She deserves because I deserve

The partnership my best friend offered me was hard to swallow. I loved Glorinha, but, as my friend used to say, she was too much sand for my truck. But not for my friend's. But he didn't love her, he just used her and extracted from her body all the broth she gave him. He told me that she found him sucking his dick in public, and he was so horny, that he started asking her to blow him in public every day, until she started to like him, and miss him, and ask him to suck his huge dick, which he loved to show off, walking around naked, masturbating, in the republic we lived in, shamelessly spitting spit on the floor. Glorinha liked to talk to me, and I turned her shoulder friend, when my friend betrayed her, and she took so much horn from him, that he was a strong taker even, took only models, muses and goddesses, as Glorinha, who lived up to the name, was very beautiful and glorious of angelic body, well accentuated. Because I really loved her, I listened to her tell all the things she put herself through to her boyfriend... well, he didn't put himself through to her, but she let herself be used by him. I suspected that she really liked being his slut, because she would cry and wet all over my shirt, sobbing, but it was only when he came in, that she would open up a big smile, as if a Greek god had mastered her feminine senses, and he would take her from me, and she would obey everything he commanded. I had to get out of the house so I wouldn't hear her moaning madly, possessed by him, in bed, he beat her, tortured her, made her into a piece of garbage, a corner whore of the most tramps, just her, daughter of a famous politician, all daddy's girl, little Barbie's face, she looked like porcelain, dondoquinha, all full of n-n-n-n-n of little baby, but with him, she became the ideal object to be used and discarded, for him to pick up others. She'd let him lure her friends, so she'd ask them to give it to him, and he'd eat them all, and she'd be in a huff, and he'd just let her peek at his dick checking out the little sketches of all her friends, the cute little princesses, and she could help by putting his dick back in the wet little buns, licking out the excess mucus, that is, as she tearfully put it, spicing up the dish that he ate on. I was stunned, with so much suffering, that she made it worse, making new friends and preparing them for him, she even fantasized about them, to appeal more to his desire, of sex shop things. The less crazy friends, he sent Glorita to leave them at the point for him to just come and shoot, he forced her to perform oral sex on her own friends, she left them with the techniques of linguina that he made her learn in his favorite whorehouse. My friend put Glorita in the hostel for six months paying prostitutes to teach her everything they knew, and it didn't cost a little, because they consider Glorita their competitor, and spend the techniques of millennia as a healthy man, it was expensive. One day, my friend came to me with a proposal: Dude, you want Glorinah for yourself? I was stunned to hear his voice invading my brain, offering me everything I've ever wanted in the world. It's just that her father wants her to marry me, but I wouldn't marry a whore like her, which is not my style, I don't want that in my life. The bastard perverted her into a crazy whore, and he wanted to throw her out, and I'm supposed to eat her leftovers right out of the garbage? I said yes! I loved her so much that not even my dick dared to see her as a whore. I dared not imagine Glorinha naked, much less create a single image of her doing the things she threw up on me when she counted. She recounted the most sordid details of her nights with my friend, and I stared at her delicate little fingers, at her swollen little mouth from crying, at the delicate folds of her skin, at the smell of the baby she exhaled, at the strands of her lovely hair... I sighed to hear her breathe more and more tearfully counting me and lying on my shoulder, while I make coffee on her, listening to her, like a psychologist in love. I was so enchanted by those moments with my friend before she took her away, that I would not interfere with her narrative, and I would be forever in pain, and of course I wanted to be my wife or my friend, and I said to myself, He went on: I know you don't care about women, you never go out with any, and I need you to marry her for me, you know, so I can continue to use her as a steady lover, and share her with my friends whenever I want. I see a scheme to fix her up for all my friends, and even make a career, scheduling her meetings with bosses in exchange for my higher positions, even thinking of expanding my ideas and turning her into a luxurious whore, and make some money nanny that I live in the good, doing nothing, just managing her by giving. Can you do that for me? Cover my adventures with her, and be her husband just on paper? For you, no, but for her, yes! I answered, gasping with joy! The guy comes to me proposing that she would be eternally crying on my shoulder, and I wouldn't even need to be man enough to satisfy her sexually, but that he would help me with that, by taking to himself in the hours of sexual need, with his thick penis in her pinkie little finger, making her feel the maximum of pleasure and leaving her alone with that, being the same bad-tempered tramp that she always was, using her and leaving her for others, forcing her to suffer more, so that she would come crying with the rockiest and sweetest voice in the world in my ear? Of course YES! Absolutely YES! Absurdly YES, YES, YES! I'm selfish enough to want to perpetuate her masochistic pain that brings me joy and the pleasure of chastity, while she reverses the roles with me, being my bastard man. What a life I would have, it would be badly spoken, badly treated, but happy! Yes, I wanted all that very much! Forget me! I would kill for it! We got married, and she in her see-through dress showed herself to every male at the party, everyone was there, all my best friend's eating friends, all the strippers, the cousins, my cousins and brothers, all watching to be tossed just veil and jump high in the pool! all jumping after her when our parents blow away, and at the end, she used to cry in my lap, every little thing, sobbing, complaining of life, of being worthless, and more, now, complaining of having such a good husband, so faithful, and being so debauched that she betrayed me. I've got the prettiest wife in college, to show off to society, she's a free-spirited, exhibitionist, slut, and my friend still gets a little money selling to millionaires, like a fucking top luxury model, and I'll always be here, listening to the voice of conscience whipping her, every climb, every turn, and I'm like she says, I'm the perfect husband, she nicknamed me Paperweight. As far as I'm concerned, I made a deal, and the real horn is him, not me, because I'm the one who gets the best part of the relationship, while he's having fun with his dick and stuffing his ass full of money, and I'm traveling on the cheap of touching her from afar, the perfect goddess, just when she needs me the most.