The camera doesn't have ears

"The camera doesn't have ears, Tim! It only has eyes," Walter said, leaning back slightly to accentuate his—or rather, Monica’s—curves. He let out a sultry, feminine chuckle that sounded both completely unlike him and Monica at the same time. "As long as we are capturing the images, no one will ever know it was 'Dad' talking. In the photos, I'll just look like a stunning, sexy woman posing for her admirer."

He looked down at his hands, flexing them slightly. The thrill is in the secret, isn't it? To know that behind this gorgeous face is your old man, playing a game."

He paused, feeling the friction of the thin fabric as he adjusted his position on the couch. The lingerie Monica was wearing tightened against his flexed body; the thin lace of the thong slid upward, rubbing rhythmically against his groin. A sudden rush of warmth shot through his feminine figure from the sensation, though he was momentarily distracted by the sheer physical sensation of the outfit.

Before he could fully enjoy it, a loud noise from outside startled them both. The slightly guttural, unmistakable moans of the real Monica drifted through the thin walls.

Tim rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes still glued to the sight of his neighbor’s body being handled so casually by his father. He glanced nervously toward the wall where the sounds of pleasure were coming from. "Sure... but maybe we shouldn't do this here..." he whispered.

Walter glanced over at the source of the groans and nodded in agreement. As he stood up to face his son, the lingerie slipped slightly down his hips. Walter’s eyes landed on the prominent mound forming in Tim's pants. The strange feeling between Walter's legs grew as his gaze focused on the ever-expanding bulge before him.