I think first, a few words about Francesca’s background. A couple of Francesca’s great-grandfathers were Italian prisoners of war who met in a Welsh prisoner-of-war camp at a place called Capel Eidalwyr, in Henllan, Ceredigion during the last war. They were given a fair amount of freedom working on the farms and in some of the factories as they’d no interest at all in escaping. They’d be let out in the morning and had to be back at a certain time in the late afternoon for rollcall, inspection and food. They were usually then given time out, in the evening, to go down to the pub for a drink or two.

There were a few problems with them. They complained about the quality of the food they were being given and insisted on cooking for themselves. The local Roman Catholics also complained that they could never get into church on a Sunday because it was packed with Italians. There was also the odd problem with the parents of some of the local girls complaining to the Camp Commandant about the attention that their daughters were getting and not liking the situation; the daughters weren’t complaining though.

The Camp Commandant dealt with the first complaint by allowing the prisoners to cook their rations themselves, with the quality of the prisoners’ meals improving dramatically. The camp guards then decided that they would rather eat with the prisoners than in their own cookhouse, and the prisoners ended up cooking for the entire camp. The food in some of the local pubs improved as well, with the good people of Wales being introduced to Italian delicacies such as garlic and chilli, grown on the camp.

The complaint about church services was resolved by the Italians building a church in one of their huts. They were supposed to hand back the empty tins their rations came in for re-use (they didn’t use the word recycling in those days), but several of them kept going missing. Some building materials went missing from a local builder as well, replaced by some sort of head-blowing Italian home brew, presumably as payment. The Italians then built a church in one of their Nissen huts.

They asked the Camp CO that the hut be exempt from inspection for a few weeks. They gave their word that there was no illegal activity going on and all would be revealed after a few weeks. The Italians converted the Nissen hut into a church, not just a little village type church, but something like a miniature Vatican.

They used building materials to build an altar and rebuild the inside of the Nissen hut. They cleaned and flattened the tins and painted them with religious images. Then they put everything together.

From the outside it looked like a bog-standard corrugated-iron Nissen hut. But inside it looked like the Sistine Chapel, with vaulted ceilings, imitation stained-glass windows, and every surface lined with the flattened tins painted with religious themes. The Nissen hut was consecrated by the local Bishop in 1943, and the first service was attended by both prisoners and local residents.

As well as the Italian Chapel in Ceredigion, there’s another Italian Chapel in the Orkney Isles off Scotland.The issue of the attentions, ‘unwanted’ by the parents but not objected to by their daughters, was a little trickier. The Camp CO called the POWs together and gave them a stiff lecture about proper behaviour to the local young ladies, as they needed to keep the parents happy. He also made available condoms ‘just in case’. He pointed out that a country associated with sheep devised the first condoms and used sheep intestines. The British improved upon the condom by taking it out of the sheep first and tying a knot in one end. Catholic strictures about birth control were conveniently ignored by the men and they adopted this new item with enthusiasm.

After the surrender of Italy in 1943, the Italians were technically no longer prisoners, and the church saw several marriages to local women. Once the war was fully over, a lot of the Italians went home, married, and many of them came back with their Italian brides. Others, whether they were married or single, stayed in the UK.

And that is where Francesca gets her looks. She’s about five foot four inches in her bare feet, of Mediterranean appearance. She has copper-brown hair that comes halfway down her back. A figure reminiscent of a slightly slimmer Sophia Loren. She fills a pair of jeans and a bra nicely too. I wouldn’t say she has a pair of lips like the younger Sophia, but a French kiss from Fran would encompass Spain, Portugal, Germany, Northern Italy and part of Poland.

So, that’s where Francesca Abertini comes from. She’s bright, intelligent, treats people as equals; but makes bad decisions in her personal life. Part of her is English and the other part pure Italian. The English got the better part of the deal.

This was the tame excerpt. The next excerpt is the rather spicy one. You've been warned; scroll more at your own risk.

12 Granita – Course 5 and ways to eat it - pov Fran  

“Did you know there are plenty of ways you can eat sorbet, granita or ice cream?” said Peter. “Some you can do in public, but for most you need to be behind closed doors or in a private booth. Keep an eye on the blue light, though. You could, in public, eat it normally. You could also raise a few eyebrows by feeding each other with your spoon – that’ll get a few people hot under the collar. I could put some in my mouth and then kiss it over to you. I could lean you back, open your jacket and blouse, have you push your jugs together, drop it in the middle and lick it off.”

“No doubt about it,” I said. “Whilst I’m on my back with my jugs together, as you so charmingly put it, you could kneel down and straddle my body. Take out your cock, which I hope will be hard by this time, and I’ll give you a tit fuck, pushing the sorbet into my mouth, where I can suck and lick it off you. You can then lick what’s left off me. I could also push some into my pussy and force your head down to lick it out of me and lick me clean.”

“You could be sitting there with your cock out and I use your cock to stir it, giving you a very chilly end of your willy. I then lick it clean and warm it up. I could then use your cock to stir it around, every so often scooping some up on your cock and lick and suck it clean. Want some cream on your granita? I could also get your sorbet, bring you off onto it to give you a little extra cream and tell you to eat it. You don’t have a problem with that, so I understand.”

“Correct,” said Peter. “Or maybe I cum over your granita, add protein and you eat it?”

“I could give you a granita blowjob like this,” I said as I unzipped him and took out his stiffening cock. I picked up a large chunk of granita, put it in my mouth, and lowered my mouth over his cock and started sliding all the way down

.Peter almost lost control straight away as the alternate hot-soft and cold-hard sensation hit the end of his cock. The warmth and heat of my mouth followed by the cold of the granita, hit him hard. Nowhere near as hard though, as it suddenly hit me, as my mouth slid about three-quarters of the way down.

It suddenly felt as if I’d been kicked in the forehead by a horse, my teeth briefly clamped shut tightly around Peter’s hard-on as he gave a yelp, before I released him. and I went straight back against the wall clutching my forehead and bashed the back of my head against the wall with an almighty thump as my brain was split by lightning flashes of pain.

“Aah. Aaah. Oh God. Aaaah. Oh GOD AH. AAH. AAAH. AAAAH!” I screamed as another sharp kick to the head hit me, taking my breath away and making me moan and cry as the pressure built up in my throat and surged across the front of my head. “Oh god it hurts, it hurts,” I whimpered.

“What’s up?” croaked Peter as he clutched his cock for dear life. “What’s happened?”

“Fuck, fuck, brain freeze, oh god it hurts,” I managed to get out between the lightning flashes going across my eyes as I clenched them tightly and my body shook.“Push your tongue against the roof of your mouth,” gasped Peter.

The pain slowly subsided into a warm, pleasant tingling and a sense of relief as the lightning blasts reduced. I opened my eyes and I could see a white-faced Peter holding onto his teeth-impressed cock for dear life with granita melting over it and down into his pants. I recovered enough to wipe him clean with a napkin and get him back inside his trousers just as the blue and red lights flashed.

There was a knock on the partition and James said, “Is everything ok, sir, madam?”“Yes, thank you, James. Come in please, thank you. We both had too much granita too quickly and we got the most awful brain-freeze.”

“Together? It must be love,” he said, trying and failing to hide a laugh. “Do you need anything? A glass of warm water, maybe?”

“No, thank you. It’s gone. We’re fine now, thank you.”“Would you like another serving of granita?” asked James, still failing to hide a laugh.“No, thank you,” said Peter. “But could you clear the table, please, and get us some more napkins?”

“Of course, sir. It will be a few minutes before your next course.”