Chapter 1

"Em? Where are ya? I know you're on this campsite somewhere!"

Emma rolled over on her bed with a groan and held the phone a foot away from her ear. The noise still came out at undiminished volume so she wrapped it in her beach towel.

"Em? I said where are ya?"

"Zoe?"

As if it could be anyone else with a voice that loud.

"I can't hear you, Em. You under a blanket or something? Oh, yeah? Who's the lucky bloke... ?"

Emma unwrapped the towel from the phone and tried again.

"Zoe? Where are you?"

"Ouch! There's no need to fucking shout! I'm in the bogs. I knew you were here 'cause I recognised your dad's car. Soon's I get out of here I'll come and knock on your tent..."

"You're in the bog ... the toilets? Where? Not that portable thing... ?"

Had she said too much? After all, she had promised not to say a word...

"Portable... ?" Zoe sounded guarded all of a sudden. "What do you know about that?"

"About what? Nothing!"

"I'm in the brick-built shithouse next to the camp shop, and it stinks in here. When did you arrive?"

"Last night. Look, I'm still in bed. Can't we hold this conversation in private instead of yelling into mobile phones at..." Emma looked at her watch and shuddered " ... seven o'clock in the morning?"

"I couldn't sleep. Okay, see you in ten minutes. Yours or mine?"

"Mine. Bring a bottle of water with you."

"Water? Same old Em! See ya."

Emma sank back with a sigh. It had been a whole year, give or take a week or so, and Zoe was resuming the conversation as if it had been five minutes. Would the boys be here again this year? Pooch and the rest of them? Emma dreamed about sex for a few moments before her thoughts drifted back to a year ago.

The Encounter, she called it whenever she thought back to her unbelievable experience in the temporary toilet trailer at Brownwater Sands. When you meet a bunch of four-feet-tall guys in shiny suits, one of them wielding a zonking great hypodermic syringe, you're supposed to say nothing about the experience afterwards, not to anyone. Emma hadn't. You're supposed to have sex with the four-feet-tall guys as well, if you believe all the stories, but Emma had drawn the line at that.

The rest of the deal was now ancient history. The aliens, a pair of little men in shiny suits whose lives were ruled by a disembodied female Voice with a vocabulary like a fishwife, had blundered. Apparently it wasn't the first time in their career, but this time it was a doozy. Even after being carefully briefed, they had somehow abducted the wrong girl. It should have been smaller-than-average-busted Zoe. They got much-bigger-than-average-busted Emma.

Aliens operate under a strict set of rules. Once they abduct anyone, they have to swear them to silence. Usually, this works pretty well. Okay, a few people spill the beans to the tabloid press but they're always from America so no one believes them as a matter of principle. But out of the millions of people captured by aliens every year the vast majority of them never say a word afterwards. After all, money is no object to an alien, and they are excellent payers.

Emma's aliens didn't pay her with money. They didn't use money. They preferred to pay in kind.

Normally this would be no problem. The 'kind' they paid in was quite a welcome commodity. Their speciality was capturing flat-chested young girls and giving them tits. It was a popular scheme and it worked well. Throughout the world, young girls would have a brief encounter with Tharg, Blorp and Voice. Over the next week or so they would develop a nice chubby pair of handfuls, and everyone would make jokes about little Mary-Jane having had a visit from the tit-fairy at last.

If the aliens had picked up Zoe, the plan would have worked just fine. Zoe was tall, strapping and strong. She played beach rugby with such power and skill that she reduced boys to whimpering dweebs with terminal hard-ons. She wasn't exactly flat-chested but her bikinis could easily have accommodated a pair of twice-as-big tits without any difficulty at all. And that would have been fine, as when these aliens doled out bigger tits their smallest unit of growth was 100%. Well, 99%, actually.

It should have been Zoe, but they got Emma instead.

And Emma already strained the straps of an L cup bra before she stepped on board the aliens' space craft, a ladies' mobile toilet in downtown Brownwater. By the time the aliens dropped her off at the campsite, they had bought her silence in the usual way. Unless Emma's luck changed dramatically, she was well on her way to having the biggest tits on the planet. Well, certainly at her school.

Kneeling in her tent she lowered her tits into her bra then fumbled behind her for the hooks. There were only twelve of them and they were great big heavy-duty ones, so it wasn't too difficult.

"Shit!" she said, subsiding on to her bottom. Getting dressed was enough of a chore even at home in the bedroom. Here, in a tent, sitting on a bouncy inflatable mattress, it was well-nigh impossible. She wrestled her way into her T-shirt and rummaged for her jeans. She spent three minutes getting into them and working them up her serviceably meaty thighs before realising that she'd forgotten her panties. "Shit!" she said again. "Fuck!" she added for good measure. Her mood was not sweetened when she zipped up the jeans and snagged her pubic hair in the zipper.

She had to shuffle round carefully so she was facing the doorway, open the flap a few inches to let in the light, then with her tongue sticking out in concentration, she freed her tangled nether locks from the zipper.

"Why do I do this?" she nagged herself. At least once a week she caught her bush in the zipper of her jeans. Approximately once a month she managed in catching one of her labia majora in there, an event which really brought tears to her eyes. She had contemplated shaving her mass of pubic hair, but other girls said it would only grow back twice as thick. And if she didn't have a bush, she reasoned, she'd probably catch her cunny-lips in her zipper every day. They were, she admitted grimly, becoming unnecessarily large.

There was a noise outside the tent, a grunt, and a shadow fell across the tent flap.

"Zoe? Is that you? Hold on a minute, I'm just putting my jeans on..."

A hoarse groan and a scrabbling noise, then the tent shook as a heavy body fell over one of the guy ropes.

"Gordon! You little brat, were you spying on me again?" She yelled the last words a little too loud and wondered if Daddy had heard. Emma listened as her younger brother picked himself up and scampered away, no doubt to the men's toilets. Gordon spent a generous proportion of his day in the bathroom, in sessions of twenty minutes at a time.

Emma rose to her haunches and slipped her feet into her sandals. She could just about get them on without needing to adjust the straps.

Another noise outside, someone fumbling with the tent flap.

"Gordon, I told you to piss off and leave me alone!" she hissed.

"Em? Is that you? It's me!"

"Zoe?" Emma reached up and yanked the zipper down. Her friend's silhouette blotted out the sun.

"Wow, Em! The ol' tit-fairy's certainly been working overtime! Are you coming out or shall I come in?" Zoe bent down and put her head inside. "On second thoughts, it stinks of pussy in here. Come outside and let me have a look at you." A strong hand offered itself and Emma found herself being heaved effortlessly out of her tent into the fresh air. "So, who's this guy Gordon, then? Expecting mixed company on your first morning at Brownwater Sands?"

"He's my brother, silly!"

"That's all right, you can tell me your sordid family secrets."

"I thought he was spying on me again. He's always doing it at home. He'll have run off to the toilet to play with himself."

"Ah, I thought I half recognised him. Tallish boy, curly hair? Holding his crotch? I passed him on the path. I hope he made it in time, he looked 'sif he might have left it too late." Zoe looked Emma up and down. "Mind you, I can see his point. I thought I'd grown a decent pair, but yours are absolutely incredible!"

Zoe had stood back a few paces to take in Emma's gigantic bust. It was Emma's turn to gasp. Her friend, who had always been powerfully built, statuesque and strikingly attractive, was now quite simply stacked!

"Looks like we both have a secret we promised not to talk about to anyone," Zoe said softly.

"Looks like it," said Emma.

"It's gonna be a scorcher, the weather man says. Why don't you grab your bikini and we'll hit the beach at say, ten thirty? That will give you a chance to scoff one of your mum's breakfasts..."

"But my Mum's not here this year. Daddy's camp cook. It's just him and Gordon and Valerie and me... bikini? How can I wear a bikini with these?"

"You can't sit on the beach in jeans and a T-shirt, can you! Same old Em! You have got your bikini with you, I hope?"

"Well, yeah, but I daren't wear it. My bra-lady made it for me but I look obscene..."

"You've tried it on, then?"

Emma blushed. "Just once, in my bedroom..."

"I bet Gordon was watching! Was he?"

"Of course he wasn't!"

"Let's ask him, shall we!"

At that moment Gordon appeared along the path from the toilets, carrying a towel in front of him. He slowed down. His eyes bulged as he took in the sight of the two girls.

"Hi, Gord!" Zoe called cheerily. "I see you didn't make it in time, then? Never mind, you can have another wank later. Em's going to wear her bikini, just for you!"

"Zo, stop it!"

"Have you ever seen Emma in her bikini, Gord?"

"Only a few times," he admitted, hanging his head.

"Shame on you, boy! Lusting after your own sister!"

Gordon made a croaking noise and fled to the family tent.

"Right here at ten thirty!" said Zoe grimly. "In your bikini. The one you only dared to try on once!" She turned and stalked away in the direction of her tent, then stopped five yards away for a double take. "Valerie? Who's Valerie?"

"My little cousin. I have to look after her."

Miss Twizzell must have made Emma's bikini as a joke or for a bet. Surely she didn't expect her to wear it in public? Emma began praying for rain so she could wear a mac and cover herself up. The sun continued to beat down on the roof of her tent. Up there, Somebody wasn't listening. Typical.

To make matters worse, no sooner had Emma wriggled into her sinful swimwear than little cousin Valerie's bulky shape appeared, hovering in the doorway of the tent. She was pressing herself against the tent pole that went up the middle of the door, with one very plump breast on each side.

"Why you lying on your back, Emma? Can't you get up? That happens to sheep, you know!"

"I am not a sheep, Valerie."

"Woodlice, then," the girl suggested. "Or tortoises. Or turtles..."

"What are you blathering on about, Valerie?"

"I don't know."

"Go away, then. I'm putting my swimsuit on."

"I can't go away. Uncle George and Gordon went out and they wouldn't take me with them. You have to look after me all day so's I don't get into trouble. Are we going to the beach? I want to meet some boys!"

"Boys? At your age?" Too late, Emma tried to stop herself.

"I've had loads and loads and loads of boyfriends," the appalling child boasted. "Haven't you?"

"Of course I have!"

"Gordon said you're still a virgin."

"I'll kill that little brat! He doesn't know anyway. How would he know?"

"I don't know how he knows, Em. I thought you must've told him." Valerie's voice dropped a few decibels, to a subdued roar. "He showed me his knob last night."

"Sssshhh! He what?"

"In the tent, after Uncle George had gone to bed. Gordon got up to go to the loo, and when he got back he came into my room instead of his own. So we had to be very quiet, of course, but I asked him to show me it and he did."

Emma closed her eyes.

"Don't you want to know how big it is?"

"Of course I don't! He's my little brother!"

"Little? I don't think so..."

Valerie moved away from the door and performed a few private little heavy-footed dance steps. Emma opened her eyes in time to see a display of lewd hip-wiggling. She shut them again and heaved her bikini pants up as far as they would go. She couldn't do any more to cover up her bosom but she could try and hide the worst excesses of her pudenda before venturing outside. She parted her breasts with both hands and peered down between them, trying to see. Lying on her back, it wasn't easy. There'd be tons of pubes and everything hanging out, she was sure.

Valerie returned to the door. "Sh'll I put my swimmies on, Em, if we're going to the beach?"

"If you like," said Emma dully.

"What time we going?"

"Half past ten. When Zoe comes."

"Gordon says Zoe's got huge tits. Nowhere near as big as yours, of course, but still huge. He wants to fuck her, he said."

"Valerie!"

"I'm only telling you what he told me."

"Don't you dare mention it to Zoe!"

Valerie laughed, an infuriating little tinkle. "Okay. I'll put my swimsuit on now. Don't go without me."

Zoe's mood seemed a little less thunderous when she arrived five minutes later. "You all ready, Em?"

Emma looked out of the door of her tent. "Are you sure it isn't going to rain?"

"There isn't a cloud in the sky. Come on out and let's see this new 'kini of yours. Did it come from Discoveries?"

Emma was surprised. "How did you know?"

"I recognised the colour. Apparently they bought a job lot of material and it's so useless all they can do is make bikinis out of it. So they make them and give them away as goodwill presents for their customers."

"How do you know? Do you get your bras from Discoveries, too?"

"Of course. There's a branch in Bath. I work there on Saturday mornings."

"You work at Discoveries?"

"Yeah. So when I looked on the computer at work and saw that you'd been buying bras... again ... and you'd got a new free bikini, I thought, hello! I bet Em's going to Brownwater Sands again!"

"Oh."

"Come on, then! We've got loads to talk about." Zoe heaved Emma out into the open. "Fucking hell! Those are fucking monsters!"

"You've already seen my boobs once this morning, Zo. They're no bigger now than they were two hours ago."

"They weren't bursting out of a bikini two hours ago. Actually, though, it wasn't your boobs I was talking about. It was your flaps."

"My what?"

"Down here," Zoe said, and Emma felt strong, cool fingers at work around the front of her pants. "Half your cunny's hanging out."

"Zoe, that's filthy!"

Zoe sniffed at her fingers. "No, it's not too bad. I've smelt worse. But you'd better let me tuck your love-lips away before we go anywhere. And it might be safer if you bring the biggest towel you've got."

"We can't go anywhere yet. We're waiting for Valerie."

"Who? Oh, you mean that kid cousin of yours. Why can't you get Gordon to look after her?"

Emma paled at the thought of what those two might get up to if left alone all day. "Gordon's gone out with Dad. Valerie wants to come to the beach and meet some boys. We've got to make sure she doesn't get into trouble."

"Boys? I thought you said she was only a kid..." Zoe's voice tailed off and she was looking over Emma's shoulder. "Em. Tell me ... tell me that's not..."

Emma turned round, her blood running cold. Then it ran colder. "Valerie!"

"You mean it is? You said she was a kid, Em!"

"She is."

"I can see what you mean about her getting into trouble. That bikini's fucking obscene!"

"I didn't know she had a bikini. I thought she was too fat for a bikini."

"She is, Em! Look at that belly! That bum! Look at them!"

Emma looked at Valerie as she closed the family tent and stood upright, plucking a towel off the clothes line and tossing it around her neck as she sashayed the ten yards towards the two friends. She smirked up at Emma, and higher up at Zoe.

"I'm ready, Em. Hi, Zoe."

"Zoe, this is my little cousin Valerie."

"Little? I don't think so!"

"What do you think of my swimsuit?" Valerie asked, performing a twirl.

"Where's the rest of it?"

"That's what my dad said when I showed it to him before I left home. I didn't dare show my mum."

"I'm not surprised. It's a disgrace."

"You're showing more than me," Valerie pouted, her eyes starting at Emma's cleavage and drifting significantly downwards.

Emma felt suddenly unsure of herself. She wasn't sure how successful Zoe had been at tucking away the overflowing contents of her pants. She turned away, wrapped the towel around her shoulders and set off down the path. Zoe caught up in a couple of strides and Valerie plodded on behind.

"She's hanging out of that thing, Em!" Zoe whispered. "You can see everything she's got, and she's got tons! If she doesn't get pregnant she'll get arrested! You probably will, as well," she added as an afterthought. "Your dad will come back tonight and find you've all been locked up for your own protection."

"This is crazy," said Emma. "Why do I have to wear a bikini?"

"Because, that's why. What I want to know is, how are we going to get any boy-action while that little slut of a cousin is parading around in a grand total of six square inches of bright pink polyester?"

"You're not ... God, Zo! You look fantastic! Boys aren't going to look at my little cousin while you're around!"

"You want to bet? They're going to be all over her like flies round a pile of dog-shit."

Emma shook her head. Surely Zoe wasn't having a crisis of confidence as well? Not Zoe, who last year could have had her pick of the boys on any beach; who this year packed a pair of honeydew melons in her straining bra?

They set up camp at the edge of the dunes. Fifty yards away, a group of boys were playing with a football. After ten seconds or so, the game started drifting in their direction.

"Here they come," said Zoe. "They're some of the same ones as last year. Can't see your Pooch, though."

"Oh." Emma pulled the towel over her loins. "He's not my Pooch!" she insisted.

"Who's Pooch?" Valerie enquired. "Is he their dog?" She had disposed herself on her tummy on the sand and untied the string of her bra. The mounds of her surprisingly plump breasts swelled out to the sides. Her intimidating backside wobbled. She drew one leg upwards and scratched her crotch with one hand. Then she left the leg and the hand where they were, idly fondling herself.

Emma and Zoe tore their eyes away.

"It's obscene!" Zoe whispered.

"I can't help it, she's only my cousin."

"Yeah, but..."

The ball came bouncing over, followed by a boy.

"Oh, God!" Zoe burrowed into her towel. "It's Paul! Don't let him see me!"

"Hi, gurls!" The boy retrieved the ball and picked his way between the bodies, all lying belly down on the sand. "Hey, I know you from las' yurr, don' I? Zoe? We played rugby, remember?"

Trapped, Zoe looked up. "I can't remember ... did we? I guess we must've done if you say so."

Emma was shocked. "You slept with him, Zo!" she hissed.

Valerie turned her head for the first time. "Who slept with who?" she demanded in ringing tones, making the rest of the boys pay attention where they hung around in a group twenty yards away. "Oh, wow! Who's this, Em? Aren't you going to introduce us?"

"This is Paul," said Emma helplessly.

Paul looked pleased and puzzled at the same time. He had been remembered by Emma, whom he hadn't slept with, and forgotten by Zoe, whom he had. Now this little fat kid with the huge arse was interested in him. He gulped, unable to believe what he was seeing.

Valerie had rolled on to her side and rested on one elbow, leaving her bikini top resting on the sand. Her chubby face grinned up at him, but he wasn't really looking at her face.

"This is my little cousin Val..." Emma started to say, but she wasn't looking at her face either.

"Hi, V ... Val," Paul stammered, not making eye contact.

"It's Valerie. And my eyes are up here."

"Sorry. I was l ... looking at..."

"Take a proper look then, why don't you?" And Valerie rolled over and got up on to her knees, thrusting out her bare chest.

"Bloody 'ell!" said Paul inadequately.

Twenty yards away, all conversation ceased. Paul, it seemed, had scored.

Emma and Zoe lay resolutely on their tummies, squinting sideways at Valerie.

"You playing football?" the girl asked Paul.

"Yeah."

"C'n I play with you?"

"'F'you like." Paul was pretty certain none of his mates would object. But he thought he'd better extend the invitation. "Emma n' Zoe can come an' play if they want..."

"They'd be no good," said Valerie, standing up and brushing the sand from her plump belly. "Their tits are miles too big!"

She extracted the ball from Paul's grasp and bounced it on the sand. It fell with a thud and stayed there. She bent over and picked it up, then tossed it to Paul.

"Come on, then, I'm ready!"

Paul looked horrified. "What about your ... ain't you gonna wear your ... I mean, your b ... b ... boobs are hanging out!"

"I don't mind if you don't," said Valerie. She scampered off down the beach in a shower of sand, the boys following slowly behind, not really sure if this was happening.

It was.

Twenty minutes later, Emma and Zoe looked glumly at the impromptu game which now boasted at least thirty boys and three exhilarated dogs.

"It's a wonder she hasn't got laid already in the middle of a public beach!" said Zoe, utterly scandalised.

"She's shameless," said Emma. "How can she run around with all those boys with her fucking boobs hanging out?"

"They are very firm for their size," Zoe remarked.

"They're very big for her age. I'd never really noticed them before, with her being so ... like ... plump."

"I'd die if I had a bum that size. But those tits are something else. Have you ever seen nipples like those?"

"It's not just her nipples," said Emma. "What about those enormous brown bits!"

"They cover the whole ends!"

"They must be six inches across!"

"At least!"

"I mean, you could see them even when she had her bikini on but I thought they were some kind of birthmark!"

"And they're like so puffy!" A lengthy silence descended. Zoe folded her arms across her more than substantial chest. "Em?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you get it much?"

"Get what?"

"You know what! It!"

"It? You mean ... like... sex?" Emma felt the blush creeping down into her bra.

"Yeah."

"No," Emma admitted.

"Me neither."

"What, you mean not very often?"

"Not at all! Not ever! I grew these tits after last summer. Well, you know why... ?"

Emma nodded. "The ladies toilets... ?"

"Right. We're not allowed to talk about that. But anyway, I grew these things, and by the looks of it, so did you. By October, I was a 36H cup and I gave Discoveries a call. You know that Voice thing? I reckon she's on commission for bra sales. Anyway, by Christmas I was nearly off the scale..."

Emma frowned. "Off the scale?"

"Oh, more than a J cup, nearly as big as you were before you started growing, yeah? Anyway, the thing is, I haven't had it with a boy since last August!"

"Oh, Zo!" Emma tried not to sound too overjoyed. Then she had a thought. "Not with a boy? You've had men?"

"I've had a couple of girls, but they're just not the same."

"No, I suppose they're not, no..."

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"How about you?" snapped Zoe impatiently.

"I've been celibate." The word sounded pompous and hi-falutin', but she liked the sound of it. It had a kind of ... official ring to it. 'Emma has been celibate since ... like ... practically for ever'.

"Did you do it with those little blokes in the toilet?"

"Oh, come on, Zo!"

"Neither did I. And I didn't do it with Paulie. Not after I'd met those little blokes."

"And I didn't do it with Pooch."

"What's happened to us, Em?"

"We got enormous tits."

"Yeah, but what good have they done us?"

"You got a job in Discoveries on Saturday mornings."

"It's all day, not just mornings. And they only pay twenty quid plus free bras."

"The free bras must be worth having. Mine cost hundreds, Mum says."

Zoe watched as the ball bounded away in the general direction of France, pursued by Valerie, who tripped theatrically over her feet and sprawled in the sand. She was instantly engulfed by boys.

"Those bras cost them next to nothing to make. I've seen the accounts. They use ready-made cups and straps and things and just sew them together. She has the cups made up by women working at home."

"What, even mine?"

"What size are yours?" Zoe asked. Her voice was husky. She licked her lips. Her cheeks were flushed.

"I don't know," Emma admitted. "I know when I wear a bra ... like dressing up? My bust is..." she lowered her voice " ... seventy-six."

Zoe gasped. "I'm only fifty! You're massive compared to me!" She pressed her thighs together. One hand was out of sight, rubbing away.

Emma pressed on. "Of course, I get bigger when my period comes round, you know?"

Zoe knew. She moaned.

"So my bras have to be specially strong to hold me in. It's the same when I get ... like ... aroused."

"Aroused?"

"Yeah. Hot."

"Hot? And wet?"

"Sopping wet, Zo."

"Fucking hell, Em! I'm soaked! Can't you smell it?"

"Not from over here."

"Jee-zus!"

They sat there on their towels, thighs not quite touching, inconceivably horny. Down by the edge of the water, the tide was coming in. The pile of boys dismantled itself and Valerie emerged from underneath. They all backed away from the oncoming waves, then the chubby topless girl set off at a bouncing run along the edge of the sand. The dogs chased after her, barking.

"I'll tell you what," said Zoe.

"What?"

"If I saw those two blokes again..."

"Tharg and Blorp, you mean?"

"You remembered their names! You sure you didn't... ?"

"I didn't!"

"If I ever thought I'd see them again, I'd find out what they did wrong, for sure."

"What makes you think they did something wrong, Zo?"

"What? What makes you think they did anything right?"

Emma thought about it. The aliens hadn't been the most successful crew. The Voice was forever having to nag the two little guys. They'd kidnapped the wrong girl. It should have been Zoe. They got Emma.

"They screwed up," said Zoe. "It stands to reason. We suddenly got these huge tits, but we haven't had a sniff of cock since! I'd sort those bastards out if I got my hands on them. They could have these fucking tits back!"

Emma thought about that radical statement for a while. A seventy-six inch bust was possibly a little excessive, after all. Maybe she could give them back a couple of feet or so...

"She's coming back," said Zoe, nodding towards Valerie who was walking slowly backwards up through the soft sand followed by thirty boys and three dogs. All thirty-three of them seemed to know what they wanted. Make that thirty-four.

"I need a pee," said Emma, struggling to her feet and wrapping the towel round her. "Look after Valerie 'til I get back." She grabbed her bag and her sandals.

"Me? Look after that little slut? How?"

"God knows. Just stop her getting pregnant for the next twenty minutes."

"Okay. Come here a minute." Emma stepped closer to her friend, who sat up and peered into the folds of the beach towel. "Closer!" She felt Zoe's hands brushing the heavy undersides of her bra cups, lifting her right breast a few inches, delving underneath and pulling up the pants more snugly. Strong fingers stroked themselves confidently across the hot, meaty wriggly bulge of her moist pudenda. "You'll do. But you'd better keep that lot covered up, just to be on the safe side."

Emma was alarmed. "I'm not showing anything, am I?"

"Not while you're wrapped in the biggest beach towel ever produced. Go and have your pee. Enjoy. I quite need one myself but maybe I'll be able to pluck up the courage to go in the sea."

That was rather more detail than Emma needed to know. She left the scene, wobbling heavily up the pathway to the road. She only looked back once as she stepped into her sandy sandals, to see Zoe sitting there hugging her knees. A few yards away, Valerie was engaged in what could only be described as heavy petting with an unidentified boy. She was on top with her heavy breasts dangling in his disbelieving face, and she was still wearing only the lower half of her bikini. At least, Emma assumed she was still wearing it. The rest of the boys and the dogs had started a token game of football but you could tell they were only passing the time until their turn came around.