Hidden Camera: The Nanny's Wild Poolside Orgy

I sat in the dim cool of my upstairs office, the house otherwise silent with my wife gone for the entire weekend. The new security camera I’d mounted above the pool was obvious by design: a sleek black orb with a bright, unmistakable red recording light that blinked steadily like a heartbeat. Kayla knew it was there. I’d shown her the app myself two weeks ago, explaining how it would keep an eye on things while she watched my stepson. She’d smiled that slow, knowing smile and said she’d make sure to give it “something worth recording.”

That conversation had been playing on repeat in my head ever since.

Down below, the late-afternoon sun turned the pool water into liquid gold. Kayla, twenty-two and built like every filthy fantasy I’d ever tried to bury, lay stretched out on the wide lounge chair in nothing but a neon-pink micro-bikini bottom. The top was long discarded on the concrete. Her full, sun-kissed tits were oiled and glistening, nipples tight from the breeze. On either side of her, two of her friends—both nineteen, both just as shameless—lounged in equally tiny scraps of fabric. The brunette, Mia, had her dark hair piled high and her legs spread just enough to show the outline of her puffy pussy lips through the white fabric. The redhead, Sophie, was on her stomach, ass arched slightly, the thin string of her thong lost between two perfect, round cheeks.

I told myself I was just checking the feed. That was a lie. My cock had been rock-hard for twenty minutes.

Kayla suddenly stretched like a cat, arching her back so her tits thrust upward. Then she turned her head and looked directly up at the camera. Her lips curved. She knew. She fucking knew I was watching. The red light must have looked like a spotlight on her from down there.

My breath caught as she slid one manicured hand down her flat stomach, hooked two fingers under the tiny pink triangle, and pulled it aside. Her shaved pussy was already wet, lips puffy and flushed. She stared straight into the lens while she dragged her middle finger up her slit, coating it, then pushed inside herself with a visible shudder.

“Jesus Christ,” I muttered, gripping the edge of my desk.