It was with a heavy sigh that the theater director Mr Benson paused the recording of their finis practice, freeze-framing the star of the play mid-screen, one Miss Scarlett Johansson. His glum eyes swivelled from the screen to the high schooler sitting across from him on the lounge as they had an after-school meeting in his office.

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

The highschool schoolhouse senior's shoulder dropped and her beautiful green centre threatened tears. She barely heard her dramatic event teacher as he started to blame apart her performance, feeling dead and dumb. The problems with her acting he was mentioning he couldn't possibly actually finger were problems ! It was all so subjective !

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

Over the grade of the breakdown the much older teacher leaned closer and closer to the very buxom teenager, sometimes resting his bridge player on the schoolgirl skirt she was wearing. This kept happening often, until his hand started brushing against the endanger bare cutis of her leg that the wanna-be starlet Scarlett started feeling a churning tactual sensation interior of her flat tire tummy that something was wrong, and she should get out of here.

Before she could do anything but unresolved and skinny her plush lips a few times like a Pisces the Fishes, the teacher's eye locked on the very curvy swelling of her button-up shirt, before travelling up to her angulate and perfectly formed typeface. As if he had every right to do it, he slid his handwriting deliberately up her skirt and rested his grumble thenar on her second joint.

He leaned forward, stroking and rubbing her thigh,"You're very smartness, Scarlett. You know you're going to need my supporter 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 take note what was happening from a space, across the elbow room. His other bridge player grabbed the back of her neck and pulled her into him, resting her psyche on his shoulder. His mitt was between her thighs, rubbing her pussy.

His moans were searing themselves into her mind, the case of moan where there isn't a incertitude that the man is getting exactly what he wants. It was like watching a movie, the adolescent mentation as in her trouble read/write head she watched the scene unfold. Her puss 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 mortise joint. During her repositioning, his dick had been sprung free from his pant, throbbing and hard.

She could only barely sense the pressure of the desk on which her knocker rested as her teacher set her over, and tried her ripe to block out the impression of his cock sawing against her ass and kitty. Scarlett watched the conniption in her mind, scoffing at how a great deal 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 elbow room, never to see the creep again. Why was her slit 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"nookie, oh fucking, oh fuuuuckkk,"right into her ear as she shuddered and twitched under him. She didn't move, she didn't helper him get off, but he continued to know her into the desk for nearly XX bit, until his fingers returned to her snatch in improver to the tool fucking her.

She began feeling dizzy, the reality spinning in her mind as his grunts turned to primal groans. Some unreal sensation was building in her consistence like she'd never felt before, deep in her abdomen. She started to shake back onto his lap, her eubstance moving with every thrust he made.

The shriek from her unexpected orgasm would have given them both away, alerted anyone else left in the school day, if he didn't clamp his hand powerfully over her mouth as she convulsed with pleasance under him. He never let up through it all, botheration and panic setting in as he went hard and faster, until his own end came and, recondite inside of Scarlett Johansson's tight teen twat, he sprayed load after load of cum.

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

It was a enraged, fast ride menage, but she didn't find any comfort there. She didn't sleep that Nox, instead she rubbed herself way Mister Benson did, trying her undecomposed to retake the notion of his breath, his oink, his touch. She came again, over and over, until her physical structure couldn't sexual climax any more.

In a just, just human race that would have been their first and only coming upon. Actually, in a practiced creation a beautiful talented woman like Scarlett Johansson would never accept been raped by her play teacher at all, but lifespan wasn't that way. As spirit isn't fair, or just, she stayed after schooling at least once a week for extra acting lesson from her teacher. In the end, he kept his word and she got an A+ in the grade, and got a personal recommendation from him to attend acting shoal at the Lee Strasberg Theatre & Film Institute.

From there the sleep was account, and the beautiful teen would originate up and enter Hollywood, becoming the highest grossing woman actress of all time.

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 months ago for - what else - having sex with a student. That weight felt weighed down on her. How many other womanhood would bear 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 have it off ? Would she do it again, if she knew what would happen ?

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