How cheating got me to send nudes to my Gf’s Boss Part2

When Sarina cheated on me and walked away for another guy, it wasn’t just betrayal — it was humiliation. And when the truth came out, it hit like a sledgehammer. At first, all I could think about was her and him together. But after the shock wore off, I started thinking about something else.

Revenge.

I wasn’t going to shout, I wasn’t going to fight — I was going to do something that would live in her shadow forever. Something she would never see coming, but that would follow her quietly, in ways she could never prove.

Over the years we were together, I had collected so much of her. Nudes she sent me in her playful moods. Risky snaps she swore she’d never share with anyone else. Private moments I’d captured without her realizing. I’d never thought about using them before. But now, every single one became a weapon.

And the first targets weren’t random strangers — they were close. Too close.

I started with her family. One of her uncles — technically her dad’s cousin — had always been a little off. The kind of man who lingered too long when hugging, who gave compliments that weren’t entirely innocent. Perfect.

I made a fake account and messaged him casually, pretending to be someone who “came across” some photos of a girl and wasn’t sure who she was. At first, he brushed me off. So I sent him something safe: Sarina in a bikini, smiling at the camera, water dripping from her hair.

There was a pause. Then he replied: “Where’d you get that?”

I played dumb. “Not sure. She looks familiar though.”

That was the hook. A few days later, I dropped the first real bomb — a topless shot, face in full view, her bedroom clearly in the background. I deleted it in five seconds. Just enough for it to sink in.

He didn’t say much after that, but I knew. I knew it had gotten to him.

Then came the others. A more distant uncle. A cousin she barely talked to anymore. With each one, the pattern was the same: start small, then escalate. I’d send a picture of her in regular clothes, then another of her in lingerie, then finally, a nude. Always short-lived, always just enough to plant the image.

But family wasn’t enough. I wanted to push the knife deeper.

I remembered something Sarina had once complained about — her mom’s workplace. A small office where everyone knew everyone else. I looked up her mom’s co-workers on Facebook. Found a couple of middle-aged men, older, the kind of guys who’d never expect to see something like this.

The first one got a cropped shot of her — just her lips, her neck, the top curve of her breast. I hinted that “a girl from your circle” had nudes floating around. He bit. Badly. By the end of the night, I’d shown him a full frontal nude of Sarina, the exact kind of photo her mother would kill to keep private. He didn’t save it — I made sure of that — but the image was locked in his head forever.

Then I went after her dad’s workplace. His co-workers were even easier to track down. One of them accepted my friend request instantly, no questions asked. I kept the conversation casual until I “accidentally” dropped a photo of Sarina in bed, sheets pulled low, her chest fully exposed. I deleted it before he could react, then sent another a few hours later — a video of her changing clothes, caught on my phone from the corner of the room.

By the end of the week, I had planted her image into the minds of at least three of her parents’ co-workers, two uncles, and a handful of cousins. People she would eventually see at family gatherings, birthdays, maybe even weddings. People who would look her in the eye, smile politely… while replaying every detail of her naked body in their heads.

She had no idea. She was out there with her new man, thinking she’d moved on cleanly, not realizing I’d tied invisible strings between her and the people closest to her life.

And me? I was the one holding those strings. Deciding when to pull them. Deciding who got a glimpse, who got a taste, and who would never forget what they’d seen.

This wasn’t just revenge. It was slow poison. The kind that never stops working.