The soothingly bucolic view was a real-life Constable landscape. Sarah’s pottery studio, her escape from the rat race, was idyllic in summer. Back to the kiln, moulding wet clay with her hands, she usually was absorbed into the sights, sounds and smells seeping through open casement windows.

That sensual tranquillity was, however, infused with the piquant bite of sexual tension. First felt on meeting Siobhan, Sarah’s feelings had hibernated after her friend’s marriage, only to bloom when Sarah began tutoring ceramics.

Glancing up, Sarah’s pussy surged. For Siobhan was gorgeously biting her bottom lip, as her cupped hands massaged the embryonic vase revolving on a pottery wheel. That concentration struck Sarah as sensual, her friend’s hands sliding up and down the cylindrical wet clay.

As always, the studio outlook had triggered Sarah’s other senses; the wheel whirring, the babbling of a nearby brook, the warbling of songbirds, the honey bees buzzing. Embellishing the sensuality of Siobhan’s rubbing hands was, for the first time, the aromatic scent of lilacs drifting into the room.

Siobhan could have detected the change in Sarah had she the courage to look up. But she just couldn’t catch her friend's eyes, as the pottery studio had stirred her too, in ways she couldn’t admit to. She only found questions, not answers, when her eyes instinctively glanced at her wedding ring lying on the wooden table.

As Siobhan’s eyes returned to the undulating clay, she felt heat flow over her cheeks like molten lava. The room suddenly felt like a hothouse, any coolness from the babbling brook sounds evaporating with the fire that Sarah was stoking, inadvertently Siobhan imagined, inside her friend.

The warm clay rising between her fingers, sticking to her skin, felt so very sensuous. Without checking, Siobhan knew her nipples were straining against her floral smock. Was Sarah aware or not? Siobhan couldn't immediately decide which answer she preferred.

Siobhan felt beads of sweat form on her skin. Her newly realised ambiguity caused her to surreptitiously clench her thighs together; her shorts meant her sweaty thighs stuck together as her panties dampened uncontrollably.

“It's hot today,” Siobhan said, pretending it was a result of the kiln's heat.

With eyes riveted on her friend’s firming nipples, Sarah barely heard the words. The realization that the heat from the kiln didn’t mean her own nipples hardened, caused a damp surge in Sarah’s panties. That focused her mind.

“I have water,” Sarah said, grabbing the pail of icy water, and gingerly stepping behind Siobhan.

Sarah reached forward and, with only two thin layers of material between them, her breasts grazed her friend’s back. With clay-spotted hands, she gripped Siobhan's goosebump-covered arms like a puppeteer guiding a marionette.

That left a clay imprint of her hand on Siobhan’s bare skin. Which seemed so intimate, sensual even, so the second touch on wrists and fingers created sparks like a spring thunderstorm. Refreshing, but fraught with danger.

With that touch plus Sarah's breath dancing down her exposed neck, Siobhan realised her nipples hadn’t ever been so sensitive or hard. Her thighs clenched together, vice-like, trapping her heat inside like a pressure cooker. Heat that was amplified when Siobhan realized Sarah now had an unobstructed view of her lightly covered cleavage, and the sweat flowing into the divide which highlighted her aroused nipples.

While the pounding of her heart was drowning out the soothing outside noises, Siobhan suddenly worried that the lilac scent was no longer concealing the blossoming smell of her arousal.

Siobhan's mouth felt full of cotton. Unable to swallow she managed to ask, her voice quivering, "Water, please."

Expecting to drink she was astonished to feel Sarah touch her cheek with ice. She felt surprise, then relief, then yearning as the ice instantaneously melted, dissolved some clay smeared on her jaw, and dripped off now blushing cheeks onto her top, further staining her blouse around her stiff nipple with cooling, yet dirty, water. Like her emotions, the top now felt transparent.

Without thinking, fingers on the vase, Siobhan instinctively leaned back, supporting her head on Sarah's bare shoulder. The icy water made Siobhan's overheated legs part, her moral compass spinning like a weather vane in a tornado; a fact not lost on Sarah, who saw symmetry in the wet clay oozing between Siobhan’s fingers and the honey staining her friend's shorts. Sarah’s fingers slid under her friend’s blouse, tracing a clay pattern down her breasts and across aching hard nipples.

All was still inside the studio. Outside the brook still babbled, the songbirds warbled, the honey bees buzzed, and the lilac intoxicated. Inside, her friend’s intimate touch stimulated Siobhan’s senses far more.

Sarah's hands cupped and squeezed the heavy breasts, leaving clay handprints, like a luxurious bra, on Siobhan’s chest.

Then as her nipples were gently rolled between forefingers and thumbs, Siobhan’s world narrowed. Away from the summer’s intoxicating sights, sounds and smells. Onto the feel of clayey fingers on throbbing nipples. And her dammed, needy pussy.

“Yes, Sarah,” she whimpered.

With hard nipples seemingly boring into Sarah's sweaty palms, Siobhan’s whisper communicated approval. Sarah firmly rolled and tugged on the now clay-covered nipples.

Shock waves broke on Siobhan’s throbbing clit from the expert caresses of her breasts. She desperately wanted to touch her weeping pussy. But that might be unnecessary, as the growing fluttering between her legs was unmistakable. She was suddenly gloriously close.

And when she felt Sarah’s bite on the nape of her neck, Siobhan bit her bottom lip; her fingers erratically rubbing the forming vase.

Gasping at the feel of Sarah’s caresses of her over-stimulated nipples, Siobhan embraced her looming sensory overload. And, after the firmest of squeezes, her pussy exploded in quivering ecstasy. The rumbling orgasm nothing like her fantasies. Way better, gushingly better.

Siobhan’s muscles tensed in empathy with her clit. Hands pressed into the spinning clay, splattering it, and covering her in a dripping stickiness that matched her panties.

The mould was broken, they had fired their new reality.