I Fucked the Baker's Daughter

I was speechless when I entered the bakery where I used to go shopping that afternoon. I hoped to find Marcela there, the same folksy lady who for the last twelve years had treated me every morning. From the age of the girl who was addressing me at the time, I assumed she must be the daughter of the baker. It was, however, a most peculiar young woman. Although her features bore a slight resemblance to Marcela's, this was a transgressive girl who had little or nothing to do with her mother.