Two hours later, we pulled up to the Banghouse. It was a strange phenomenon: every time I stepped away from the studio, it seemed to double in size and prestige by the time I returned. It wasn't just a workspace anymore; it was an engine.

​Holmes met us at the entrance, his usual calculated calm replaced by a visible, hungry energy. He'd clearly been busy. Aside from the three new sets currently being built out for high-concept shoots, he had been scouting fresh talent to fill the gaps between our "Legends" series.

​"Welcome home, boss," Holmes said, nodding to me before giving Sasha a respectful look. "The numbers from your shoot with Evelyn Sun are already funding the next phase. And speaking of the next phase... I've brought in some fresh blood for you to vet."

​He led us into the main staging area, where three girls were waiting. My eyes immediately locked onto the first.

​She was Puerto Rican, and she was, quite simply, a work of art. She stood there completely naked, seemingly unbothered by the industrial chill of the studio, her confidence radiating off her like heat. Her skin was a flawless, sun-kissed honey, glowing under the overhead LEDs.

She had that classic, lethal hourglass silhouette—a tiny waist that flared out into heavy, rounded hips and a deep, peach-shaped curve to her backside.

​Her hair was a wild, voluminous mane of dark, espresso curls that tumbled over her shoulders, framing a face that could have been on the cover of a high-fashion magazine. She had wide, almond-shaped eyes the color of dark amber and full, pouty lips that looked like they were permanently set in a tease.

​"This is Elena," Holmes said, his voice dropping. "She's 22. Just moved in from San Juan. She doesn't just have the look—she has the appetite."

​Sasha stepped forward, her eyes already scanning Elena with a mix of professional critique and appreciation. Elena didn't flinch; she just shifted her weight, one hand resting on the curve of her hip, giving us a slow, sultry smile that told me she knew exactly what she was worth.

Holmes gestured toward the other two women, who stepped forward with a synchronized, predatory grace. If Elena was the "Island Heat," these two were the "Metropolitan Ice"—strikingly different, but equally lethal.

​The second girl was a statuesque blonde with ice-blue eyes and a sharp, high-fashion bone structure that made her look more like a runway model than a studio recruit. She stood tall, her skin pale and luminous, with a lean, athletic build that suggested hours of yoga and high-end pilates.

​The third was a striking contrast: a petite, raven-haired vixen with porcelain skin and a mischievous, doll-like face. She was covered in delicate, intricate fine-line tattoos that traced the curves of her collarbones and disappeared into her intimate areas.

​"This is Emily and Abella," Holmes said, his voice laced with pride.

​They moved toward me, their eyes locked onto mine with a hunger that wasn't just for the cameras. They ignored the crew, ignored the equipment, and even ignored Sasha. To them, I wasn't just the boss—I was the prize.

​"We've seen your films, Mr. Hart," the blonde, Chloe, murmured, her voice a low, melodic purr as she stopped inches from me. "Everyone in the industry is talking about the way you... handle your talent."

​Mya, the petite one, leaned in closer, the scent of her expensive perfume mixing with the industrial musk of the studio. "We didn't just sign for the Banghouse name," she whispered, her gaze dropping to my suit. "We signed because we're looking forward to having scenes with you."

​Sasha stood just a few feet away, her arms crossed, watching the interaction with her new "Director" eyes. She wasn't jealous—she was calculating. She was seeing the raw chemistry, the potential revenue, and the power dynamic that I sat at the center of.

​I looked from the new recruits to Holmes. The studio was bigger, the girls were better, and the expectations were astronomical.

​"They've got spirit, Holmes," I said, my voice cutting through the tension. "But spirit doesn't pay the bills. Excellence does."

Holmes led the way through the reinforced soundproof doors into the heart of the production floor.

​In the first room, the air was heavy with the scent of latex and musk. Kevin Lust, the studio's second top male performer, was in the middle of a high-octane threesome with Willow and Yolanda Adams. The lighting was moody—deep violets and cold blues—casting long, dramatic shadows over the rhythmic motion on the velvet-draped bed.

​"One of our bread-and-butter scenes," Holmes whispered over the thrum of the equipment. "The chemistry between those three is driving our subscription retention through the roof."

​But the real show was in the adjacent suite.

​Holmes pushed open the door to a room that had been transformed into a sleek, minimalist Japanese spa. The floor was covered in a thick, waterproof mat, glistening under the soft, amber glow of recessed lighting.

​Jessie and Salma were locked in a Nuru massage scene, their bodies completely coated in a transparent, shimmering gel that made their skin look like liquid silk. They were deep into a scissoring position, their legs intricately tangled, sliding against one another with a friction that was both silent and incredibly intense.

​The sound in the room was primal—the wet, rhythmic sliding of skin on skin punctuated by sharp, breathless moans. Salma had her head thrown back, her dark hair splayed across the floor like a fan, while Jessie leaned over her, her lips grazing Salma's throat. Every time they moved, the light caught the glistening gel, creating a cinematic, strobe-like effect on their curves.

​Sasha stepped up to the edge of the set, her eyes narrowing as she studied the camera angles. She was watching the choreography. She noticed the way Salma's back arched and the way Jessie gripped the mat for leverage.

​"The lighting is too flat on the left," Sasha murmured to me, her voice professional but low. "If we dropped the key light, we'd get better definition on the muscles."

​I nodded, impressed. She was already thinking like a Director, looking past the raw heat of the moment to find the art beneath.

​"Make a note of it," I said, my gaze lingering on the two women as they reached a crescendo of synchronized moans, their bodies trembling under the golden light. "Because once we bring in the legends, every frame has to be a masterpiece."

​"Holmes, we need to talk about the structure moving forward," I said, my voice cutting through the humid air of the set. "Sasha is officially taking over as the Head Director. She's running the creative vision for the Banghouse."

​I watched the shift in his expression—the way his jaw tightened and the immediate, flickering disappointment in his eyes. He had been my right hand in the trenches, and the sudden demotion felt like a slap. He looked at Sasha, then back at me, the silent question hanging in the air.

​I stepped closer, lowering my voice so the girls on set wouldn't hear.

​"Don't look at it as a step back, Holmes. Look at it as an expansion. We're injecting massive capital into this branch. We're hiring a roster of legends—Jakie Blake, Ria Foxx, the heavy hitters. We're going to have three, four sets running simultaneously every single day."

​I paused, letting the scale of the operation sink in.

​"Sasha is focusing exclusively on my scenes for now. She's crafting the elite 'Rising King' brand. That leaves the rest of the empire—the threesomes, the Nuru sets, the rising stars like Elena—entirely in your hands. You aren't just a director anymore; you're the General of the main floor. You'll have more talent under your lens than you ever dreamed of in LA."

​The tension in his shoulders finally broke. The disappointment vanished, replaced by a glint of professional greed as he calculated the sheer volume of work—and bonuses—coming his way. He looked at Sasha and offered a short, respectful nod.

​"I can work with that," Holmes said, a slow smirk spreading across his face. "If you're handling the 'High Art' with the boss, I'll make sure the rest of this place runs like a goddamn machine."

Holmes gripped my hand, his palm calloused from years of handling rigs, and gave me a firm, grounding shake. "So, let me get this straight—you're bringing in an army of talent, and they're all going to be under my banner?"

​"Exactly," I said, nodding as I released his hand. "We aren't just hunting for rising stars and Instagram models anymore. I'm talking about seasoned veterans, women who know how to sell a scene before the first light even turns on. You're going to be directing the most elite roster in New York."

​The last bit of tension left his face. He looked satisfied, like a general who had just been handed a fresh battalion. "I can work with that, Druski. I'll make sure the 'main floor' becomes the highest-grossing unit in the city."

​"Good. Now, business," I said, leaning back against a camera crate. "Lana sent me a list of legends—the MILF icons—I'm supposed to be shooting with. I don't see any of them on the call sheet for today. Where are they?"

​Holmes scratched the back of his head, a coy, knowing grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Ah, right. About that. You aren't shooting here today, boss. The studio isn't 'refined' enough for the first name on that list."

​I raised an eyebrow. "Then where am I going?"

​"You have a swimming pool scene scheduled for 2:00 PM," Holmes said, checking his watch.

​"A swimming pool scene?" I echoed. "The weather in New York isn't exactly tropical today, Holmes."

​"It's an indoor, heated Roman-style pool," Holmes clarified, his grin widening. "And we aren't using a rental. We're shooting at Lana Grande's private mansion in the Hamptons. She's hosting the first veteran personally. She said she wanted the you in a setting that matched your tax bracket."

​Sasha shifted beside me, her eyes sharpening. She was already visualizing the reflections on the water and the sheer luxury of Lana's estate.

​"Lana's place," I muttered, a smirk finally touching my lips. "She's really leaning into the high-society angle."

​"She is," Holmes said. "And Druski? You better move. Two-Bit is already idling the car. You've got a long drive, and a very impatient legend waiting for you to get her wet."

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