Perspectives Pt. 1a - Rachel

"I need to hurry."

Rachel pulled her socks just below her knees and walked across her room to grab the skirt laying on the back of the chair, but stopped first in front of the mirror, adjusted her bra straps, and flipped her red hair out of her eyes.

"I'm pretty," she thought to herself, as a smile appeared in the mirror.

"Maybe, my hair is too long; I need to cut it, so it isn't such a mess to fix in the morning." She thought while tying it back in a ponytail. "I need to look professional for Mr. Morgan."

Her eyes moved down her nearly naked body admiring the woman staring back at her who seemed to have some mischievousness hidden in her slight smile. Although it took many years, she accepted that the freckles covering her skin were fun and unique. With her arms above her head tying her hair, she looked at the pale skin on the underside of her arms and just above her breasts. It contrasted against the deep heugh of freckles that covered her face and shoulders. She let her ponytail fall on her back as she ran her hand down her chest and stopped at the pooch of her stomach. She wanted to hate it, but it was kind of cute she thought as she rubbed her belly and playfully poked her finger in her belly button. She turned slightly to the mirror and ran a finger over the bottom curve of her yellow panties as she smacked her ass, laughing, and showing a mouth full of braces.

"One more year for you metal mouth!" She said out loud to her pouty face in the mirror while shaking a finger at herself.

"I'm not hurrying".

She grabbed her skirt, worked it over her panties making sure the tight fit didn't show a panty line and zipped the back. Her favorite top, a white spaghetti strapped camisole, waited for her on the chair along with a short business jacket. She quickly put them on and took one last look in the mirror as she bent down to put on her heels. Leaning over she could see down her top to the white bra underneath that was now one size too small. Her breasts strained against the soft fabric, and she saw the slight edge of skin, barely dark, around her nipple peeking out from the cup.

"Areola", she thought.

She hated that word. It sounded clinical, not sexy, and she felt sexy today. Still looking in the mirror she ran her hand into the opening of her shirt, pulling the cup away to adjust it, and ran her finger over her exposed nipple making it hard just before giving it a quick squeeze losing her thoughts in a fantasy for a moment just before snapping back to reality.

"Now, I'm really going to be late."

Rachel ran down the stairs, adjusting her clothes, past her older brother, Jonathon, who was eating breakfast standing at the refrigerator. Her mom was probably sitting by the pool in the backyard like most mornings and her dad was already off to work. She waved at Jonathon who mouthed bye through the three muffins stuffed in his mouth and grabbed her purse as she set off down the street towards work.

Mr. Morgan and his wife, Laci, were accountants. They moved here from Illinois about two years ago, just after Rachel's 16th birthday and opened an office downtown, but the timing couldn't have been worse. The pandemic hit and all the businesses in their office building left so the owner couldn't keep up with an empty building; he sold it. The Morgans renovated their guest house into an office and continued the business there. Mr. Morgan asked her dad if he could hire Rachel for general secretary work. She was in the summer before her senior year and didn't have a car, so this was a perfect job she thought as she crossed the street, passing the few houses before making her way through the gate to the back of the Morgans' property.

She likes working for Mr. Morgan. His name is Lawrence, but she never uses it even when he insists. He is Mr. Morgan to her. She doesn't know how old he is; she is terrible at that, but she guessed about 40. He had jet black hair and a beard with small hints of gray that he kept perfectly groomed. He usually wore fitted button up pressed shirts that strained at his shoulders, usually with a pair of jeans and he always smelled good. His cologne stayed in the air and mixed with the smell of coffee in the morning and what Rachel thought was bourbon in the evening. She didn't drink but she was sure the bottles said bourbon on them.

Going around the main house, she walked in the renovated guest building past Mr. Morgan's office door to her desk in the corner, sitting down her purse and making her way to the small kitchen to grab a cold coffee drink from the refrigerator. She could hear Mr. Morgan on the phone and saw a cup of cold coffee on the counter where he forgot it.

Although he never asked for her to make his coffee, she never minded doing it. She made a new cup and walked to his door and knocked.

"Come in, Rachel."

She opened the door and saw a smile when he looked up from his computer at the cup of coffee.

"I told you that you don't have to make the coffee around here; it makes me feel elitist and wrong."

"And I told you I don't mind," she replied as she leaned over the desk to set it down.

Leaning over, she thought back to her mirror and looking down her top. She paused and glanced up to see Mr. Morgan looking down her shirt. He quickly looked away and spun his chair around to grab some files.

"Scan these for me and file them when you are done. I'm leaving around six to catch my flight to Denver, so I need them in the computer this afternoon."

"No problem, Mr. Morgan."

Rachel took the files and walked to her desk.

"Was he really staring down my shirt?" Rachel ran over the thought while starting the scanner. Boys stared at her sometimes but not Mr. Morgan. He wasn't a boy, and he was married. She liked his attention, but she had to be wrong. It was an accident. She put the thought away and got to work.

She spent most of the morning on the files until she heard Mr. Morgan call for her.

"Rachel," Mr. Morgan said from his office, "At around 1 go to the house and grab our delivery, please. And no flirting with the delivery boy!"

"I never flirt with the delivery person," thought Rachel and he always said that, even when Laci was here. Apparently one of the parts of the constant dad jokes is that they must be repeated every day no matter how tired and worn out they became. The delivery services never remember to bring the food to the office, so they just gave up on asking and would walk to the house to get it. Laci had left for Denver this morning, so Rachel was alone when she walked in the back door. Grabbing the card that is always in the first drawer on the left, she made it to the foyer as the bell rang.

Rachel took the food and handed him the card. After swiping, he nodded and said, "Thank you Ms. Morgan. Beautiful home you have here."

She thanked him and shut the door.

Ms. Morgan

Rachel sat the food down and looked at herself in the foyer mirror. This mirror made her look different, more adult, more serious. More like a Ms. Morgan than little Rachel from down the street. She thought back to Mr. Morgan looking down her shirt and a slight, but not altogether unfamiliar, tingle hit her stomach as she opened her jacket and ran her hands down the silky camisole over her bra and down to her stomach.

"Would he think it is cute?" She wondered as she patted her belly. She raised her shirt until she could see the underwire of her bra and rubbed her fingers over her belly button before moving the tip of her finger under the waistline of her skirt just above her panties, thinking about Mr. Morgan's wandering eyes.

"But you're married Mr. Morgan," she thought as the mischievous smile, no longer hidden behind the façade of innocence, appeared.

She felt the soft satin of her panties with her fingertip as she reached around to lower the skirt's zipper so her hand could move lower. She could just pull her skirt up but she like how her hand flet sliding down her stomach going underneath the fabric, she pulled the zipper and felt it free the tight skirt's pressure on her hand...

Then the doorbell rang.

Rachel jumped and clasped her hands to her mouth to stifle a scream. Adjusting her clothes, she opened the door to see the delivery driver with a second smaller bag.

"Sorry, Ms. Morgan. I forgot this one." He handed her the bag and left. She shut the door, laughing at herself as she gathered the food and went back to the office.

Rachel brought the food to the kitchen and Mr. Morgan helped get it out. They always ate in the kitchen, usually with Laci, since he had a rule that lunch should be taken away from work so no eating at the desks. He talked about the trip to Denver and she listened with the thought of this morning and the delivery driver's words in the back of her mind. The feeling in the pit of her stomach came back, but it was fierce and stronger than usual, and she knew Mr. Morgan was the cause.

She wasn't experienced with men. She had a boyfriend for the last year, but they were never allowed alone. They kissed and held hands, but the few dates they went on were chaperoned. Once he put his hand over her shirt and bra which she didn't mind but then his sister came in. That was the extent of her sexual interactions. One boyfriend who was leaving for college in two months. She wasn't opposed to trying things with him, but he was stiff, clinical. Not sexy. A boyfriend to take to prom and an occasional movie so their parents can say they look nice together. Rachel could have found a way to be alone with him, but she wasn't bold. She wanted to be though.

As Mr. Morgan talked more, she watched him. His eyes were a deep green and she smelled his cologne across the small table. His dark blue shirt was rolled up just under his elbows showing the dark hair on his arms. She imagined the hair on his chest and thought to the times she saw him kiss his wife. He would put his hand in the small of her back and pull her to him.

Ms. Morgan.

"I want to be Ms. Morgan too. It's time to be bold"

Rachel listened as she scooted away from the table and took off her jacket. She was aware that her top didn't cover her bra straps and felt vulnerable with the low silky neckline that barely covered her. Mr. Morgan stopped talking for a moment and she felt his eyes on her just like this morning. Her legs were wobbly, and she was thankful she was sitting down. Slowly, while putting her jacket over the back of the chair, Rachel worked her mind back to the conversation.

"Sorry, that jacket's too hot. You were talking about the ski lodge you and Laci stay in."

"Oh, yea, the lodge," Mr. Morgan replied as he averted his eyes back to his lunch. After cleaning up they went back to work. Several times Mr. Morgan came over to her desk to discuss paperwork when he could have just talked to her from his office, maybe to catch a glimpse down her shirt, she hoped. Maybe. She liked that thought and felt like her boldness worked. She was proud of herself, but the day was coming to an end, and she wouldn't see him for two weeks.

As she finished up the last of some email responses, Mr. Morgan came over to give her instructions for the next two weeks while he and Laci were away. She could smell the hint of alcohol in the air with his cologne. It fit him, like his shirt and his beard, the new Ms. Morgan thought to herself. As she turned her chair to face him her eyes were level with a huge bulge under his belt. She froze. It looked so big. She had never seen one in person. He was talking but she wasn't listening. She was so close to it.

"How bold are you, Rachel?"

The thought was barely in her mind when she said what she did. Looking back, it was as if she was watching someone else in that split second of time. She never knew how she was able to do it. Risking her job, her family friends, a marriage, her reputation.

"What is that, Mr. Morgan?" She asked pointing to the bulge in his jeans.

He stopped talking and looked down, right into her eyes.

"What do you mean?" He replied.

Not hesitating, "That" she said pointing closer. "What is that bulge in your jeans. I don't know what that is, Mr. Morgan."

She saw him swallow hard and his breath sounded shallow, but she also saw the confused look in his eyes change to something else, fierce, and primal.

And she waited, looking up at him.

"I don't know if I can tell you, Rachel. Only good girls get to know that and I'm not sure you're a good girl."

Rachel scooted closer to the edge of her chair, "I'm a good girl, Mr. Morgan. I promise."

"Can I trust you?" He asked.

Rachel wanted nothing more at that moment than to see it. She lowered the straps of her shirt letting it fall to her waist exposing her white bra. "Do you want to see them? I'll let you look at them. So, you know you can trust me"

Mr. Morgan moved closer to her and ran his hand through her red hair, then down her back to the clasp on her bra. She pulled up her tight skirt so he could stand between her legs as she started undoing his belt. She felt the pressure release when her bra opened and the hair on her arms stood up while the delicate straps moved down her shoulders falling to her elbows. The satin straps felt different coming off, not like in the dressing room with her friend Emily; they tried on undergarments and took them off to try on more. Emily with DD bras and Rachel with a C that was too big last year but probably the right size now. It was fun and friendly. This was fun but friendly wasn't the right world. Dangerous? Sinful? Something more than sexy. She lost the thought as she moved her hands from his belt, one at a time, through the straps so that her bra fell off completely. She quickly moved her hands back to his belt buckle.

Does he like them? She arched her back up so he could see them better. They fell like teardrops on her small body, her skin seemed even more pale the further it went from the freckles that covered her and the closer it came to her nearly invisible nipples that were larger than she liked. Only the slightest hint of darker skin, hardened now, with ridges and goosebumps meeting the air, could be seen. The same dark skin that made her pause this morning was now on full display for Mr. Morgan. Feeling the curve of her breasts on her arm she squeezed them together, moving her arm slightly under the bottom curvature she pushed them together and up for him.

For Mr. Morgan

She up at him when she released the buckle. Her hand slowly moved the zipper down as she popped the snap lose with the other. The bulge was bigger now, making it hard for her to pull down his jeans before finally lowering the elastic band on his boxers and releasing the tension in her arms as her breasts fell to their natural position again. She looked at it without mouthing a word. It was big. She didn't have anyone to compare it to, but she knew enough to know it was bigger than normal. It hung slightly, pointing towards her. She slowly moved her hand up to touch it before he grabbed her wrist.

"Rachel, what are doing? Did you ask to touch it?" He stroked her hair with his other hand moving it down the side of her face under her jaw. Softly, he lifted her face to look at his. "What do you want to do?"

Her legs were shaking slightly; she wanted to squeeze her legs and rub them together to help the tingling that moved from her stomach and seemed to radiate from under her panties, but she liked how exposed she felt spread out in front of him. His hand felt strong on her wrist, not hurtful; strong. In control. She understood then what he needed and what she wanted. It's a role to play. One to make each other happy. To enjoy pretty things.

"I want to touch it, Mr. Morgan," she replied.

"Touch what," he asked her.

"I want to touch your penis, Mr. Morgan."

He kept his hand under her chin. "No, you can't do that. You can touch my cock. My hard cock. You can touch someone else's penis, but you can only touch my hard cock. Do you understand?"

She knew her voice would shake but she answered.

"Yes, sir. I want... I want to touch your hard cock, Mr. Morgan." She had never said that word before and it sounded so different than how she had ever spoken to anyone in her life. Her voice broke up at the end as she took a short breath through her dry mouth. She moved her tongue over her braces out of a nervous habit, but it didn't feel like a habit this time. She felt like it was the first time she ever did it. Aware of how she was making him feel, she fell into her role. Her braces, her freckles, being Ms. Morgan, being a good girl.

"I'm a good girl, Mr. Morgan. Can I please touch your hard cock?"

He let go of her hand and moved closer, spreading her legs further. She could see her yellow panties now when she looked down and felt her wetness start to spread over them.

"Lean back so I can see your tits while you jerk me off, Rachel. You don't show your breasts to me. When I tell you to, you'll show me your tits."

Rachel did as she was told, leaning back against the leather chair, as she sat on the very edge. She wanted him to see all of her. She put her arms over her head and spread her wobbling legs out further.

"Like this, Mr. Morgan?" She asked.

"What are you doing, Rachel?" He asked.

"I'm showing you my tits, Mr. Morgan. I'm showing you my little tits," She replied.

"Those aren't little, Rachel. Touch it, now."

Rachel leaned up slightly and put her small hand on his penis (Mr. Morgan's hard cock). It wasn't what she thought it would be, feeling the warm skin and the pulsing underneath. She realized it was harder now than before. It stood up instead of pointing at her and the thickness kept her from completely closing her hand around it, but she felt like she could squeeze it too hard and make it hurt. She didn't feel a hard pole like she expected; It was a violent storm that needed to be coaxed out. He was in charge and vulnerable standing over his young secretary, barely 18 years old. She was vulnerable and in charge with her hand wrapped around his hard cock. They each had a role to fill. She moved her hand feeling the smoothness of his skin and the softness of the veins bulging to the full head that grew bigger as she moved her hand up and down softly.

"I don't know what to do, Mr. Morgan. Will you tell me?" She looked up at him making sure she asked as softly as possible. She wasn't completely sure how to do this, but she had some idea.

"I've never done it before. You aren't going to tell are you?" She asked, wide eyed.

"No, we won't tell anyone anything. Keep moving your hand like that, Rachel. It feels good. Do you like making me feel good?" He asked as he ran his hand over her hair again.

"Yes, sir, Mr. Morgan. I'm your good girl."

She gripped harder to feel the pulsing underneath and then it happened. She saw clear liquid seep out of the tip. She didn't stop but watched as it made a droplet and fall on her hand. She leaned up out of the chair to get closer.

"That wasn't as eventful as I thought" Rachel remembered overhearing Natalie tell some girls that her boyfriend made a mess in her dad's car. Natalie was always dramatic.

"Do you know what that is, Rachel?"

"Is it semen, Mr. Morgan? Did I do it right then?"

He moved closer to her, his hard cock near her face now.

"Yes, you are doing it right. That is pre cum. When you do well, I'll cum for you. Semen is for your books and sex ed classes. Pre cum happens before you make me cum. Do you want me to cum for you, Rachel?"

"Yes, Mr. Morgan. I want to see you cum,"

"Isn't that what was happening?" She thought. She knew that men would ejaculate but she never saw it. She watched movies but her parents had blocks on their phones ever since Jonathon's "incident" a few years ago. The scenes never showed everything about this part, and she never really bothered to look. Why risk it? She had a boyfriend. One she could take to the prom and out for occasional dinners. Clinical. Boring. Appropriate.