It was with a heavy sigh that the theater director Mister Benson paused the transcription of their last praxis, freeze-framing the genius of the romp mid-screen, one Miss Scarlett Johansson. His dark eyes swivelled from the screenland to the high schooler sitting across from him on the couch as they had an after-school group meeting in his office.

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

The high gear school elder's shoulders dropped and her beautiful green eyes threatened tears. She barely heard her dramatic event teacher as he started to pick apart her performance, feeling dead and silent. 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 cause 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 dislocation the practically older instructor leaned closemouthed and closer to the very busty teenager, sometimes resting his hired hand on the schoolgirl wench she was wearing. This kept happening often, until his hand started brushing against the uncovered bare peel of her leg that the wanna-be starlet Scarlett started feeling a churning feeling inside of her matte breadbasket that something was wrong, and she should get out of here.

Before she could do anything but open and shut her plush lips a few times like a Pisces, the teacher's center locked on the very busty swelling of her button-up shirt, before travelling up to her angulate and perfectly formed side. As if he had every right to do it, he slid his manus deliberately up her wench and rested his knotty palm on her thigh.

He leaned forward, stroking and rubbing her second joint,"You're very smart, 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 consistency, and she felt herself going limp. It was like she could remark what was happening from a distance, across the way. His other hand grabbed the spine of her neck and pulled her into him, resting her head on his shoulder joint. His hand was between her thigh, rubbing her pussy.

His moans were searing themselves into her mind, 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 teenager thought as in her distracted head she watched the scene unfold. Her cunt was soaked from her rubbing, and like a puppet on strings, she watched as she let him stand her up and tug her underclothes to her articulatio talocruralis. During her repositioning, his tool had been spring free from his pants, throbbing and hard.

She could only barely feel the pressure of the desk on which her tits rested as her teacher hang her over, and tried her best to hinder out the feeling of his cock sawing against her ass and cunt. Scarlett watched the panorama in her mind, scoffing at how much of a slut the woman was until she remembered it was her, and she felt herself crashing back towards realism, all the piece 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 celebrated actress worth this ?

As her teacher's cock 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 motility, 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 pussy in addition to the cock fucking her.

She began feeling dizzy, the world spinning in her brain as his grunt turned to primeval groan. Some insubstantial sentiency was building in her body like she'd never felt before, trench in her venter. She started to rock back onto his lap, her body moving with every thrust he made.

The scream from her unexpected orgasm would make given them both away, alerted anyone else left in the school, if he didn't clamp his hand powerfully over her mouthpiece as she convulsed with pleasure under him. He never let up through it all, pain in the ass and terror setting in as he went hard and faster, until his own end came and, deep interior of Scarlett Johansson's closely teen cunt, he sprayed loading after freight 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 nous again, no longer looking at this dispassionately, disassociating it from herself. She bobbed to the trading floor and pulled up her underwear, and scrambled over the desk. She grabbed her rucksack and practically ran out of the door to her car.

It was a furious, fast drive habitation, but she didn't find any comfort there. She didn't nap that night, instead she rubbed herself way Mr. Benson did, trying her best to retake the belief of his intimation, his grunts, his soupcon. She came again, over and over, until her trunk couldn't sexual climax any more.

In a thoroughly, just world that would have been their first and only skirmish. Actually, in a dependable world a beautiful talented charwoman like Scarlett Johansson would never have been raped by her drama teacher at all, but life wasn't that way. As life isn't fair, or just, she stayed after school at least once a calendar week for extra acting lessons from her instructor. In the end, he kept his Scripture and she got an A+ in the class, and got a personal recommendation from him to attend acting shoal at the Lee Lee Strasberg Theatre & Film Institute.

From there the eternal rest was history, and the beautiful teen would grow up and enter Hollywood, becoming the highest grossing woman actress of all time.

The intuitive 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 scholarly person. That weight felt clayey on her. How many other cleaning woman 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 girls she didn't know ? Would she do it again, if she knew what would happen ?

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