Jennifer showed through the building, introducing to my new workers, the guys renovating the building, the specialized staff, and the cara crew. It was a dizzying display of professional efficiency.
To my surprise, there was also a director.
"This is Mr. Hols," Jennifer said, introducing to a bald man with a prominent skull tattoo visible on his head. He had subtle face tattoos marking his temples and jawline.
He was wearing a sharp, expensive suit, but I could tell his entire body was tatted beneath the fabric. He looked like the pornography version of a successful, intimidating record label executive—a porn Birdman.
I didn’t like him imdiately. His smile was forced, calculating, and cold.
"Mr. Hart. It’s a pleasure to finally et you," he said, extending his hand, a gesture of assud authority.
I just looked at it. I deliberately refused to shake it. I didn’t need a director. I didn’t need anyone to tell how I should fuck a woman on cara; I was the talent and the creative director.
Jennifer stepped in smoothly, deflecting the awkward mont. "Mr. Hols is here to manage the technical and staging aspects, Mr. Hart. He will ensure we hit the 3-scene-per-day quota efficiently for the next two weeks. He reports to the Executive Producer, who reports directly to you."
The explanation did little to ease my tension, but the clarity of the structure—he didn’t report directly to , but was a resource I could manage—was helpful. My job was to steer the vision and talent, not micromanage the lighting.
"Uh, Mr. Hols, it’s nice to see you too," I said with a tone that made it obvious that I didn’t like him. My voice carried a distinct edge of contempt. "Who hired you again?"
Again, Hols flashed that sa forced smile, then looked at Jennifer for backup, clearly sensing the hierarchy shift.
"Ugh, it was Monet," he mumbled, the word ’Monet’ sounding like a nervous admission.
"Good," I stated, dropping my hand to my side, refusing his handshake completely. My gaze drilled into him, asserting the reality of the situation. "Then let make one thing crystal clear, Mr. Hols. Monet writes the checks, but I run the show. You are here to execute my creative vision and maximize the revenue of my talent. You manage the lighting, you manage the caras, you manage the noise levels. You do not manage the content, the talent, or ."
The guy just smiled, the forced pleasantness dissolving into sothing more condescending. "I don’t know what I did wrong, but I was told that Monet doesn’t want to see diocre films. I’m also told she doesn’t like the films that you have shot so far..."
"Big M... I an Monet, watches porn?" I said, genuinely taken aback.
Jennifer smiled, unperturbed. "I an, who doesn’t? I an, she has the right to check on her investnts too, doesn’t she?"
The idea of Big Mom watching fuck Sasha was both terrifying and exciting. It added a whole new layer of high-stakes performance anxiety and motivation. I wondered if she masturbated to my videos.
"Fine, but do you have any experience in directing porn, Mr. Hols?" I said, still not willing to allow him to breathe without challenge. "Because if you’re here to make look bad, you’ll be the one getting fired first."
Hols finally let the fake smile drop, his face becoming cold and professional. "I’ve directed for the biggest premium networks in the industry, Mr. Hart. I’m a machine for profit, and that’s exactly why Monet hired . I’m here to ensure technical perfection, so your talent doesn’t go to waste." He stressed the word ’talent’ while looking pointedly at , not my models.
The power play was clear: he was here to maximize the cinematic quality and profit margins, ensuring the content t Big Mom’s high standards. I needed to move past this internal conflict and focus on imdiate revenue generation.
"Okay, okay....." I conceded, finally relaxing my posture. If he was as good as he claid, maybe he could boost my company’s production value to the level Big Mom demanded. Even though I didn’t let him shake my hand, I would give him a try, placing my trust solely in the profit he could deliver.
I also didn’t know him yet. Maybe he was actually a nice guy beneath the aggressive tattoos and condescending smile.
"Let’s get to work then," I told him, shifting my focus entirely to execution. "I had a scene scheduled for today. Is my girl here yet?"
"Which girl?" Jennifer said, her tablet already open, reviewing the roster.
"Dickslayer." I said. I had to get used to using the models’ stage nas with the crew.
"By Dickslayer, you an Ms. Lisa Rhoades?" Jennifer clarified, using the model’s legal na, which was probably how she was contracted.
"Yeah," I confird. "She’s here then?"
"Yes, she’s currently in the third makeup chair," Jennifer confird. "We’re running wardrobe for a high-concept scene involving a CEO and a very demanding client. Mr. Hols prepared the storyboard based on your earlier concepts."
My initial schedule was now obsolete, replaced by Monet’s high-tech, aggressive production schedule.
"Seems like Monet has put my $83,600 dollars into good use," I muttered to myself, the bitterness of the loss mitigated by the sudden scale-up.
"Mr. Hols, could you show the storyboard for the scene?" I said, taking control of the creative aspects imdiately.
Hols, surprisingly, didn’t argue. He pulled a heavy, spiral-bound book from his briefcase and flipped it open to a sleekly designed page. "The scene is called ’Hostile Takeover.’ It’s shot in a luxury office environnt. High production value, narrative focus, maximum payoff. We shoot this afternoon, Mr. Hart."
I nodded, impressed by the professionalism. "Okay, prepare your cara crew and the setting for the shoot. I will go and see Ms. Rhoades."
As I turned to walk toward the wardrobe and makeup area, I noticed the change in atmosphere. Everyone seed to be polite towards , stepping aside quickly. They clearly recognized that I was the boss now, the man who held the purse strings and the creative authority, even if Big Mom was the ultimate power.
They cleared the corridor as I walked.
I found Dickslayer naked, standing casually while a professional makeup artist toned her body with airbrush makeup to ensure she looked flawless under the high-definition studio lights. Sasha was in the next chair, already dressed in a sharp, business-chic outfit, talking quietly to Willow, who looked nervous.
Dickslayer turned her head slightly, catching my reflection in the mirror. She gave a confident, relaxed smile.
"Hey, Druski," she purred. "Monet’s crew doesn’t ss around, huh? They told this ’Hostile Takeover’ scene is going to be massive."
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