Free Use Inc: It's a Small, Kinky World

A crowd gathered in one corner of the dungeon. This wasn't unusual on any given night the dungeon was open to the public. There were always a handful of demonstrations that pulled onlookers in for a variety of reasons. It could have been Marty's rope work. People loved watching him rig, tying his partners to a post or suspending them from a winch. It's truly beautiful to watch so I couldn't blame anyone for crowding. It could be Loren with her cadre of human furniture. Pete and his fire cups? I couldn't recall what other stations were active tonight. As more attendees packed around the same area, my curiosity finally got the better of me.

Truly masters in the local kink community, Heather and Jai were absolute shit with their books. I often help friends and local small businesses with their taxes and one day, they reached out. Someone had accused them of shady business practices and threatened to get their business audited across the board. They didn't know who they could turn to for help without having a lot of explaining to do about how they make their money. They told me they got my name from someone in "the scene" who promised I wouldn't judge or ask stupid questions. I help a lot of sex workers file their taxes so I assumed one of them passed along my name and number.

They were honest from the start. One year ago, they decided to start a community dungeon and have successfully run it based off of membership dues, educational workshops that teach about safety and informed consent, as well as other practices that largely stay behind closed doors. They asked if I could help organize their records enough that the numbers made sense to any outsider looking them over.

And that outsider would not be compelled to dig any deeper or ask any questions.

I'm happy to help business owners that help people understand their sexual needs and connect with others like them. Consenting adults should be allowed to seek out pleasure between themselves--even when that pleasure begins with pain and humiliation. Lord knows I've sought out my fair share of both.

I warned the pair that if I agreed to help and discovered anyone being coerced, trafficked, or otherwise hurt, I could make sure the local authorities would be the least of their problems. The IRS would freeze their assets so thoroughly that they wouldn't be able to touch a dime during their natural lives. And that would just be the beginning of their penance.

They assured me all their dealings were consensual and sure enough, three years later, I have yet to catch them in a lie.

They're incorporated now. Tax bills current and all records in order with invoices accounting for every cent in and every cent out. I connected them with law enforcement officials who are kinksters themselves, who can give them a heads up about potential raids and other forms of harassment elected officials plan to gain political points--despite one or two of those politicians being rather kinky themselves. Lawyers and legal assistants who are happy to write cease and desist letters and file motions. Nurses and mental health professionals who can provide both physical and mental first aid as well as resources for a corner of the community the rest of society sees as broken.

Heather and Jai learned the BDSM community has to care for its own and through that have proven themselves worthy of leadership, as well as owning and operating this dungeon, time and time again.

All I do is keep the lights on and the records clean. I don't play in the dungeon with anyone. It helps keeps me objective and my boundaries firm. But I'm happy to watch others, happy to play the voyeur to their exhibitions. And tonight, my review of the books was interrupted by a sound I've haven't heard all that often here, though it was not unfamiliar to me.

The crack of a whip.

Cautiously, I stepped out of the admin office.

Another crack. A few people flinched at the sound but not one of them turned away.

I wondered what the target was. I heard no yelps or screams, not that either Jai or Heather would let just anyone come in with such a tool. Or let just anyone volunteer to be part of the exhibition.

I could almost see the fall splitting the air in my mind. Those standing between me and the scene stood enraptured but tense, even as fewer jumped with each snap of the tail. I moved through the crowd, eager to see what had captured the attention of so many, each witness shifting to grant me space. Eventually they all faded away as I forged ahead with singular intent, eager to become a witness myself.

Once I made my way through, I found Heather standing at the edge of the mat, ensuring none of the onlookers stepped too closely and not coincidentally, maintaining an unobstructed view of events. I placed my hands on her shoulders and leaned in close.

"What's going on? You guys have never had a whip master on site before."

"Jai's been apprenticed to him for a few months now," she whispered back. "They'd been working with shorter whips until recently and needed some extra space. Normally they go to a ranch just out of town but there was some kind of scheduling issue so I told him to bring it here. We don't have whip experts on call and this particular master isn't interested in teaching workshop or classes. But if Jai can get the green light, then maybe we can add it as an option for the leather-lovers in the future."

I looked at her askance. "Not the impact play course?"

She scoffed. "Nope, I am not opening that door. Whips are beautiful. I love how they move and look and the sound they make when they crack. But endorsing the use of them in a scene?" She shook her head. "Yeah, I'm not opening us up to that kind of liability."

I nodded, considering her perspective. Newer folks have a nasty habit of assuming they know everything and rarely come to the dungeon with a level of humility appropriate to the risks being taken. As much as they teach here, there's also a good amount of un-teaching that has to happen. And while new members sit in the dungeon and nod along with the risks and warnings being drilled into their heads, some proceed to go home and ignore the lot of it.

And that's how people get hurt.

Both men on the mat kept their backs to the crowd, looking down at something held low in front of them. I couldn't hear what they were saying, which was fine. It wasn't meant for any of us. I recognized Jai, his long blonde hair almost always in a bun on top of his head. The other man, I didn't recognize.

I usually try not to assume things but seeing as how none of us would likely be introduced to the whip master, I tried to glean what I could from his appearance. He wore black. Black button up, long sleeve shirt, black pants, but a hint of brown in the belt with shoes to match. The pattern of the belt and shoes were exactly the same.

Custom wardrobe? Man doesn't skimp on his accessories.

Then again, owning leather goods isn't for anyone not willing to care for their belongings. It's time and resource intensive. People who don't take it seriously find their leather toys, shoes, and clothes drying out and flaking over the years, stiff and almost unusable. And it's not only to keep them looking good but to keep them operating the way they should, like a well oiled machine. Toys that aren't cared for are just as dangerous as the person that ignores its care.

Beyond the men, I caught the shine of the thong. I followed its fall to the mat where it coiled in serpentine fashion near the man's feet. It didn't look stiff to me. As they gesticulated and jostled the whip, its thong simply followed the momentum of the master wielding it. But even when they were still, the whip never seemed still itself. At ease, it was still a threat, reminding me of a viper resting languidly in a tree, waiting for the opportunity to strike, if only at its master's command.

And for the moment, that master was relaxed, casually imparting knowledge on a new hopeful would-be master.

"Looks like Jai found a good one," I said.

"No." Heather replied flatly.

"What do you mean, No? I didn't ask you anything."

For the first time, Heather turned from the scene and looked directly at me.

"Cass...this man desires anonymity. The only thing he values above anonymity is accountability which is why he's here tonight instead of just rescheduling. He's strict and has very exacting standards."

My eyes swept back to the whip. "I can tell."

"Cass," Heather hissed and she gave my cheek a pat. "Stop staring!"

She slid her arm under mine and dragged me to the wall, away from the dungeon's guests for the evening and the reach of their curiosity.

"Cass, I rarely have to tell you to keep it in your pants. You are one of the most diligently immovable people in this place and that's what makes this work."

I nodded. She was right, I was literally just saying that to myself.

My eyes went back to the scene. From this new position, I could see the whip master wearing a mask.

"This is just mean," I lamented.

"He's wearing the mask to protect his identity, not to turn you on!"

"Those two things are not mutually exclusive."

I regarded his profile, the man still relaxed as he rested almost all his weight on one foot. He gripped the thong of the whip, pulling it through with his other hand. Muscles flexed in the forearm exposed by the sleeve rolled up to his elbow. I recognized his movements, the practiced grip that made a dangerous thing seem effortless and yet it was a dangerous thing he was intimately familiar with. A weapon of war. A tool of dominion.

I watched him extend his arm forward again and I finally noticed something that rooted me to the spot. A brown leather cuff braced around the man's wrist. This alone was not unusual. Lots of men and women wear leather bracelets, especially in the BDSM community. They weren't usually this thick, however, and I'd challenge anyone to find another leather cuff with a very distinct coat of arms branded into the hide.

"If he values anonymity so much, someone should tell him to stop wearing such a unique piece of jewelry. I know who this man is, Heather."

I had spoken without looking at her but in the absence of any response, I slowly returned my eyes to her face.

She winced.

"Heather...that man..."

"I know."

"He's my boss!" I hissed, barely containing my voice to a whisper.

"I know!"

I narrowed my eyes. "And how exactly do you know that?"

She bit her lip, visibly contemplating the wisdom of saying even another word.

"He told me...because he's my brother."

I looked to the man on the mat, standing there like he had not a care in the world. Then, as if waiting for his cue, the mask turned slowly in our direction.

Well...fuck.