The cook you fondly trust dips your breasts in grease and gives them a light massage. It feels extremely nice. Then he leaves you alone for now and starts baking while you happily sit on the table, wave your legs in the air and drink from your glass. It's your fifth dose. The cook covers your titties in a thick layer of dough, and fondles now your arse. Still fondling. You feel merrier and merrier. He has to gently but firmly guide you with his hands around your waist to prevent you from collapsing, but eventually, he succeeds to make you lean forward safely and expose your butt. He rubs butter all over the said body part till it's almost numb from touching. You sit up again and you're head is swimming out of the sensations of immense pleasure and humiliation.
Without you noticing, the cook has been pre-heating a large kettle of thick yellow liquid he now brings to your sight. You manage to register the implications of the view very briefly before, without any warning, he grabs those two lumps of dough attached to your chest painfully squeezing the titties underneath them and sinks his creation into boiling, greasy liquid violently dragging the rest of your person by the kettle along with your breasts. You hear merciless hissing sound somewhere near by and yelp sharply as the pulses of agony take over the area of your chest and the entirity of your brain capacity and tell you quite clearly that your precious breasts are currently being deep-fried in oil. You did read about this bit from the recipe so technically you were prepared for this. But it still manages to shock you. You're also ashamed that the smell of burning makes you crave for freshly baked doughnuts more than ever in your life. Or dough-crusted fish.
You start panting as the cook puts all his weight on your back to make sure your reflexes don't pull your torso away from the kettle. You're absolutely over-whelmed by his move. You're entire body sweats and your face turns red. You feel your breasts getting soft and puffy underneath the crust. For some reason, despite that, your nipples are quite hard, and the fact that you don't know WHY annoys you greatly. Crap... if the same treatment awaits your arse as well... How can you pull this through..? You decide to chit-chat to pass the somewhat awkward time. Your throat is sore from screaming and you're mind is still blurry from intoxication. But you try your best:
A) 'So... great technique you have there. Definitely keeps me still alright.'
B) 'So... this guest of yours must like deep-fried stuff then?'
C) 'Imagine that I read the recipe that carefully, and this part of cooking still managed to surprise and shock me greatly. You could say I wasn't prepared to be prepared.'
D) 'You're sure this will taste good enough? To be honest, I was last night told that I taste quite bad. Imagine that! Someone actually has a nerve to say something that unthinkably rude out loud!'
