”Then she turned her attention to Mr Stanley Laws, “Mr Laws, My husband here is an artist. Do you know much about art?”“No, not really —”�...�Well, it is something he has messed about with all his life and he is really rather good at it. Royal Academy shows and all that sort of thing. But, lately, he has been experimenting with ceramics, firing them in a small kiln we have in a wooden shed in the garden, but it really won’t do at all, it is damp in there when the oven’s off and he suffers terribly. The noise next door was then coming from Ian... panting, and sighing. I was intrigued. Getting up, I sneaked along the hallway, not knowing what I was going to do... at least it would be clearer. I was lucky. Very lucky. Through the slightly open door, I could see that the bed was to the right of it, and the mirror was opposite and that’s what gave me my unobstructed view. Ian was by then on his back and Anne was sitting on his cock. The curtains had been drawn, and the light was perfect. The. As usual, when I switch my phone back on afterleaving the studio, I'm inundated with Facebook messages, texts andmissed calls. In what has become a post-TV tradition for me, I phonethe number that has, as always, left the most missed calls."Hi mum!" I excitedly beam as I climb in the taxi back to Piccadillystation."Jamie!" Mum gushes. "You were beautiful and brilliant as always! AndI'm not the only one who thinks so!" After a bit of muffled scratching,a new voice quickly forces its way onto the. No cell phone because it was in the locked car. And no clothing on. Instinctively, I wanted to make myself smaller, so simultaneously I wrapped my forearm around my breasts, pulling them in to my chest, and with my other hand, I clamped it over my neatly trimmed pussy, like a clam shell, cupping it, as I slowly lowered myself to a squat behind my car. My mind was racing, sorting through alternatives, and my heart was racing even faster, fearing my discovery. My heart rate monitor watch.