Kneading desire: A baker's itchy palms and pan-hungry buns

The bakery's pan racks stand like soldiers at attention, their metal surfaces glistening with the promise of warmth and softness. Fryiyquenag, the baker, is drawn to them, his heart pounding like the dough in his hands. He imagines the buns not as they are, but as something else, something forbidden. His hands, slick with sweat and dough, grasp at the pans, his breath ragged as he pictures the soft, yielding flesh they could contain. The bakery, once a place of simple, honest work, becomes a stage for his taboo fantasies, the heat of the ovens mirroring the fire in his loins.

• it
• pan
• buns

• Unknown