It was with a heavy suspiration that the theater music director Mr. Benson paused the recording of their stopping point exercise, freeze-framing the whizz of the play mid-screen, one fille Scarlett Johansson. His dark oculus swivelled from the screen to the mellow schooler sitting across from him on the couch as they had an after-school get together in his office.

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

The high gear school day senior's shoulders dropped and her beautiful super C eyes threatened tears. She barely heard her drama instructor as he started to pick apart her performance, feeling numb and dull. The problems with her acting he was mentioning he couldn't possibly actually feel were problem ! It was all so subjective !

Anyone else who didn't have her time to come in her workforce, she would induce 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 the breakdown the much elderly instructor leaned nigh and closer to the very busty teenager, sometimes resting his hand on the schoolgirl bird she was wearing. This kept happening often, until his deal started brushing against the endanger bare pelt of her leg that the wanna-be starlet Scarlett started feeling a churning feeling interior of her two-dimensional tummy that something was wrong, and she should get out of here.

Before she could do anything but surface and close her plush lips a few times like a Pisces, the teacher's eyes locked on the very curvaceous lump of her button-up shirt, before travelling up to her angular and perfectly formed human face. As if he had every right to do it, he slid his handwriting deliberately up her bird and rested his gnarled palm on her second joint.

He leaned forward, stroking and rubbing her thigh,"You're very smart, Scarlett. You know you're going to ask my help to get into that acting shoal 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 space, across the way. His former hand grabbed the back of her cervix and pulled her into him, resting her caput on his shoulder. His script was between her second joint, rubbing her pussy.

His moan were searing themselves into her thinker, the type of groan where there isn't a doubt that the man is getting exactly what he wants. It was like watching a movie, the teen sentiment as in her distracted head she watched the scene unfold. Her cunt was soaked from her rubbing, and like a puppet on train, she watched as she let him stand her up and tug her underwear to her ankle. During her repositioning, his cock had been sprung unblock from his trouser, throbbing and hard.

She could only barely feel the insistency of the desk on which her titmouse rested as her teacher set her over, and tried her scoop to stymie out the feeling of his cock sawing against her ass and slit. Scarlett watched the scene in her brain, scoffing at how much of a slut 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 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 instructor's dick slid inside of Scarlett Johansson's burning cunt, he whispered"Fuck, oh fuck, oh fuuuuckkk,"right into her ear as she shuddered and twitched under him. She didn't motion, she didn't assistant him get off, but he continued to have it away her into the desk for nearly 20 minutes, until his fingers returned to her snatch in add-on to the cock fucking her.

She began feeling dizzy, the creation spinning in her nous as his grunts turned to primal moan. Some artificial genius was building in her consistency like she'd never felt before, oceanic abyss in her tum. She started to rock back onto his lap, her body moving with every jabbing he made.

The howler from her unexpected orgasm would induce given them both away, alerted anyone else left in the shoal, if he didn't clamp his hired hand powerfully over her mouth as she convulsed with pleasure under him. He never let up through it all, painful sensation and panic setting in as he went backbreaking and faster, until his own end came and, bass inside of Scarlett Johansson's miserly teen cunt, he sprayed load after shipment of cum.

When he slowly pulled from her, it was like he pulled a plug 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 storey and pulled up her underclothing, and scrambled over the desk. She grabbed her backpack and practically ran out of the door to her car.

It was a ferocious, profligate drive abode, but she didn't find any comfort there. She didn't sleep that Nox, instead she rubbed herself way Mr Benson did, trying her best to recapture the tactile sensation of his breath, his grunt, his touching. She came again, over and over, until her body couldn't orgasm any more.

In a goodness, just man that would have been their first and only skirmish. Actually, in a secure world a beautiful gifted cleaning woman like Scarlett Johansson would never have been raped by her drama teacher at all, but biography wasn't that way. As life history isn't fair, or just, she stayed after school at least once a week for extra acting example from her teacher. In the end, he kept his word and she got an A+ in the socio-economic class, and got a personal recommendation from him to attend acting schoolhouse at the Lee Strasberg Theatre & Film Institute.

From there the rest was chronicle, and the beautiful teen would grow up and enter Hollywood, becoming the gamy grossing charwoman actress of all metre.

The belief 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 heavy on her. How many other women would have 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 little girl she didn't know ? Would she do it again, if she knew what would happen ?

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