The transformation was total. Holmes hadn't just redecorated; he'd engineered a labyrinth of fantasies. Every door we passed revealed a new world: a sterile, high-end massage parlor with silk sheets; a gritty, industrial gym with chrome equipment that shone under the LED strips; and lavish suites that looked like they belonged in a five-star hotel.

​Monet's money was screaming from every corner. She wasn't just building a studio; she was building a fortress to topple the giants of the industry.

​We stepped into the next suite, and the air hit us—heavy with the scent of latex, sweat, and cheap perfume. On a massive, circular bed, a shoot was already in progress.

​A very hot blonde was absolutely devouring a tall, muscular Black man. She was riding him with a ferocious, head-tossing rhythm, her average-sized but pert breasts bouncing with every frantic upward thrust. As she arched her back, a large, intricate dragon tattoo seemed to writhe across her spine, the ink dark against her pale, sweat-slicked skin.

​She was Hispanic—a rare, striking blonde with dark, smoldering eyes and full lips that stayed curled in a permanent pout of pleasure. Her moans were loud and guttural, punctuating the rhythmic slap-slap-slap of her pelvis hitting the man's thighs.

​I looked at the guy she was on. He was a beast. He had a cock that was, quite frankly, a biological marvel. Even from a distance, it was clear he was packing more heat than I was. It was thick, dark, and stood like a pillar of iron as she slid up and down its incredible length.

​"This is Malone," Holmes whispered, gesturing to a skinny guy in the director's chair who was staring intently at a monitor. Malone gave us a curt, professional nod, his eyes never leaving the frames.

​"The girl's name is Salma," Holmes continued, a smug note in his voice. "Pure fire. She's got a following that's tripled in the last month."

​"Well, she's a very hot fuck," I admitted, giving Holmes his due. My pants were getting uncomfortably tight; watching the way her tight little body took that massive cock was making my own pulse throb in my throat. I wanted her. I wanted to see if she could handle me the same way.

​"And the man is Kevin James, better known as Kevin Lust," Holmes said. "He's the one I brought in for the Yolanda shoot yesterday when you were... unavailable."

​"He looks experienced," I said, though I barely looked at him. My eyes were locked on Salma's dragon tattoo as it disappeared and reappeared with her movements. She looked up, her eyes meeting mine for a split second through the steam and the camera lights, and she didn't break her rhythm. If anything, she worked harder.

​"Okay then, let's move on to the next set," Holmes chirped, sensing the tension.

​I followed him out, but I did it reluctantly, my neck craning for one last look at Salma. She was definitely on my list.

As we moved down the hallway, the air grew warmer, humming with the low vibration of the studio's HVAC system. Before we reached the next set, two more women emerged from a side door, heading toward the dressing rooms. They weren't wearing a stitch of clothing, walking with the casual, bored confidence of professionals who spent more time naked than dressed.

​The first was a tall, lithe brunette with skin the color of cream and coffee. She had an athletic, "yoga-body" build—long, toned limbs and a stomach so flat it was slightly concave between her hip bones. Her breasts were small and firm, barely moving as she walked, but it was her legs that stole the show. They seemed to go on forever, leading up to a landing strip of dark hair that disappeared into the tight, narrow slit of her thighs. She flicked a glance at me, her eyes a piercing, icy blue that contrasted sharply with her tan skin, and gave me a slow, knowing smirk.

​The girl following her was a complete contrast—a pocket-sized redhead with a fire-engine-red bob and a body that was nothing but soft, dangerous curves. She was much shorter, but she carried a massive amount of "assets" on her small frame. Her breasts were heavy and teardrop-shaped, swaying with every step, the large, dark areolas practically glowing against her pale, freckled skin. Below her tiny waist, her hips flared out into a wide, heart-shaped ass that jiggled hypnotically as she walked away from us.

​"New recruits?" I asked, my voice a bit deeper than usual.

​"The brunette is Jade," Holmes whispered, practically vibrating with pride. "Ex-gymnast. The redhead is Roxy. She's... well, as you can see, she's built for impact."

​Sasha cleared her throat loudly, crossing her arms over her chest. She had noticed the way my eyes had lingered on Roxy's swaying backside.

​"Don't get too distracted, Druski," Sasha muttered, her voice laced with a sudden, sharp edge of jealousy. "We have business to discuss, remember?"

​I just grinned, watching Jade and Roxy disappear into the dressing room. "I'm focused, Sasha. Just doing a little... quality control."

​"Perfect, perfect!" Holmes chirped, oblivious to the friction. "Now, this next room is where the real magic is happening. Mr. Hart, I believe you know our next performer quite well."

The moaning hit us before we even crossed the threshold—high-pitched, rhythmic, and sounding genuinely desperate. This wasn't the "for the camera" kind of noise; it sounded like someone was losing their mind.

​We stepped into the room, and the air was thick with the scent of lavender massage oil and raw heat. The lighting was dimmed, cast in a warm, amber glow that made the bodies on the central mattress look like living statues.

​On the oversized massage table, Willow and Jess were locked in a fierce, slick embrace. Willow was on her back, her pale skin glistening under a heavy coat of oil that made her every muscle definition pop. Her legs were thrown wide, and Jess was positioned between them, their bodies fused together in a tight, grinding scissor.

​Jess was a vision of pure, unadulterated lust. Her dark hair was damp with sweat, clinging to her neck as she arched her back, her heavy breasts swinging with the force of her movements. The oil made the friction between their pussies audible—a wet, messy sliding sound that filled the room. Jess was buried deep against Willow, their swollen folds mashed together as they searched for the perfect angle of clitoral contact.

​Willow's head was thumping back against the pillow, her eyes rolled into the back of her head, her fingers digging deep into Jess's firm, rounded ass.

​"Oh god, yes... right there, Jess... don't stop..." Willow whimpered, her voice breaking.

​Sasha leaned into my side, a playful, knowing smile tugging at her lips. She nudged me with her elbow, watching the way I couldn't take my eyes off the way Jess's thighs were tensed, her muscles trembling from the effort of the grind.

​I was stunned. I looked over at Holmes, who was standing there with his chest puffed out like a proud peacock.

​"What the fuck is she doing here?" I whispered, my voice sounding more like a growl. "How did you... how did you manage to get Jess?"

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