The pornstar talent agency, Nexxxt Level, that represents Stormy Daniels and 2 of the women who spoke out against Derek Hay to the California Labor Board sounds just as horrible as ATMLA and LA Direct Models.

PNT commentary: It’s rather interesting that the testimony below, written by an adult actress known as Vera King, popped up on MikeSouth.com (a blog which is controlled by The Luxury Companion), but if it’s accurate and truthful – without a doubt Nexxxt Level Talent Agency is an operation to avoid (just as ATMLA and LA Direct Models are – in the opinion of the Porn News Today team).

It will be interesting to see if Stormy Daniels, Zoe Sparx and Gia Milana (formerly Shay Evans) remain with Nexxxt Level – as the events outlined in the excerpts below from Vera’s testimony are HORRIFIC (in fact, if you’re easily triggered, you should not read the excerpts below).

excerpts of Vera King’s story from MikeSouth.com

The two men—let’s call them “Jekyll” and “Hyde” laid on the agent charm. (I’ve decided to change some names of people and places because, spoiler alert, I’m still an active performer in the industry. The stories, however, are all true to my experiences.) Jekyll was tall and bearded, and would have been imposing like a bouncer if it wasn’t for his cuddly teddy-bear jollity. Hyde, on the other hand, was thin and tall, with a booming voice he clearly was enamored of. Together, they told me, had over 40 years of experience in the adult entertainment industry. Aside from working as agents, they were also “award-winning” directors and performers.

That first meeting was going very well, so they invited me back to their office—which was actually Hyde’s apartment at the time—for the next step. “Eventually,” they said, “you are going to have to take off all your clothes”—so why not speed up the process? It was time to put up or shut up. Was I ready to cross the line from writer to sex worker?

Turns out I was. I mustered the courage to drive to Hyde’s apartment in Woodland Hills (they worked from their apartments “to avoid overhead costs,” they explained). They closed the curtains and asked me to undress.

As I stood naked before them, they immediately started assessing my body: “great stomach, toned, etc.” But, apparently, I “needed to do more squats.” The not-particularly fit Hyde said: “I want your ass as toned as a 15-year-old gymnast.” Men who watched porn,” they explained, “preferred “feminine attributes like long hair and a tight ass. I want your ass so tight you could flip a coin off it.”

The next day, Hyde texted me and asked me to drive to his apartment to further discuss things. When I arrived, I realized he was alone and his tone had shifted from professional to personal. Hyde spoke longingly about his own days as a performer. Then he said he was worried about me because I seemed “sweet and submissive,” while “a successful porn star should be more dominant to avoid getting taken advantage of.” However, he added, he personally enjoyed a “natural submissive” and then proceeded to kiss me.

I froze. Had I really stepped into the old “casting couch” cliché, right there in a non-descript two-bedroom apartment in the Valley? At least in the made-up casting couch porn scenes, the girls are getting the regular rate. I hadn’t even signed their contract yet.

I told him that I needed more time to think, and he walked me to the door. Later that evening, when I was walking my dog, Hyde texted me. “When we were together today did you wonder if I was going to kiss you?”

I couldn’t tell if he was attempting to be romantic or if he was gaslighting me.

“I wasn’t expecting it,” I texted back, cautiously. “I don’t want to complicate anything right now.” It was true—I didn’t know how to respond without jeopardizing potential job opportunities. I had, of course, wondered if I was going to have to suck agent dick in order to get work (duh), but once I was confronted with the reality, I was unsure how to proceed.

“Don’t create stories in your mind that have nothing to do with the reality that you live in,” he replied. OK—now it was gaslighting.

“I want to keep things professional,” I wrote back.

“No rush here. If we watched porn together, that would be fun.”

Because I wasn’t getting booked, Jekyll’s fiancée suggested I take a job dancing topless at a club in the Valley. I had never been topless in a room full of strangers whom I had to charm into tipping me before. I was now experiencing a second kind of sex work, swaying my hips and breasts at a grungy titty bar in Winnetka for crumpled-up dollar bills. Hyde, who continued being passive-aggressive towards me while not getting me shoots, kept theorizing that I wasn’t made for the job and that I would eventually find a man to take care of me and quit porn.

Even though I received positive feedback from fans and directors, my agents barely got me one scene a month. Sometimes, Hyde would book me for a job and then they’d mysteriously cancel. A casting director told me that when he requested to book me, Hyde had offered him his girlfriend, instead. To make ends meet, I poured at a winery on the weekends.

Hyde—who by now was single-handedly running the agency because Jekyll’s fiancée wanted them to start a family—made me an offer that I was too broke to refuse. Legal Porno is a Europe-based brand that shoots in Prague. They are known for hiring U.S. talent, flying them over, and paying high rates, if the talent explicitly agrees to extreme sexual stunts, often involving degradation.

“Lexi,” said Hyde (I was still Lexi). “It’s three anal scenes, but you have to agree to at least try double anal for one of them.” He told me I would make $10,000, and that the opportunity will lead to more work, and put me on the map.

“Let’s face it: there is no other company that is going to offer you this amount of money for your first anal. No company in the Valley cares about a MILF’s first anal,” Hyde scoffed.

We drove for an hour or two into the countryside listening to Madonna songs and hits from the early 2000s. We arrived at an industrial building in a one-street, one-grocery-store rural town with no English speakers besides one gentleman working for Legal Porno, which appeared to be the town’s largest employer.

I was led up three flights of stairs to a room with bunk beds and a single window with a view of the parking lot. The hardwood floors were covered with dirty laundry, monster-sized dildos, and enemas. The shower looked like it had never been scrubbed. The top bunk was bare and the driver searched for clean sheets. Afterward, he asked me if I wanted to have sex with him, and I replied no. My dream European vacation was resembling more the beginning of a Blumhouse horror movie or an early Eli Roth film.

My hosts owned a washer but no dryer or air conditioner. I returned home from my trip, covered in bites from what I hope were bed bugs. This was worse than camp—it was anal boot camp. Turns out the Czech August is hot and humid in the day, and cold at night. My American roommate (let’s call her Angel) and I were lucky to have a private shower. The two European models who were at Legal Porno’s version of a bed and breakfast, had to use the communal showers. I asked the other performers and makeup artists who wiped down the furniture or cleaned up after the scenes. They just laughed.

That first night, my agents texted me that my first scene would be with “D.J.”, a European performer I had never met, and the director I will call him Alain, who spoke no English. I introduced myself to D.J. the night before our scene and told him that I was brand new to anal and to “please be gentle.” Consent in porn should be negotiated clearly, but isolated in an industrial building somewhere outside of Prague, there was a language barrier on top of a cultural barrier. I stayed awake all night staring at the ceiling.

The guys slept downstairs and Angel told me to keep the door locked at night. When I woke up the next morning, I noticed that the male performers were walking around naked. One nude male performer I had never met before pushed me into the wardrobe closet and tried forcing my head down. I just pushed him off me and went on to my scene.

Director Alain didn’t speak English and, compared to U.S. directors, had no idea how to do his job. “No one on set speaks English,” Angel had warned me. “You have to stick up for yourself.”

D.J. wore a tribal necklace and jewelry around his wrists, and was peculiarly obsessed about me being “clean.” He weirdly insisted on using his penis to test that my butt was spotless before the scene. Angel had warned me that the male performers here “shot up their cocks” and it wasn’t like in the States. This was the first time I had heard this term. D.J. injected his penis with some kind of substance to make himself rock-hard, and, while he was not gentle as I had requested, it was OK. I had survived my first Legal Porno anal scene.

The DP was supposed to be a 45-minute, uncut shot, but it ended up lasting over five hours. An increasingly frustrated D.J. became violent. After I tried to tell him that I would not relent to anal sex off camera because I was sore, he kicked a water bottle across the room, then went downstairs and hit a punching bag until he was drenched in sweat. He paced up and down the stairs, sweating, huffing, and puffing.

I was terrified and exhausted from hours of on and off anal penetration. After taking a 20-minute shower while we sat on set waiting for him, D.J. returned he could only perform if the sex was anal. He said that it was my fault there was “no chemistry.” I wanted it to be over, and Alain told me to “do what D.J. said” and then we could finish the scene. It went on and on. If I grimaced in pain, then Alain would stop shooting and tell me to smile. “Ten more minutes,” he kept saying. I couldn’t feel anything. I texted my agents that the shoot had no end in sight, but received no reply until the next day.

Finally, after receiving a pair of injections in each side of his penis, D.J. was finally ready to finish. He ejaculated in my ass without pulling out, and the director told me to push it out and lick it up. I did what he said to finish the goddamn scene.

Afterward, I sat on the floor of the shower and cried.

 I thought if I could pretend everything was fine, then I could just move on with my life. After I landed, I pretended nothing had happened. I told anyone who asked me about the trip that I was “fine.”

My physical injuries didn’t become apparent to me until a few days later. I felt bruised inside. I was bleeding with my bowel movements, so I went to urgent care.

The doctors inserted a small camera inside me and found my rectum was infected. Treating it was another ordeal, more painful than anything I had experienced on set. I spent weeks soaking in Epsom salt baths to alleviate the pain.

I developed a purple-blistering rash on my elbows, knuckles, and knees and the doctor called it a textbook allergic reaction to the antibiotic Doxycycline. Psychologically, the toll was also great. The experience re-triggered my panic attacks. I awoke at night soaked in sweat.

Ah, the money. When I returned, the promised $10,000 had mysteriously turned into $4,800. Legal Porno had paid Jekyll and Hyde $6,600 and they had given me less than half of what I had been offered initially after subtracting agency fees.

Hyde, gaslighting again, said that he never promised me $10k. I told him that he intentionally sent me into a high-risk situation and misled me. Hyde kept blaming me for the shitshow scenario in the Czech Republic. He insisted it was “just business” and I wasn’t even qualified for the “kiddy pool” since I was being a “baby” and that I “lacked drive” to thrive in the industry. I wanted to tell Hyde to take two dicks up his ass.