It’s Italian, usually served with coffee, but I find that warm, it goes quite well with a little powdered sugar and fruit.”“Mmm, well it looks v...ry exotic,” she replied.“If you would indulge me for a moment, the word sfogliatella actually means lobster, and it was said,” he continued, “That the pastry was created by a chef in Naples. Apparently, his wife was pregnant with their first child, and she craved a lobster. Normally in Naples for a chef this is not a problem, but this was not lobster. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . God! It was so hot and slippery. I didn’t know that entering a pussy would give me this much pleasure. I started fucking her and she was moaning ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh aaaaaaaaaaaaaa uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. . . . Bittttuuuuuuuuuuuuu. . . . . I started increasing my speed and her moans became louder. . . . . . The whole kitchen was filled with THAP THAP THAP sounds of my balls hitting her bare skin.I. It went on for a good minutes. His hand on her back clawed and dug deeply into her skin. The dress turned into tattered rags. Little Red blacked out. She awoke on her back. Now completely stripped of her dress. The rain brought her out of her black out. She only had one runner on. Another one straddled her. His giant cock stuffed into her little mouth. He red lipstick now smudged and rubbed all over her face. She tried to grab at his cock to move it out of her mouth. She could not. Her hands. Hours had passed and the night has fallen so fast. I took a light wash up, fixed my hairs, got dressed up and headed to a bar. The lust for Mrs. Ankita runs all over my nerves. I was wishing to see her again and talk but I suppose this thing will never happen. Sigh! I ordered a peg of whisky at the bar to relief myself. I took another peg of whisky to erase such thoughts; nevertheless the lust for Ankita begins to grow stronger & stronger.I envied seeing many hot couples turning up for drinks.