The sound of wet meat slapping together pierced the silence of the dark room. A deep rumble soon came into effect, perfectly harmonious, a constant backing beat to the symphony. Eventually, hard, heavy breathing came into play at exactly the right moment, as if conductor and audience were present. Next came the grunts of effort, and the groans of pleasure.
        The room brightened, and figures were visible, heaving atop the mouldy motel mattress. Dust filled the air from the strenuous effort, choking the rooms’ occupants as they tried to control their breathing. The bumping in the night slowed down a little while they attempted to savour the moment. Yet more wet, pleasurable groans broke the dusty curtain of silence.
       “Oh, James!” cried the pretty topless blonde on top.
       “Ugh,” was all that James could manage in reply as he thrust continuously upwards, viciously, hungrily.
       “So, the product of the square root of four is-” Mrs. Truss explained to the class.
        Back in the grimy motel room, a bare figure was curled in fear. Approaching from the darkness was his worst nightmare.
        “It’s scientifically proven that auditory retention surpasses that of visual retention. How about I put a little…Math, on to get you in the mood?” The huddled figure contorted spasmodically, writhing in fear and agony. The equations burned his ears. He felt them actually make sense, as they replayed over and over. Muffled screams found their way around the gag, which had been lovingly placed over the blondes entire head.
        James, panicked, peered around, coming to a halt on the illuminated figures, continuing on, and then double taking in realisation that had, indeed been what he was looking for. Well, what he’d been looking for was heaving exposed breasts and a cascade of glinting golden hair. Much to James’ dismay, the girl was no longer topless, but dressed as a nun, a virgin of God. Her hair had been shorn in a crew cut fashion. She looked very much like a boy without it. Somehow, even considering his predicament, James’ nose managed to scrunch with distaste.
        “Log10273, is what?” Squawked Mrs. Truss angrily from the next room, followed by a sizable crash, and several small (In comparison) crunches.  The room was a little darker now. The sound, and slight scent of rustling paper permeated the air, penetrating the dusty barricade. James, startled, attempted to get up. He made it as far as a sitting position when the handcuffs went rigid and bit painfully into the skin of his wrist.
        Freedom grumbled and puttered around outside, just beyond reach. The smell of car fumes sent his head reeling. Handcuffs rattled metallically as he battled against the bed rail. No luck. He thought he should try a different tact, and peeked over the side of the bed, searching for his pants. Upon spotting them, he sent forth a bare leg, endeavouring to pull the pants towards him. Maybe he’d find something to pick the lock with?
        “If you don’t get back on that bed, right now, you’ll be in detention for a week.” His hopes were shattered as he scrambled awkwardly back to the centre and curled into a ball, awaiting his doom. He was pitifully shrivelled with the cold, much like Mrs. Truss’ wrinkle marred face. She edged closer, stripping down to her floral underwear on her way. James screamed, pitifully quietly. The blonde watched silently, a glint of hideous appreciation of the pain he’d soon have to face, evident in her bright, blue eyes.  
        The horrid face inched closer. There was a bit of green stuck in her teeth.
        The wrinkles managed to collapse down to her bared chest.
        She grinned evilly as she reached down.
        He shuddered with fear, cold and terrifying imaginings of what she’d do to him.  Unexpectedly, her face moved swiftly through the motions of unrivalled glee, to stern. Her wrinkles fitted much better now, he noticed.
        “James, stop groaning and moaning and get out o’ my classroom. The bell rang five minutes ago.”
        James blinked.
        He stared around him.
        He blinked again.
        The realisation of the desks, chairs and chalky classroom smell hit him square on the nose like a prize heavyweight boxer. Mrs. Truss cackled to herself as she made her way to the teacher’s desk on the opposite side of the room.
       “Good dream?” She inquired.
        James slunk quietly from the room.