Fresh Toppings, Served Hot

"Fuck yeah, baby, there's your 'fresh toppings'," Duncan laughed. "Served hot!" Aidan reciprocated, completing the slogan from Ari's car topper. The pair burst into raucous laughter, joined by the other four clique members. Scooping jizz out of my eye socket, I cracked open my lids and craned my neck to check on the pilfered sign that had started this whole ordeal. The bawdy, glowing pizza smile grinned at my degradation from across the room.

I sat up, wiping cum from my eyelids and watching the boys as they dressed. My movements disturbed the jellied slop balanced on my face and bust and I felt the caked mess slide in a slushy avalanche down my tits and belly, pooling in my navel and the soft creases of my tummy. "Can someone help? Like, get me towel or something?" I called weakly at the bustling impromptu locker room but went ignored. A curtain of indifference had drawn over the partygoers. My frenzy subsided, and insecure, exploited anxiety replaced my lustful energy.

"Hey, here you go!" Tommy called from the direction of the food table. I glanced over to see the 'free extras' bag sailing through the air. As it flew, the sack flipped, disgorging fluttering white napkins and a shower of cheese and pepper packets. I flinched, holding up my hands and turning my face in defense, feeling the packets smack first into my palms, cheek, and forehead, followed by the billowing impact of the soft paper. The group hooted as I picked the napkins from the floor and dabbed at the drying spunk on my cheeks and jaw.

Grabbing a fresh handful of napkins, I moved to the white lines of goo that streaked my rack. While I swabbed and smeared jism off my breasts, I scoped the room for my missing clothes. Extending on my knees, I retrieved my underwear from under the couch. Pivoting to sit on my bum with my back against the armrest, I tugged the panties up to my waist, covering my abused holes. Duncan kicked my black leggings across the hardwood to within my reach; my thighs and hamstrings ached as I lifted and squeezed my legs into the tights. After the last napkin soaked through with jizz and wadded in my fingers, I staggered to my feet, half-dressed, my tits still sticky with clotting seed.

"Looks like you didn't give us enough napkins." Reese quipped, smiling as he stared at the speckled cum on my pale mounds. I sighed, admitting he was right, and this was as clean as my breasts would get using that cheapskate Ari's bag of freebies. I set to finding my top.

My vibrant bra was draped over the back of the couch, looking like a downed exotic bird against the brown leather. The crowd paused their dressing to 'boo' a final time as I wrangled my tits back into the scarlet cups. Walking across to the pool table where Tommy had thrown my shirt, I tried to grab Trevor's attention as he sipped a post-coital beer and studied the NBA roundup on TV.

"So, should I ask to speak to any specific person at your dad's office, or...? I asked Trevor.

He seemed disinterested in my words, his eyes intently reading the overlapping lines of jizzy resin on my lace-ensconced tits. I broke the spell as I ducked my head and arms into my smudged white polo, hiding the swollen source of the night's attention. A disappointed grimace wrinkled his nose and lips as his view was cut. "Oh, that. You should probably wait to hear from them..." His inevitable and obvious backpedal was doubly humiliating as my brain replayed the vision of his cock belching ropes of cum onto my nose and cheeks. Swallowing a defeated moan, I nodded silently as I picked my keys off the table.

Connor slouched wearily on the sofa and the twins were dutifully wiping the hardwood, cleaning up the spilled cum where I had knelt for my dousing. Duncan was typing furiously on his phone as Aidan looked on with fascinated glee; I didn't have to speculate what he was divulging and didn't want to think about to whom. It was clear that any interest anyone had in me -- beyond crude stories to be recounted in future locker rooms -- had ended with ejaculation.

'Fuck them,' I thought to myself with a huff, cringing at my ill-timed choice of words. They were just rich bullies who took advantage of people back in high school, and apparently nothing had changed. I didn't need friends like them, I reassured myself; I just needed to collect the bill -- and of course, my tip -- then get home to wash my face. As I made my way to the door and that damned car topper, I ran my fingers through my auburn hair and felt my nails rupture gummy blobs of congealing spunk caught in my locks. My leggings stretched as I tenderly bent to pick up the sign, and I heard a wolf whistle from the group at the last view of my spandex covered ass.

The group called their farewells as I struggled with the heavy sign and headed for the exit. "I'll write a glowing review on Yelp!" "Oh, yeah! Three-star pizza, but five-star delivery!" "The twins' birthday is in July; I know where we're ordering from!"

Trevor escorted me out of the study and down the hall to the front door. The weight of the plastic sign and its magnetic base hung heavily, tucked under my arm. Quiet night air cooled my flushed cheeks as he opened the door and held out a directing hand of departure. I halted and uncomfortably cleared my throat, avoiding eye contact as I waited.

"Oh, right!" Trevor dug in his pocket and pulled out a healthy-looking folded stack of cash. Quickly fanning the bills, he checked the amount and, satisfied, handed me the doubled notes. "That'll cover the order, and, of course, a little something extra for your 'effort'; you earned it! Anyway, it was great running into you." He gave me that same vulgar wink, then nodded farewell and curtly closed the door.

Clutching the money and my keys in one hand, I balanced the plastic pyramid against my other hip and limped sorely down the brick walkway to the street. The raw ache of my ransacked holes stung through my thighs and hamstrings. I unlocked the car and tossed the sign in the trunk. Floodlit under the trunk's light, the slogan "Fresh Toppings, Served Hot" made my skin crawl with phantom jizz. The pizza graphic jeered at me in an obscene, knowing smile. I slammed the trunk then stood a moment in the cool night air to calm myself.

Hobbling around the side of the car, I opened the front door then sat down behind the wheel. Beneath my shirt, the film of dried cum on my tits crackled and flaked as I buckled the seatbelt. Glancing at the clock on the dash, I saw it was almost two hours past the end of my shift. I hoped my parents wouldn't be waiting up to ask where I'd been, and that I could quickly and quietly get in the shower. With an embarrassed shiver, I also conceded that I would definitely do my laundry as soon as possible.

Sighing, I tucked the wad of cash in the glovebox. I pulled away from the curb, turned around in the lip of the drive, then lingered a moment at the side of the street. For the second time in my life, I took a long, baffled look at the front of that house, dumbfounded as to how I had been manipulated into... I fiercely shook my head, then brushed my red hair behind my ear, sighing again as my fingertips found more sticky clots of cum. I stepped on the gas and quickly drove out of the dark neighborhood.

Waiting at an interminable red light, an ember of distrust burned in the back of my mind. I opened the console, unfolded the bills, and counted them. And recounted them. And counted them again as a car beeped impatiently behind me. My eyes brimmed with disgusted, frustrated tears. My hands, shaking with humiliated rage, held eight twenty-dollar bills. They had tipped me a dollar and six cents.