Chapter 22: Three Sluts Pay the Pizza Guy

Note: This is a commissioned story. I don’t have much say over the events.

T. Ropex
I was eager to see what was next.

What new life recording that I could make come to life. The humans had to make the videos they sent out into space to be real. It was so wrong of these primitive beings to trick us. I was glad I had this vacation package and the AI.

“And we at Earthling Dreams are glad to provide you with this experience,” the AI said. “We are going to visit a classic situation in the life recreations.”

“Oh?” I asked.

“A pizza delivery man to a group of eighteen-year-old girls having a slumber party.”

Definitely a classic.

Annabelle Kimber
“Bye, Mom!” I shouted as Mom was heading out the door with Dad on their date night. “Have fun! Get an ice hotel!”

Mom shook her head. “Do you think I would let your father put me in a cheap one? Now, you girls be good.”

“We won’t burn down the house, Mom,” I said. “Geesh, we’re eighteen.”

“No science experiments,” Mom added, hands on her hips. She was in a black dress that showed off her curvy figure. I did not inherit Mom’s boobs. Mine were nonexistent. I was flat as a pancake. So not fair.

“We’re not twelve,” I said, my cheeks blushing. “And it was a cooking experiment.”

“Whatever it was, I spent three hours scrubbing the microwave clean,” she said. A horn honked.

“Okay, your father’s growing impatient. Girls, keep Annabelle out of trouble.”

“We will, Mrs. Kimber,” my two friends, Polly and Shanna, chorused together.

“And you keep them out of trouble,” Mom said, giving me a look.

I rolled my eyes. “We’re just going to hang out. Watch some movies. Maybe binge that awful Amazon fantasy show. Shanna hates it so much. She loved those wheel books.”

“Then why are you going to watch it if you hate it?” asked Mom, shaking her head.

“To make fun of it!” I said. “D’oh. It’s so cringe it’s hilarious.”

“Fine, fine,” she said and pointed to the counter. “I left pizza money. Or you can order something healthy.”

“If it’s a veggie pizza, it has to be healthy,” I said with an impish grin.

Dad honked the horn again.

Mom shook her head and turned, hurrying off. It was not fair. Even her butt was plump. She was thicc. I couldn’t ever let a guy friend over. They would just ogle my hot mom and ignore me. I was so frustrating. I slammed the door and turned around, sighing.

“Pizza?” Polly asked. She was a tad on the plump side, her black hair framing her face. “Veggie only,” I said.

“No meat?” she groaned, her face contorting.

“You don’t like meat,” I said. “I thought you were gay this week.”

“I could be straight,” she said. “That’s the fun of being fluid. You just flow to whatever you feel like.”

“Just tossed about by the seas,” said Shanna, shaking her head. She wore glasses and a cross around her neck. “That’s not a good way to live. You should have principals.”

“Like hating awful adaptations of your favorite book?” I asked.

Shanna’s eyes glowered. “Yes! Ooh, I want to see how bad the ending is! I bet it’s so trash!”

“Then let’s order the pizza and make fun of some bad content!” I said, thrusting my arm in the air. My friends squealed as I pulled out of my phone and called Pizza Time to order us an extra large veggie pizza. I had drinks, so we didn’t need that. I placed the order then joined my friends on the couch and navigated the Amazon App on my TV. I hit play. This show was so awful.

I loved it.

Chad Lark
“Order up,” called the shift manager. He was at the dispatch computer. “That’s you, Chad. Order 67.”

I glanced at the rack. The delivery orders were put into hot bags by whoever was cutting the pizzas. Sometimes a cook, sometimes a driver. You had to fill in where you could on a job like this. The ticket was tucked into a clear, plastic pocket on the front. There were two orders ready to go. I snagged it, reading the address.

These days, most orders I could glance at and know exactly where they were. If not, I could get close. I could also tell at a glance at the order screen what orders went well together for doubles or even the desired triple.

Nothing like delivering three pies close together on a busy Friday and getting those tips. The dinner rush was just getting started, and I was eager to make some money. I headed out to my beat-up car, threw the pizza onto my passenger seat, and started up.

Rock blared, playing off my phone. I grinned and gunned it out of the parking lot to some Metallica. Old stuff. Before the Black Album. I banged my head and sped to the destination. I knew all the routes, all the lights, and all the traffic. The more deliveries I took in a shift, the more money I made.

I didn’t recognize this address specifically. They weren’t a regular. Always an unknown. They also were paying cash, so who knew if I would get a tip or not? Some addresses you remembered for being big tippers, and others for being big stiffers.

I reached the house and headed to the door. I rang the bell. The door opened to a mousy girl wearing a baggy sweatshirt and pants. She flashed me a nervous smile and had the money in her hand. A twenty and some ones. Two more girls in similar clothes were watching. They were all young, but not all that attractive.

My heart fell at how little money she had. No big tip. “That’ll be $22.35.”

“Sure,” she said and counted out three ones. “Keep the change.”

I just kept my fake smile and said, “Thanks,” while thinking, Cheap bitch.

Young women were the worst tippers. If this was a group of guys, they’d probably offer me beer or weed on top of the tip. They weren’t even sexy and half-dressed. One driver I knew claimed to have delivered to a slumber party of eighteen-year-olds where they came to the door topless, their tips young and perky.

The closest I got was a fifty-year-old woman whose skin was leathery from too much sunbathing and smoking cigarettes who pulled the money out of her wrinkly cleavage like she was some hot thing giving me a thrill.

I didn’t want to touch those bills.

I pocketed the change and headed back to my car.

T. Ropex
“Let’s eat!” said the girl with mousy, brown hair. She rushed the box back to her friend.

I frowned as I could see the delivery guy, a rather husky fellow hitching up his pants as they were falling off his hips before climbing into a beat-up car. He had a sign on his car that was lit up and read Pizza Time.

“What?” I gasped, the three girls already dividing up the pizza. They had the screen paused on some TV show. None were sexy. “The pizza guy is leaving.”

“I appear to have misjudged the arrival,” the AI said. “Never fear, with our patented Time Reversal algorithm, we can go back and make sure the fantasy plays out properly.”

Right, right, the AI had done that once before.

The girls all blurred and suddenly the one with the brown hair was on the phone. “Hi, I’d like to order an extra-large veggie pizza,” she said on the phone. “Yeah, for delivery.”

“Adjusting the scenario,” the AI then said.

The girl changed in a flash. No longer in baggy sweatpants and a sweatshirt, she was in a thong that vanished between her plump butt-cheeks. She wore a tight tank top molding to her huge tits. Her nipples poked against the material, hard and clearly pierced. She giggled into the phone.

The other two girls were equally changed. The chubby girl become a busty slut with bleach-blonde hair also in a thong and a tight-fitting tank top. Her tits were even bigger than the first girl. The last one’s hair went from mousy brown to a vibrant cherry-red, her tits barely constrained by her tank top, a matching thong on that modeled to her pussy lips. The TV suddenly was playing a life-recreation.

A familiar one of a mother sunbathing and attracting the attention of her son.

“A cut I made of our first scenario,” the AI said. “The microdrones recorded some amazing images. Of course, the raw footage is available for you to cut or view as you wish upon returning home.”

I grinned at that.

“No, cancel the veggie,” cooed the girl on the phone. “We want a sausage pizza. Mmm, a big, spicy sausage pizza. And make sure the delivery driver is hot, too!”

“Yes!” squealed the bleached-blonde slut. “I love meat so much!”

“Just want to get stuffed with a big sausage,” the redhead squealed.

I smiled. Now this was perfect.

Annabelle Kimber
I hung up the phone and turned to my friends. “They say thirty minutes. Mmm, how shall we pass the time.”

“Daisy-chain?” asked Polly. She was bi. She loved everything. Well, so did I.

“Ooh, that sounds hot,” moaned Shanna. She wore dainty glasses that made her look so sexy, her nips poking at the material of her tank top. “This porn is making me hot. Incest is so hot!”

“Yes!” I groaned.

No, it’s not, this stupid voice whispered in my mind. And why are my friends looking like big-titty bimbos? Why do I have big tits?

D’oh, Daddy bought me a boob enhancement like he had for Mom. We had matching titties.

I darted to the living room, the porn blaring through the screens. I dropped down to join my friends. I smacked my lips, my thong soaked with my pussy juicers. I lay on my side as my friends did the same. We loved to daisy-chain.

I’ve never done anything with anyone! that stupid voice protested.

The moment I turned eighteen, I had a cock balls deep in my pussy while I snorkeled in hot twat.

I nuzzled up to Shanna’s crotch. Her tangy aroma filled my nose. I loved that scent. It was such a great one. I enjoyed this aroma. I pulled her thong to the side and revealed her shaved slit, her clit pierced by a gold ring.

“Yummy,” I squealed.

I nuzzled into my friend’s pussy and started tonguing her cunt. She gasped as I did that. My tongue stroked through her hot flesh. I lapped at her with everything that I had. As I did, Polly yanked my thong to the side and started feasting on my cunt.