As everyone leaves the classroom, Madame Grant opens her dark chambers and peers into the abyss of shitty French work.
"For the love of croissants, this room is a motherfucking disgusting, horrible, horrific very very not nice room."
In the back of the room, a dimly lit blunt held by our lord and saviour, Mr Hugh Thomas, was dropped to the floor as the large man walked towards the fragile woman.
"Years... years I've waited..." he mumbled
"What?" She exclaimed
"For years now... I've kept this disgusting monster locked away."
"Mr Thomas? What's happening?"
He sighed "keep an eye on your cupboard." Was all he said before walking past her and into the hall to scope out some untucked shirts.
As he walked, Madame Grant couldn't help but notice the way his subtle, sculpted buttocks swayed with his wide hips.
Madame Grant broke out in a cold sweat, her gentle flowing locks now soaked with salty French snail juice.
~THE NEXT DAY: LESSON 5~
"Phew,," she sighed "8I are so fucking annoying goddamn." A low rumble erupted from her cupboard, causing her to pee a little. "OOH LA LA!" She purred "what is that manly and alluring growl that is obviously coming from my cupboard?!" Guest 37 came out of the cupboard and it came.
