It was with a great suspiration that the theater theater director Mister Benson paused the transcription of their finally practice, freeze-framing the star of the playing period mid-screen, one miss Scarlett Johansson. His gloomy eyes swivelled from the screen to the senior high schooler sitting across from him on the couch as they had an after-school confluence in his office.

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

The high school day senior's articulatio humeri dropped and her beautiful green eyes threatened bust. She barely heard her drama teacher as he started to pick apart her performance, feeling dull and dumb. The problems with her acting he was mentioning he couldn't possibly actually feel were problems ! It was all so immanent !

Anyone else who didn't have her future in her hands, she would own snapped back with a snarky retort, 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 course of the crack-up the much sometime instructor leaned airless and closer to the very busty teenager, sometimes resting his hand on the schoolgirl chick she was wearing. This kept happening often, until his hand started brushing against the display bare skin of her leg that the wanna-be starlet Scarlett started feeling a churning touch interior of her straight tummy 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 oculus locked on the very sonsie swelling of her button-up shirt, before travelling up to her angular and perfectly formed face. As if he had every right to do it, he slid his hand deliberately up her skirt and rested his gnarled palm on her second joint.

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

Scarlett Johansson felt like she was disassociating from her dead body, and she felt herself going limp. It was like she could abide by what was happening from a distance, across the room. His other hand grabbed the dorsum of her neck and pulled her into him, resting her head on his articulatio humeri. His handwriting was between her thighs, rubbing her pussy.

His groan were searing themselves into her mind, the type of moan where there isn't a dubiety that the man is getting exactly what he wants. It was like watching a movie, the teenaged thought as in her distracted school principal she watched the scene unfold. Her cunt was soaked from her rubbing, and like a marionette on strings, she watched as she let him stand her up and tug her underwear to her ankles. During her repositioning, his stopcock had been sprung spare from his trouser, throbbing and hard.

She could only barely feel the press of the desk on which her mammilla rested as her teacher bent her over, and tried her best to lug out the feel of his tool sawing against her ass and snatch. Scarlett watched the aspect in her brain, scoffing at how much of a slut the charwoman 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 creep again. Why was her pussy 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 slit, he whispered"Fuck, oh shag, 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 minutes, until his fingers returned to her slit in addition to the cock fucking her.

She began feeling dizzy, the world spinning in her mind as his grunts turned to cardinal groans. Some unsubstantial hotshot was building in her organic structure like she'd never felt before, deep in her stomach. She started to rock back onto his lap, her body moving with every drive he made.

The scream from her unexpected orgasm would have given them both away, alerted anyone else left in the school, if he didn't clamp his bridge player powerfully over her rima oris as she convulsed with pleasure under him. He never let up through it all, pain in the neck and panic setting in as he went tough and faster, until his own end came and, deep inside of Scarlett Johansson's close teen cunt, he sprayed lading after payload 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 level and pulled up her underclothes, and scrambled over the desk. She grabbed her backpack and practically ran out of the door to her car.

It was a fierce, fast ride home, but she didn't find any ease there. She didn't slumber that Nox, instead she rubbed herself way Mr. Benson did, trying her good to recapture the feeling of his breath, his grunts, his touch. She came again, over and over, until her organic structure couldn't orgasm any more.

In a good, just public that would have been their first and only encounter. Actually, in a good world a beautiful talented charwoman like Scarlett Johansson would never have been raped by her drama teacher at all, but aliveness wasn't that way. As liveliness isn't funfair, or just, she stayed after school at least once a workweek for extra acting moral from her instructor. In the end, he kept his intelligence and she got an A+ in the class, and got a personal testimonial from him to wait on acting schoolhouse at the Lee Lee Strasberg theatre of operations & moving picture Institute.

From there the rest was history, and the beautiful stripling would farm up and enter Hollywood, becoming the gamy grossing charwoman 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 calendar month ago for - what else - having sex with a pupil. That weight felt heavy on her. How many other women would have been saved if she had spoken up ? Was having the life she did, the vocation she did, worth it happening to her ? Or happening to all those missy 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 .