Since she'd mislaid her glasses on their helter-skelter flight from the boys' dorms last night, she had no idea who was speaking. She thought the photocopier was a rather uncomfortable armchair.
"You don't have to call me Anathema," she said. "My friends call me Hajj."
The other girls considered this in silence.
"We'll have to come out soon," said Melanie. "I'm starving. I'm supposed to be eating for four, you know."
"And I need a p-poo," admitted Andromeda Dawkes. So it had been her, as Helvetica had suspected for some time. But Melanie was right. They'd all need a bathroom break before long, and the very thought of breakfast was agony to five hungry girls.
"It's Tuesday. They'll be having sausages back at St Cat's," said Melanie. "And scrambled eggs."
"Oh, stop it!"
"What shall we do?"
"We wait until they're all in class. Nine fifteen ought to do it. Then we can sneak out."
"What then?"
"We head for the border," said Helvetica. "The path to St Cat's leads off the sports field. We make a break for it."
"They'll bring us back here," Suzanne predicted.
"I'm not coming back here," said Helvetica. "I can still feel that boy's hands. Clammy, like cold meat. On my left moon."
"Both hands on one moon?"
"I can't help having moons this big! And at least, mine are all-natural."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Suzanne and Melanie demanded in chorus.
"Mine aren't the result of Sexual Chemistry. I haven't plastered my tits with Cream!"
"What about Miss Gruntworthy, in the lab at Christmas?"
"That was my bum, not my tits," Helvetica muttered.
The two non-augmented girls listened to this exchange with open mouths. Andromeda Dawkes wondered if the headmistress would ever anoint her body with Cream, and if so, how soon would it happen, please. Anathema Hajji-Panayotis simply wondered which of the other four blurred girls was talking.
Suzanne brought matters to order. "What time is it now?"
"Look on your phone."
"Nearly quarter to nine. Can we hold out for half an hour? Melanie?" Melanie nodded. "Dromeda?" Andromeda Dawkes gritted her teeth and adopted a pained expression. As it had been nearly ten years since she had last shat her pants, she had quite forgotten what the symptoms felt like. But she knew the moment was approaching fast.
"I'm not sure we've got half an hour," said Helvetica. "Poor Dromeda's going to explode soon and I don't think we want to be in here when it happens. Let's get out at a minute past nine."
"Then what?"
"Drom goes to the loo, we all go to the kitchens and get some food."
"You can't leave me in the loo on my own!" Andromeda bleated.
"I'll come with you," said Melanie. "The other three had better stick together, since Hajj can't see very well. Do we all know which way we're going?"
"The loos are just across from here," said Helvetica. "There's a picture of a little man on the door. They're for teachers, but it won't matter, they'll all be busy teaching. We'll find the kitchen by the smell of food. Let's all meet up at nine-fifteen. Where?"
"Behind the bike sheds," said Melanie. "They're next door to the canteen. I know, 'cos I've been over here dozens of times, trying to get laid."
"Funny," said Helvetica. "I've tried a few times to get laid, but now we don't want to we're having to fight the boys off with sticks."
"How will we know when it's nine fifteen?" said Melanie.
"You'll be able to hear the St Cat's clock striking from here, once we're outside."
Suzanne nodded, as did Andromeda Dawkes. Melanie stared at Helvetica. Anathema stared blankly at where she thought Helvetica's voice was coming from.
"The clock? Striking?"
"All present?" I called as I wafted cheerfully into the lab for the first lesson of the day, Sexual Chemistry: Pheromones. I knew the class weren't all present, of course, but that's just part of the school teacher's craft. As I placed a pile of exercise books on the top bench I heard the groans go up from those girls who knew they hadn't done very well in their homework. They'd have to stay in suspense for a while longer yet.
Meanwhile, I glanced round the room, knowing there'd be empty spaces where Valentina and Gabrielle normally sat.
There they were, their faces shining and innocent. Damn.
"Barnaby?" I enquired.
The girls all looked at one another. Nobody knew where Barnaby was.
"Where is he?" Silence. "Somebody must have seen him. Who slept with him last night?" A communal gasp and some pretty blushing. They were starting to look at Valentina and Gabrielle, both of whom were inspecting their nails. "How big's his cock? Anyone?"
No reply.
At that moment, the door opened and two girls started an elaborate ritual, each ushering the other into the room. They were joined by a third girl who absolutely insisted that she could wait her turn and would one of the others please go first. Then a fourth girl appeared; the other three stood aside and she walked straight in. She tried to get back out again but the original three had followed her. They all struggled in grim silence for a few moments until I asked them what they wanted.
They nudged each other. "After you!" "No, after you!"
Finally I called upon the oldest. There was, I noticed with a sense of foreboding, one girl from four of the lower five classes.
"Please, miss. Our boy hasn't turned up for classes."
"Neither has ours, miss."
"Neither has ours, miss."
"Neither has ours, miss."
"That's strange," I said. "Nor has ours. All five boys are missing? Valentina?"
"Yes, miss?"
"You know Lord Ted's number. Call them."
"The school?
"Of course the school! Use your mobile."
There was a pause while Valentina slowly dialled a number, then waited. We all twiddled our thumbs.
"Er, hello? Lord Ted's? I mean Lord Edward's? Yes, that's what I meant. I don't know who I want to speak to ... erm, Mr ... erm ... Fotheringhay?"
A lengthy delay, at the end of which Valentina informed us that Mr Fotheringhay was no longer with them and they couldn't contact him, probably not for three years, unless he got out sooner for good behaviour. So Valentina asked for the headmaster but the headmaster couldn't come so she asked whoever it was at the other end if five boys from St Cat's had come in to classes at Lord Ted's by mistake this morning, and whoever it was at the other end said he had no idea, as they were all too busy looking for five girls from St Cat's who had disappeared.
"I knew this would happen, the dirty little bastards have run off with each other!" I stormed, summing up the situation at a glance. "What's the time?"
"About five past nine..." one of the four bringers of bad tidings started to say, at which point I was forced to clap my hands over my ears as the quadrangle clock failed to strike quarter past nine.
"It can't be quarter past already!" yelled Andromeda Dawkes, leaping off the toilet, tearing off half a roll of paper and pulling up her underwear. The roll of toilet tissue broke loose from its moorings and trundled out under the door. The more Andromeda pulled at her end, the faster the roll accelerated away from her.
"It isn't quarter past," said Melanie from the adjoining cubicle.
"It is, I heard the clock. Oh, sugarlumps, this paper's all wet!"
"Who's that in there?" boomed a deep male voice. "It's women, isn't it! Caught you at last! Stay in there and don't move!"
Meanwhile, outside the building, three extremely well-developed young women had just skulked out of the kitchen with plastic carrier bags, when two of them cocked an ear to the horizon and shot off in the direction of the bike sheds, leaving the third blundering around in circles pawing helplessly at the empty air. Finding nothing, she sat down and began to cry.
"I can't go back and fetch her," said Helvetica. "There's a teacher coming."
There was, too. He came lurching out of the school buildings with his sports jacket flying behind him, then screeched to a halt in front of the weeping Anathema.
"Another one!" he yelled, spun around on his heel and ran off in a different direction entirely.
At that precise moment, Melanie lumbered out of the door, looking to left and right, followed by Andromeda who had ten yards of toilet paper trailing behind her. She was engaged in a struggle with her panties, and had both legs through the same leg-hole, which was causing her to hop down the steps. Melanie collected the bewildered Anathema — or Hajj, as she preferred to be known — and all three of them lurched off in the direction of the bike sheds.
When the teacher came back, accompanied by two of his staff colleagues, there was no sign of any girls at all.
Smegs always knows what to do on these occasions.
"How would I know what you're going to do about it?" she yelled. "It was your stupid idea trying to devirginise those girls. If you'd just let nature take its course they'd have made their own arrangements."
"It's all Valentina's fault," I shouted. "She tried to seduce the boys."
"What, all five of them? A trifle ambitious, even for Nurse's brat."
"She had Gabrielle Billings helping her. She lives on a farm."
"Ah, I see, a farmer's daughter. That might explain it. But what makes you think the boys have gone off with our girls?"
"It stands to reason, doesn't it? The girls and the boys all disappeared at the same time. Unless ... no, it couldn't be...."
"No, you're right, it couldn't. Look, why don't we take a trip over to Lord Ted's and have a chat with the headmaster, what's his name."
It sounded an absurd idea to me, so we did it. I awarded the entire Second Form a hundred thousand lines each, to be handed in by lunchtime or else, and Smegs told her Sixth Form History class to find something interesting to look at on the Internet, then we piled into Smegs's BMW and boomed off to Lord Ted's. We could have walked across the fields but there would still have been dew on the grass and I had my new shoes on and they weren't broken in yet.
"I haven't been over here for ages," I said. "What's the new headmaster's name?"
"Doctor Foster. He's the one who went to Gloucester in a shower of rain."
I never know when Smegs is being serious or not. She parked the car and we walked up to the grand main entrance of Lord Edward's Grammar School for Boys.
"Shit, that's Miss Mountains's car!" Suzanne gasped. "What's she doing over here?"
"Somebody must have told her we've disappeared."
"The sneaks. Typical boys!"
"Well, we daren't come out of here until she's gone. We might as well finish off all this breakfast. Everybody got something to eat?"
There were four muffled replies, although Andromeda's sounded vaguely troubled.
"What's up, Drom?" said Melanie, giving the First Former a little hug.
"I think I need to go again."
"Dromeda needs another loo."
"What was wrong with the last one?"
"Nothing, but it was a men's. And that teacher came in and frightened her."
"They're all men's toilets here, Drom," said Helvetica. "You'll have to get used to it."
"I don't like men listening to me doing it!"
"They make the same noises as we do."
"That's not the point."
It was true. None of the girls felt truly comfortable using male toilets. It always felt as if there were people hanging about — literally hanging about — outside the cubicles, listening to them and sniggering. It was a factor that nobody at St Cat's seemed to have thought about.
"I still need to go," Andromeda repeated. "It's going to be a total smackeroony."
"Go a bit further into the woods. Nobody will see you there."
"Or hear you."
"There's no paper..."
"Use one of these paper bags. If you put your hand inside...."
"She doesn't need detailed instructions about how to shit in the woods," Helvetica protested. "Go on, Drom. We'll keep an eye open in case anyone comes. If you hear a cough, like this ... aagh-hmm ... break off whatever you're doing immediately and come back here."
"Okay. Thanks, Vets."
Andromeda hurried away into the bushes. From the sounds of her progress she'd gone halfway to Borcester.
5
To the Woods
"Quick, now she's gone." Valentina was out of her seat in a flash. Gabrielle hung back.
"What about these lines we've got to write?"
"She won't even remember. Even if she does, I've got a load of photocopied ones we can give her."
"But they won't say the right words...."
"She won't remember the right words herself. Let's go!"
The two girls grabbed their breakfast doggie-bags and made an exit. Seconds later they were unlocking the staff room door. They both slipped inside and Valentina locked the door before concealing the key about her person.
"Hi, boys! Breakfast!"
"We need the toilet," said the oldest boy.
"You'll need it all the more after you've eaten this lot," said Valentina.
Despite their other needs the five captives were hungry. They fell upon the food like wolves. It was a good time to talk to them.
"Have any of you had it yet?" Valentina chirped.
Five heads were shaken in the negative.
"They're all still virgins," said Valentina.
Five heads shook so vigorously they almost fell off their shoulders.
"They mean they haven't done it since they came here," said Gabrielle, and five heads nodded in affirmation.
"But you've been here twenty-four hours already!" said Valentina.
"Half of that time we've been locked up in here!" claimed the second oldest boy.
Valentina glared round the room at them. "If we let you out, do you promise you'll do it?"
"With us girls, not with each other," said Gabrielle.
The boys hung their heads and blushed. "We only tossed each other off," said the oldest boy.
"That's okay, it proves they're nice and horny," Gabrielle said to Valentina.
"How many times?" said Valentina. "More than once?"
To her surprise, the boys all began counting on their fingers and consulting with their leader. It took two or three minutes before he announced that they'd all come an average of six times each.
"Wow!" said Valentina.
"What a waste of good cum," said Gabrielle sternly. "Wasting cum is a crime."
"A crime?"
"It is here at St Cat's." The boys eyed each other.
Valentina licked her lips. "Does anyone need a cum now?" Barnaby raised a hesitant hand, and the two middle boys followed his example. The other two, outnumbered, decided to join in. Valentina dug into one of the doggie bags and produced a plastic cup. She wiped the inside with her hankie. "Come on, then. Get them out and do it in here!"
"Will you let us out if we do?"
"As long as you don't try to run away again." Gabrielle looked at her most severe. The boys shuddered. "And you've got to promise never to waste cum again."
"We promise," said the oldest boy. He nodded to his fellow prisoners. "Okay, get them out, chaps."
Valentina and Gabrielle stared. Were they really seeing what they thought they were seeing? And to think, they had just promised to let these boys out of captivity and share them with two hundred of their schoomates!
Spurt, spurt, spurt-spurt-spurt! Valentina began to wish she'd found a bigger container.
"Hrrrummph. Very well, Miss Gruntworthy! As soon as these fugitives make their reappearance, whether within or outwith the school premises, we shall inform you by means of the telephonic communications apparatus. The boys will be returned forthwith to you by road vehicular transport."
"Oh, thanks. They'll be together, all ten of them. They'll be fuc...."
"They'll be getting hungry," Smegs interrupted. "If I were you, Doctor Foster, I'd stake out the kitchens. We'll do the same back at St Cat's. Come on, Shannie! Let's jump in the old road vehicular transport and hit the carriageway."
We bowed our way out of the presence and hurried outside to the car park.
"I wonder if they've all come over here?" said Smegs as she unlocked the doors.
"As you said in there, if they're short of food they won't stray far from the kitchens, either here or there. But they'll all be fucking by now, I'll bet. Even that Greek one."
"Look out! It's Miss Mountains and old Gruntworthy!"
"Where?" Suzanne leaned forward to look around the corner of the bike sheds and almost toppled headlong into the open as her bust took charge. Melanie dragged her back by the collar of her blouse.
"Where?" squeaked Anathema Hajji-Panayotis a couple of seconds later. She was slow-witted without her spectacles. "Ack!" she said, turning bright red and choking on a piece of bacon. She began coughing and spluttering as the others slapped her on the back and told her to be quiet for fuck's sake, the teachers would hear her.
At that moment, the car doors slammed and the engine started, just as Andromeda Dawkes arrived at a brisk trot through the bushes, her skirt in her hand, her big tits bouncing, her pubic hair apparently neatly trimmed.
"Who coughed?" she panted.
"Hajj did. She choked on some bacon."
Dromeda looked downcast. "Oh, no! I hadn't finished. I left my paper bag out there in the woods."
"And your panties."
"And my panties? Oh, God, Miss Mountains will kill me if I've lost those!"
"She will if you don't get back behind this shed. She's just out there in her car."
"Miss Mountains? She's here? Already?"
"And Miss Gruntworthy," said Helvetica. "But they're just leaving, so we're okay for now."
"What are we going to do?" said Melanie.
"We can't hide out here. There are hundreds of them and they'd find us in no time. Look, the way I see it, we've got to turn ourselves in. Hajj needs her glasses, Drom needs to find a toilet for an hour or two, then she wants to get into her bag for some new underwear. But if we just walk back in, those boys will be all over us with their hands again. Let's go straight to the headmaster."
Melanie flapped her hands. "But he'll kill us! Have you seen him?"
"He's the top man. If he can't help us, nobody can."
"When are we going to do it?"
"As soon as we can," said Dromeda urgently. "I really need to finish my sh...."
I marched back into the Sexual Chemistry lab and perched on my chair. The class sat in orderly rows, arms folded, facing the front, with self-satisfied expressions on their faces. In front of me on the bench was a nine-inch tall pile of neatly-stacked papers. I lifted the top one and felt my hair stand on end.
"Who wrote all these lines?" I demanded.
"They're ours, miss," Valentina reported.
I looked at her, and at Gabrielle, sitting to her left. Butter wouldn't melt in their mouths. And on Valentina's right....
Barnaby Twittinghurst!
At that moment, the door opened and two girls started an elaborate ritual, each ushering the other into the room. They were joined by a third girl who absolutely insisted that she could wait her turn and would one of the others please go first. Then a fourth girl appeared, the other three stood aside and she walked straight in. She tried to get back out again but the original three had followed her. They all struggled in grim silence for a few moments until I asked them what they wanted.
They nudged each other. "After you!" "No, after you!"
Finally I called upon the oldest. There was, I noticed with a marked feeling of déjà vu, one girl from four of the lower five classes.
"Please, miss. Our boy's come back."
"So has ours, miss."
"So has ours, miss."
"So has ours, miss."
"That's strange," I said. "So has ours. Valentina?"
"Yes, miss?"
"Oh, sod it, they're back, that's all that matters. Back to your classes, you four; thank your teachers and tell them all the boys are back. Now, we have ten minutes before lunch...."
An awful din battered my eardrums and Valentina stood up, dragging Gabrielle and Barnaby with her. The rest of the class watched them uncertainly as they walked out of the door; then as I, too, gathered up my belongings they assumed it must be lunchtime.
A couple of minutes later we were all standing with our noses pressed up against the doors of the school restaurant, banging to be let in.
They stood and faced the headmaster, who was accompanied by a tall young teacher, whose pale face seemed to indicate that he didn't get out much.
"We're not sex objects, sir. We're real people," said Helvetica, before her courage ran out.
"We're just the same as boys, except we've got huge tits," Suzanne added, which made the headmaster's eyebrows disappear off the top of his face. Slowly, he surveyed the girls, who stood in a semicircle in front of his desk. His eyes ran from one end of the group to the other, from Suzanne to Melanie.
"Are you great with child, young woman?"
"She's pregnant, yes," said Helvetica.
"But I'm still a virgin." That wasn't exactly helpful either. He shook his head and scanned along to Andromeda Dawkes.
"What's the matter with your face, girl?"
"I need a poo, sir!"
The tall pale teacher whispered something to the headmaster. He was evidently employed as an interpreter.
"It's pretty urgent, sir," Helvetica confirmed.
"Indeed? She requires to attend the Gentlemen's?"
"Preferably not, sir. The Ladies' would be better."
"Hrrrummph. Is this one blind? Should she perhaps not avail herself of the services of a seeing-eye dog?"
"Perhaps not. She's lost her glasses."
"Perhaps not. Hajj is Greek."
"You are all from different years, Miss Gruntworthy tells me. Who is the oldest?"
"Me, sir!"
"And the youngest?"
"Me, sir!"
"I, sir," Doctor Foster translated, apparently to himself. Yet he seemed satisfied as far as it went. He had correctly classified these two girls — oldest and youngest — by the size of their busts. The other three failed to fit neatly into the scheme of things. One was indeed great with child, one was built like a remarkably tall brick shithouse and the other was Greek with a silly name. Perhaps, indeed, there was more to women than met the eye. Was there indeed not, perhaps? Doctor Foster had no way of knowing; he had never married. He hadn't, in fact, done anything, apart from living with his parents until he was forty-seven, at which point they had inconsiderately died and he'd had to find a job with a house attached.
"We're not sleeping in the boys' dorms, either," Helvetica insisted.
"This is most irregular. We cannot have pupils sleeping all over the school."
"We don't want to sleep all over the school. Give us a dormitory of our own, just the five of us."
"Oh, no. Oh, dear me, no. That is out of the question. Totally out of the question."
Suzanne had been silent for a while. She spoke suddenly. "Have you by any chance heard of statutory rape, sir?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"We're all virgins, sir. I should point out that during our stay at your school, while you are in loco parentis and we are your responsibility, if we are despoiled in any way, you will be charged with corporate statutory rape?"
The headmaster's eyes flickered towards Melanie.
"And if Melanie is despoiled in the next month, it might bring on her babies early," said Helvetica. "Imagine how it would look in the Daily Mail, the headline, Rape Girl, 13, Triplets Shock: Boys's School Head Goes Down."
"So we really ought to be allowed to sleep alone, together, if you see what we mean."
The tall pale-faced teacher leaned forward and whispered something.
"We have? Indeed, for what purpose, pray?"
More whispering.
"A cottage, you say? Within or outwith the premises...?"
Still more whispering.
"For cottaging? Hrrrummph. I see. I see. I see. Dismiss!"
The girls stared at him. He pointed at the door. Fortunately, the tall pale teacher sprang into action, mincing ahead of them to fling the door open and escort them out of the office. Suzanne squeezed through with some difficulty, last of all.
"The Doctor will make a decision," the teacher lisped. "He prefers to make decisions in the privacy of his office."
The girls wondered if the teacher deliberately conthtructed thententheth with ath many thibilantth ath pothible.
"You should have seen the size of those things!" Valentina told the girls, as soon as Barnaby had gone out of the dorm into the showers. "All five of them were enormous!"
The others all looked automatically at Gabrielle, whose reputation as a user of large cocks was legendary. She confirmed Valentina's statement with a nod. "They were all big ones, all right. Barney may be a little squirt, but he's right up there with the best of them in the trouser department."
The girls shifted uncomfortably on their beds. Were they going to get a turn with this prize cock in the coming month? Shit, were they even going to get to see it?"
"He's promised us we can have all his cum," Valentina purred. She pulled an empty ice cream tub out of her bedside cupboard. "Whenever any of us do it with him — if he doesn't dump it inside us — he's got to dump it in here."
This was most encouraging. Valentina was intimating that they'd all get their hands on it. With any luck, both hands at a time.
"How ... who ... when do we...?" Petronella blurted.
"It's me an' Valentina for the first week or so," said Gabrielle. "That's only fair, 'cos we found him after he'd run away."
Nobody challenged this claim. But then nobody queried what had made Barnaby run away in the first place.
"Right now, though, me an' Gabs have got an important job to do," said Valentina. "So just remember, if he comes back before we do, hands off! Okay?"
"Okay," they all mumbled.
"Ready, Gabs? Let's do it."
"I still don't see the point. The bloody clock doesn't strike anyway."
"I've told you, Gabrielle!"
Twenty minutes later, the two of them were back in their beds in time for lights out which, for some reason, took place ten minutes later than expected.
Shortly after that, Barnaby slipped between his sheets with a sigh. It was good to spend the night in a comfortable bed for a change.
"Hey, this is all right!" said Melanie. She bounced up and down on one of the lower bunk beds, then tried the other one. "I'll have this one. Dromeda can have the one on top."
"Only enough bunks for four," said Helvetica. "It doesn't quite seem fair to grab them all while Hajj is at the optician's."
"She can have the couch," said Suzanne. "The only thing we've got to decide is who sleeps down below and who goes on top."
It was a problem. A problem indeed, as Doctor Foster might have said. But it wasn't a bad problem. Here they were, in a delightful little cottage in the woods that apparently used to belong to the school gamekeeper. It had a living room with a comfy couch, two armchairs, several beanbags and a TV; and a large bedroom with these two double bunks. As the massively pregnant Melanie clearly had to sleep on a lower bunk, Suzanne and Helvetica decided to toss a coin for the choice. Helvetica won — after the contest went through the inevitable 'best of three', best of five' ritual — and chose the lower bunk for herself. Suzanne then tried climbing the ladder, slowly coming down again after getting an attack of the wobbles on the top step. Then she tried squeezing her bosom into the lower bunk.
"It's cosy now I'm in here," she admitted wistfully. So Helvetica agreed to a swap. She'd preferred the idea of the upper bunk all along.
Meanwhile, Melanie and Dromeda had gone off to explore the cottage kitchen, which had a little stove and a well-stocked larder which brought excited squeals from the multiple mother-to-be and the First Former with not the faintest sign of an eating disorder.
"Someone's coming," said Helvetica, peering out of the window from her upper berth. The Lord Ted's minibus had pulled up on the roadway and an elegant young woman was undulating down the path followed by the school caretaker carrying an armful of expensive-looking boxes. The front door opened.
"Thank you, Hudson. Just drop them down there."
"Hajj?"
The girls hurried out into the hallway as the front door closed.
"Shit, she's had a makeover!"
Anathema Hajji-Panayotis was no longer the shapeless creature in St Cat's blouse and skirt. She shimmered in a slinky number that flowed over her thrusting bosom, nipped itself in at her slender waist and swelled to caress her almost painfully taut little bottom. Her hair cascaded in black torrents past her shoulders to swing heavily around the peaks of her nipples at waist level. And most noticeable of all, gone were the little round bottle-bottom glasses. In their place, a pair of huge diameter lenses that made her dark eyes look like unfathomable pools.
"Fucking hell," said Melanie.
"God, she's beautiful!" That was Suzanne, speaking words no one would ever have expected to hear.
"Welcome to our new home, Hajj," said Helvetica. "'Fraid you're sleeping on the couch."
"I'm afraid that starting tonight I may be sleeping just about anywhere," Anathema purred huskily. "I've got a date with the caretaker, but he's going to have to wait his turn after that. Look out there."
The girls looked out of the windows. "About a dozen boys out the front," Suzanne reported.
"More out the back," said Dromeda.
"So much for that headmaster's word," said Helvetica. "He said he'd keep the boys away from us."
"They are away from you," said Anathema. "Those boys are the Lord Ted's Sixth Form. And they're all mine!"
"Yours?"
"Mine. Maybe I'll share one of them with you, but then again, maybe I won't. I'll have to try them all myself first. And since there are ninety of them, it could be a couple of days before you get a chance. Now, if you'll excuse me, I must get ready for my hot date...."
Something weird was going on. If Corinne hadn't been away on yet another Support and Mobility course I'd have ordered her to do something about it with the Fuckh Machine. The only other person I could trust to meddle with the computer was Helvetica Bold — not that I really trusted her as far as I could throw her — and she was presumably getting herself screwed absolutely shitless over at Lord Ted's.
As I saw it, there were a number of relatively small anomalies, and where several things went off the rails in a small way it probably meant there was a complete and utter doozy just around the corner.
We had girls and boys disappearing in groups of five, only to reappear as if nothing had happened.
We had a quadrangle clock that had advanced itself by ten minutes. Then no sooner had I changed the whole of the school timetable so that we were once more in step with its deafening non-chiming than it put itself back ten minutes to where it had been before. Maybe a dollop of treacle had fallen into the works and it had taken a day or so to work its way through, but it didn't sound convincing to me.
Then we had a nine-inch high pile of paper, covered in girls' handwriting, to the effect that whoever wrote it must not do something or other in class. I'd completely forgotten what I had told the Second Form they mustn't do, but when I went back to the lab to collect the stack of lines, it had gone. Those lines would be of no earthly use to anyone else but me, so why had they been stolen? An exhaustive search of the toilet cubicles failed to shed light on the mystery, although I did find a number of interesting magazines which I planned to read that night in bed.
I lay down and thought about my five virgins. With any luck, they'd be down to four, or even fewer, by now. Who would have been the first to lose her cherry? Considering that she was eight months gone, I could safely rule out Melanie. And Suzanne was far too prim and proper to succumb without a lengthy campaign. Andromeda Dawkes was too sweet and young and innocent, and the Greek bint was such a horror show that no self-respecting boy would fuck her without several paper bags over her head. That left Helvetica. Yes, she was a totally horny, cavern-pussied slut who thought of sex throughout her waking hours. The only reason she was still a virgin was that every time the deed was about to happen, forces beyond her control took over. Yes, she'd be the first.
But talking about forces beyond one's control, something weird was going on here.
"You've had him a whole week! It will be worn away to a stump by the time we get him!" Petronella had appointed herself spokeswoman. She brought courage to her classmates.
"It's our turn," they chorused.
Valentina and Gabrielle looked at one another. To tell the truth, while screwing Barnaby was okay in its way, it was no match for the real thing. Most nights, after a quickie, they dismissed Barnaby to his own bed and carried on in the darkness without him. The boy had been at St Cat's for a whole week and he was getting plenty of sleep. Of course, with all these giant tits about him, he was keeping his pipes well cleaned. Half a dozen times a day he spurted an energetic load into one of Valentina's little plastic cups. He had no idea what she wanted it for, but it felt nice. Just once a night he spurted it where it really belonged. He knew which he preferred, but he kept quiet about that to the other four boys.
They, too, knew which they preferred. They kept quiet about it, too. Luckily for them, they, too, were only dumping one load per evening into a real live girl. The rest of their seed was being metaphorically spilt upon the ground.
"You can have him tonight," Valentina announced grandly.
"Whose turn is it?" said Petronella.
"All of you. Sort it out amongst yourselves."
Poor Barnaby lasted two and half orgasms before he fell sound asleep.
Feeling sorry for their classmates, Valentina and Gabrielle let them have the boy again. And again.
6
Just Not Cricket
Helvetica had a free study period and had wandered over to the sport field, attracted by the solid plunk of leather on willow. She stood behind the practice nets and watched the School XI working at their game. Their limp-wristed sports teacher had drifted away in search of some boys with similar urges to his own.
"Hello! You're Helvetica, aren't you?"
The boy was about her height, and well-built. Probably forty or so pounds lighter, but quite well-built.
"I'm Dawson-Thwaites."
She brightened. "The cricket captain? I thought I'd come and watch you practising."
"We're no great shakes, I'm afraid. Lorst again on Saturday. Stuffed. Hammered. Demolished. We're deeply pants."
"Yes, I saw the result on the notice board. Borcester Strollers 319 for 2 declared, Lord Ted's 9 all out."
"D'you play, yourself?"
"Gosh, no! With these things?"
Dawson-Thwaites blushed deeply. "They are rather tremendous, aren't they! Especially as you're only Second Form. I'm in the Upper Sixth. You haven't always had such big ... such enormous ... such huge...?"
"Tits? Do you want me to tell you how young I was when they first started growing, and how the other girls made fun of me?"
"Oh, my heavens! They didn't make fun of you, did they?"
"Not really. I'd have flattened them if they had. Even at ten or eleven."
"Flattened your ... your chests?"
"How could I flatten these, silly? I'd have flattened the other girls. I'd have sat on their faces."
"Did you play cricket before they grew?"
"A little. Not properly, just with the local boys."
"Come and have a go with the bat. It's our bowlers who need the practice. We can usually put together a decent score — apart from the other day, of course — but we can never bowl the other blighters out." He actually pronounced it 'bale the other blighters uyt', but Helvetica could translate Upper-Crust into Standard English.
She allowed herself to be steered to the side of the net, where there was a pile of protective equipment and two or three bats.
The captain was trying not to stare at her. "Help yourself, old thing!" he called with an airy wave.
She dressed quickly, strapping on the pads. She fitted a thigh pad around her creamy left thigh, looked at a protective box and decided it wouldn't serve any useful purpose — in fact, it would probably disappear without trace inside her and be lost for ever — found a pair of batting gloves and selected a bat, wagging it in her hands experimentally. The last time she'd held a bat in her hands had been on the beach, and they hadn't been using a hard ball. A hard ball. She picked up the batting helmet and pulled it on, peering out through the grille and rearranging her hair so she could fasten the chin strap. She straightened up to her full height, feeling pretty well invincible.
"Come on, Helvetica!" He was calling her. She quite fancied him. He was quite good looking in an upper-class twit kind of way. "Name's Rupert, by the way, if we're going to be chums. That's Algy, and Perry, and Sebastian and Angus."
"Hello!" they chorused, not staring at her tits in a well-bred kind of way.
"Hi, boys!" The pads were sweaty on the insides from their previous wearer, the straps cutting into her bare legs as she waddled past the other boys into the net, tapped down a few loose blades of grass and made a mark on the crease. It all came back to her. On the beach, with those strong hands of Oliver's guiding hers, telling her it would feel unnatural at first, but it was the Right Way to Do It. Damn, the best potential boyfriend she'd ever had, and he'd somehow turned out to be Valentina's daddy!
"Ready?"
"Yes, thanks!"
Sebastian ran in and the first ball came whistling down the pitch. It bounced and flew past her nose at unaccustomed speed before rippling into the netting at the back.
"Well left!" Rupert called to her.
Algy, was it? The next boy, whatever his stupid name, bowled a ball which also reared up past the grille of her helmet and flew into the back netting. She tried to hit it as it went by but it had already gone.
"Oh, well played!"
Was this Rupert taking the piss? Or was he being genuine and serious.
"It is rather bouncy from just short of a length," she said knowledgeably.
A third ball was on its way. It bounced more normally and she was in position to meet it with a solid thud against the bat. It went fizzing back along the close-cropped turf.
The fourth ball came from Angus. She thought, I can hit this, so she did. It went back the way it had come, although a great deal faster, and all along the ground. Angus tried to stop it but it flicked his fingernail and bounded away across the field. "Sorry!" she yelled.
"Good shot!" said Rupert. "Ready again?"
"Sure!"
This one went back like a bullet over Rupert's head, while Helvetica held the pose, the bat over her shoulder, weight on her left foot, her gigantic breasts wobbling no more than six inches or so up and down. Modestly she flicked away a small divot and resumed her stance. They really needed a dog to fetch the balls.
"Bloody hell!" three of the boys gasped, while a blushing Rupert set off in pursuit of his ball.
Batting really was so extraordinarily easy. At one stage, all five of the boys were off to the far boundary of the field, fetching balls back. She sat down and parted her legs. It was warm work and her crotch felt even more moist than usual. She took the helmet off, shook out her hair and smiled as she watched one of the boys climbing over the fence into the headmaster's garden. That had been her biggest hit of all; it had gone miles!
"The others have gone off to tea," Rupert called when he was still thirty yards away. "I say, you can certainly hit them!" He sat down by her side. "Not just for a girl, either. I've never seen anyone hit a ball into the garden before. It must be nearly a hundred yards! Shall we have tea as well?"
"Sounds nice," she said. "But it's so quiet out here."
"Yes, it is, isn't it! We'll have to take the kit bag over to the pavilion. Will you walk that way with me?"
"Of course, silly!"
"I'll need a shower, as well. Would you wait for me?"
"As long as you don't take too long over it. I'm getting hungry."
There was silence for a while. "My word, Helvetica! Even for a St Cat's girl, your chests really are extraordinarily large!"
"They are, aren't they!" Surreptitiously, she took a deep breath.
He pointed at them. "Is that still them all the way down there?"
"Of course!" she giggled with delight. "What else did you think they might be?" She took an even deeper breath and held her shirt in at the waist, turning slowly to give him a side view. It seemed to have quite an effect as Rupert staggered back a few paces with his mouth hanging open.
"They're twice as big as anything in Moscrop Major's magazines. Ten times as big!"
"You read those magazines, Rupert?" she asked, peeping coyly out at him from beneath her hair.
"Not really. Some of the other boys do, but I've seen them. Those models in there have more than forty-inch busts. That's huge, isn't it?"
"It's quite big for First Form girls," she said. "Last time mine were measured, they were about seventy-four," she added with becoming modesty and a pretty blush. She bit her lower lip and hung her head, and was delighted to see her nipples beginning to extend themselves robustly through the armour-plating of her bra cups. "They're bigger than that now, though, I'm sure. Maybe about eighty. Eighty's quite big for me."
"My God! And you're only ... what, fifteen?"
"Nearly thirteen," Helvetica admitted. "I'm only in the Second Form."
"But ... you're a woman!"
Helvetica thought about it and decided that yes, that was probably what she was.
"The biggest chests Moscrop Major said he ever saw in a magazine was fifty inches but they were made of that stuff American women do to their chests to make them bigger."
"You mean Cream?"
Rupert frowned slightly. "I don't think so. Isn't it silicone or something? They have an operation and it makes their chests enormous."
"Fifty inches isn't enormous," said Helvetica, feeling confused. "Why bother going to hospital and having people stick knives in you just to make your boobs fifty inches? The average bust measurement at St Cat's is fifty-five! We've got about forty girls who are more than a hundred inches. Some of them use wheelbarrows."
"Oh, my sainted aunt!" Rupert fell silent, contemplating this awesome spectacle. He seemed to be having problems with his jock-strap, or whatever that thing was called that the boys wore when they played cricket.
Helvetica decided all this boob-talk wasn't the kind of thing ordinary boys and girls discussed in the middle of school playing fields. It was time to move things along.
"Would you mind taking my pads off, Rupert?"
She actually heard him swallow. "Gosh, if you like!"
"Yes, please."
She felt his hands fumbling with the velcro straps, then the cool air wafting across her sweating shins.
"And the other one."
"Your thigh pad?"
"Of course! Why not?"
"Oh, my goodness me!"
"That's better, thanks!" She stood up and grinned down at him, then picked up the discarded pads and scampered across to stuff them into the big leather kit bag. Her skirt rode up as she bent over but what the hell, let him look!
"You do have a wonderful bottom, Helvetica!"
She laughed hesitantly. "Don't be silly! It's huge! It's the biggest bum in the whole school!"
"That's what I mean! It's magnificent!"
This was a new one on Helvetica. A boy who liked big bottoms as well as big chests. An ideal boy for her, she thought. Oh, God! I've just simply flooded my knickers! She stood up straight in case he should see. He'd got up and come to her side, walking somewhat stiffly.
"May I touch it?"
Helvetica swallowed. "If you like." What am I saying?
Where was all this leading, she wondered. True, in the past week at Lord Ted's she had learned some remarkable things about her schoolmates. In the wake of the rebirth of Anathema Hajji-Panayotis, who was now the whore of the Sixth Form, there had been Suzanne's adoption by the Lord Ted's Gay Community as their mascot.
Then there had been the astonishing Dromeda. She had overcome her bout of digestive trouble and was now eating like a horse. Along with her appetite she had gained weight in some important places and had attracted the attention of the Fourth and Fifth Form boys. She had held out for a day and a half before deciding that her vocation lay in lying on her back. Or on her hands and knees. Or on top. She had truly blossomed.
That left Melanie. That very morning, discovering that Lord Ted's did not have a Maternity Wing, she had offered to have her triplets either on Doctor Foster's desk, or in the school canteen, or to accept a ride to Borcester General Hospital. The headmaster had opted for the latter.
Helvetica was satisfied that she had held on to her virginity longer than at least two of her companions and there'd be no shame in losing it now. And if she were going to lose it, she might as well do it in style.
Rupert's hand was on her bum. She wriggled and he took it away.
"What are you doing?"
"Sorry!"
"Put it back!"
"Oh, my God!" But he did, and she felt his fingers probe — probably accidentally — between her juice-moist thighs. It felt marvellous. He picked up the kit bag in his other hand and they set off at a leisurely pace across the freshly-mown grass towards the pavilion.
Their thighs brushed against each other, and Rupert's hand caressed her buttocks, giving one of them an occasional squeeze. He seems to really like my big bum! She slipped her arm round behind his back and gripped him just above the waistband of his white trousers. This brought her breast into close contact with his taut body. He looked down at her.
"My word! Are those your ... your...?"
"My nipples?"
"Nipples. Right down there?"
"They're on the ends of my breasts, and my breasts hang right down to ... well, nearly all the way down to ... to my...."
"Gosh! But you are wearing a ... a bra, aren't you?"
"Of course, silly!"
They went up the wooden steps and into the cool of the building, its wooden floor pocked with the marks of generations of spiked boots. It smelled of socks and other things.
"If you wait just there, I'll take a shower." He almost pushed her down on to a wooden bench and hurried away into an adjoining room. There was a burst of water, and a scream. "It's cold!" Very shortly afterwards, his voice carried to her again from behind the not-quite-closed door. "Have you ever thought of playing seriously, Helvetica? Cricket, I mean?"
"It wouldn't work, Rupert. I can't run, not with these huge breasts. It's really all I can do just to walk."
"It's a pity. I mean, it's not a pity that your ... chests are so large, of course, they're wonderful! But you're such a good batsman ... erm ... batter, you could just bat, and hit boundaries, and stand at mid-on when we're fielding. You wouldn't need to run after the ball, and you'd score more runs than the rest of the team put together...."
She rose and strolled across to the door leading to the showers. "Have you seen how big these things are?" she murmured.
Rupert spun round, clutching his towel around his loins as he saw her regarding him from the doorway.
"They are very big," he was forced to admit.
"But you haven't seen them without a bra. You simply would not believe...."
"You mean they're even bigger without it? Doesn't a ... a bra make them ... well ... bigger?"
"You're joking, right? It squashes them in. Especially now. I'm so much fuller than usual. If this wasn't a ScatBra it would have exploded long before now."
Rupert rearranged his towel. Interesting things were happening inside it. Helvetica moved into the steamy room, sat on the wooden bench next to his cast-off clothes, picked up his white trousers and began to fold them neatly. He dived in and snatched away his undershorts before she could investigate them too closely, then made a grab for his towel again, wrapping it around his waist and tucking in the end. He had an erection, Helvetica was delighted to observe. He sat down hurriedly and crossed his legs, then seemed to realise he had sat so close to her that their thighs were pressed together. Hers was twice the size of his, although most of it was hidden beneath her right breast. She leaned across slightly to let it roll almost on to his lap.
"I'm so huge," she complained mildly.
"In the nicest possible way," he said.
"I'm sure I've grown this week," she commented. "We're eating loads in that cottage."
"Are you really? More than usual?"
"We have three meals a day in the restaurant...."
"The canteen...."
"In the canteen. Then Melanie makes us all a huge supper. At least, she did until she went off to have her babies. You couldn't see if she was growing because she was so pregnant. But I think Hajj is getting bigger, and I know little Dromeda is! Her tits are getting enormous!"
"Not as enormous as yours."
"Not yet! But mine have never felt as big as this, even when I was up to 82 inches!"
"Helvetica. I don't mean to be forward or anything, but some of the boys are always talking about girls' bra sizes. Yours isn't a double-D, is it?"
"A double-D? Gosh, no! It must be miles bigger than that."
"Well, some of the boys are always talking about how old girls are when they start growing ... I mean, developing ... chests and things. How old were you when you were a double-D?"
"It's not really anything to do with age, Rupert. Some girls develop chests earlier than others. And some develop much earlier. I was loads bigger than a double-D when I came to St Cat's."
"So how old were you then? When you were a double-D?"
"God, I don't know. Does it matter? Nine? Eight, maybe?"
"Golly, don't double-Ds need both hands to hold just one?"
"You mustn't touch little girls' boobs with your hands, Rupert!"
"Gosh, no, but you know what I mean."
"When I was nine I got too big for my mum's shirts."
Rupert absorbed this snippet of information in silence. Then a thought seemed to occur to him. His voice husky, he said, "Helvetica? You know you said about Melanie having babies? I thought I heard someone say that all St Cat's girls were virgins."
Helvetica snorted and giggled. "Not all of us! Just the five of us who are here. And not Hajj or Dromeda any more. Just the three of us."
"I never knew you could be a virgin and have triplets."
Neither did I, until Melanie got pregnant at Christmas."
"But ... isn't it supposed to take nine months or something?"
"Not for virgins."
"Ah. I see. When you're with girls you learn new things all the time."
"Good. Would you like to learn something else?"
"Something nice?"
"Very nice. And useful, too. I'll teach you how to take a ScatBra off."
"Orff? Your bra?"
"Of course, we'll never get