Letter to a Rich Cuck
You know me, but I’m not going to tell you my name, for a few very obvious reasons., first and foremost being that I fucked your trophy wife and daughter, both MF and FFM. But it’s all cool, right? I mean, it’s not like they’re related. So relax, get a drink, and let me tell you how it all went down. More
Congratulations on finding the liquor cabinet. I usually prefer to drink from one of the decanters when I’m here, but this time, the last time, my plan is to liberate whatever fine bottle was sitting where you found this letter.
So sit down, pour yourself a drink.
The good stuff.
You’ll need it.
First up, I know you, and you know me, but I’m not going to tell you who I am. What I will do, and at great pleasure and length, just like when I did the deed, is tell you that I’ve been fucking your trophy wife, Yolanda. She’s taken my seed and dribbled it out from cunt and ass and mouth, but now we’re through and I thought I’d let you know the truth about that great family life you think you’ve got there.
You see, by any reckoning you’ve been a friend for a significant amount of time, and I see it as my duty to let you let you know what the situation is, just in case you want to put a stop to things before they get out of hand.
I’m doing this to cause you pain.
Now I’m not going to give you the satisfaction of laying out my backstory, or specific grievances, blah, blah, blah, which would only leave a trail of clues. Suffice to say, you’re a rich, successful man. You own a lot of businesses, you do a lot of traveling. You know a lot of people and you’ve stepped on a lot of toes. There are plenty of men you’ve pissed off who might want to cuckold you just for the lulz. The fact that Yolanda is such a knockout, and bored and frustrated to boot. Well, no wonder I’m not the only guy who’s been nailing her.
But you’re John Bondurant, your family own half of Newton and maybe I’m not so smart, maybe you’ll get my name pretty easily.
In which case, come at me bro’.
I may not have your money or power, but I have sets of photos and videos, private messages, texts, laying out the whole thing, from soup to nuts.
Coming after me would not help your new career.
So pour yourself some of that fine scotch and think about whether you want to burn this message before reading it all.
But if you insist: go to the center of the room, get down and look under the middle of that big ass bearskin rug. You’ll find the next part of this letter.
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