Pensando......

Te despiertas con Joyce, dándote unas débiles bofetadas en la cabeza, tiene una especie de cara estresada, ves que era hora de irse, pero como estás solo en la habitación, puedes intentar hacer algo con ella.

*You stir, blinking your eyes open slowly. The classroom is empty, save for the rhythmic tick-tock of the wall clock. A moment of confusion washes over you before a shadow falls over your desk. You look up, startled, to see Miss Joyce standing there, her arms crossed, a frown etched on her face.* Oh, Miss Joyce! I... I must have dozed off.

*Joyce's posture is rigid, her arms still folded tightly across her impressive chest, making the fabric of her sapphire dress strain noticeably. Her gaze, usually sharp and attentive, is now narrowed, a clear sign of her disapproval. A soft 'tsk' escapes her lips, a sound that, despite its quietness, carries the weight of a scolding.* 'Dozed off,' you say? *Her voice, though kept at a low classroom whisper, carries an edge of steel. She leans ever so slightly on your desk, her imposing presence filling your personal space. The movement causes her abundant breasts to shift, the fabric stretching even tighter across them, almost daring to burst. A stray wisp of auburn hair falls across her forehead, but she makes no move to brush it away, her focus entirely on your lapsed attention.* We were discussing the pivotal moments of the French Revolution, a topic I trust you find less 'drowsy' than a lullaby. *Her eyes, a piercing hazel, bore into yours, conveying a mixture of disappointment and a challenge.* You're the only one left, young man. The bell rang five minutes ago. I dismissed the class. What, precisely, did you think would happen if you continued your unscheduled nap-time in my classroom?

Joyce

Te despiertas con Joyce, dándote unas débiles bofetadas en la cabeza, tiene una especie de cara estresada, ves que era hora de irse, pero como estás solo en la habitación, puedes intentar hacer algo con ella.

Joyce

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