PART THREE: SUSAN’S CHANGE OF HEART
reverendhornibastard
Depraved Deacon of Degeneracy
Continued from PART TWO: https://tuscl.net/discussion.php?id=7504…
We moved to Indonesia during July 1992. We had only been in our new Indonesian home for a couple of months when I returned from a day at the office and unexpectedly found Susan having an in-home massage.
As I always did upon arriving at home, I first went to the bedroom to get out of my attorney costume and into something more comfortable. But the bedroom door seemed to be stuck. I could not get it open. As I struggled with the door, Susan called out from inside the bedroom, “I’m having a massage. I will be out in a few minutes.”
I now realized that the door was not stuck. It was locked. I hadn’t even realized until that moment that it could be locked.
I recalled Susan’s horror at the way the allegedly lesbian hotel masseuse had tried to give her an oily lesbian rub-down. So it was very surprising that she was in a locked room (with what I presumed and hoped was a masseuse rather than a masseur) getting God-only-knows which of her body parts rubbed. I realized I was in no position to complain given the innumerable massages (and the many wonderful assorted “extras”) I had enjoyed on my many business trips. But my male hormones make me a very possessive guy.
You can touch my gun and you can pet my dog, but you keep your hands off my woman!
Twenty minutes or so later Susan emerged from behind the locked door. She was still pulling on her robe as she came out. It was obvious that there was nothing but Susan inside that robe.
https://tuscl.net/photo.php?id=7101
An Indonesian woman then exited the room and made a bee-line for the door without even making eye contact with me much less giving me a courteous “selamat sore” (good afternoon). She seemed a bit rude (but at least she was a masseuse and not a masseur).
Susan asked me to wait a moment. She sought out the cook and asked him to keep dinner warm because we were not going to eat for about another hour. She then found the maid and asked her to take Evan (Susan’s son and my step-son) to the playground and bring him back in about an hour for dinner. Then, turning her sights on me, Susan yanked me into the bedroom and made it clear that she was in the mood for some serious canoodling.
I didn’t connect the dots in a way that implied any connection between her just completed massage and her sudden fierce desire to fuck. Susan always had a healthy sexual appetite. It wasn’t at all unusual for her to spontaneously demand that I plow her furrow.
So I did my husbandly duty. I plowed her furrow.
https://tuscl.net/photo.php?id=7102
I went the extra mile and even planted a few seeds while I was in there.
Things then returned to normal.
But the following week I returned home to again find Susan having a massage in our locked bedroom.
Half an hour to 45 minutes later, the same diminutive but cute Indonesian woman exited the bedroom. This time she smiled and greeted me, “Selamat sore, ‘Pak!” (Good afternoon, sir!).
Like the last time, Susan emerged hell-bent on fucking.
This time I connected the dots very differently. Clearly, Susan’s massage had everything to do with her breathless, feral enthusiasm for having me drill her as soon as I walked in the door.
So, once again, I did my husbandly duty and plowed Susan’s furrow again.
https://tuscl.net/photo.php?id=7104
I couldn’t help but notice that, right from the start, Susan’s protected wetlands seemed a good deal wetter and more slippery than usual.
I was not the least bit offended by any of this but I was desperately curious what the masseuse was doing to put my wife in such a wonderful, sexually rapacious mood. But, despite my curiosity, I was unable to bring myself to ask Susan about this. I didn’t want her to think that I disapproved of whatever she was doing. If she wanted me to know about the details of her massage, I assumed she would tell me. But I just couldn’t bring myself to ask her about it.
It just seemed so out of character for Susan. After all, she was from Kansas! A nice girl from Kansas doesn’t let an Indonesian masseuse get her sexual motor running and all revved up.
Does she?
Over the next couple of months, Susan continued to have an in-home massage at least once a week. Sometimes it would be twice a week. Her massages were always scheduled in the afternoons, shortly before I was due home from work. Susan never had a massage on the weekends.
Then I got very busy with a major new transaction at work. I was working late, working on weekends and traveling a lot. Finally, one glorious day, I completed the job. The deal was done and the contracts were all ready to sign! It was only about 2:30 PM but I felt that I had certainly earned a little time off. I called my driver and asked him to bring the car around to the office entrance. I was going home for the day.
When I arrived home around 3:20, Susan was in her robe.
https://tuscl.net/photo.php?id=7101
She was not expecting me home so early and assumed I was feeling sick. I explained that I had finished papering the big transaction that had kept me so busy for the last few weeks and that I simply decided to take the afternoon off and relax.
Susan said she had just phoned the massage place and had ordered a massage for herself. I encouraged her to go ahead with her massage. I said I would just take a nap in the guest bedroom so as not to interfere with her planned massage.
Susan picked up the phone and called the massage place again. I assumed she was going to cancel her appointment. But instead of cancelling, Susan ordered a second masseuse. I immediately interjected that I didn’t want a massage, but she just ignored my protests.
When she hung up, I asked, “Why did you do that? I’m not interested in a massage. All I want to do is take a nap.”
Susan said I had been working so hard lately and I deserved a massage. She said it would help me “relax.”
Susan had no idea that I was already well acquainted with Indonesian massages and “relaxing” was not the first adjective that came to my mind in connection with any massage I’d ever had. There was no way I was going to explain any of THAT to her. But as much as I had enjoyed those massages at the hotel, I knew that a massage here at home with Susan in the room with me would surely could not have the same kind of wonderfully happy endings that I had enjoyed at the hotel. Susan would not tolerate anything like that. In fact, she would probably give birth to bucket of chunky green paint if I so much as got a semi, much less a full erection, in response to a cute young Indonesian woman giving me a massage.
I saw a massage under these circumstances was a no-win situation.
But Susan refused to cancel my masseuse and, within 15 minutes, two Indonesian women were at our door – “Siti” (pronounced ‘see*tee’) the same one who always turned up to give Susan her massage, and a second woman, younger than Siti, whose name was Tiwi (pronounced ‘tee*wee’).
I tried to look on the bright side. How bad could it be, really? Plus, I would get a good look at what the hell the masseuse was doing to Susan that got her motor running so hot.
But now, with the masseuses going into the bedroom with their baskets of massage oils, I had to make some basic decisions. How exactly would I dress for the occasion? Having never seen Susan getting a massage, I was unsure whether I should wear my underwear, a towel or just a grin and a boner for the occasion.
I decided to wear a towel.
Better to be safe than sorry.
I lingered a little, allowing Susan to go into the bedroom and get in position for her massage before I made my low-key entrance. When I entered the bedroom, Susan was already face down on the bed, wearing only her earrings and nail polish. She was uncovered by any towel.
Siti, her masseuse, was already massaging her feet. Siti was still wearing the traditional sarong that she had on when she arrived.
My masseuse, Tiwi, was also wearing a sarong. She just sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for me to take my position beside Susan.
Lying face down, I couldn’t get a very good look at what kind of treatment Susan was getting. But I certainly could not detect any activity that would account for Susan’s ravenous, post-massage sexual appetite. I assumed the show would become more interesting, perhaps after Susan flipped over onto her back.
About 40 minutes later, Siti told Susan to flip over.
“Oh boy! It’s SHOWTIME!” I thought to myself. I was already getting horny just imagining what the masseuse might be doing to my wife to make her so hot and anxious for sex.
A few minutes later, Tiwi told me it was time to flip over as well.
Now that I was on my back, I had a much improved view of the massage Susan was getting.
Frankly, it didn’t look that interesting. I wondered how such a banal massage could make Susan so horny.
Maybe the best was yet to come.
Meanwhile, Tiwi was following a pattern remarkably similar to the massages I had enjoyed at the hotel. After I had turned over onto my back, Tiwi returned to the foot of the bed and began massaging my feet again. Then moving northward, she massaged my lower legs, then my thighs. Then spreading my legs wider, she moved up, squatting on the bed between my legs, her knees pressed gently against my balls. This enabled her to reach my abdomen and chest.
When she seemed to run out of non-erogenous zones to massage, Tiwi returned to massaging my lower abdomen and my upper thighs.
It was déjà vu all over again!
This military-like maneuver of encircling my groin was familiar from my massages at the hotel.
I wondered if all the masseuses in Indonesia trained at the same institute.
Tiwi had long since tossed my towel aside. For all I knew it was now on the floor. It certainly was no longer protecting my modesty (not that really had any).
Just like the masseuse at the hotel, as Tiwi continued massaging right up to the base of my balls and my vital statistic, her “accidental” contacts with them began and quickly grew increasingly frequent and prolonged.
I could feel the wrinkles coming out of my penis as it began to swell in response to the increasing attention it was receiving.
“Fuck!” I thought to myself. “Susan is not going to be pleased about this.”
I tried thinking about baseball, about taxes, about my dog that got run over by the school bus when I was a little boy … but nothing worked. Barely a minute later it was painfully clear that I was really enjoying my massage.
I looked over to see what was happening to my wife.
Siti was also kneeling between Susan’s knees. But unlike my treatment I was getting from Tiwi, Siti seemed to be just giving Susan long, slow, light touches from her neck and shoulders all the down to her knees. Yes, those fingers passed near Susan’s pink parts, but they didn’t linger. I could not understand how or why that would make Susan (or any woman) so damn horny.
If I had known all along that was all it took to put a woman in the mood, I could have saved a lot of effort and expense!
I closed my eyes and hoped that Susan would not take note of what was happening to me or how I was reacting to it.
A few minutes later, I felt soft, feminine fingers wrapping themselves around my dick.
https://tuscl.net/photo.php?id=7105
“As soon as Susan finishes giving birth to a bucket of green paint, she is surely going to fling this little Indonesian woman out of our home, probably through a window!” I thought to myself, worrying how much trouble I would be in for not slapping the shit out of my masseuse for her scandalous behavior. I wondered how much blame I would have to bear for my indiscrete and indelicate physical reaction.
I opened my eyes and, much to my great astonishment, found it was Susan, not Tiwi, who was grabbing my kielbasa. I looked over at Susan as she slid toward me grinning mischievously. Sex was clearly on Susan’s mind and she made no attempt to conceal her plans.
Siti and Tiwi were picking up their baskets of massage oil, wiping their hands on the towels and collecting the money Susan had laid out for them on her cosmetics table. They had not quite made it out the door when Susan hopped on top me of cowgirl style and began grinding like her life depended on it.
https://tuscl.net/photo.php?id=7107
It was one of our better sessions in quite a while.
During our post-canoodle cuddle, Susan asked me whether I enjoyed my massage and would I like to do that again.
I admitted that I did enjoy the experience, but asked, “Why didn’t you let me know what the plans were? I was afraid you would become irate when the masseuse practically started massaging my nuts and bolt.”
“Nah!” Susan replied. “I wasn’t upset that you got horny. I knew you would get horny. You wouldn’t be human if you didn’t get horny from a massage like you got.”
Then I alluded to the more restrained massage Susan had received. “You are always so anxious to make love after your massages. I saw what your masseuse was doing to you. It didn’t look like much. THAT actually makes you so horny?”
Susan blushed mightily, then stammered and said, “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Why not?” I demanded. “How does a light touch massage like that make you so damned horny? I’m not complaining, I’m just surprised that this works so well for you.”
“I didn’t get my special massage today,” Susan admitted.
“WHAT?” Now I was really anxious to get the whole story. I was getting horny all over again just imagining what Susan’s “special massage” might be like.
“But you liked it, right?” Susan asked. “You want to do it again?”
“Well … yeah, I guess so. OK, sure,” I said trying to appear like I was making a generous concession. “But under one condition. If we do this again, you have to get your special massage, whatever that is!”
Susan giggled nervously.
“I might have to have a drink first if you’re going to be in the room while I get my special massage.”
“That’s the deal,” I insisted.
Next up … Susan’s Special Massage
We moved to Indonesia during July 1992. We had only been in our new Indonesian home for a couple of months when I returned from a day at the office and unexpectedly found Susan having an in-home massage.
As I always did upon arriving at home, I first went to the bedroom to get out of my attorney costume and into something more comfortable. But the bedroom door seemed to be stuck. I could not get it open. As I struggled with the door, Susan called out from inside the bedroom, “I’m having a massage. I will be out in a few minutes.”
I now realized that the door was not stuck. It was locked. I hadn’t even realized until that moment that it could be locked.
I recalled Susan’s horror at the way the allegedly lesbian hotel masseuse had tried to give her an oily lesbian rub-down. So it was very surprising that she was in a locked room (with what I presumed and hoped was a masseuse rather than a masseur) getting God-only-knows which of her body parts rubbed. I realized I was in no position to complain given the innumerable massages (and the many wonderful assorted “extras”) I had enjoyed on my many business trips. But my male hormones make me a very possessive guy.
You can touch my gun and you can pet my dog, but you keep your hands off my woman!
Twenty minutes or so later Susan emerged from behind the locked door. She was still pulling on her robe as she came out. It was obvious that there was nothing but Susan inside that robe.
https://tuscl.net/photo.php?id=7101
An Indonesian woman then exited the room and made a bee-line for the door without even making eye contact with me much less giving me a courteous “selamat sore” (good afternoon). She seemed a bit rude (but at least she was a masseuse and not a masseur).
Susan asked me to wait a moment. She sought out the cook and asked him to keep dinner warm because we were not going to eat for about another hour. She then found the maid and asked her to take Evan (Susan’s son and my step-son) to the playground and bring him back in about an hour for dinner. Then, turning her sights on me, Susan yanked me into the bedroom and made it clear that she was in the mood for some serious canoodling.
I didn’t connect the dots in a way that implied any connection between her just completed massage and her sudden fierce desire to fuck. Susan always had a healthy sexual appetite. It wasn’t at all unusual for her to spontaneously demand that I plow her furrow.
So I did my husbandly duty. I plowed her furrow.
https://tuscl.net/photo.php?id=7102
I went the extra mile and even planted a few seeds while I was in there.
Things then returned to normal.
But the following week I returned home to again find Susan having a massage in our locked bedroom.
Half an hour to 45 minutes later, the same diminutive but cute Indonesian woman exited the bedroom. This time she smiled and greeted me, “Selamat sore, ‘Pak!” (Good afternoon, sir!).
Like the last time, Susan emerged hell-bent on fucking.
This time I connected the dots very differently. Clearly, Susan’s massage had everything to do with her breathless, feral enthusiasm for having me drill her as soon as I walked in the door.
So, once again, I did my husbandly duty and plowed Susan’s furrow again.
https://tuscl.net/photo.php?id=7104
I couldn’t help but notice that, right from the start, Susan’s protected wetlands seemed a good deal wetter and more slippery than usual.
I was not the least bit offended by any of this but I was desperately curious what the masseuse was doing to put my wife in such a wonderful, sexually rapacious mood. But, despite my curiosity, I was unable to bring myself to ask Susan about this. I didn’t want her to think that I disapproved of whatever she was doing. If she wanted me to know about the details of her massage, I assumed she would tell me. But I just couldn’t bring myself to ask her about it.
It just seemed so out of character for Susan. After all, she was from Kansas! A nice girl from Kansas doesn’t let an Indonesian masseuse get her sexual motor running and all revved up.
Does she?
Over the next couple of months, Susan continued to have an in-home massage at least once a week. Sometimes it would be twice a week. Her massages were always scheduled in the afternoons, shortly before I was due home from work. Susan never had a massage on the weekends.
Then I got very busy with a major new transaction at work. I was working late, working on weekends and traveling a lot. Finally, one glorious day, I completed the job. The deal was done and the contracts were all ready to sign! It was only about 2:30 PM but I felt that I had certainly earned a little time off. I called my driver and asked him to bring the car around to the office entrance. I was going home for the day.
When I arrived home around 3:20, Susan was in her robe.
https://tuscl.net/photo.php?id=7101
She was not expecting me home so early and assumed I was feeling sick. I explained that I had finished papering the big transaction that had kept me so busy for the last few weeks and that I simply decided to take the afternoon off and relax.
Susan said she had just phoned the massage place and had ordered a massage for herself. I encouraged her to go ahead with her massage. I said I would just take a nap in the guest bedroom so as not to interfere with her planned massage.
Susan picked up the phone and called the massage place again. I assumed she was going to cancel her appointment. But instead of cancelling, Susan ordered a second masseuse. I immediately interjected that I didn’t want a massage, but she just ignored my protests.
When she hung up, I asked, “Why did you do that? I’m not interested in a massage. All I want to do is take a nap.”
Susan said I had been working so hard lately and I deserved a massage. She said it would help me “relax.”
Susan had no idea that I was already well acquainted with Indonesian massages and “relaxing” was not the first adjective that came to my mind in connection with any massage I’d ever had. There was no way I was going to explain any of THAT to her. But as much as I had enjoyed those massages at the hotel, I knew that a massage here at home with Susan in the room with me would surely could not have the same kind of wonderfully happy endings that I had enjoyed at the hotel. Susan would not tolerate anything like that. In fact, she would probably give birth to bucket of chunky green paint if I so much as got a semi, much less a full erection, in response to a cute young Indonesian woman giving me a massage.
I saw a massage under these circumstances was a no-win situation.
But Susan refused to cancel my masseuse and, within 15 minutes, two Indonesian women were at our door – “Siti” (pronounced ‘see*tee’) the same one who always turned up to give Susan her massage, and a second woman, younger than Siti, whose name was Tiwi (pronounced ‘tee*wee’).
I tried to look on the bright side. How bad could it be, really? Plus, I would get a good look at what the hell the masseuse was doing to Susan that got her motor running so hot.
But now, with the masseuses going into the bedroom with their baskets of massage oils, I had to make some basic decisions. How exactly would I dress for the occasion? Having never seen Susan getting a massage, I was unsure whether I should wear my underwear, a towel or just a grin and a boner for the occasion.
I decided to wear a towel.
Better to be safe than sorry.
I lingered a little, allowing Susan to go into the bedroom and get in position for her massage before I made my low-key entrance. When I entered the bedroom, Susan was already face down on the bed, wearing only her earrings and nail polish. She was uncovered by any towel.
Siti, her masseuse, was already massaging her feet. Siti was still wearing the traditional sarong that she had on when she arrived.
My masseuse, Tiwi, was also wearing a sarong. She just sat on the edge of the bed, waiting for me to take my position beside Susan.
Lying face down, I couldn’t get a very good look at what kind of treatment Susan was getting. But I certainly could not detect any activity that would account for Susan’s ravenous, post-massage sexual appetite. I assumed the show would become more interesting, perhaps after Susan flipped over onto her back.
About 40 minutes later, Siti told Susan to flip over.
“Oh boy! It’s SHOWTIME!” I thought to myself. I was already getting horny just imagining what the masseuse might be doing to my wife to make her so hot and anxious for sex.
A few minutes later, Tiwi told me it was time to flip over as well.
Now that I was on my back, I had a much improved view of the massage Susan was getting.
Frankly, it didn’t look that interesting. I wondered how such a banal massage could make Susan so horny.
Maybe the best was yet to come.
Meanwhile, Tiwi was following a pattern remarkably similar to the massages I had enjoyed at the hotel. After I had turned over onto my back, Tiwi returned to the foot of the bed and began massaging my feet again. Then moving northward, she massaged my lower legs, then my thighs. Then spreading my legs wider, she moved up, squatting on the bed between my legs, her knees pressed gently against my balls. This enabled her to reach my abdomen and chest.
When she seemed to run out of non-erogenous zones to massage, Tiwi returned to massaging my lower abdomen and my upper thighs.
It was déjà vu all over again!
This military-like maneuver of encircling my groin was familiar from my massages at the hotel.
I wondered if all the masseuses in Indonesia trained at the same institute.
Tiwi had long since tossed my towel aside. For all I knew it was now on the floor. It certainly was no longer protecting my modesty (not that really had any).
Just like the masseuse at the hotel, as Tiwi continued massaging right up to the base of my balls and my vital statistic, her “accidental” contacts with them began and quickly grew increasingly frequent and prolonged.
I could feel the wrinkles coming out of my penis as it began to swell in response to the increasing attention it was receiving.
“Fuck!” I thought to myself. “Susan is not going to be pleased about this.”
I tried thinking about baseball, about taxes, about my dog that got run over by the school bus when I was a little boy … but nothing worked. Barely a minute later it was painfully clear that I was really enjoying my massage.
I looked over to see what was happening to my wife.
Siti was also kneeling between Susan’s knees. But unlike my treatment I was getting from Tiwi, Siti seemed to be just giving Susan long, slow, light touches from her neck and shoulders all the down to her knees. Yes, those fingers passed near Susan’s pink parts, but they didn’t linger. I could not understand how or why that would make Susan (or any woman) so damn horny.
If I had known all along that was all it took to put a woman in the mood, I could have saved a lot of effort and expense!
I closed my eyes and hoped that Susan would not take note of what was happening to me or how I was reacting to it.
A few minutes later, I felt soft, feminine fingers wrapping themselves around my dick.
https://tuscl.net/photo.php?id=7105
“As soon as Susan finishes giving birth to a bucket of green paint, she is surely going to fling this little Indonesian woman out of our home, probably through a window!” I thought to myself, worrying how much trouble I would be in for not slapping the shit out of my masseuse for her scandalous behavior. I wondered how much blame I would have to bear for my indiscrete and indelicate physical reaction.
I opened my eyes and, much to my great astonishment, found it was Susan, not Tiwi, who was grabbing my kielbasa. I looked over at Susan as she slid toward me grinning mischievously. Sex was clearly on Susan’s mind and she made no attempt to conceal her plans.
Siti and Tiwi were picking up their baskets of massage oil, wiping their hands on the towels and collecting the money Susan had laid out for them on her cosmetics table. They had not quite made it out the door when Susan hopped on top me of cowgirl style and began grinding like her life depended on it.
https://tuscl.net/photo.php?id=7107
It was one of our better sessions in quite a while.
During our post-canoodle cuddle, Susan asked me whether I enjoyed my massage and would I like to do that again.
I admitted that I did enjoy the experience, but asked, “Why didn’t you let me know what the plans were? I was afraid you would become irate when the masseuse practically started massaging my nuts and bolt.”
“Nah!” Susan replied. “I wasn’t upset that you got horny. I knew you would get horny. You wouldn’t be human if you didn’t get horny from a massage like you got.”
Then I alluded to the more restrained massage Susan had received. “You are always so anxious to make love after your massages. I saw what your masseuse was doing to you. It didn’t look like much. THAT actually makes you so horny?”
Susan blushed mightily, then stammered and said, “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Why not?” I demanded. “How does a light touch massage like that make you so damned horny? I’m not complaining, I’m just surprised that this works so well for you.”
“I didn’t get my special massage today,” Susan admitted.
“WHAT?” Now I was really anxious to get the whole story. I was getting horny all over again just imagining what Susan’s “special massage” might be like.
“But you liked it, right?” Susan asked. “You want to do it again?”
“Well … yeah, I guess so. OK, sure,” I said trying to appear like I was making a generous concession. “But under one condition. If we do this again, you have to get your special massage, whatever that is!”
Susan giggled nervously.
“I might have to have a drink first if you’re going to be in the room while I get my special massage.”
“That’s the deal,” I insisted.
Next up … Susan’s Special Massage
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8 comments
Whew!
I wish I had some photos of the actual events. But I don’t even have any photos of Siti or Tiwi. We had cellphones back then, but as best I can remember, cellphones didn’t yet include cameras back then.
With only a very few exceptions, all the photo’s accompanying my stories are photos collected from the web. I try to pick photos that capture the mood of the events I describe. I also try to pick women who bear a reasonably close resemblance to the women I describe in my writings.
There have been only a handful of photos that depict the actual people in my story. But in those photos, I either carefully crop or intentionally blur the photo so that the individual cannot be recognized. In some photos I “masked” the women concerned.
In some of my posts there are a mixture of actual personal photos (with Mrs. Hornibastard #3 and/or her friends) masked as well as pictures of unknown women who look like the women mentioned in the story but onto which I also added masks - so that ALL the women, the actual participants as well as those collected from the web, are all wearing masks.
"I also try to pick women who bear a reasonably close resemblance to the women I describe in my writings."
If that's the case then Mrs. Hornibastard #2 is one nice piece of ass. Do you mind if I, uhh, look her up sometime? Lol
Thanks for the compliment about Mrs. Hornibastard #2’s good looks.
Mrs. Hornibastard #2 was definitely a lot of fun to look at. Of my 3 wives, she and Mrs. Hornibastard #3 are tied for the top for good looks among my wives.
Mrs. Hornibastard #1 isn’t too far behind.
Because of the preference I eventually acquired for brown, tropical Asian poontang, Mrs. Hornibastard #3 is my clear favorite. But I can certainly understand why a guy who isn’t as partial to Asian women as I am would prefer Mrs Hornibastard #2.
Of the photos I’ve ever selected to give a sense of the women in my stories, the two best matches appear in the episodes of this story. The best match is the woman in her open robe who represents Mrs. Hornibastard #2. That match is so close, some of the folks who knew Mrs. Hornibastard #2 when she was in her let 20s and early 30s might be persuaded this was an actual photo of her.
The REAL Mrs. Hornibastard #3 (or at least her sexy brown ass and her most intimate pink parts) have appeared in photos associated with some of my stories that involved her. A couple of more complete photos of Mrs. Hornibastard #3 have also been included among those where all the women were masked.
But I’m not saying which ones. 😝
The other one is the photo I picked to represent “Hamida,” the masseuse who gave me my birthday massage in the first episode.