The local frat house (switch to Jennifer POV)

Well, this is unexpected. You didn't suspect this is how your night would turn out. But now that it has, something about it just feels so inherently right.

A slut. You think to yourself. You're a real slut. You didn't think you'd every embrace that. And you can't help but wonder how long the desire will last. Your pussy itches, despite the fact that you just rubbed yourself off all over a pizza. You want to cum again. And a part of you thinks this feeling may never end.

You're thankful for what Erin and her man just did for you. But you wonder what, exactly they've started to turn you into.

But you compose yourself as you head toward your next delivery place, the local college frat house. You wonder if it's as raucous as the frat at your college. Either way, they're about to eat pizza with a special topping. And the thought really turns you on.

You pull up your car. You check your face in the mirror, smiling, pleased by how pretty you are. Yes, you think, you'll make a good slut. You'll make a useful, active slut. The thought fills your horny, tight body with joy. As if a good girl like you has finally found her true calling in life.

You unbutton your official Alfonso's Pizzeria polo as low as you can, trying to show off a bit more flesh. You wish you had anything in the way of plentiful tits. You look down at your a-cups with disappointment. Sure Marco often told you that guys don't care about that as much as people think. Maybe, they don't care about that on ordinary girls. But sluts should have tits, you think.

Oh well, there's nothing you can do about it now. You'll have to make up for it with a total willingness to do anything with anyone.

You look about as sexy as you're going to get, so you head up to the frat house door with the pepperoni pizza.

You ring the bell, waiting for the inevitable horny frat bro to answer. But one does not.

The boy who answers the door looks like a nice, respectable young man. He smiles at you, not even trying to run his eyes over your willing body. Even as you bite your lip, and shuffle your hips and say in your sultriest tone "I have a delivery for you."

He just nods and gives you cash. You want to fall to your knees and take that cash in your mouth. Maybe then he'll understand. Or you want to just out and tell him that the pizza is covered in your juices.

But you don't. Maybe this slutty stuff will be more difficult than you think. Maybe your inherent sense to be a good girl will have to be overcome, and without the right situation, you wonder how you'll be able to do that.

No you want to reach out and grab him and tell him that you're his for the taking. And all his other frat bro's too. Your pussy is wet and eager. It's telling you to do something.

And you're still debating what to do as the door closes on you.

You sigh. And you head back to your car, taking one last glance through the front window of the house as you go.

When you see something unexpected. A girl. A pretty girl. A young blonde with long legs, wearing nothing but a little tank top and white cotton panties stretched out on a couch in the middle of the room.

So that's why, you think. He's already got his girlfriend waiting for him. That's why.

You sit in your car. You want to rub yourself off right then and there at the thought of him and his girlfriend eating up your juice-covered pizza, then fucking. You wonder how you'll resist fingering yourself over every pizza from now until the end of time. The thought of strangers tasting your twat is so impossibly erotic.

And as you slide a finger between your legs you realize just how pathetic you're being.

You want to be a slut, dammit. You need to be a slut. What are you doing alone in your car?