Samantha was growing tired of the warnings. Every single member of her family and friends seemed to want her to know that delivering pizzas was dangerous work; certainly not something meant for a girl. Listening to them talk, one would think that she had signed up for active combat as opposed to just delivering food.

It wasn't like she had a ton of options. The economy sucked and no one seemed to be hiring for "safer" work. Her car was in working order and she knew that she could make decent money off delivering food. It was better than starving to death while waiting for a more desirable job, at least.

It was the end of a Friday night, and Samantha had made mediocre pay. Still new at the job she had been having difficulty finding addresses, and her customers were punishing her lack of promptness with low tips. Needing the money, she volunteered to stay until close.

The phone rang two minutes before closing. Normally an order placed so late would be refused, but she begged her manager John to accept it. She needed the money, and the address was on the way home. Additionally, it was a pretty big order, which usually meant a larger tip. John wasn't happy about it, but he was a generally nice guy and he understood how desperately Sam needed the money.

Once the pizzas were ready Samantha paid for them out of pocket and clocked out. This would save her the time and gas of having to return to the store after the delivery, as she could simply pocket the money and go home. Loading the pizzas into her car, she headed off.

She found the address without any difficulty. It was a fairly large house, and it looked like someone was having a party. After parking her car on the street she stowed the night's tip money in her glove box and grabbed the pizzas.

Reaching the house, she found the front door wide open. Dozens of people were inside, drinking and having a good time. Despite the door being open Samantha attempted to ring the doorbell, hoping that whoever was going to pay for the food would come to her. Finding the doorbell broken, she reluctantly entered the house. Samantha didn't really care for large crowds.

Wandering around, she hoped that the person with the money would spot her. Unfortunately, everyone seemed pretty drunk, and no one seemed to acknowledge her presence. She attempted to ask a handful of people who had ordered the pizza, but most of them seemed too far from sober to give an intelligible answer. It took her a good minute or so to find out that the name of the man who had ordered the pizzas was Quinn, and another minute to actually find him.

Quinn looked like he was in his late 20s or early 30s. Tall and attractive, Samantha quickly felt insecure in his presence. She didn't consider herself ugly, but in her work uniform she felt tremendously awkward.

"You can put them on that table," he instructed after spotting her. "I'll be back in a minute, I just have to grab the money."

Samantha obeyed his instructions, placing the pizzas on the table. Standing by them awkwardly, she waited for his return. She felt as though everyone was eyeing her, but told herself that it was probably just her imagination – they were probably more interested in the food that she had brought. Still, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was suddenly the focus of everyone's attention.

Quinn returned after a minute and shut off the music on his way in. As he entered the room everyone became immediately silent, making Samantha deeply uncomfortable. None of what was going on made sense to her but she didn't know what to do. As Quinn approached her she stood still, feeling terribly nervous.

"Sam, is it?" he asked, reading her name tag.

"It is," she timidly answered. "Short for Samantha."

"Well, Sam, I'd like to thank you for delivering the pizzas," he replied. "Despite it being a large order and late at night you were extremely quick in getting here, and you deserve a large tip for that. More importantly, though, you now have a chance to earn an even larger tip."

"No thanks," she answered. She needed the money, but she was extremely uncomfortable and just wanted to get home.

"Come on, Sam," he encouraged. "Don't be such a coward – at least find out what I'm asking before you shoot me down."

Samantha didn't want to know what he was asking but she didn't really have much of a choice. He hadn't paid her yet, and she couldn't afford to just throw away the $50 that the pizzas had cost. With no other options, she figured it wouldn't kill her to just find out what exactly Quinn wanted.

"Okay," she replied, trying to mask the nervousness in her voice. "What are you asking?"

"A simply proposal, really," he answered. "That uniform looks terrible on you, Sam – though I doubt it really looks good on anyone. Not to offend, but quite frankly you look ridiculous in it."

His words made Samantha feel tremendously self-conscious. She was already uncomfortable with her appearance in the uniform, and having a man whom she found attractive mention it hurt her feelings. The fact that dozens of strangers were watching and listening didn't help things, either.

"Don't look so hurt, now," he comforted her, picking up on her discomfort. "I'm not saying that you're ugly – just that the uniform is. Unless you're the person that designed it, you have nothing to be ashamed about. Hell, anyone would look silly wearing that thing, which brings me to my point."

"Here's the deal," he continued. "I'm going to tip you $10 for the pizza – not a bad profit on a $50 bill. However, for each article of clothing that you remove I'm going to add $10 to that tip. Lose it all, and I'll even throw in an additional $50."

"No thanks," Samantha replied, trying to sound firm. She was uncomfortable enough as she was, stripping in front of strangers was absolutely out of the question.

"See, there's that cowardice again," Quinn observed. "Frankly, it's almost as unbecoming as that uniform is on you. An intelligent woman would realize that she could make an easy $20 just for taking her shoes off, yet you seem eager to walk out of here with a measly $10 tip."

Samantha considered the proposal. She did need the money, and it was hard to turn down $40 to strip out of her socks and shoes. Still, she felt very uncomfortable there with everyone watching her, and didn't want to admit that she was wrong in declining his offer in the first place.

"I'm not a whore," she stated.

"Sam, I think you might be a little confused about what exactly whores do," Quinn explained condescendingly. "I didn't ask you to fuck for money; I offered you money to strip out of your clothing. If you're too afraid to accept that deal, little girl, then that's fine – some people are just natural cowards, I guess. Out of curiosity, though, might I ask how many pizzas you'd have to deliver in order to make $20?"

Sam unwillingly did the math in her head, and realized that at the rate she was going $20 worked out to approximately 10 deliveries – more if she subtracted the cost of gasoline. Thinking about how long it would take her to do that, she felt a little foolish refusing $20 for something that she could do in a matter of seconds. Furthermore, she was a little irritated with the dismissive way that he accused her of being a coward. Though Samantha wouldn't exactly describe herself as the bravest person who ever lived, she didn't like the way that his words made her feel like an insignificant little child. Unable to come up with a reason not to, Samantha kicked off her shoes.

"See, that wasn't so hard at all, now was it?" Quinn laughed, placing a $20 bill on the table along with $60 for the pizzas. "Easiest $20 you've made in your entire life, right? Now the question is, do you want to leave it at $20 or see how much more you can get?"

Samantha still wanted to get out of there, but she really could use the money. She wasn't about to get naked in front of a roomful of strangers, but she realized that there were other things you could strip out of without shame. Eager to make some more easy money, she removed her jacket and socks.

"Another easy $30," Quinn announced, placing the money on the table. "But that's about it for easy. You've made $60 so far including the initial tip, but you could make so much more. So, what's it going to be – take the money and run away, or prove that you're not a coward and grab some more?"

Samantha thought about her situation. She was still wearing her shirt, pants, bra, and panties. She didn't think that she could actually manage to get completely naked in a roomful of strangers, but the money was extremely tempting. Everyone seemed drunk, anyway – they probably wouldn't remember a thing the next morning.

Taking a deep breath, Samantha stripped out of her shirt and pants. Standing in her underwear, she began to regret her decision – with every eye on her she felt more vulnerable than she had ever felt in her life. Self-consciously, she folded her arms over her body.

"And that's $80," Quinn stated. "Lose the underwear and you'll make another $70 and walk out of here $150 richer."

"I can't," Samantha replied. "I'm sorry, but I can't just get completely naked here."

"That's just silly, Sam," Quinn laughed. "You're already almost there, and frankly your bra and panties don't exactly cover much. Every man in this room can already tell pretty much exactly what you look like naked, yet you're going to pass up a chance to almost double your money?"

Samantha didn't like the idea of getting naked, but his argument was compelling. $70 was more than she had been making for an entire eight hour shift, and she really did need the money. Reminding herself that no one except Quinn seemed sober enough to remember it anyway, she pulled her bra off and slid her panties down to her ankles.

Stepping out of the panties, the room erupted in laughter and applause. Samantha regretted her decision, but it was too late to change it. True to his word, Quinn added another $70 on the pile. Picking the money up, he offered it to her. Samantha lunged at it, eager to collect her earnings so that she could get dressed again.

After grabbing the money from his hands she spun around to collect her discarded clothing. To her horror, though, the clothing was no longer lying on the floor where she left it. Clutching the bills in her hand she folded her arms over her body, desperately searching the room with her eyes for her clothes.

"Okay, who took my clothes?" she demanded, hoping to mask the fear in her voice with a tone of anger.

Unfortunately, no one answered. Samantha knew that they had heard her – though no one was talking she clearly had everyone's undivided attention. Beginning to panic, she spun back around to address Quinn.

"Okay, asshole," she growled. "That's a very funny joke; now give me my fucking clothes back before I call the cops."

"I didn't take them," he laughed. "And that attitude is hardly making me want to help you find out who did. Really, Sam, I'm hurt – I thought we were friends."

Samantha didn't know what to do. She didn't believe for a single second that he hadn't been involved in her clothing's disappearance, but she didn't know how she could force him to help her. Realizing that she'd need to play along in order to get his help, she repressed her rage.

"Okay, I'm sorry," she apologized through clenched teeth. "I didn't mean to accuse you of anything, and we totally are friends. Please help me find my clothes, Quinn?"

"I don't know, Sam," he sighed. "That doesn't sound very fun at all, and I'm not hearing anything that would be in it for me. I think I'm going to have to pass, unless you can find a way to make it worth my while."

"Okay, I get it," she sneered. "Fine, take your fucking money back. Should have known there'd be a catch."

"There was no catch," he shrugged. "The money is yours, and I don't want it back – if I did, I doubt I'd have given it to you so easily. Really Sam, you should stop being so paranoid."

"Then what the fuck do you want?" she demanded.

"You can start by sucking my dick," he suggested. "That seems like it would be an appropriate way for you to apologize for your hurtful accusations. Once you've done that we can discuss what I'll need in order to help you."

"I'm not a whore," she reminded him.

"And I wasn't planning to pay you," he laughed. "But hey, if you need time to think it over, that's okay. I'll be around if you should change your mind."

Quinn walked away after saying his piece. Samantha tried to follow him, but her path was quickly blocked by partygoers. Looking around the room, she felt tremendously nervous. She was fully naked in a room full of fully clothed strangers, and they were all staring at her.

Further complicating matters was Samantha's reaction to the situation. Consciously she was terrified; she realized that that was exactly the type of situation that everyone had warned her about. On a deeper level, though, it was turning her on. Samantha had always had a deep exhibitionism streak, and her libido didn't seem to care one bit about the danger that her brain was screaming to her about.

Unsure of what else to do, Samantha began searching for her clothing. Still self-conscious about her nudity, she found it difficult to move around freely due to her need to cover herself with her arms. After a few minutes she realized how futile the task was – her clothing wasn't lost, it was stolen. It seemed unlikely that whoever had taken her clothes would have simply left them lying around somewhere.

Realizing that she was wasting her time, Samantha decided to search for Quinn. She didn't plan to actually go down on him in exchange for his help, but she hoped that she might be able to talk him into helping her just the same. Unfortunately, Quinn was no longer in the room and she wasn't crazy about the idea of wandering around the house to find him. Exploring the rest of the house would mean that more strangers would see her naked, and more troubling that someone she actually knew might see her naked as well.

Steeling her will, Samantha left the room. She hoped that everyone else at the party would be too drunk to notice her state, but it seemed unlikely. As she began to wander, she found that everyone noticed her condition, and most were all too eager to point it out to those who hadn't.

The staring and pointing wasn't the worst of it, though. Samantha found that every time she walked within grabbing distance of someone, that someone crudely groped her. Most focused on her breasts and ass, but a handful of the bolder ones aimed between her legs. She was very careful to keep her thighs clenched tightly together – she had no desire for anyone else to find out how embarrassingly wet she had become.

Eventually, she spotted Quinn in the kitchen. Making her way towards him she did her best to fend off the groping hands of strangers, though it was a futile effort. There were simply too many of them, and it was impossible to keep them all at bay.

Doing her best to ignore the anonymous hands that grabbed her she pushed her way towards Quinn. She was sure that he had seen her, but he seemed comfortable to wait where he was standing and let her come to him. She made it within five feet of him before someone grabbed her.

The stranger wrapped his hands around her right wrist, pulling it away from her body. Clenching her thighs together, she attempted to cover her breasts with her left arm; only to have that grabbed and pulled away by another stranger standing on her opposite side. With her arms restrained away from her body, she focused on keeping her legs together – until more hands grabbed her ankles and pulled them apart.

Samantha struggled, but it was no use. She considered crying out for help, but that just seemed silly – everyone in the room was already staring at her, it was unlikely that anyone would actually be interested in helping. As she tried in vain to wrench her limbs free she felt more hands exploring her body, crudely groping her most sensitive flesh. Unable to stop them she simply stood there and accepted the abuse, trying as hard as she could to not be turned on by it.

Unfortunately, the owners of the hands didn't seem satisfied with merely squeezing Samantha's breasts and ass. After a few seconds she felt fingers worming between her legs, exploring her crotch. After roughly rubbing her clit for a few moments, a finger slid into her.

"Jesus Christ!" a stranger announced. "You wouldn't believe how wet this slut is!"

"I am not, you fucking liar!" she protested.

"Fine, don't take my word for it," the stranger laughed. "Someone else check this out and back me up – this bitch is literally drenched."

Samantha's face went bright red. She knew that the stranger had been telling the truth, but had hoped that she'd be able to bluff her way to dignity. As the stranger withdrew his hand a different man slipped his hand between her legs, sliding a finger inside her. Groaning in shame and humiliation, Samantha realized that their assault was only intensifying her arousal.

"Bill's telling the truth," the new stranger laughed. "This whore really is juiced up."

The room erupted in laughter while Samantha tried to force her legs shut. It was futile, of course, but she didn't know what else to do. While she struggled against the powerful hands that held her open and vulnerable, the new stranger began to pump his fingers in and out of her. Humiliated, Samantha realized that she was actually wet enough that she could hear the sloshing sounds emanating from her crotch.

As the stranger began to build up speed, Samantha felt new hands canvasing her body. Groping her breasts and tweaking her nipples, she was finding it increasingly difficult to mask her lust. Biting down on her lip, she did her best to refrain from openly moaning under the assault.

Samantha was in the process of adjusting to the hands groping her when she felt a finger worming its way between her butt cheeks. Mortified, she tried to thrash back and forth but found that the grips on her limbs were far too tight to allow her any defense. While the crowd laughed at her humiliation she felt the finger forcing its way into her asshole, crudely probing her depths.

Samantha was finding it increasingly difficult to control her arousal and maintain her focus. Though consciously terrified, the stimulation to seemingly every inch of her skin was just too much for her to handle. Feeling her vagina growing wetter by the instant, she began to moan against her will.

Feeling her resolve rapidly melting away, Samantha became vaguely aware of Quinn slowly approaching her. Racking her brain, she searched for something to say to him to convince him to help her. Unfortunately, she found it tremendously difficult to focus on anything with the strangers' hands expertly manipulating her flesh.

"Well, I see you've found something to keep yourself entertained," he laughed. "Should I assume that you no longer want my help finding your clothes?"

A very significant part of Samantha wanted to tell him that it was a fair assumption, but she forced that part down. As much as she was enjoying the abuse, she was still terrified and humiliated. Samantha didn't want to be a slut, and it was difficult for her to ignore that being completely nude in a party while being groped by strangers was a pretty slutty thing to do. Focusing her willpower, she tried her hardest to repress her own moans so that she could answer his question.

"You have to help me," she blurted out. "Please, I don't want this."

"Is that so?" Quinn laughed. "Cause, you know – I heard a rumor that your cunt is apparently dripping all over the place. Hell, I can even see the evidence from where I'm standing – George's fingers are shiny with your slut slime."

"That doesn't mean anything!" she protested.

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