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“What the fuck are you doing?” Alice stared at me with those blue eyes that always knew how to make me feel guilty, even when I’d done nothing. She held her phone in her hand, the screen facing me. A TikTok video was playing on a loop: her, in a tight T-shirt and ripped jeans, smiling while mixing a cocktail at Rocco’s bar.
“It’s just a video, come on,” I said, trying not to let on how much I loved seeing her in that role. Alice had always had a body that attracted attention—generous curves, wide hips, and a butt that seemed sculpted specifically to drive anyone crazy—but she was usually too shy to show herself like that.
“Luca, Rocco asked me to make this video to promote his bar. Look at the way he filmed me!” She swiped across the screen, switching to another clip. Here, the camera lingered too long on her breasts as she bent over to pick up a bottle. “Marco and the others have already shared the post everywhere. Now all your friends are messaging me asking for ‘collaborations’.”
I didn’t need to ask what they meant. I already knew. Rocco ran a bar, Marco a gym, Daniele a motorcycle shop, and Sergio—well, Sergio would find any excuse to show her off. And Alice? She had that way about her, a mix of innocence and awareness, that made everything even more exciting. “And what did you say to him?” I asked, trying to keep my tone neutral.
She looked down, a small smile touching her lips. “I said yes.”
My stomach twisted, but not with jealousy. With excitement. Alice had always had that hidden side, that desire to be desired that only came out when she felt safe. And my friends knew it very well.
“Tonight I’m going to film a reel for Marco’s gym,” she whispered, leaning closer until I could feel his warm breath on my skin. “He wants me to film myself doing squats in those sheer leggings you gave me.” Her hand brushed my chest, slowly moving down. “Daniele, on the other hand, has already booked me for the motorcycle shop tomorrow. He says if I sit on the new Ducati in a thong and bra, he’ll give me the leather boots I wanted.”
I felt my blood rush as she described the details in that husky voice she only used when she was excited. “And Rocco?” I asked, already imagining the answer.
Alice giggled, biting her lower lip. “She wants a video of me licking the rim of a glass with the bar sign on it… slowly.” Her hand stopped at my waist. “But first, I wanted to know if you’re okay with it. Because if you say no…”
She didn’t finish her sentence. There was no need. I grabbed her hips, feeling those curves that drove her followers crazy under my fingers, and yanked her against me. “Please, tell me you’re only doing it because you like it,” I growled between kisses, my hands lifting her shirt.
“I do it because they make me feel like a goddess,” she gasped, as my thumbs grazed her hard nipples through her bra. “And because I know you’ll come back and take what’s yours.”
I threw her onto the couch with a predatory grimace, but Alice was faster. She wriggled with snakelike skill and pointed her phone at me. “Wait, watch this first,” she said, opening the TikTok app. The video already had half a million views. Thousands of comments: “Who is this bitch?” “Where is this bar?” “If she does squats like that at my gym, I’ll join tomorrow.”
“Does this turn you on?” she asked, rubbing herself against my erection while scrolling through her notifications. Her colleagues—those from the office where she worked as a secretary—had shared the video across all the company groups. “The supervisor called me into his office today. He says the profile could be an asset to the company. What do you think?”
Her tone was innocent, but her fingers undoing my jeans said otherwise. “What the fuck does she want?” I growled, even as my hand was already lifting her skirt.
“Promotional videos. Maybe in a shorter skirt. With the excuse that we’ll attract more clients.” She looked at me from under her lashes, feigning hesitation. “Luca… if I do this, I’ll become the office slut. I already know that. But when they applauded me this morning… God, my panties got wet.”
I bit her neck, imagining her in the open space full of men staring at her as she pretended to type on her computer, those painted nails now scratching my back. “And your friends?” she whispered softly. “They say if I agree to make videos for them… I can ask for anything in return.”
I tugged at her hair, forcing her to look at me. “Anything?”
Alice nodded, her pupils dilated. “Sergio said that if I do a live video from the tattoo shop while they draw something on my thigh… he’ll pay for my hotel in Ibiza.” A labored breath. “Daniele, on the other hand… oh fuck, Luca, stop it—” I’d slipped a hand inside her leggings, finding it soaked like a downpour. “Daniele said that if I film myself washing my bike in a bikini… the Ducati is mine.”
Her fingers slid between her thighs, while the music from her latest reel came on the phone’s stereo—that hypnotic rhythm I knew by heart by now, because I’d heard it on loop while Alice wriggled in the foreground. “And the colleagues?” I asked, rubbing my palm against her soaked panties. “How did the people at the office react?”
Alice moaned, arching her back when I touched her clit. “I-Ivan from logistics handed me a note this morning,” she gasped. “It said if I give a tutorial on how to… ah!… fold company documents while bending over my desk, he’ll promote me to personal assistant.” Her lips trembled as I caressed those other, more hidden lips. “But the boss… Luca, the boss said he wants a video featuring the new product line. On my knees. In front of his desk.”
A shiver ran down my spine. Alice had never been so brazen, so aware of her power. And seeing how she moved under my fingers, how she gave in to pleasure as she told me everyone wanted her, was the most exciting thing I’d ever felt. “And what did you say to him?” I whispered in her ear, biting her lobe.
She looked at me with those blue eyes that were now shining with mischief. “That I need a raise… before the video.” A raspy laugh, stifled by my kiss. “And guess what? He already printed out my new contract.”
I flipped her onto the couch, jerking my pants off. I wasn’t jealous anymore. I was proud. Alice was laughing beneath me, her legs wrapped around my hips as my phone continued to vibrate with notifications of likes and lewd comments. “I’m filming Marco’s video tomorrow,” she panted, driving me into her with a thrust of her hips. “He wants me to do squats… just… just like that—”
I cut her off with a sharp blow, grabbing her wrists and pinning them above her head. “And I want you to do them after,” I growled, increasing the pace. “After I’ve come all over you so much those sheer leggings won’t hide a thing.”
Alice screamed when I reached her, her nails digging into my back. My phone continued to vibrate on the coffee table, but now the only music that mattered was the sound of our bodies colliding, her muffled screams into my shoulder. When I finally collapsed on top of her, sweaty and panting, Alice already had her phone in her hand—that little slut couldn’t let go, even after an orgasm.
“Look,” she whispered hoarsely, showing me the stats for Rocco’s bar video. “We’re at 800,000 views. And…” She scrolled through her notifications with a sly smile. “The company’s marketing director texted me. He wants me to do a live broadcast from the office tomorrow.”
This time I couldn’t help but grin. “What the fuck are you supposed to do? Show me how to fill out a form with your tits sticking out of your blouse?”
She gave me a look that would have driven any man crazy—that mix of innocence and mischief I knew all too well by now. “Worse. A tutorial on how to organize your filing cabinets. Bending over the low shelves.” Her fingers caressed my chest. “In the skirt Sergio gave me.”
The next day, while I was on lunch break from the construction site, I opened TikTok and there she was: Alice, in an office I immediately recognized—the one where she worked as a secretary—but transformed into some kind of softcore porn set. She wore a semi-sheer white blouse buttoned up to almost cover her black bra, and a leather skirt so short that when she bent over the filing cabinets, the camera couldn’t help but focus on her matching thong.
“Here, guys,” she said in that good-girl voice that was a stark contrast to what she was showing, “when you arrange the documents alphabetically, remember to— Oh!” She pretended to lose her balance, gripping the shelf as her hips swayed in a way that was anything but casual. Comments flowed quickly: “Is this the new secretary? Where do I sign?” “What the fuck are these archives, I’ll be right over!”
But the icing on the cake came when, at the end, her boss appeared—a fifty-something with a beer belly and a vulture’s gaze—and “accidentally” handed her a folder, brushing her butt. Alice pretended not to notice, but that knowing smile she flashed at the camera before the fade-out said it all. And the video already had half a million likes.
I closed the app with my hands shaking. Not from anger. But because I was already counting down the minutes until the end of my shift. Alice had said she’d be home by 6:00 PM. And I wanted to show her personally how much I appreciated her influencer skills.
Meanwhile, though, I kept reloading the page. Every time I did it, the number of views increased by tens of thousands more. And the comments… Christ, the comments. “Is she a secretary or a porn star?” “If they show me how to fill out a form like that, I’ll sign up for the company tomorrow.” “That boss is a son of a bitch… but I envy him.”
But the real shock came when, scrolling down the home page, a new video appeared. Alice, sitting at her desk, a pen between her lips and that good-girl look I now knew was a farce. “Tutorial: How to fill out a form in three easy steps,” the overlay said. I was already laughing before clicking.
The video began with her, very seriously, explaining how to fill out the first part of the document. Then, on the second “step,” she’d lean forward to pick up another piece of paper, and the strategically placed camera would focus on her cleavage, which was almost spilling out of her blouse. On the third step, she’d pretend to fall off the chair, and as she did so, her skirt would roll up around her thighs, revealing that black thong we’d bought together.
But the best part was when, at the end, she’d run her tongue along the edge of the paper. “There, the form’s ready for signature,” she’d conclude with an angelic smile. The comments exploded: “I’ll sign wherever you want.” “What the fuck am I looking at?” “Where do you send your resume for this company?”
But Alice didn’t stop there. That evening, while we were having dinner, her phone didn’t stop vibrating for even a second. “Marco wants to remake the gym video,” she announced between bites, her fingers quickly running across the screen. “He says if I do squats straddling the barbell, he’ll give me a free premium membership.” The video chatter she made while saying that made me realize it wasn’t the membership that turned her on.
Two days later, the video was online. Alice, in those sheer leggings that left everything to be seen, was riding a barbell like it was a rodeo. Every time she lowered herself, the fabric stretched so much that her lips were exposed, pressing against the fabric. Marco, behind the camera, sounded like a man about to explode. “There, good, another one… even lower…” The clip surpassed a million views in six hours.
Then it was Daniele’s turn. This time, Alice had to “wash” the new Ducati in a bikini so small it looked like it was painted on. But the real spectacle came when, to dry the tank, she rubbed herself against the bike with movements that had nothing to do with cleaning. Daniele, behind the camera, swore so loudly that he had to censor the audio. The video ended up on every biker forum in Italy.
Rocco upped the ante with a reel of Alice, kneeling on the bar counter, licking sugar from the rim of a glass while filling it with rum. “Because every cocktail needs a special touch,” she whispered to the camera, before letting out a fake moan when the bottle brushed her breasts. The bar’s customers tripled in a week.
But it was Sergio, with his tattoo shop, who took things further. The live video where Alice had a small red devil drawn on her inner thigh—with the camera focusing only on that area—was so explicit that TikTok removed it after half an hour. But the damage was done: screenshots were circulating everywhere, and Alice laughed as she read the messages from her colleagues asking if “that tattoo was really necessary for work.”
Meanwhile, I wasn’t sure whether I was more excited or in disbelief. Every time I thought she’d reached her limit, Alice found a way to outdo herself. And the best part? Seeing how she transformed when she came home after those shoots: a wild slut jumping on me still dressed in her “work clothes,” panting for details about how many men had looked at her, touched her, desired her…
The latest craziness was the video for a colleague’s lingerie shop. “You should have seen me, Luca,” she’d whispered to me that night, as she guided my hand under her skirt to let me feel she was no longer wearing panties. “They made me try on every model… and photograph every model.” She’d laughed against my neck, still damp with sweat from the spotlights. “Do you know what the photographer asked me at the end? To pose without a bra, but with my hands almost covering my breasts.” Her voice had grown hoarse. “The video has 2 million views… and the store is sold out.”
But nothing had prepared me for what happened next. The company’s marketing director—the one who’d had the video taken in the archives—called her for a “private meeting.” When Alice returned, she had messy hair and a satisfied kitten’s smile. “Do you know what happened?” she asked, unbuttoning my pants with her lipstick-stained fingers. “They’ve created a new role for me.” Her tongue caressed my ear. “Social Media Manager. Double the salary… and my own office with a locking door.”
The next week, her office became a full-time set. Every day, a new video: Alice biting her finger while printing documents, Alice adjusting her stockings under the desk with her skirt up, Alice pretending to fall down the stairs—in slow motion, of course—while picking up loose papers. Her colleagues lined up to “help” her with the filming, and she, the little slut, let herself be framed in close-ups while their hands “accidentally” brushed her butt.
But the real masterpieces were the ones TikTok would never approve of. That evening, while I was ironing her increasingly sheer “office” blouses, Alice sat me down on the couch and opened a file on her phone. “Look what they made me film today,” she whispered, her cheeks red. The video began with her explaining how to fill out a form, but after thirty seconds, the camera panned to her logistics colleague who, “by mistake,” spilled coffee on her lap. “Oh no, I’m sorry,” she said, mock-annoyed, her hands wiping the hot liquid dripping down her thighs—straight toward her crotch. The scene cut short just before the man’s fingers entered her panties.
“And this?” I asked, pointing to another file. Alice opened it: she was filmed from above, pretending to pick up pens that had fallen under her boss’s desk. But every time she bent over, her dress would fall open, revealing her breasts and bra in close-up. In the background, I could hear her colleagues’ comments: “Alice, are you sure you haven’t missed another one?” “Maybe it’s further along…” The camera was shaking—the person filming it was laughing.
The third video was the most explicit. Alice was sitting on the photocopier, her skirt hiked up, pretending not to understand why the machine wasn’t working. “I think you need to press harder,” a voice-over suggested. She stood up, replaced the paper, and sat back down—without her underwear—with an exaggerated moan when the cold glass touched her skin. “There, now it works!”
Alice closed the app and looked at me. “They ask me more every day,” she said, sliding to her knees in front of me. “Today the cleaner suggested I practice while I sweep under the shelves… with the broom between my legs.” Her lips brushed my erection through my pants. “Do you want me to do it?”
I gave her my answer by pushing her head down, while from the ringing of the phone, I knew her colleagues—the real ones—were already texting her for the next “tutorial.”
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