Photo by Patrik Rytikangas

The most illustrious torture chambers are far from cozy (think the Bastille or the Tower of London) and are usually known for their iron maidens, rusty chains and dank interiors. But one lair, located in the depths of a two-bedroom Financial District duplex, looks as if it sprang from the pages of Martha Stewart Living rather than the stories of the Marquis de Sade. As its owner—a 33-year-old female pornographer, teacher and ten-year disciple of BDSM (bondage, domination, sadism/submission and masochism) who goes by Domina M—explains, “I try to keep mine more homey.” In the larger of her two fetishistic rooms, which she calls Dreamland, mustard-hued chiffon curtains, bronze filigree and matching candleholders scored from discount emporium Daffy’s share space with Japanese nipple clamps, leather whips (organized from “lighter to heavier flogging”) and surprisingly plush vinyl-covered pieces from L.A. fantasy furniture supplier Sonny Black—including a Black Stallion spanking bench and a worship throne where vassals can kiss her shoes. “I like to control people’s sensations, so that’s why my furniture’s so comfortable,” M says. But of course, long manacles dangle from the ceiling for full-body suspension (M actually prefers Home Depot rope), an archfeminine dresser brims with medieval-looking medical gadgetry, and wooden stocks promise old-fashioned corporeal punishment.