Hot bread and pastries every day, a short story with Jacinta
ADULT CONTENT All English translations are done as honestly as possible by a non-native speaker. However, if there are any mistakes, please feel free to comment. 🇪🇦 spanish version I remember the smell of freshly baked bread. I remember leaning out of the window of my shared flat in the early hours of the morning to see her forbidding, petite silhouette through the wide window under the light of a dim bulb. To see Jacinta kneading bread. With her half-length light brown hair knotted awkwardly under a white bandana of jet-blue dots. As the heat of the oven forced her to carry out her routine tasks dressed only in an apron and tiny panties. How she would bend over the dough, and get her breasts lost in flour. I imagined hearing her complain in her velvety voice "Again, Jacinta, you're impossible, the tits full of flour..." and laughing. My imagination flew and I thought I saw a breast stealthily escaping from her dressing...