Jo paced the creaking wooden floorboards of the old seafood warehouse at VXD Enterprises. Zarina sat beside her in the glass office. No filming was currently going on below them on the production set floor; the space was empty. This meeting was just between the founders.

“Our page hits are doing really well,” said Zarina, “the website traffic is growing month by month, and memberships are up.”

“We have to give women what they want,” said Jo, “but it can be tricky to figure that out. I think doing that survey of our current members is a good idea.”

“Well, we know what they don’t want, which is more low-budget, tacky porn aimed at men,” said Zarina, “there’s plenty of that already. Taking a look at the numbers, here’s what we have: besides the obvious top hits on our dominatrix video series, our members like the erotic short stories. They like the erotica fanfic reviews, and the ‘best of indie feminist porn’ series.”

“They seem to be coming to us to curate the web for them in terms of what is hot for women,” said Jo. “Ninety-five percent of what’s out there is disgusting for women to look at. It’s derogatory, a turn-off, and basically jack-off material for guys.”

“Mostly guys with crappy taste,” said Zarina. “I actually feel bad for guys with good taste in porn. They have to look pretty hard, pardon the pun, to find the really high-quality material. Production quality is horrendous. The music alone. Agh.”

“Being able to produce enough new original material is a challenge as usual,” said Jo, “and it’s expensive as shit. We’re paying Kevin to shoot, and then we have the production staff, and of course these actresses and actors, who think it’s fucking Broadway around here.”

“Right?” said Zarina, with a soft snorting sound. “They’re getting paid, and it’s not some disgusting low-budget porn, so there are worse gigs, that’s for sure. But this is an island on the Eastern Shore of Maryland, so I’m not sure why they think they’d be getting top dollar like they’re in L.A. or New York. Seriously, guys, if you can go there and make that kind of money, by all means, be our guest.”

“Also, we’re offering them the opportunity to establish themselves with an online presence and following that they can make real money off of in time,” said Jo. “They can go off and start their little ‘Montana’s Hooters Dot Com’ crap sites later when someone gives a shit.”

“Yeah, right now they just want to watch her slap a dude around and they don’t care who she is,” laughed Zarina.

Jo smiled. “As you are well aware, we would never refer to the dominant-submissive relationship in the community as ‘slapping a dude around.’ Very disrespectful.”

Zarina rolled her eyes. “Joking, of course. Besides, as a married woman who owns a coffee shop in a small town, you know I’m just a business partner who runs the website and not a very active member in the ‘community.’”

“I know,” said Jo. “It’s actually better for us. You give us the ‘vanilla outsiders’ perspective. Though I wouldn’t mind seeing you around our side of the community once in a while to get some perspective.”

Jo raised one perfectly mascara-applied eyelash at Zarina.

“Happy to be of service, O Dominatrix-in-Chief,” said Zarina, giving a fake salute, but noticing the sexy glance. “Vanillaheads unite. But you know I haven’t always been a hundred percent straight girl.”

“Really?” said Jo, eyebrows raised. “Not sure you’ve told me that story. I’d love to hear it. You did mention something about your mom not being the straightest arrow, back when I met her that one time. In fact, I wish we could get your hot mom the college professor down here to act in a scene or two,” said Jo, motioning toward the filming room floor.

“Oh, God no. Are you kidding me?” said Zarina. “My mom wouldn’t come near this place. She isn’t into any of this kinky shit! She was just here that one time with me to check out the island and you know I had to lie about what we do here. Besides, she’s actually taking a sabbatical from the college.”

“Oh?” asked Jo. “Where to?”

“Said she needed to get away from the small-town drama crap,” said Zarina with a laugh. “She took off to the Caribbean for a semester to work on a novel. I can’t blame her. Last affair she had in this town was with this nutty accountant slash blogger girl named Rachel up in Keytown who ended up in jail briefly for illegal prescription drugs and then ultimately landed herself in rehab right here on the island.”

“Oh, you mean ‘The Keytown Mouse’ who was all over the local papers?” asked Jo. “Everyone knew who she was. Her sister lives on the island too. It was a big deal when she went to rehab here, like we were getting a Kardashian or something. One of the sound engineers was just talking about how she just got out of rehab and is hanging around here on the island at her sister’s house. The sister’s boyfriend is apparently a lowlife though. Ah yes, Rachel is her name, the one who broke up the big swinger sex ring in your smutty town!”

“Wonder why she didn’t go back to Keytown when she got out of rehab. Yeah, our town is never boring,” said Zarina, “let me assure you. The very famous Scarlet Letter Society who Rachel was so set on destroying for some reason used to meet in my humble little coffee shop. The one my husband is currently gracious enough to be operating so I can be here with your lovely self running this erotica empire.”

“Well, then I don’t think I’d be giving away any national secrets to divulge that one of my best friends, Eva, is a founding member of that secret scarlet society,” said Jo with a wink. “I’ve never mentioned it before to you because it’s such an exclusive group.”

Zarina smiled. “I love those ladies, all three. I really got to know them during the many early morning meetings they spent at my place. Even opened the shop early for them.”

“I’ve never had a chance to meet Maggie or Lisa,” said Jo, “but Eva talks about them all the time and I am sure I would enjoy getting a chance to meet them one day.”

“They’re both great,” said Zarina. “And I’m sure you will have the opportunity, since Maggie’s getting married right here on the island over Labor Day weekend.”

“Oh, of course, I should’ve remembered that from Eva—she’s so excited,” said Jo. “I’m sure the wedding will be lovely at Sharps Island Inn. Everything there is perfect.”

“I’ve never been out there but I’ve heard wonderful things,” said Zarina. “I know Maggie is really happy.”

“Well, our own Kevin had a blast over there one weekend filming one of Dale and Ron’s wilder big gay weddings,” said Jo. “He had to hire two extra videographers. When the whole video with the music and everything was done it was quite the production and ended up with half a million views on YouTube. Listen to this: they filled the pool with rainbow Jell-O and whipped cream, complete with a layer of rainbow sprinkles on top.”

“A half million views? Holy crap! How did they even?” began Zarina, laughing. “I want to jump into that pool filled with rainbow whipped cream!”

“Who doesn’t?” said Jo. “I’d be in that pool party. That had to be a challenge figuring out how to make it happen, but it was so well edited with the music and everything by the end—I’m sure it made for a great keepsake wedding video for the happy grooms and their guests. And, you know, the Internet.”

“Well, we managed to get way off topic,” said Zarina. “Rainbow whipped cream will do that to a business meeting.”

“Derails it every time,” said Jo. “OK, what I was going to suggest is that we take a look at that SEO consulting proposal we got so we can optimize social media to match the keywords that are performing best. And I’d like to take a look at partnering with a few select websites that are running extremely high-quality video. If we streamed some really high-quality fetish stuff in our sidebar it would increase the amount of our content without increasing our production costs.”

“So basically it would be advertising for the other sites?” asked Zarina. “What’s the revenue model for that?”

“We need to think about the possibilities,” answered Jo. “Could we do an exchange with the other sites or should we simply charge them for the space on our page? It’s going to depend on traffic. Maybe we could run a “Kinkiest Video of the Day” feature in the upper right corner but charge it as a premium ad spot? Or run it as an affiliate ad?”

“I was thinking we could bring in that web ad consulting company from Keytown to make recommendations on profitability now that we are at a point where the site has really taken off traffic-wise and we are starting to see a big return on investment,” suggested Zarina. “Let them give us some ideas on how to manage content from an advertising perspective, handle SEO, and optimize profitability. Start making some real money on this thing.”

As the women spoke, a scene was being set below them on the filming room floor. Sound technicians were setting up microphones. A huge, four-post steel cage bondage bed was being assembled. Kevin had arrived to supervise the production. Two actresses, bedecked in matching leather bustiers, booty shorts, spiked gladiator heels, and a mixed variety of tattoos waited on nearby stools, water bottles in hand. Four men in bathrobes arrived intermittently. It was to be a complicated production, with a large camera dolly perched above the set to circle the scene and capture the action. Leather straps and metal chain links were suspended from the top rails of the bed that could be adjusted and tightened by the actresses.

The men were preparing to be handcuffed to the four posts of the bed wherein the dominatrices would do what they simply did best: dominate them. A metal cart not unlike a wardrobe rack was rolled into place offering an array of harnesses, belts, suede and leather floggers, spanking paddles, nipple clamps, bondage hoods and blindfolds, and other miscellaneous tools of the BDSM trade used in filmmaking.

Kevin looked up at Jo in the booth and she smiled down at him. He lowered his eyes, smiling at the ground.

Zarina caught the exchange.

“I don’t mean to be nosy,” she began. “And it’s certainly none of my business… but…”

“Yes?” asked Jo. “Is there something you wanted to ask me?”

Zarina looked at her, trying to read her tone. Jo was an interesting character. The two women had been business partners for less than a year. They’d met in the most random of circumstances. Jo had been in Keytown for a teachers’ conference and come into Zoomdweebies coffee shop. The two had struck up a conversation that turned into a debate about women and porn. They’d ended up exchanging email addresses and keeping in touch over social media and a “what if” conversation about starting a classy, sexy website for women had become a series of meet-ups and coffees and planning sessions and eventually blossomed into VXD Enterprises. It was an investment of time and labor and money. They’d become friends in the process, but essentially they were business partners first.

Jo laughed. “You’re going to ask me about Kevin.”

“I don’t need to ask you about Kevin if you don’t want me to,” said Zarina, ever the laid-back chick in the room. She pulled her long black hair into a ponytail so she’d have something to do with her hands. She adjusted her glasses on the end of her nose, unnecessarily. Her dark eyes barely hid the twinkle.

“Oh my God, will you stop fidgeting,” said Jo, play-slapping at Zarina’s hand. “Look, it’s no big deal. I mean I think I might have a little crush on our director, that’s all.”

“That’s all, huh?” said Zarina, giving Jo a playful nod. “OK, then. Moving on. I declare this business meeting a success.”

“Yes, I don’t think we can continue to discuss search engine optimization while these four gentlemen are about to get assless chaps put on them, do you?” asked Jo playfully.

“Not with straight faces,” said Zarina. “I’m just the webmaster. I’ll leave the other master stuff up to you!”

“Oh, come on,” said Jo. “One of these days, I’m going to get you down to the dungeon to try out some of the gear just for fun.”

Zarina’s naturally olive complexion instantly turned a pasty white.

“If I was really honest with myself I would admit I’ve been curious at times,” Zarina replied. “I used to joke that the words ‘dungeon’ and ‘fun’ didn’t belong in the same sentence, but I’ve put so many videos on the website that I’ve wondered a few times….what it might be like, or what it might feel like to try…”

Her face blushed as she looked at Jo, and suddenly she felt self-conscious around her much more confident partner.

Jo laughed heartily. “Whoa, down, girl. I’m certainly not going to drag you down to the dungeon and make you my sex slave against your will. But anytime you’d like to come down and play, you just let me know.”

Zarina looked at her, then glanced down at the filming room floor, where things were swinging into high gear. The actresses had been given final touches with hair and makeup by the local cosmetology school student who was talented but not overpriced. The four actors had received thin coatings of coconut oil, which gave them attractive muscular sheens on camera without making them “too slippery” for applying punishment and bondage equipment. The lighting assistant, currently majoring in theatre at the local community college, who had learned the skill during dozens of community theatre productions, also talented but inexpensive, had adjusted the spotlights again while silently cursing the daylight for inconsistently fading in and out (these damn storms, coming and going, he’d complained, how the fuck am I supposed to run these lights when the natural light won’t stay the same for five fucking seconds?).

“I do love to watch,” Zarina said. “And actually my husband, Stanley, also loves to watch later the same evening we film. Your ‘scary’ dungeon is hot as hell from my perch up here in this glass room, Jo.”

“I don’t think anyone who experiences it thinks my dungeon is truly scary,” said Jo. “Especially the satisfied clients who spend a great deal of money to spend private session time there with me.”

“You mean your ‘film students’ for the purposes of our VXD Enterprises business, of course,” said Zarina, winking at her.

“Of course,” said Jo. “I’m a teacher, after all.”

“I know they learn a great deal from you during class time,” said Zarina.

“You’re damn straight they do,” said Jo. She walked over to Zarina, passing behind her in the control booth, and brushed one single finger across Zarina’s right wrist, where it was resting on the control panel, for the briefest of seconds. It could have seemed like an accident, but both women knew it was not. “So keep my invitation to the dungeon in mind, business partner, in case you are ever interested in learning a little bit more about that aspect of how the business is run.”

Zarina could feel the shiver start in her wrist and run straight up her arm and down her neck to her nipples, which immediately responded by hardening ever slightly. She took in a breath, swallowing hard. She couldn’t believe Jo had such a magnetic effect on everything she touched.

Jo picked up a headset from the hook above the control panel so she could communicate with Kevin on the filming floor.

“Are you ready for some music down there, Mr. Executive Director?” asked Jo.

“Yes, ma’am,” he responded. “That is, yes, Madame Executive Producer.”

Jo used the main sound controls and turned on music that wouldn’t be heard on the film but that the actors could hear as they got ready to begin filming: “Sadeness” by Enigma.

Jo sat down. It went against everything in her nature as a dominatrix to let Kevin take control of the scene below her. As far as Zarina knew, she was a dominatrix for fun, for filming, for show. As what was referred to as a true “vanilla,” Zarina had no idea of the extent of the dominant-submissive lifestyle.

Jo had been a dominatrix since she discovered that the lifestyle existed—since high school. She’d been a movie junkie; she’d seen 9 1/2 Weeks and gone looking for less-famous yet very powerful movies like Secretary and The Piano Teacher, but it was her college literature minor that led her to explore (outside the classroom, of course) the works of Bataille and Masoch and their examinations of pleasure and pain. She was bothered by some of the anti-feminist messages in the works, though she tried to attribute them to the time periods in which they were written. She always wished she could find more works written by women—she’d devoured everything ever written by Anais Nin and longed for more.

She glanced down to the film set, to these part-time actresses who knew nothing about the true meaning of the domme-sub lifestyle. It didn’t matter. They weren’t here for that. The website was for entertainment. Clients who came to her privately—not Kevin, he was a plaything, really a little project she’d taken on just for her own pleasure and fun, whom she happened to have developed some feelings for, despite her normal policies—did so because they needed and respected that world. Not because they saw Fifty Shades of whatever a few years back and they wanted to be tied up. That wasn’t even close to what this world was all about. Cute neckties and “oh my”? Not quite.

Pleasure that comes from pain is real, Jo thought as she looked down at the women attaching the heavy handcuffs to the men, who looked bored. People who give pain and people who seek it find each other like creeks find rivers and rivers find oceans; they just do. The websites and the clubs are there and people form relationships not by virgins stumbling into billionaires’ offices, but because they carefully select one another through very rigorous screening processes. They sign detailed contracts. Jo was here to provide them because they trusted her and they trusted one another, they sought and found one another out of a deep and abiding need for these dominant-submissive relationships that went deep into their psyches, into who they were because they had discovered it was how they found their release and passion.

Kevin had never been a submissive before. He took to it naturally and he seemed very, very happy in the role; a natural. This was something he’d needed his whole life and hadn’t even known it. She looked at him now. He brushed a hand haphazardly through that sexy salt-and-pepper hair as he pointed out the camera angle he wanted to the camerawoman. His brows were furrowed in concentration and his white linen shirt was slightly wrinkled. She felt her own body respond to him; her nipples stiffened slightly and she felt a longing rush to the center of her thighs as she thought of their many hours of pleasure together, and she sat up straight, fighting off the images. It was odd to see him in control. That was her role. She bit her lip, hard, to stop herself from getting on the headset or physically going down the steps to take charge of the scene before her, but it literally was not her job and she knew that as a true leader, she would let her employee do his work or risk affecting the outcome.

She was pleased to see the actresses engaged in a heavy make-out session; she hadn’t known they were a couple, or hell, for all she knew, they had just been bored waiting. Either way, they were getting themselves “fluffed up” for the scene. One of the men was watching his phone and masturbating, common prep for a scene. Two of the guys were watching the women and the fourth guy was busy getting locked into position at the ankles. Kevin was telling them “two minutes” and it looked like they were about to have a pretty good show, even though the lighting guy was making adjustments and whining again about the cloudy sky; natural light through those high windows was always better.

Suddenly a call came into to the control room. It was Lorena, the producer.

“Uh, Houston, we have a problem,” said Lorena, who also happened to be a psychic when she wasn’t filming fetish orgy bondage scenes for Vixenden.club.

“What’s up, Lorena?” asked Jo into her mic. She looked down at the filming room floor trying to visually find what the problem might be.

“It’s Abu,” said Lorena, who had walked over to a corner of the filming room floor and was speaking softly into her headset so as not to be overhead. “He’s meowing again. I told you I had a bad feeling about this guy the first day he came in here with the meowing.”

“Oh no,” said Zarina. “Lorena is never wrong about anyone. She warned us about this Abu guy, that he was going to get freaky.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” said Jo. “Kevin, could you come up to the booth please?”

“Of course, Jo,” said Kevin through his headset. She watched him immediately hustle upstairs.

Jo and Zarina watched as Lorena returned to the set and to the tall, handcuffed man at one corner of the bed.

“Kevin, what is this guy’s deal? We’ve talked about this before!” said Jo. “Can we get him under control?”

“Oh my God, he brought his silk bag, and he has the anal beads out again,” said Zarina.

“Look, he’s the best guy we have in scenes sex-wise,” said Kevin, “he’s hot on film, once we can get him settled down. But you know he has this anal cat fetish thing, and we just need to get past that.”

“And he doesn’t speak any English,” said Jo. “How did we even end up with Abu the meowing cat anal fetish guy? Someone remind me. Jesus.”

Zarina and Kevin looked at each other, knowing laughter would be an appropriate response to that question in literally any other scenario in the universe, but they didn’t want to risk Jo raging at them, especially with an entire scene about to be filmed downstairs, so they looked down, avoiding additional eye contact and fighting the urge to break into hysterics.

“I think the thing to do is just let him have one of his toys,” said Kevin. “That’s worked in the past and it won’t affect the scene, and it usually stops the meowing.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” said Zarina, “and it will get the production underway again quickly with the least amount of hassle.”

“MEOWWRGGHHMEOOOOWWWW!!!” said Abu, dressed in nothing but his shackled ankle cuffs, from below them on the filming room floor. His coconut-oiled prick stood at straight attention, and he waved his red white and blue anal beads around in the air like he was about to lasso the bull at the rodeo.

Lorena threw her hands skyward in the direction of the control booth. The other actors exhibited a range of emotions—from shock (two hadn’t done a scene with Abu before) to annoyance and eye rolls (two had) to helpfulness—one actress simply grabbed the anal beads and raised her hand, a gesture of gracious voluntarism. “Could we just shove the damn thing up his ass so we can shut him the fuck up, get to work, and get home sometime today?”

“Go for it,” said Jo over the loudspeaker system. “Candy to the rescue, everyone. Let’s get started.”

“Meow,” said Abu, quietly.

Lorena shook her head, headed back to her filming position. “We can only hope someone listens to me about the hurricane we have coming at the end of this summer,” she told Jo through her microphone, “but probably no one will. Day in the life of a damn psychic. We know and we tell you and still no one listens.”

Kevin looked at Jo and Zarina with a smile and said, “I remember when I was a Naval Academy pilot,” and walked downstairs to the film set.

“I’m a goddamn kindergarten teacher,” said Jo, shaking her head. “I could be cutting out the alphabet in primary colors right now.”

“I own a coffee shop,” said Zarina with a smile. “But we just have to laugh.”

“Or we’ll all go mad,” said Jo. “Maybe we should think about making a special fetish video starring Assbu next time.”