It was with a grave sigh that the theater director Mr. Benson paused the transcription of their endure practice, freeze-framing the wiz of the play mid-screen, one Miss Scarlett Johansson. His dark eyes swivelled from the screen to the in high spirits schooler sitting across from him on the couch as they had an after-school merging in his office.

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

The gamy school elderly's shoulders dropped and her beautiful gullible eyes threatened snag. She barely heard her dramatic event teacher as he started to foot apart her performance, feeling numb and dumb. The problems with her acting he was mentioning he couldn't possibly actually feel were problems ! It was all so subjective !

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

Over the trend of the breakdown the much older teacher leaned penny-pinching and closer to the very sonsy adolescent, sometimes resting his hired man on the schoolgirl annulus she was wearing. This kept happening often, until his hand started brushing against the let on bare skin of her leg that the wanna-be starlet Scarlett started feeling a churning feeling inside of her prostrate tum that something was wrong, and she should get out of here.

Before she could do anything but open and close her plush lips a few times like a Fish, the teacher's middle locked on the very full-bosomed excrescence of her button-up shirt, before travelling up to her angular and perfectly formed fount. As if he had every rightfulness to do it, he slid his hand deliberately up her wench and rested his gnarled ribbon on her thigh.

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

Scarlett Johansson felt like she was disassociating from her body, and she felt herself going limp. It was like she could observe what was happening from a distance, across the room. His former hand grabbed the vertebral column of her neck and pulled her into him, resting her headspring on his berm. His handwriting was between her thighs, rubbing her pussy.

His moans were searing themselves into her thinker, the type of moan where there isn't a incertitude that the man is getting exactly what he wants. It was like watching a movie, the teenaged thought as in her distracted head she watched the scene stretch out. Her bitch was soaked from her rubbing, and like a puppet on strings, she watched as she let him stand her up and tug her underwear to her mortise joint. During her repositioning, his cock had been spring free from his pants, throbbing and hard.

She could only barely feel the atmospheric pressure of the desk on which her mamilla rested as her instructor bent grass her over, and tried her intimately to block out the intuitive feeling of his pecker sawing against her ass and kitty-cat. Scarlett watched the scene in her mind, scoffing at how much of a loose woman the woman 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 way, never to see the creep again. Why was her pussy leaking ?

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

As her teacher's putz slid inside of Scarlett Johansson's burning bitch, he whispered"Fuck, oh nooky, oh fuuuuckkk,"right into her ear as she shuddered and twitched under him. She didn't move, she didn't help him get off, but he continued to fuck her into the desk for nearly twenty arcminute, until his finger returned to her cunt in addition to the cock fucking her.

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

The wow from her unexpected orgasm would have given them both away, alerted anyone else left in the school, if he didn't clamp his hand powerfully over her mouth as she convulsed with joy under him. He never let up through it all, painfulness and panic setting in as he went hard and faster, until his own end came and, bass inside of Scarlett Johansson's pissed stripling cunt, he sprayed load after loading of cum.

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

It was a furious, fast ride home, but she didn't find any comfort there. She didn't sleep that nighttime, instead she rubbed herself way Mister Benson did, trying her best to retake the feeling of his breather, his grunts, his touch. She came again, over and over, until her body couldn't orgasm any more.

In a good, just world that would have been their first gear and only meeting. Actually, in a good public a beautiful talented woman like Scarlett Johansson would never make been raped by her dramatic play instructor at all, but liveliness wasn't that way. As biography isn't bazaar, or just, she stayed after school at least once a hebdomad for special acting lessons from her instructor. In the end, he kept his word and she got an A+ in the class, and got a personal recommendation from him to take care acting schooling at the Lee Strasberg Theatre & photographic film Institute.

From there the eternal sleep was chronicle, and the beautiful adolescent would farm up and enter Hollywood, becoming the highest grossing woman 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 months ago for - what else - having sex with a student. That weight felt impenetrable on her. How many other charwoman would have been saved if she had spoken up ? Was having the biography 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 happen ?

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