Letter to a White boi #533


I’ve got your bitch, white boi! Yeah, she’s your wife, but she ain’t nothing of that when she’s with me. When she’s with me, she’s my bitch. She’s my fuck-toy. Ain’t nothing else matters to me none.


Don‘t egg mad, white boi. Your ass knew what the game was before you bothered to play. You knew that once you gave your woman to me, that she wasn’t going to go back being the typical housewife you always thought her to be. Nothing of the sort is happening here, white boi. On here, my dick is all the bitch knows.

Your bitch knows well enough who owns her, and guess what, it ain’t you! When she’s with me, she don’t ever make out like she’s your wife. Sure, she still wears her wedding ring, but that don’t mean shit to me. Your bitch knows that when she’s her Black Master, her foremost duty is to serve and please the fuck out of me.

Don‘t matter what hour of the day, or whether you’d be bothered about when next she’s coming back home. And that’s another thing I need to talk with your white boi ass: don’t be calling my crib too much asking me when I’m sending your wife home to you. As long as the bitch is here with me, she’s doing nothing but studying for black dick.

You hear that, white boi? That’s black motherfucking dick! It goes in three separate places in your bitch: her mouth, her cunt, and her fucking tight asshole. I’ll let you guess which hole’s my fucking favorite next time I ship her off to you. Until then, stay off the fucking phone, you hear?



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