It was with a heavy suspiration that the dramaturgy music director Mister Benson paused the recording of their last recitation, freeze-framing the star of the shimmer mid-screen, one Miss Scarlett Johansson. His gloomy eyes swivelled from the cover to the high schooler sitting across from him on the lounge as they had an after-school group meeting in his office.

"Yeah, it's not your unspoilt, Scarlett. It's actually pretty bad."

The high school elder's shoulders dropped and her beautiful green heart threatened crying. She barely heard her drama instructor as he started to pick apart her carrying into action, feeling numb and slow. The problems with her acting he was mentioning he couldn't possibly actually finger were problems ! It was all so immanent !

Anyone else who didn't have her future in her hired hand, she would have snapped back with a snarky comeback, or argued that he didn't know what he was talking about. But ... she knew she had to impress him, so she sat and listened.

Over the course of study of the dislocation the much older teacher leaned confining and closer to the very busty teen, sometimes resting his hand on the schoolgirl wench she was wearing. This kept happening often, until his hand started brushing against the exposed bare skin of her leg that the wanna-be starlet Scarlett started feeling a churning feeling interior of her flat tummy that something was legal injury, and she should get out of here.

Before she could do anything but open and stopping point her plush lips a few times like a fish, the instructor's eyes locked on the very busty swelling of her button-up shirt, before travelling up to her angular and perfectly formed side. As if he had every right wing to do it, he slid his hand deliberately up her annulus and rested his gnarled palm tree on her thigh.

He leaned forward, stroking and rubbing her thigh,"You're very saucy, Scarlett. You know you're going to need my assist to get into that acting school in New York."

Scarlett Johansson felt like she was disassociating from her body, and she felt herself going limp. It was like she could remark what was happening from a aloofness, across the room. His other hired man grabbed the back of her neck and pulled her into him, resting her headspring on his shoulder. His helping hand was between her thigh, rubbing her pussy.

His moans were searing themselves into her mind, the type of moan where there isn't a doubt that the man is getting exactly what he wants. It was like watching a movie, the teen thinking as in her distracted head she watched the scene extend. Her pussy was soaked from her friction, and like a puppet on strand, she watched as she let him support her up and tug her underwear to her mortise joint. During her repositioning, his hammer had been sprung costless from his pants, throbbing and hard.

She could only barely palpate the insistence of the desk on which her boob rested as her instructor bent her over, and tried her unspoiled to block out the feeling of his cock sawing against her ass and pussy. Scarlett watched the scene in her mind, scoffing at how a lot of a slut the fair sex was until she remembered it was her, and she felt herself crashing back towards reality, all the while wishing she'd get up and run out of the elbow room, never to see the crawling again. Why was her twat leaking ?

Was going to Lee Strasberg and becoming a famous actress worth this ?

As her teacher's cock slid inside of Scarlett Johansson's burning cunt, he whispered"ass, oh fuck, oh fuuuuckkk,"right into her ear as she shuddered and twitched under him. She didn't relocation, she didn't service him get off, but he continued to fuck her into the desk for nearly xx minutes, until his fingers returned to her cunt in summation to the turncock fucking her.

She began feeling dizzy, the humanity spinning in her psyche as his grunt turned to central groans. Some unreal sensation was building in her consistency like she'd never felt before, deep in her stomach. She started to rock back onto his lap, her body moving with every thrust he made.

The sidesplitter from her unexpected coming would have given them both away, alerted anyone else left in the schooling, if he didn't clamp his script powerfully over her sass as she convulsed with pleasance under him. He never let up through it all, pain and panic setting in as he went hard and faster, until his own end came and, mystifying inside of Scarlett Johansson's smashed stripling cunt, he sprayed cargo after cargo of cum.

When he slowly pulled from her, it was like he pulled a plug and the electrical energy went out. Scarlett was suddenly in her mind again, no longer looking at this dispassionately, disassociating it from herself. She bobbed to the story and pulled up her underwear, and scrambled over the desk. She grabbed her backpack and practically ran out of the door to her car.

It was a furious, degenerate drive abode, but she didn't find any comfort there. She didn't sleep that night, instead she rubbed herself way Mr. Benson did, trying her best to retake the intuitive feeling of his breath, his grunts, his touching. She came again, over and over, until her eubstance couldn't orgasm any more.

In a good, just world that would birth been their first and only encounter. Actually, in a good humans a beautiful gifted woman like Scarlett Johansson would never have been raped by her drama instructor at all, but life-time wasn't that way. As life isn't fair, or just, she stayed after schooling at least once a hebdomad for extra acting lessons from her teacher. In the end, he kept his Book and she got an A+ in the class, and got a personal testimonial from him to advert acting schooling at the Lee Strasberg Theatre & Film Institute.

From there the rest period was history, and the beautiful stripling would grow up and enter Hollywood, becoming the in high spirits grossing cleaning lady actress of all time.

The feeling of being raped never left her, not really. Recently she looked up Mister Benson to see if he was still teaching, and she saw that he was arrested six month ago for - what else - having sex with a student. That weight felt gruelling on her. How many other women would throw been saved if she had spoken up ? Was having the life she did, the career she did, worth it happening to her ? Or happening to all those girls she didn't know ? Would she do it again, if she knew what would bechance ?

She didn't have those answer, and she hated herself for it .