“Alexa, red lights,” Mistress Hex commands. 

Joe, a construction worker from Long Island, sits naked on a crucifix-like apparatus, his wrists and ankles chained. After hours of expensive kicks, jolts and a tube up the urethra that cost him $2,100 total, he is a mosaic of purples and gashes. 

Hex picks up a metal-studded whip. “Sing ‘Jingle Bells,’” she commands. “I’ve got really into Christmas this year,” she adds, gesturing to the Christmas tree and candy canes decorating her rented Bushwick dungeon.