Chapter 8: The Running Bussiness

After a few weeks, Mike noticed that their website’s traffic was indeed growing, but not quite at the rate he had hoped. He knew Ishawna had been in the game for years, her website a behemoth in the adult entertainment industry. Yet, something was happening. He noticed a trend—fans of Ishawna’s mainstream porn flocking to their site to catch a glimpse of the preparation process, the raw moments before the glamour and glitz. It was like watching a chef prepare a meal before it was served at a five-star restaurant. The allure of the behind-the-scenes was undeniable.

One evening, as Mike combed through the website’s analytics, he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of envy. Ishawna’s site had an established fanbase, a loyal following that had been built over time. His, on the other hand, was a newcomer, a young pup trying to find its place in the pack. But as he studied the numbers, he noticed that the engagement on their ‘Behind the Scenes’ section was off the charts. It seemed that the rawness of their content was striking a chord with viewers.

He sat back in his chair, the glow of the monitor casting a pale light across his face. The numbers didn’t lie—their unique approach was working. It was like watching a live feed of a celebrity’s life, only with more nudity and less censorship. The audience was hungry for authenticity, and he had unwittingly stumbled upon the secret ingredient.

Mike noticed that the most popular videos weren’t the ones showcasing the actual sex scenes but rather the preparations leading up to them. The viewers paid handsomely for a peek into the intimate rituals of the performers, the moments of vulnerability that were usually hidden from the public eye. The sight of Kate and Roxie stretching, applying lube, and preparing their bodies for the brutal scenes ahead was a stark contrast to the polished, unattainable images they presented in the final product. It was like watching a ballet dancer’s rehearsal before the grand performance—the beauty was in the effort.

The analytics didn’t lie. The more exhausted the pornstars looked after a shoot, the more downloads their videos received. It was a twisted form of validation for the performers, who had been taught that their value lay in their ability to endure. Mike couldn’t help but feel a mix of fascination and pity as he captured these moments. These were the scenes that made him question everything he knew about the adult film industry—the glamour, the money, the power dynamics. Yet, he knew that without these moments of raw humanity, their website would be just another drop in the vast, saturated ocean of porn.

As he continued to sift through the data, Mike couldn’t shake the realization that their website was indeed turning a profit. It wasn’t on the same level as Ishawna’s, but it was growing. And the best part? He wasn’t paying the artists or the crew a dime. The money was rolling in, and he had the luxury of keeping it all. It was a dirty secret, one that filled him with a sense of guilt and greed in equal measure. He knew that he was exploiting these women, using their bodies to line his pockets, but the allure of the power was too strong to resist.

Mike’s heart raced as he calculated the numbers. The website was becoming a cash cow, and it was all thanks to his ‘Behind the Scenes’ content. He had become a puppet master, orchestrating scenes of debauchery without ever having to dip into his own funds. It was a twisted game of supply and demand, and he was playing it to perfection. Yet, the thought of Ishawna’s success gnawed at him, her site a gleaming tower of professionalism next to his own grimy back alley affair.

He stared at the screen, the figure 100,000 glaring back at him in stark digits. It was a sum that could change everything—buy Helen’s freedom, elevate their status in the community, and maybe even allow them to walk away from it all. The thrill of power coursed through him, and he felt his cock stiffen in his pants. It was intoxicating, the idea that he could control the very thing that had once controlled him.

With trembling hands, Mike picked up his phone and dialed Roxie’s number. “We did it,” he breathed into the receiver, his voice a mix of excitement and disbelief. “We hit six figures.”

Roxie’s sultry laughter filled his ear. “I knew we would,” she said. “The people can’t get enough of the realness we’re serving.”

Mike felt a surge of excitement at her words. He had been right; their candid approach was resonating with the viewers. But the thrill was quickly followed by a cold dose of reality.

“Two hundred thousand,” Roxie said, her voice low and serious. “That’s what Big Daddy wants for Helen. We’re halfway there, but we need to double down.”

Mike’s heart sank. He had thought they were closer to their goal. The weight of the debt felt like a noose tightening around his neck, a constant reminder of the precarious balance they were walking. “How did you find out?” he managed to ask, his voice tight.

Roxie’s eyes darkened as she recounted her encounter with Quinshay. She had been at the club, watching the wrestling matches, when she saw him slip the envelope into Tivonte’s hand. The look on Quinshay’s face was one of smug satisfaction, as if he enjoyed being the middle man in their twisted arrangement. “So Big Daddy’s got her,” she had said, “but I’ll make sure she’s treated right under his protection. For a price, of course.” The transaction had been swift and silent, but the message was clear: Helen was property to be bought and sold.

Mike’s stomach churned at the thought of his mother in Big Daddy’s clutches, her fate decided by a handshake and a wad of cash. “We need to double our efforts,” Roxie said, her voice urgent. “We have to show the fans we’re serious.”

“How do we do that?” Mike asked, his eyes never leaving the screen.

Roxie leaned closer, her hand tracing circles on his arm. “We need to up the ante,” she whispered, her breath warm against his ear. “We’ve got to give them something they’ve never seen before.”

Mike swallowed hard, his eyes meeting hers. “What are you suggesting?”

Roxie’s smile was wicked, a spark of mischief lighting up her eyes. “I’m saying,” she purred, “that we need to get creative. You’ve got a knack for capturing the essence of the moment, the raw emotion. Why not take it to the next level?”

Mike’s mind raced. He knew what she was suggesting—a step further into the abyss, a move that would blur the lines between art and exploitation even more. But the prize was so close, the number on the screen taunting him with its proximity. “You want me to ... participate?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Roxie agreed. “The fans want to feel like they’re part of the experience. What better way to give it to them than to let them see you fuck one of the performers?” She leaned in, her breath hot against his ear. “Hold the camera, Mike. Make them feel like they’re right there with you, watching every thrust, every gasp.”

The idea was both terrifying and exhilarating. He had never been the one in front of the camera, had always been content to stand on the sidelines, to capture the moments without becoming one himself. But the thought of being the one to drive the performers to their limits, to push the boundaries of their depraved narrative, was too tempting to ignore.

“Okay. But what about Ishawna?” Mike asked, his voice laced with hesitation. “The performers are under her contract, and we’re shooting at her studio.”

Roxie’s laughing. “Don’t worry about her,” she said. “Our little website has been good for her business too. You know how much she loves promoting her movies. She’s been getting more hits thanks to us, and she knows it.”

Mike’s pulse quickened as Roxie’s words sank in. It was true; their raw, unfiltered content had indeed brought more eyes to Ishawna’s productions. He knew she was savvy enough to see the mutual benefit in their partnership. “I’ll talk to her,” Mike said, his voice filled with newfound confidence. “I think she’ll be open to the idea.”

Mike agreed, his thoughts racing. Roxie’s suggestion was bold, but it made sense. The performers under Ishawna’s management were looking for exposure, and what better way to give it to them than through their website? It was a win-win situation—they would gain more content for their site, and Ishawna’s performers would get the publicity they craved. Plus, it would help solidify their alliance with the powerful producer.

The next day, Mike approached Ishawna with the idea. She listened intently, her eyes never leaving his face as he spoke. When he finished, she leaned back in her chair, her expression unreadable. “You’re onto something, Mike,” she said finally, her voice a smooth purr. “My performers are always looking for new ways to showcase their ... talents. And if it brings more eyes to my productions, I’m all for it.”

Mike felt a mix of relief and excitement. He knew that with Ishawna’s blessing, they could push the boundaries even further. She slid a contract across the desk, her long, manicured nails glinting in the fluorescent lights of the office. “Everyone who steps in front of your camera signs away their rights to that content. It’s all in here,” she said, tapping the document with a finger. “Their bodies are mine, to use as I please. And by extension, if I agree to be a part of your little project, they’re also yours.”

Mike picked up the contract, his heart racing as he skimmed the legal jargon. It was a declaration of power, a stark reminder of the control they wielded in this twisted world. He looked up at Ishawna, her expression a blend of amusement and challenge. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that with this contract which they have signed, I can showcase the performers in any way I wish,” Ishawna clarified, her eyes gleaming. “Their bodies are my canvas, and now, with your unique style, they can be yours too.”

Mike’s gaze was drawn to the paper, a sudden understanding of the power dynamics in the room making his skin crawl. He knew that the women signed these contracts with the hope of fame and fortune, but the reality was often much darker. Yet, the thought of being able to use that power to push their website to new heights was too tempting to ignore.

“I get it,” he said, his voice a little too eager. “It’s all about control, isn’t it?”

Ishawna’s smile grew wider, showing her perfectly white teeth. “Exactly,” she said. “The beauty of this business is that everyone thinks they’re in charge until they realize they’re just a piece of the puzzle.” She leaned forward, her eyes never leaving Mike’s. “But with this contract, you become the master of the puzzle.”

Mike took a deep breath, feeling the weight of her words. He knew that crossing this line meant embracing a side of the industry he had only ever observed from afar. But the promise of saving Helen was too great to ignore. “Okay,” he said, signing his name with a flourish. “I understand now.”

Ishawna’s smile was knowing. “Good,” she said, sliding the contract back towards her. “The first rule of being a successful producer is knowing what sells. You’ve tapped into something unique with your ‘Behind the Scenes’ content. But the real trick is understanding how to commodify the performers without losing their humanity. Or, at least, without them knowing you’ve taken it.”