"I want her."

You really don't know what context she means. I'll let you know is that your cock is being driven mad and your wife's nipples are hard enough they're trying to cut through her shirt. Your wife sees your confusion and she gets this almost drunken grin on her face and her eyes glaze over with lust. You've seen that look before and you know her panties are so soaked right now that she could literally wring the pussy juice out of them.

If she was wearing any. Fuck, is Megan even wearing panties?

"Oooh! Look at the pretty flower," our perspective nanny says, bending at the waist, thrusting out that sculpted ass. I thought I could hear the denim stretch tighter and she bit her lip. She was looking at the pink orchid in the vase just inside the dining room. The pink orchid that you bought Meg as a joke because it looks just like a pussy. Soft and pink and inviting. You two had joked about it incessantly, making a point to say something about it in front of guests.

"Such soft, pink petals," she said, only her legs and ass and combat boot clad feet in view. Her position made her leg muscles stand out; she was a runner. The tattoos wrapped around her legs were good work and directed the viewer's eyes to where she wanted them; the curve of her thighs, the hem of her jeans...one stretching between those thighs looking like it's hungrily searching out her pussy. The sloppy dress is a show; this girl is a sexual predator and her body is crafted for the exact purpose she's using it for now. "And that fragrance....mmmm....if there was any dew on these soft, pink petals, I'd want to taste it," she practically purred. She stood back up and swung her hips as she walked, almost dancing to some music.

Megan and I were dumstruck. It took me a minute to realize that my wife was stroking my cock through my pants, the sensation almost making me jump.

"Fuck I'm soaked." Meg pants beside you. "I don't know what it is about..."

"I know," you cut her off.

"John..." she says, almost whimpering.

"Jesus...are we hiring a nanny or..."

"Fuck," Meg pants out. It was almost a prayer.

You watch as what's her name...Amy? The Devil? The college sexbomb drop out? ...spins in her place as she arrives at the table, her nipples hard in side profile, both of them pointing toward the ceiling. She's grinning like a cat that ate the canary...a whole goddamn flock of them.

"How far are we taking this...interview?" you ask as the two of you step forward, your wife's finger tips still on your meat through your jeans as you both walk forward.