Eat The Rich (Pussy)

An adulterer’s fair warning.

The Bedswerver
The Scarlett Letter
5 min readNov 10, 2023

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Photo by Joe Darams on Unsplash

“Affairing is a rich, white man’s game, like golf. It’s not fair, but it’s just the reality.”

My mentor and one of the smartest people I know gave me this piece of advice. (You’ll know her. And if you are serious about upping your cheating game, you’ll take on as much of her advice as you can get. Right Monalisa?) I was bitching to her about how expensive it was to set up clandestine accounts on Ashley Madison, and similar arrangements, when you need to use cash to buy pre-paid credit cards, you need money for hotel rooms, even updating your wardrobe.

Then, as someone starting out on the cheating lifestyle, (not my first rodeo, reader, but that’s another story) I was feeling pretty low about things like the stupid ratio of a million men all competing for the attention of one woman, my dead bedroom at home, and miserable self esteem, and so on….you know.

That’s why you’re here, reading this.

Then it hit me like a bolt from the blue. If it’s rich, old, white men who find the cheating life easier than average guys like me, there was only one thing for it.

Fucking their rich wives.

Forget feeling sorry for myself. I’m carving a niche. The more expensive the car you bought for her last Christmas, the more I want to fuck her

My favourite Australian rock ‘n’ roll band, Rose Tattoo, said it best — “Bad girls love bad boys, but good girls love ‘em too”

Yeah, that’s right, Mr Executive. I’m coming for your wife.

After all, I hate you fuckers. Most of the time, your money came from Daddy, or you just got lucky in life’s lottery. “Oh I’ve worked hard to get where I am….” Fuck off. Mommy & Daddy paid squillions for you to go to the best school, where being as dumb as an ox is a credit score as long as you understand how the exclusive networks get you into the “right” chalet in the “Winter.” Where you meet other filth like you who couldn’t organise a bitch fight in a brothel, but still get paid $250k/year just to turn up. You spend half your working day at lunch. You have half a dozen sycophant losers to tell you what button to press on your laptop to turn it on. You’re probably flat out tying your own shoelaces.

And besides, I live by Aerosmith’s mantra:

“Eat the rich, I’ve got to get this off my chest, Eat the rich, take one bite now and spit out the rest.”

So here’s fair warning, something for you to consider while you’re driving your Mercedes home. When you’re flying Business to your next 20 minute meeting you could have done on the phone. While you’re feeling up the new PA you hired because she’s ambitious and will put up with your sleaze.

You better step up at home, Mr. Armani Suit. If your wife has asked you to fuck her ass, or even lick her ass, or give her head for long enough for her to cum, and you think you’re way too important and busy for any of that, then I’ll do it for her.

And she will fucking love it. I will get her addicted to me just like heroin.

It’s nice, huh? You’ve got the big house, the flashy car, the six figure salary for doing 5/8ths of fuck all. You pay for all the best meals out of your expenses, and hell, you probably even claimed your last cosmetic surgery on Company time. Life’s good, eh?

Well guess what, Flash?

While you’re six States away, doing business, screwing over more poor people to make sure your $100,000 bonus kicks in, and dreaming about the holiday home in Hawaii you’re going to buy, I’ve got your wife bent over a table, giving her the fuck she’s been dreaming about for 20 years.

I’m fucking her up the ass while you’re doing the figurative same thing to some poor supplier who’s worked their asses off to build a small business to provide for their family.

Yeah, Dude. That’s right. Your neglected wife can afford the gym membership, the clothes, the jewelry, the daily coffee dates with her equally wealthy girlfriends. And she can also afford to buy me, her piece of rough, the average guy who blows her fucking mind weekly, a few presents, or a nice bottle of 12yo Single Malt, (Yeah, fucker, I’ve got taste) or she might even contribute towards my mortgage payments.

All because I’ll pay her the attention she craves from you, but you’re too fucking “important” to give her. I will make her feel adored. Special. The most desirable woman on the planet, for two or three hours a week. I’ll even fuck her in your bed. I don’t care about you. The sanctity of marriage in your nice, comfortable, undeserved lifestyle. Fuck you, you planet destroying, rapacious loser. Consider it the first smack over the ear that’s coming for your miserably rich family legacy.

“Now they’re smokin' up the junk bonds, and then they go get stiff
And they’re dancin' in the yacht club with Muff and Uncle Biff
But there’s one good thing that happens when you toss your pearls to swine
Their attitudes may taste like shit, but go real good with wine!”

Then, when she’s explaining to the neighbours that “Oh, him? Yeah, he’s giving us a quote to re-line the bathroom waterproofing,” I’ll be quietly checking out the hot neighbour at number 27. I’m going to fuck my way down your exclusive Street, you flog.

She’ll come home to you, and you’ll think “she’s in a good mood today.” Being full of my cum will do that to a wealthy woman.

Too busy to pay attention to her when she wants to tell you about her day? Too important to be concerned with bothersome details like her feelings, her loneliness, her feelings of being trapped in an unresponsive, impersonal relationship?

Cool, Mr. Fucking Take Over The World.

You go fleece your shareholders for another million. Meanwhile, I’m as far up your beautiful wife’s pussy as any man has ever been.

You have been warned.

Oh, and you think “I’ll find this guy & have him knocked….”

Good luck, dickhead. What makes you think I gave her my real name? After all, she can only find me via Telegram. And, because she’s addicted to me, she’ll give me the heads up, about a minute before I disappear. Into the void. The only place I exist is in your satin pyjama’d nightmares.

Another hint for you, pretty boy. I’m as bad as they come.

More Rose Tattoo. “I’m a bad boy. A bad boy for love.”

And this bad boy loves nothing more than eating rich pussy.

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The Bedswerver
The Scarlett Letter

Adulterer. Your wife's secret dreams and your nightmare. Step up fellas, 'coz if you don't, I will. Judge me however you like. I don't care.