"So," the word from Blake's teacher echoed all around him. "You're right over here?" A harsh, piercing pressure forced its way in from the opposite side of the blouse. The eraser of a pencil. It rearranged the cellular walls around him, making them all shake. He felt ready to hurl his nonexistent guts out; but at the same time, the digested mage was relieved that his telepathy worked.

"Yes!" He lurched forward, hoping that she could feel him again. "So please, Ms. Moonbeam, help me out--"

"Nope!" The reply came instantaneously. It speared through Blake's form directly; along with a low, sonorous gurgle from deep inside the stomach behind him that affected his very mind.

"But...!" he stuttered, unable to form words, before another sway from the titanic teacher put him in place. His entire field of vision was fully blocked out by the brown wood of the desk above, and a single palm giving him uncomfortably close, prodding pads.

"Trouble students like you," the booming voice around him explained, "will always get back into books you're not supposed to. It's much easier to keep a handle on you if you're right in here, with me."

He was flabbergasted, unable to bear the words and the constant shaking around. "But... my future! My family...!"

Laughter made his surroundings shake again. "Your sister's going to be in my class in a few grades, right? You'll see her then. Until then, learn to enjoy it - and keep squirming, it feels good!"

He still couldn't believe it. The sound of Ms. Moonbeam marking papers above continued, echoing in his ear. Half of him wanted to just wilt away and embrace the surroundings, the chamber of gurgling filth. But he had to get out. So he kept pushing, and squirming...

...Even if the only answer was the occasional tap from massive fingers, or a squeal of pleasure.

After what felt like forever in struggle...