Café Bien - Part Two

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CHAPTER NINE: CAFE BIEN - PART TWO

Phil stood outside the conference room, his temper making him pace. He had no patience after the frantic, tense, late morning he’d had, after Sam had the gall to not only tell Jenna and him that she’d gone to a—what had she called it—munch behind their backs, but she’d told them that she planned to keep going to them. Was going to join a group.

And Pip had been the one who’d orchestrated it.

Then, to top everything off, when he’d finally dropped Sam off a school and his sister at her job, he’d had to fight his way through a vitriol-filled circus outside the Infommunity office.

This was just not his morning.

And he knew just who to blame.

He looked up as Pip walked out of the conference room. He stood up straight, his spine snapping tall. “I need to talk to you,” he barked. “Now.”

“Not right now.” Pip shook her head and tried to push past him.

He grabbed her arm, stopping her. “Now,” he repeated before he tried to tug her toward the break room.

“Phil!” She wrenched back her arm before they took a single step. “First, you will not grab me like that. I do not work for you; I do not belong to you. I am not yours to order around.”

Phil stepped back and blinked, sensing her very real irritation that could easily bubble into anger. “Sorry,” he said, clasping his hand behind his back. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

She took a quick breath, relaxing a bit. “I know that,” she said. “Doesn’t mean you don’t need to be reminded from time to time.” She shook her head. “Second, I don’t have time for this right now.”

“Make time,” he insisted, crossing his arms over his chest. “Sam’s just missed her second round of morning classes in two weeks because she decided that breakfast would be the perfect time to come out as kinky and a pathological liar.” He turned to her. “Which seems to be a contagious problem with the people in my life, seeing that you were the person she’d said was aiding and abetting her little rebellion. You were supposed to be helping me talk her out of this crap, not encourage her.”

“Phil,” Pip said, her teeth clenched as she visibly fought to keep her voice from either growling or shrieking, making her usually melodic voice sound tight and rigid, “I just said that I don’t have time.” She pushed past him again. “If you think you’re having a bad day,” she said on a scoff as she shook her head, “you have no idea. So, if you want to talk about this, it’ll have to wait until after work.”

Phil looked at her. She looked frazzled. Her usually pretty, perfectly maintained hair was unbound and looked like she’d run her hands through it too often. She wasn’t wearing makeup—something he wasn’t sure he’d ever seen her without—her features looking softer, fainter.

He missed her boldness. The surety and self-possessed poise she usually wore effortlessly.

“Okay,” he agreed with a nod. “After work.”

“Thank you.” Pip began to walk away. “But,” she said, turning back around, “just for the record, I wasn’t encouraging Sam. I was just showing her—if she’s going to do this, and it sure looks like she is—how to do it right.”

Phil rolled his eyes, even as a part of him knew she was right. Didn’t mean he had to like it. And didn’t mean he wanted it to continue.

“And,” she added pointedly, “if you keep treating her like she’s a criminal, despite her efforts to be open and honest with you about this, you can’t be surprised when she continually tries to break out of your prison.”

He cringed at that. He would have said she was being overdramatic. If he hadn’t been the one to start the criminal analogy.

“And, if you try treating me like one,” she said, “when all I’m doing is trying to help you and your niece, you’d better believe me when I say that, if I wanted to teach your niece how to act out and rebel, I know all the tricks; don’t give me a reason.”

Yeah, looking down and rubbing his jaw as he tried to hide his smile, he bet that she did.

“And, lastly,” she said, “before I try to salvage what’s left of this really awful day, when you pass your high and mighty judgment on something, you might want to actually know something about it.”

Phil scoffed. “I know enough.”

“You don’t know anything,” Pip sassed, swiveling her hips. “At least about this. You can’t learn this from some egghead article. You can’t know it from some trumped up, biased documentary. And you—of all people—would never think you could, if we were talking about chemistry or medicine or—I don’t know—baseball. If it were any other subject, you would never rely on a handful of other people’s opinions to form your own. You would have demanded to know more. You would have done your own research. You would have looked at all the facts, looked at it from all the angles, and, only after you’d learned everything you could, would you have come up with your conclusion.” She shook her head and gave a humorless laugh. “But, with this, you’re perfectly content to look for all the evidence that backs up your initial conclusion, happily ignoring everything else. Maybe you might want to think about asking a few more questions, Egghead, you know, for the sake of science.”

And with that, she walked away, leaving Phil with some pretty uncomfortable thoughts.

———

“Well, good for you!” Joelle cheered as they picked up their coffees from the service counter. “Knock that boy down a few pegs.”

“I’m glad you stood up for yourself.” Logan nodded and sipped his tea. “He should be grateful to have you in his life—and his niece’s life—and it’s past time he started to realize it.” He paused. “Though I’m not sure about you taking this girl to those kinds of events.”

“She does seem young.” Joelle shrugged. “My mother would definitely have locked me in my room forever, if I’d been even thinking about anything like that.” She snorted. “Still would.”

“Which just encourages more secrets,” Pip pointed out, “not less.”

Logan grimaced. “Look, Lord knows, I know all about living proudly, but even you have to admit that there are certain things about your love life that you don’t want your parents to know.”

Pip shook her head. “No one needs details, but I would think, as a parent, you’d want to know what’s going on with your kid, who they’re hanging out with and what they’re getting into.”

Though she supposed her own mother, for a long time, had preferred denial. It’d created this barrier between them; the one thing, that despite how close they were otherwise, the two couldn’t talk about.

Being poly, Pip hadn’t been able to introduce her partners to her mother, not as her partners anyway. Always friends of hers. She hadn’t been able to share so many of her personal and relationship joys. Hadn’t been able to have her mother over to her home, not without a ridiculously thorough cleaning. Hell, her mother hadn’t even been able to bring herself to read or listen to any of her work. She’d known what Pip did for a living; she just hadn’t wanted to.

For her mother, it wasn’t just that she hadn’t wanted to know details; she hadn’t wanted to know the truth about her daughter.

And, because Pip loved her mother, she’d let her decide their boundaries. But it’d hurt that there’d been parts of Pip’s life, whole chunks of her, that clearly weren’t welcome in her mother’s. It’d made it near impossible to keep her mother in her life. To be both present and stay so hidden.

It’d taken so much courage to confront her mother about it. To refuse to keep her mother’s lies. Her mother didn’t need to know everything, but Pip couldn’t let her deny the truth. Pip was who she was and no amount of her mother wishing or pretending otherwise would change it.

So they’d agreed that her mother would greet and welcome her partners as her partners, whomever they were. She would acknowledge her work and be proud of her daughter’s accomplishments. And, if she was staying in town, she’d stay at a hotel.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was the way it should be. And, while there were parts of Pip’s life her mother was less than thrilled about, Pip knew that she loved and accepted her. That she wanted her daughter, however she got there, to be happy.

That was what Pip wanted for Sam too.

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Café Bien - Part One

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CHAPTER NINE: CAFE BIEN - PART ONE

The freshest ingredients. The friendliest service. Because everyone deserves a break.

Pip and Sam walked into Café Bien together. They’d both been silent the entire ride over. Sam was undoubtedly nervous. And all Pip could think about was that she was taking Phil’s niece to a munch behind his back. It wasn’t the greatest idea in the world—she knew that—and she would almost certainly pay for it later. But, she was sure, it was still the right thing to do.

Pip had been like Sam at that age. Too curious. Armed with just enough information to get herself into serious trouble. Sam was going to learn about BDSM and kink. She’d more than proven that she could. Pip just wanted to be sure that Sam learned how to do it right.

They’d shown up about twenty minutes early, so the party room was still pretty empty. Max and a few volunteers were pushing tables into place and stacking board games and decks of cards at each table. Kat Valdez-Richards, another Donovan’s moderator, was talking to the café’s owner, Rachel Haut.

“Pip,” she heard a voice greet from behind her.

She turned and saw Danielle Atali and her tall, lanky, redheaded boyfriend, Chris Carey, walk in. She walked toward the pretty, young woman and gave her a hug. “It’s good to see you; it’s been a while.”

“Well,” the young woman said with a toss of her long, curly hair, “there were finals and then my parents decided to take the family on a cruise before class started up again.”

“Glad you could make it this time,” Pip said. “I’ve got someone I’d like you to meet.” She gestured for Sam to come closer. “Danielle, this is Sam Schaffer, the girl I was telling you about.” Placing her hand on Sam’s shoulder, she smiled. “Sam, this is Danielle Atali. She heads CinKY, the local college kinky youth group.”

“Welcome.” Danielle reached out to shake Sam’s hand. “Glad you came. C’mon,” she said in her disarmingly brazen way, taking Sam’s arm, “let’s grab a good game before they’re all taken.”

Pip watched Danielle lead Sam and the lanky boy to the game table and smiled, knowing Sam was in good hands.

“That her?” Max asked, coming up to Pip. “The girl you were telling us about?”

Pip nodded. “Yeah, she called me up this morning and asked if she could come.”

Max raised a cautious eyebrow. “Does her uncle know she’s here?”

Pip tilted her head. “I figured this might be a case where begging forgiveness might be better than asking permission.” Phil would never have let her come and that would have been Sam’s loss. This way, even if she got grounded and Phil held a grudge against Pip, Sam would have this experience under her belt. She’d have the connections she’d make. She’d know she wasn’t alone.

Yeah, that was worth a little groveling later.

“Well, good luck with that.” Max sighed, shaking her head. “Because something tells me her uncle won’t agree.”

———

Sam laughed and sat at the table with Danielle, her boyfriend Chris, Hallie Hannings—a beautiful woman who was dating the café’s owner—Cora Jameson—a sweet-looking, but competitively intense woman—and Peter and Kat Richards—a married couple who were too good at this game—as they played Apples to Apples.

Sam was having a great time. They hadn’t said a word about kink, not really. Nothing beyond maybe a racy round or two—What’s touchy-feely? Whips. Chains. Friction. My friends.—or an offhand comment here or there. Hadn’t really done all that much more than share a round of cheese fries, sip coffee, and play cards. The munch wasn’t anything like Sam thought it would be—not that she’d really known exactly what to expect—but it was nice.

People joined in on rounds and left others to mingle or eat. Over the three hours she’d been there, Sam had met more people than she’d ever be able to remember; everyone greeting her like she was already a friend.

A part of her was almost a little disappointed that there’d been no offers to play or meet-up later. With Fischer and even with other people on Steele’s Secret, Sam had often had to be the breaks, sidestepping requests for scenes or contracts or postponing phone calls or face-to-face meetings. She was used to being chased.

But here, while she wasn’t exactly the one chasing, she certainly felt like the one going after what she wanted.

The night dwindled down and the games were nearly done when the moderators decided to start cleaning up. Sam helped Danielle and Chris gather the cards back into the box before they all began to push the tables and chairs back into place. “Donovan’s munches are usually once a month, but CinKY meets up every week to discuss BDSM and kink and just life and love in general; you should come,” Danielle told her as they grabbed the ends of a table. “You’ll like it. I’ll send you the info.” She lifted the heavy furniture over the café’s tile.

“Thanks,” Sam said as they set the room to rights.

Once everything was put back and packed up, Sam and Pip walked back to her car. “So,” Pip asked as she fished out her keys, “did you have fun?”

“Oh yeah.” Sam slid into the passenger seat. “It was great. I got invited to join CinKY.”

“I heard.” Pip nodded and smiled. “If you need a ride, let me know,” she told her. “I don’t typically attend those.” They were for college students. “But I can always play chauffeur.”

Sam bit her lip. She’d wanted to ask, but wasn’t sure how. “Are you sure?”

“Of course.” Pip shrugged. “I’ll just bring along my laptop and get some work done while you’re there. You’ve just got to do one thing for me,” she qualified.

“Anything.”

“You’ve got to start talking to your mom and uncle,” Pip said, pulling to a stop at a light. She looked at her. “You can’t hide this from them. They’re going to find out eventually. And, the longer you wait, the more of a chance that they’ll hear some other way than you being honest with them. And that isn’t fair. Or right.”

Sam stifled back a sigh. Well, that was a conversation Sam did not want to have. She pouted. “I thought you’d said that this life was private?”

“What you do, when you do it, how you do it,” Pip said with a shake of her head, pulling forward when the light turned green, “that’s no one’s business but yours and the people you do it with. Details are private and you shouldn’t have to share that with anyone you don’t want to.” Then she sighed. “But not telling the people who care about you who you are and who you choose to be with, to let them worry and wonder like that,” Pip frowned and shook her head as she said, “that makes it sound like you’ve got something to hide.” She shot Sam a pointed look. “Like even you think what you’re doing is wrong. Because, if it wasn’t, what would you have to hide?”

Sam bit her lip and sat back in her seat, thinking about that the rest of the way home.

———

Pip sat at the Infommunity conference table, staring at the huge screen covering the width of the wall. Wendy Graceland was interviewing a tall, thin man in a nice, simple suit with clean, crisp lines. The well-groomed man looked as determined and dedicated as a political poster. He couldn’t have looked more All-American if the flag was waving behind him and “We Want You” was blazed in bold front in front of him.

“Mr. Wayne,” Wendy said, thrusting a microphone in front of him, as the wind blew about them, “you’re here in front of Infommunity’s headquarters with the Foundation for Defending Families, with petitions and handouts promoting awareness, correct?” She tilted her head in dramatic wonder. “Awareness of what exactly?”

“Well, Wendy,” Lionel Wayne said, not a single silvering hair on his head blowing out of place, “after we saw your report last week, we knew that we needed to demand better regulations for what’s available for children—and for people as a whole—on the internet. So we’ve started what we’re calling the Tracy Meyers campaign, where we’re urging people to not only contact their legislator about stricter guidelines for what’s considered adult content online, but also to boycott any and all companies and sites, like Infommunity, who blithely pump inappropriate and pornographic content without concern for whose hands that information ends up in.”

Wendy gave another practiced, thoughtful tilt of her head. “So you’re saying that this isn’t just about Pip Jones’s Deviant Nerd podcast, but that it’s Infommunity, as a whole, that should be held accountable?”

“Yes,” Wayne answered. “Before Infommunity hired Miss Jones, hers was just one more barely discernible voice in a sea of cyber entertainment. But since Infommunity gave her a ready-made, global platform, her listener base and readership has skyrocketed. They, as much as Miss Jones, planted those thoughts in Tracy Meyers’s head. They handed her the tools that led to her unfortunate end. So we’re asking people to not only boycott Miss Jones, or even just Infommunity, but also any and all advertisers who are featured on their site. We have a list of those companies as well as links to our petition on our website. We encourage anyone who’s concerned about where our world, our youth, and our future is headed thanks to the unregulated flow of information to please read our message and join our cause.”

Will turned off the television and pinched the bridge of his nose just under his glasses. “They’ve been playing this interview all day.”

“And those people have been camped out there since five this morning.” Nita sneered as she flipped her long braid off her shoulder. “And they don’t look like they’re leaving any time soon.”

Yeah, Pip had had a hell of a time getting into the office this morning. The minute she’d walked up to the property, she’d been mobbed by sign-toting, slogan-shouting protesters. And, while they’d certainly targeted most of their vehemence toward her, Pip knew her coworkers were getting an unfair amount of it as well.

She sighed, feeling her heart lurch and her stomach churn. “Are you canceling The Deviant Nerd?” She would certainly understand, if they did. The mob was doing everything they could—hitting every possible angle—to make it impossible for the company to work.

“No.” Nita shook her head. “We hired you because we believe in what you do. Think what you have to say is worth saying.”

“And deserves a chance to be heard,” Will agreed as he smacked his hands flat on his desk. “We’re an information site; we won’t be bullied by censors who believe that there’s acceptable and unacceptable kinds of knowledge.”

She nodded, breathing out a sigh of relief. That was why she’d been so eager to join their site in the first place. “But?” she asked, knowing that that wasn’t the end of it.

“Our investors and advertisers are asking that, at the very least,” Nita said, “we do something to make sure that the information meant for adults is reserved for adults and doesn’t end up in kids’ and teens’ hands.”

“How do you propose we do that?” As far as Pip knew, the only thing that flagged her stuff as adult was a mature content page asking a reader if they were over eighteen. Not exactly Fort Knox. It was barely TSA.

“We don’t know,” Will answered, running his hands over his spiked hair. “We want you to think about it, come up with some ideas, and create a proposal we can take to our investors and advertisers.”

Pip’s eyes bugged. “You want me to come up with the solution?”

“We brought you on,” Nita reminded her, “because we know that you’re smart and clever and you think outside the traditional, everyday box most of us live in.” She smiled encouragingly at her. “You can do this.”

“And our door is always open,” Will assured her, “but The Deviant Nerd is yours; deciding where it goes and how it gets there has to come first and foremost from you.”

Pip nodded, definitely nervous but also really grateful. They were right. This was hers. It soared or sunk with her. They were all in this mess because of her; it should be her who got them all out.

And they were right. She could do this. She’d gotten herself this far. She wasn’t about to give up everything she’d worked for because some uptight reporter and her values-voter spokesman were trying to run Pip off.

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KAYZ News - Part Two

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CHAPTER EIGHT: KAYZ NEWS - PART TWO

“Wonder if what’s worth it?” Max tucked her legs beneath her and settled in the chair with her mug again.

“This,” Pip said, pointing out the office window at Donovan’s. “All of it.” She sighed, looking at her friends. “I love kink, I do. I love the community and the people in it.” She gave a half-smile. “It’s the first place that really accepted me, the whole and honest all of me. Where I didn’t have to hide or pretend. I know that, done right, kink can be freeing and fulfilling.” She frowned. “But, when it goes wrong...”

“It’s why we form communities.” Max nodded. “Because, in numbers, we can protect each other. We watch out for one another.”

“But the very fact that we have to,” Pip wondered aloud, “doesn’t that say something about us? That we’re the kind of people who need to be watched over? Need protection?” And didn’t it kind of imply that they were the type of people that others needed to be protected from? “Do you ever just wonder if what we do is actually healthy or if it just messes people up?” She sat back and shook her head, sighing. “Or if maybe, at best, it’s just the messed-up thing messed-up people do in an attempt to feel healthy?”

Max scooted forward, tilted her head one way and then the other, her pretty, painted lips pursing. “Sure,” she admitted, “what we do is a little nuts and dangerous and risky, but that’s why we do it together. It’s why we join in groups. Why we form communities. To make sure that we take care of each other.”

“Everybody’s broken,” Hayato added, crossing his arms over his chest. “The more I see of the world, the more I’m convinced of this.”

Max smiled and shrugged. “How lucky are we that we’ve found people broken like us who help us keep ourselves together?”

Pip gave a small chuckle. “I suppose,” she said before making a face. “But that makes it sound like therapy.” She thought about the scene they’d just had. How she’d pretty much used them to exorcize her day’s demons. “And that’s not what it’s supposed to be about. BDSM play—whatever it looks like—is supposed to be about pleasure, not pain. I mean,” she said with a shrug, “it’s supposed to make you feel good but, at the end of the day, it doesn’t fix anything.” If you were broken before the scene began, you were guaranteed to still be broken afterward. And, because of the mind-fuck nature of the game, you ran the risk of breaking yourself further. Not to mention, breaking anyone else you played with.

It was why Pip always advised people to be in good physical, mental, and emotional shape before engaging in play. Playing while your emotions were unstable was irresponsible and never turned out well, in the end. And was a good way to get someone hurt, yourself or your partners.

Too bad Pip wasn’t great at taking her own advice.

“You’re right; it doesn’t fix anything,” Hayato agreed. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t let it make you feel good in that moment, let it get you to a headspace where you can fix things.”

Pip nodded. “Like a stress reliever.”

“Some people exercise.” Max shrugged. “Some people meditate.”

“And we smack the crap out of each other.” Pip grinned.

“Because we care,” Max said, only mostly sarcastically.

“We give and take pleasure with each other.” Hayato looked at both women fondly. “There’s nothing wrong with that. Whether it’s healthy or unhealthy,” he said with a shake of his head, “that depends on what a person does with it.”

And who they do it with.

Pip looked at her friends, grateful to have people who were there for her. To watch out for her.

Everyone should be so lucky.

———

Sam stared at her computer screen and frowned. Even though his conference was finished, Fischer wouldn’t be coming back from Los Angeles for another three days. Sam knew that he had friends in that area, other people he messaged and wanted to see and spend time with.

But she missed him.

She wanted to be the one seeing, spending time, and playing with him.

He hadn’t even messaged her since she’d sent him the photo—and, after she’d told him how she’d taken the picture, the video—of her tied up.

She frowned. He hadn’t even sent a thank you. Or even an email saying he’d gotten it.

Sam closed her email and signed into the site Pip had told her about. She’d created an account but had been a little wary of doing much more than that. The site was…a little intimidating. On Steele’s Secret, they talked about fictional scenes filled with fictional characters. Even the few people who told stories about their own experiences, it always felt a little like romantically glazed over, fade-to-black stories with blindfolds and handcuffs and light spanking.

When she’d signed onto SyncKink, she’d seen photos of people being suspended from ceilings. Some with hooks and ties embedded into their skin. She’d read posts from people swapping stories about knife play and abduction fantasies. She’d seen a video—that she’d been too afraid to actually watch—of a waterboarding scene.

Even the posts about light spanking or handcuffs or blindfolds felt different on this site. Less fuzzy and fanciful and much more unvarnished and in-your-face. A part of Sam had always wondered how many of the stories on Steele’s Secret were real and how many were just fantasies framed as truth. On SyncKink, there was no doubt that those posts were true. That the people and stories and acts actually existed. The site hid nothing—nudity, profanity, and vulgarity were not only openly used, but were almost joyously celebrated.

A part of Sam was legitimately shocked by it all.

But a part of her was also utterly intrigued.

She searched for the username Pip had given her. Deviant_Nerd. Sam’s eyes widened. She had over nine hundred friends and belonged to over thirty groups on the site. Ask a Mistress. Subspace. Toy Box. Kinky Geeks.

Sam saw that Pip was going to an event tomorrow night. Game Night Meet-Up Munch at Café Bien. She clicked on it.

Come join Donovan’s and CinKY for dinner, drinks, and board games in the Café Bien party room at 7:30pm. Everyone’s welcome, but please RSVP so we can make sure we have enough seating and staff. This is a meet-up and not a play event; please dress and act accordingly. And, as always, tip your waiter!

Hope to see you there.

Sam bit her lip, her mouse hovering over the Attending button. Pip would give her a ride there. She’d all but said as much last time they’d talked. Sam had so many questions, wondered so much about this lifestyle. What was real? What wasn’t? Why did she want this? Why didn’t everyone?

She wanted to learn. Wanted to feel like she was part of something.

A community, Pip had called it.

It sounded nice.

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CHAPTER EIGHT: KAYZ NEWS - PART ONE

When you want to know what’s going on in your world, tune into the most trusted name in local news.

Phil stared at his laptop at home. He couldn’t stop thinking about how upset Pip had been after the KAYZ interview. He was still angry that the anchor had ambushed her like that. Torn apart everything that she’d done. On camera.

And after she’d laughed and smiled and shaken Pip’s hand before the interview.

Phil had done his own digital research and found out that Wendy Graceland had done a slew of stories about the Foundation for Defending Families, an extremely conservative Christian lobby group dedicated to censoring anything and everything—from sex education to evolution to accurate history—that they deemed dangerous from the public. Wendy, using both KAYZ and her own social media platform, had elevated coverage for several FDF fundraisers and awareness campaigns. Clearly, the woman had bias.

At least, he understood now why Ms. Graceland was so interested in Infommunity’s expansion. She’d been looking for a sound bite for her cause.

And she’d found it in Tracy Meyers.

Phil had looked her up too. A psychology student at the local university, Tracy had been a semester shy of graduating. Her boyfriend, Kevin Leman, had been studying to be a career counselor. No one would have ever suspected them of being that kind of couple. Now Tracy was dead and her family was, according to the latest news stories, trying to see if there were criminal charges that could be brought against Kevin.

Phil had read a quote from Kevin—one of his rare public statements—saying how much he’d loved Tracy, how he’d never meant for things to end the way they had, and how much he wished he could take it back.

It was a mess. An unfortunate and avoidable mess.

Phil shook his head. This was why he didn’t want Sam involved in any of this. Even under the best conditions—with the best of intentions—he just couldn’t see how playing with dangers best left alone could end well.

Even if Sam was lucky enough to not end up like Tracy had, look at the way the world saw Pip. Phil had clicked through a few of the articles and blog posts being blasted over the internet about her. Taking leaked bits of the interview out of context—some even flat-out misquoting her—making her seem like some conscienceless, smut-selling pornographer whose only agenda was to take all the social ills of sex and foist them on the world. According to these sites, Pip Jones was, at best—like she’d said—a dirty punchline to an off-color joke or, at worst, a criminal who was peddling sex like cigarettes to children.

And, despite what Pip thought, he didn’t see her that way. He knew that Pip was smart and clever and witty as hell. She was his favorite person at the office. His cubemate and coffee-break bud. He knew she was a good person who didn’t deserve to be treated like this.

But, in the back of his mind, he also heard the voice saying that Pip had done this to herself. She’d stepped into that world, become enmeshed and enamored by the dark and danger of it. More than that, she’d put that part of herself out there. Had let her secret life seep and bleed and become her public persona. What did she think the world was going to think? Did she really think that people were going to take one look at the things she was into and care about anything else? Did she honestly think that anyone would take the time to look past the sensational and scandalous parts of her? How could anyone take her seriously after this?

Much as he felt for Pip—hated that she had to go through this—he wanted to spare Sam that kind of future. He never wanted anyone to look at his niece and see her that way.

———

Pip was grateful when Hayato and Max led her through the full playspace, out of the noisy club, and through to his offices that were attached to Donovan’s. It was nice knowing well-connected people.

Once in his law office, he sat Pip down on his long, leather couch as Max brewed some coffee. He chose one of the large chairs covered in the same luxurious black leather as the couch and studied her while Max set out the coffee before sitting in his chair’s match across from him.

He poured coffee for each of them, knowing exactly how both women preferred their drink. For a quiet, savoring moment, they enjoyed the fine, expensive brew in silence before Hayato asked, “So do you want to talk about whatever it is that made you call me today?”

Pip held her mug in her hand, letting the warmth against her palms calm her nerves. She shook her head. “It’s nothing.”

“If it’s bothering you,” Max reasoned, wiping lipstick from the edge of her mug before setting her drink down on the table again, “it’s not nothing. I’ve never known you to worry over trivialities.”

“It’s not about Scott Fischer, is it?” Hayato sipped slowly. “I know Peter was looking up his records this week.”

Pip straightened, suddenly more alert than she’d been all evening. “So he is a member here?”

“He petitioned.” Hayato shook his head. “Years ago. But couldn’t find others to vouch for him.” He frowned. “In fact, according to his file, we actually had a few members, who know him from other communities and encounters, who’d lodged complaints against him when I’d done some basic background checks.”

“What kind of complaints?” Pip asked.

He frowned. “Mostly, female partners whom he’d played with and quite a few whom he’d slept with without telling them he was married, as well as seeing multiple partners at the same time.”

Pip cringed. “Not good.”

“No,” he agreed as he slung an arm over the chair’s back. “But what’s worse is that there were at least two complaints against him that he’d crossed boundaries, pressing for more than was agreed upon without getting explicit consent first.”

Max, who’d just picked up her mug, set it back down on the coffee table with an indignant clank. “He violated someone?” she asked, cutting through Hayato’s legalese.

He tilted his head thoughtfully, his long, blond ponytail lilting to the side. “I don’t remember the exact phrasing—it was years ago—but with the way the file worded it, something nonconsensual clearly happened, but there were never any legal charges brought up.”

Which didn’t necessarily mean anything, Pip knew. “You didn’t get any details?” She was surprised, knowing the meticulousness of the man.

Hayato shrugged. “I may have, at the time,” he said as he set aside his drink, “but it’s likely the women asked the details not to be documented, so they weren’t. And what was in the file was more than enough to deny him membership.”

Which was good for the community. But Pip couldn’t stop thinking about those women, whose names and experiences had been erased and lost over the years. Pip wondered how many other stories from how many other women had gone untold.

And she thought about Sam. She wondered if—worried that—Sam was just another story waiting to happen.

Pip thought about Tracy Meyers again. She leaned back, resting her head against the couch’s back. “Do you ever wonder if it’s all really worth it?”

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CHAPTER SEVEN: EROS' QUIVER - PART TWO

Pip nodded. “Do you even need to ask?” They had known each other long enough and played with each other often enough to know what the other liked and were always up for what they had to offer.

Pip heard Cora’s tinkling laugh—sprite-like, beautiful with just a touch of evil intent—right before she felt the rub of rope around her wrist. She felt its twisted length weave and wound around the bamboo bars, over her arms and elbows, securing her tight to the frame. Instinctively, Pip pulled against the ties, feeling them tug taut and unyielding as they bit into her skin. She heard Cora laugh again. “Should I be mean?” The devious top’s breath hot and sweet against Pip’s face.

“Oh,” Hayato murmured, “I think so.”

Pip’s breath caught as she felt Cora grab her left foot, lifting it to rest on one of the knee-high bars, hooking her heel around the bamboo. “Oh God, really?” Pip choked on a laugh, while shaking her head. Cora really loved to keep her bottoms off-balanced, loved to be the one to literally alter a partner’s world.

“Oh, yeah,” she heard Cora answer, slapping her calf playfully. “Really.”

Pip’s hands reflexively tightened on the bar as she lifted herself slightly and tried to right her shifted equilibrium. She felt Cora loop rope around her ankle, tying it in place so her left thigh was completely exposed.

“There.” Cora gave Pip’s thigh a friendly pat. “I think that should do it.”

“Mmm,” Hayato commented. “Yes, thank you, Cora; that’s perfect. Isn’t it, Pip?”

“Perfect?” Pip hopped a bit on her right foot, chuckling as she tried to find her balance on the floor beneath her. “I think you and I have different definitions for that word,” she said, her tone somewhere between sweet sincerity and sharp sarcasm.

Well, if their goal was to make her forget everything, they were succeeding. It was hard to care about work or life worries when the very ground beneath her seemed uncertain. When the way she would move and hold herself was no longer hers to control. When her body felt like someone else’s plaything.

“Yes,” she heard Hayato coo, “I suppose we do.” He slapped the leather toy—his paddle, perhaps—against his palm again. She jumped at the sound, anticipating that thick, heavy toy.

She almost smiled as she felt him run—caress—the large, blocky, leather-covered paddle along her shoulders, her spine, over her ass and thighs. She laughed. She couldn’t help it.

“Is there something funny?” He tipped her head toward him with the paddle’s leather-blunted but still sharply stinging edge.

She breathed in the scent of wood and leather and smiled. “I just should have known you’d go for the paddle.” If he wanted to get her attention, that was a good toy to start with.

“Why’s that?” He grasped the bar, his pinky and forefinger wrapping around her fist. “Been bad,” he asked, tilting her chin up with the toy as he closed her in, “have you?”

Thoughts of Tracy Meyers crept into Pip’s head. She saw that girl’s sweet face looking out at her from the newspaper print. Pip remembered reading the shame of her parents who’d had to find the body of their daughter tangled in ropes with a badly made gag choking her. She recalled the part about how the cops had said her boyfriend, Kevin Leman, hadn’t known she could choke on the panties he’d shoved in her mouth, when he’d left her. He’d just thought it was part of the game.

And, sure enough—just as Wendy had said—Tracy was one of Pip’s listeners. One of her readers. She’d been a fan of Infommunity for a long time and had been one of the first to subscribe when Pip joined the site. Only to die five months later from an accident The Deviant Nerd was made to prevent. It was bondage 101.

“Pip?” she heard Hayato say.

Pip had always thought that she and her podcast could make a difference. Open people’s eyes. Keep people safe. Demystify the fantasy by bringing it into reality.

“Are you okay?”

Did she make a difference? Or was she just part of a culture that sensationalized risk and danger, sexing it up and wrapping it in a pretty, salacious package? Did she really keep people safe? Or did she—and everything she’d worked for over the years—just give people a false sense of security? Did she give people the freedom and knowledge to go after what they wanted, to explore the depths of their desires? Or did she just dangle enough titillating information for people to hang themselves with?

Pip felt Hayato’s hand cup her chin. “Pip,” he said, his voice insistent, “answer me. Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Pip shook her head out of his grip. “Sorry,” she said. “Just,” she took a deep breath and chuckled half-heartedly, “blanked for a second.”

“Do you want to stop?” he asked quietly but firmly even as his hands reached for the rope.

“No!” Quickly, she shook her wrist from his hands as much as she could. “No.” She needed this. For a moment, it’d been working. Had kept those thoughts at bay. It may be weak and cowardly—running away from the reckoning she felt just on the horizon—but she needed it. “I want to keep going.”

She felt him step back. Felt his hesitation as he studied her for a long, silent moment.

“I’m okay,” she assured him, stiffening her shoulders and centering her weight over her right foot. “I’m ready.”

“I think I have just the thing.” She heard a female voice, sure with just a bit of sass.

Max.

Pip smiled as she felt hands reach through the bars in front of her face to slide wireless earbuds into her ears. “It’s my personal play playlist, if you know what I mean.”

She heard Hayato chuckle. “I can always count on you to know just what to do,” she heard him say right before all sound got drowned out by hard, thumping dance music.

She felt the earbuds’ cords stretch out in front of her. Max must have been standing on the other side of the frame. Pip wondered if she ought to feel like Max was intruding on her scene. But she didn’t. It didn’t feel intrusive.

Max was a friend. If anything, she was adding to the scene. Pip listened to the song playing in her ears as it pounded wildly in another language—Spanish or maybe Italian. Pip let herself get lost in the sound of notes and the romantic flow of context-less words. She let her mind slip away from everything. From the frame. From the ropes. From the scene. From Donovan’s. From the world itself.

A slap smacked her in the ass, making her jump. Her eyes shot open beneath the blindfold and her heart stopped for a moment only to then thunder in her chest. She heaved, her breaths short and shallow as she furiously sucked in air, feeling the slap’s burn along her skin.

Again.

The thought was pleading and demanding all at once.

And, as if by command, the paddle struck again on her other cheek. She felt its strike reverberate through her, like an electric echo racing through her body. The strikes came. Over and over. On her ass and thighs. They pounded with the same intensity as the music. Filling her up, leaving no room for anything else.

Her body tensed as that pound turned—without warning or even much pause—into slashing stings like exploding stars along the expanse of her skin as the beaded multi-tailed whip streaked over her shoulder blades. Her body literally shook with the sensation.

It should have hurt.

Kind of did.

But, more than that, it just made her feel alive. Like every sense was in overload. Each sharp, snap connection messed with the chemicals—adrenaline and endorphins—in her brain. She felt those stings throb just beneath her skin in time to the music raging in her ears. Her mind burst into colors and light behind the blindfold at each lash of the whip.

Her body arched into the whip’s harsh touch, begging for it even as her knees began to buckle beneath her, leaving her even more unsteady. She tried to lock her knees—at least the right one—firming her stance and gripping the frame more surely, but her whole body was shaking, shuddering with the sensations roiling inside her.

Pip was riding an edge, she could feel it—almost like an orgasm—building inside her, pushing her toward a peak.

And then, with a slice of Hayato’s cane across her ass, she just let go, crying out—the sound silent to her own ears though it tore free from her throat. He struck again before her body slackened against the frame, the hit cutting just below the curve of her ass.

Her sweet spot.

He hit her there. Once. Twice. Three times. Before she finally felt herself fall over that edge. “Okay,” she whispered, her voice a hoarse rasp that clawed its way free. “Okay.”

She heaved and hung on the frame. Her body limp, content to let the resilient bamboo hold her up. Pip smiled as she heard the music player—still in Max’s hands—shift from the pumping rhythms to a more soothing song. Operatic. Almost ecclesiastic. The sound embraced her and urged her body to relax. Pip sighed.

Max really did always know just what needed to be done.

Pip felt hands at her ankle and her wrist, carefully unweaving knots. Her hands still clutched the bars, even as the ropes were removed. She clung to the bamboo’s strength, willing it to be hers for just a moment longer.

She felt the earbuds being removed from her ears, even as she heard Hayato whisper and the sounds of the room flood back to her, “Close your eyes, Pip.”

She did before she felt him take off the blindfold. She squinted against the light that filtered in behind her lids. She blinked quickly, forcing her eyes to readjust.

She felt hands rest over her waist and felt the silk of Hayato’s suit brush against her sensitive skin. She shivered. His arms wrapped around her middle, cuddling her close. “Time to let go, Pip.”

So she did. Letting herself rest safe in his arms.

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CHAPTER SEVEN: EROS' QUIVER - PART ONE

Erotic Toys Made By People Who Know Your Pain is Our Pleasure.

Pip had gone home after the interview, restless, frustrated, and practically shaking with need. Need for something. Not sex. Not today. The thought of someone touching her like that—with tenderness and worshipful attention—felt wrong right now.

It wasn’t what she wanted

Wasn’t what she needed at this moment.

She wanted a scene. Something hard and harsh. She wanted to be torn down and stripped bare. She wanted to let all the raw and exposed bits inside her out. To let someone have their way with her so they became bigger—in every way—than she was.

So she’d called up the one person she knew who could give her just that.

“Hello Pip.” She heard the familiar, deceptively soft and civilized voice as she entered Donovan’s playspace.

Hayato.

Her eyes almost began to tear up when she saw him. With her nerves frayed and her mind racing, she was so grateful that, despite his often heavy caseload at his law firm, he’d come.

She smiled and approached. The absolutely, if unconventionally, gorgeous Asian man looked like a comic book villain. Or some pop idol, all sleek, golden skin and hair, all wrapped in a designer suit. The lawyer leaned against the dungeon wall, content to let her come to him. Just the look of him, sure and confident, made her feel more centered. His steadfastness grounded her in a way Pip had never been able to find anywhere else.

God, she’d missed him.

It was strange. Unlike most of her relationships, she and Hayato had never actually broken up. They’d simply drifted apart. And, even when they’d been together, they’d never been exclusive. But, she liked to think, they’d been close. Knew parts of each other no one else did and likely never would. They may not have been each other’s happily-ever-after—if such a thing even existed—but, in their time and in their way, they’d given each other happiness.

And she needed a little of that today.

“It’s been too long.” His thin lips moved sensuously into an inviting smile.

It had been too long. “We’ve both been busy.” She’d been juggling her expanding career and he’d been immersed with his new partner. They hadn’t spent any significant time with each other in months, but she still counted him among her closest friends. And one of the few people she trusted enough to call after a really awful day. “I’m glad you could make it tonight.”

His smile dipped into a frown. “You sounded,” he said, choosing his words carefully, “upset on the phone; of course, I came.”

“Thank you.” It was nice to know that, even after all this time and all the change in between, he was still someone she could count on.

He held out his arms for her. She walked into his embrace, holding him close as she breathed in the rich scent of him. “Are you sure you’re up for this?” he whispered into her ear.

She smiled, hugged him closer, and nodded. “I’m sure.”

He returned her squeeze again before letting her go. “Then strip.” He squared his feet and folded his hands behind his back.

Pip reached for the side zipper on her dress, only to stall. “Where’s Max?” she asked, a niggling feeling hovering, making her hesitate. Max, even though Pip hadn’t known her all that long, had become a good friend. Had really joined in and worked hard for the community and more than earned Pip’s friendship and respect.

He gave her a reassuring half-smile and nodded behind her. Pip turned and saw Max sitting on a bench in the back with the other spectators. His sexy, sassy redheaded partner waved back at them with her own sympathetic and encouraging smile.

Pip let out a breath, not realizing until that moment how worried she’d been about her old partner’s new partner. Or how much of a relief it was to have her approval. Pip was having a rotten day and God knew she wanted to fix it any way she could. But she also knew she wouldn’t—couldn’t—do that while ruining someone else’s day by poaching their partner. Especially not a friend’s.

Pip nodded gratefully to Max, making a mental note to call her up soon. She should set up time to grab coffee or a movie sometime. Sure, she saw Max at moderator meetings and munches and play parties for Donovan’s. Even got to see her at parties and gatherings within their social circle. But it would be nice to just hang out as friends. Everyone was just so busy all the time, never finding time for anything that didn’t feel like an event. But, as the buxom redhead nodded back, her brown eyes understanding and accepting, Pip knew that Max was someone well worth finding that time for.

“Ready to begin?” Hayato leaned in to loom over her.

“Yes.” God, yes. She tugged her zipper down before stepping out of and discarding her dress.

She stood up to face him in nothing but a crimson, vintage lace bra-and-panty set and ruby-colored kitten heels. Ready. More than ready. She took a deep breath. Let’s do this.

He led her to the playspace’s ladder-like A-frame, urging her to grip one of the bars at shoulder-height. With her back bared to him and the rest of the room, she heard him root around behind her. Heard the pop of the latch on his toy box as he opened it. Heard the shuffle of toys and equipment. Before she heard his footsteps—graceful, stealthy, and almost silent on the tile floor—approach her from behind.

“You need to get out of your head.” He touched her temple before running his long-fingered hands over her hair. “This will help.” He wrapped a blindfold over her eyes, tying it at her temple, so it didn’t tangle in her twisted-up hair.

Pip opened her eyes behind the cover, the enforced darkness at once both shutting her off from the world and heightening everything—every sound and presence and movement happening all around her. She could hear the slap of flesh against flesh from the spanking scene happening to her left. Could hear the menacing whisper of the Dom to her right. She heard the squeaky footsteps of the rope top on the mat across the room. She could even smell the intoxicating scent of leather and sweat and excitement as she felt eager eyes watching her.

And she felt him.

She liked to think that, if she listened hard enough, she could tell which toy he touched as he laid out his tools on the nearby table. The soft whisper of a willowy flogger. The hard clink of a lollipop crop against the table’s hard surface. The tinkling clatter of a beaded multi-tailed whip. The cutting swish of a cane. Yes, after years of playing with each other, Pip knew his toys well. Knew each one by touch and sight and—almost—by sound.

“Hmm,” she heard him muse as he walked about her, the slap of leather against the flesh of his palm making her heart race. “I think to do this right, I need some help.”

Help?

“What do you think, Cora?” he asked as another set of footsteps—booted and heavy this time—began to surround her.

“I think we can definitely do something here.” Pip heard her heavy-footed friend and rope top step close before she trailed a fingernail along Pip’s forearm, her touch and voice leaving a sharp burn that made Pip shiver. “Would you like that?” Cora wrapped her fingers around Pip’s wrist.

Dear God, yes.

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CHAPTER SIX: INFOMMUNITY - PART TWO

God knew, she was used to getting up early to do her hair and makeup and whatnot—her look did not just do itself—but she’d gotten up extra early to slather on hair straightening cream and flat-iron her curls, to dig out the crisp suit and stiff shoes her mother had bought her when she’d first told her about getting a job at Infommunity. She’d even done her makeup twice because, the first time, she’d gone a little too heavy with the eyeliner and vampy was not the impression she wanted to leave viewers with.

After all, her appearance-driven mother had always told her, “Pip, you’ve got to present the right picture. Message is important, but presentation is key. Because in this world, it doesn’t matter what you’ve got to say, if no one’s listening.”

And, overall, she thought she’d done a good job. Of creating a more buttoned-down, more accessible, more Infommunity-esque image.

But, Lord, she could have used the extra hours of sleep.

She cleared her throat again, touching the bobby pins that secured her hair in place. “When studied, people report that intimacy, love, and sex make them more than fourteen percent happier in life,” she said, gaining a strange comfort from stating stats, “beating out drinking, hobbies, sports, and religion by more than half.” Each word gave her a little more of her confidence back, as the analytical nerd in her took over. “Yet we’re still skeptical when it comes to treating that so very important aspect of our lives with the same curiosity, tenacity, and desire for improvement that we do daily with our work and other interests.” She shrugged. “I mean, just as with cooking or home repair, we aren’t born experts at romance. We have to learn it somewhere.” She smiled cheekily. “And, really, can you think of a skill you’d rather practice to perfection?”

She heard her coworkers snicker behind her as she watched Wendy smile and her eyes light up with rating figures and viral promo clips. “So you think following your advice, which has in the past included things like,” she looked down at her notes dramatically as she said, “BDSM, role playing, pornography, and infidelity—”

“I’ve never advised anyone to cheat on their partners,” Pip clarified.

“You’ve talked extensively on casual sex, threeways, open relationships, polyamory, and other less conventional multi-partnered relationships, right?” Wendy asked.

“Which, if done consensually and responsibly, isn’t infidelity,” Pip argued, lifting her hand pointedly again, causing her coat to tug. God, what she’d give for her usual wear right now, instead of her mother’s suit that, despite its blandness, felt like more of a costume than anything she owned in her vast and colorful closet. Tugging on the coat again, she focused on the question at hand, “So long as everyone is fully informed and in full agreement, it’s just fun. If it makes the people involved happy and doesn’t hurt anyone, who are we to judge?”

The anchor woman gave a practiced encouraging look, that was neither disapproving nor necessarily agreeable. Pip idly wondered how long it took the woman to get it just right. “So would you say that your pursuit of personal pleasure is your contribution to Infommunity’s pursuit for self-improvement?”

Pip tilted her head shrewdly, feeling the pins in her hair begin to poke her scalp. “I don’t see the pursuit of pleasure and of improvement as mutually exclusive. Just like everyone else here at Infommunity, I answer people’s questions.” She surreptitiously adjusted one of the hairpins, trying to resist the urge to nervously scratch her scalp that suddenly felt raw and dry. She uncrossed her legs, only to re-cross them again when the fabric of her pencil skirt seemed to gape unattractively at her knees. “I just want to give people the information they need to do the things they want to do, to achieve the things they want to achieve, and fix the things they want to fix in their lives.”

“Even in the face of such reports as,” Wendy asked, handing over a folded newspaper article, “twenty-one-year-old college student, Tracy Meyers, who died last month when she and her boyfriend tried to re-enact a bondage scene they’d read in Steele’s Edge? Do you really think that spreading the knowledge about such things—such risks—especially in the unaccountable and often unmonitored internet landscape, where anyone can gain access to it, is a good idea?”

“I think it’s already out there.” Pip tucked the folded piece of paper in her hand. “And, while I feel for that girl, her partner, and their families and friends, less education—instead of more and better education—can’t be the answer. There will always be people who want to know these things; I’d rather they know how to do it right. So, until the questions stop coming, I’ll keep answering.”

Wendy smiled deeply as she sat back, looking far too satisfied. “Which I’m sure comes as a great comfort to Tracy Meyer’s family.”

Pip opened her mouth to counter, but her eye caught on the article’s picture. A fresh-faced, freckled girl; Tracy looked like someone’s kid sister. A little like Sam, if Pip was honest.

“Her parents took a look at her computer,” Wendy continued, not missing a beat as Pip felt the camera’s gaze zoom in on her still staring at the newsprint. “They told me today that Tracy was a Deviant Nerd subscriber.”

Pip’s breath caught. She looked up into Wendy’s eyes before staring down at the photo again, all her words—her arguments and explanations—dying.

Wendy just grinned and plowed on, “Well, I’m Wendy Graceland for KAYZ News and I’d like to thank Pip Jones and everyone here at Infommunity; I wish you the best of luck with the new expansion.”

The minute the camera turned off, Pip stood up and hurried out of the conference room, toward the elevator. Her hands began to furiously undo the buttons of her suit coat and the collar of her blouse. She heaved an uneasy breath; even though the material wasn’t terribly constricting, it was like the first time she’d been able to breathe easy this morning. With a shake of her head, she began pulling pins from her hair. It’d look like shit until she was home and able to wash it and re-twist it, but she didn’t care.

She was done today. And she just needed to get out of here.

“Pip,” she heard Phil call out behind her.

Oh, God, just what she needed. She jabbed the elevator call button violently, tucking the newspaper into her pocket.

“Pip,” he said again, coming closer. Why couldn’t he just leave her alone? She didn’t want to see him right now. Didn’t want to be seen by him right now.

Thankfully, the doors opened and she stepped into the small, tight space. She felt that slip of paper in her pocket like a weight on her every step. Pip leaned against the back wall, closing her eyes and shutting out the world as the elevator closed. She inhaled a tense, stressed breath, when the doors popped open again.

“Pip,” Phil said as he stepped into the elevator, “are you okay?”

“Great,” she said through gritted teeth as she ran her hands through her now mussed, unpinned hair, not looking at him, not moving. She caught a peek of herself in the mirrored ceiling. Red-eyed and rumpled, she looked like a wreck. Great. Just great. She rolled her eyes and glared at her shoes that were pinching her toes.

“That anchorwoman ambushed you,” Phil said hotly as he paced the small, mobile room. “She just,” he grunted as he paused to tap his loafered feet in quiet temper, “attacked you out of nowhere.”

“It happens.” She watched his chocolate-brown, soft suede loafers pace the elevator tiles again. “More often than you’d think.”

He whipped around to face her, his gaze hot and furious. “Who?”

Pip shot him an incredulous look. Was he kidding? “Who?” She gave a harsh laugh. “You.”

She shook her head, tugging her uncooperative hair back, when the smartest man she knew just gaped at her blankly. “How many times have you said—or even just thought—the exact same thing Wendy out there was saying?” she asked, hating the frustration tensing her muscles.

There was this impossible pressure building inside her, threatening to push everything inside her—raw and angry and just so goddamned tired of tamping down and staying quiet—out even as she struggled to contain it. “That BDSM is just unnecessary or even dangerous trendiness? That being sex-positive is just a fancy, PC way of saying I’m sex-obsessed? That being bi or poly or kinky is just my way of justifying and legitimizing all my reckless, ill-advised sex choices? That being proud of something that makes me abnormal is ridiculous and delusional? A joke? The worst kind of punchline? Tell me that you’re surprised that anchor took one look at me and saw nothing more than a splashy sound bite and a ratings boost.”

She shook her head again, disgusted. “Tell me that you don’t do the same every time you think that what I do here isn’t as important as what you do.”

They both stood there quietly as the doors rang and slid open. She looked into Phil’s eyes, his gray depths confused and conflictedly guilty behind his wire- rimmed glasses.

“Why do you care what anyone says about me,” Pip pointedly asked him, “when—deep down—you think they’re right?” Maybe he was.

And wasn’t that a thought?

Pip shook her head and stepped out of the elevator, grateful when she heard the doors close behind her and nothing else.

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CHAPTER SIX: INFOMMUNITY - PART ONE

The largest online collection of everything you always wanted to know. Click. Learn. Grow.

Phil futzed with the tie around his neck and watched all his coworkers mill about the break room nervously. For most of them, this would be the first time they’d been on television, so anxiety was high as they struggled with makeup and microphones.

Phil had done some appearances and spots as a science expert over the years working at Infommunity, so he wasn’t nearly so affected by it. If anything, he wondered why KAYZ News was even interested in their expansion. Sure, KAYZ was a local TV station and Infommunity was gaining quite the reputation, but he wouldn’t have thought it newsworthy.

But he supposed, surveying the flurry of people running around their offices, any publicity was good publicity.

Phil looked over the heads of fellow hosts, wondering where Pip was. He’d hoped to talk to her before the press conference, but they’d been in meetings all day, with no time for even a cup of coffee. He wanted to know what had happened with Sam; God knew, his niece wasn’t talking to him about it.

He spotted her with Will, Nita, and a perfectly groomed, blond woman who he remembered from the KAYZ local evening news. They were all shaking hands and smiling. Schmoozing, he supposed. Pip—beautiful, personable, and unbelievably sellable—had become the face of Infommunity’s expansion. Everyone wanted a picture or an interview or a sound bite.

Phil tilted his head curiously at Pip. She looked different today. With her hair straightened and tamed into a demure updo paired with a sleek but almost severely conservative skirt suit, Pip was the epitome of the modern, professional woman.

But, Lord knew, she didn’t look like Pip.

Not to say that Pip wasn’t modern or professional. Or that she didn’t look nice all done up like that. But the Pip he knew was fun and quirky, with her own style and sense. She was vivacious and filled any room with her...well, with her.

And, sure, he got it. She was putting on a face for the news crew. Just like everyone else in the room. Just like he was in dress slacks and a tie today instead of his usual khakis and a sweater vest, she couldn’t very well go on the news wearing one of her thrift-store couture outfits.

He got it, he did. But still, even though he understood and even though Pip still looked stunning, all made up for the cameras, Phil found himself frowning at the results.

At least, she still seemed to be acting like the cubemate he knew. His lips quirked a bit as he watched her. Pip was in her element. She was all jokes and quips and that rich, throaty laugh. And, even from across the office, Phil could see the interviewer just falling under her spell.

He’d talk to her after the interview. Maybe take her out for drinks or dinner, to toast her first big TV interview. She deserved this moment; he’d let her have it.

He allowed himself to be shuffled about the conference room, finding himself in the back but close to the interviewer, flanked by his other more established Infommunity hosts. He waved quickly at Pip who had been settled right front in center, who smiled back, excitement glittering in her dark eyes even as she nervously touched her now straightened, tucked-in coif.

“You’ll be great,” he mouthed.

“Thanks,” she mouthed back.

They shushed everyone and started to roll the camera.

“I’m Wendy Graceland and I’m here at Infommunity’s headquarters,” the perky, blond anchor said into the camera, “where the internet’s largest collection of information is looking to expand even further. I’m joined by the site’s owners Will Arlow and Nita Bhatia here to tell us more about it.”

Nita nodded, the bun she had her long, dark hair braided into bouncing, and said, “Infommunity is an online multimedia encyclopedia website, seeking to make the digital information market easier to access, navigate, understand, and relate to.”

“Essentially, Wendy,” Will said as he adjusted his thick-framed glasses, “we’re looking to answer every question you could possibly think of by gathering the most inquisitive minds we can find to scour every news story, site, article, and study and present it to you in an easy-to-read, understandable, and hopefully entertaining way.”

“Which you’ve already done with your well-known podcasts and blogs, like Ask the Egghead, Everyday Arithmetic, and Pages of History.” Wendy looked at her notes. Turning to Phil, she asked him about what it was like to report on the most cutting-edge science developments. She asked Rick how he transformed such a dry subject like math into an engaging talk about how to live smarter and easier. She asked Laura about the importance of the past on the present and the future.

Wendy had a question for just about every host, assuring them all that they would review the tape and gather the best of the interviews and compile them together.

“And, Pip Jones,” Wendy said, finishing up the Infommunity staff, “you’re Infommunity’s latest addition, right?”

Phil watched Pip sit up straight, looking confident and camera-ready as the lens focused and loved her. “That’s right, Wendy.” Pip gave a beaming smile. “I was incredibly honored that Infommunity asked The Deviant Nerd to join their online family.”

“It’s an interesting add, isn’t it?” Wendy checked her notes. “I mean, given the site’s encyclopedia-ish feel—with podcasts and blogs about math and science and history and economics and even cooking and basic DIY repair—a podcast and blog that’s essentially a sex and romance advice column seems out of character, doesn’t it?”

“I’m sorry?” Confused laughter flustered Pip’s voice.

Phil could feel the whole staff stiffen, bristle at the confrontational question. His eyes narrowed. What was this woman up to?

“I understand the site’s aim to appeal to the broadest, most mainstream audience possible,” Wendy went on, ignoring the rest of the group to lean forward toward Pip, “but what do you have to say to those who have said that the acquisition of your podcast is just a tabloid-y attempt to cash in on the trendy popularity of BDSM because of Elliette Roberts’s run-away hit Steele’s Edge?”

———

Pip held out her hand, trying to quiet the indignant grumbles coming from her coworkers. It certainly wasn’t the question she’d been expecting, given the rest Wendy had thrown out in the other interviews, but she should have. No one knew better than Infommunity that news and information was a business. And, news or not, Wendy had a job to do.

Pip’s hand unconsciously touched the top button of her high-necked blouse, clearing her throat softly as she gathered her thoughts. “The Deviant Nerd is about relationships and love and sex of all kinds, kinky and vanilla, gay and straight, polyamorous and asexual,” Pip said, folding her hands over the constricting material of her skirt to stop herself from fidgeting as she settled herself in the conference room chair. “And, while Steele’s Edge has brought many aspects of BDSM out of the closet and bedrooms and into the public eye, it’s a practice as old as sex itself.”

“Of course,” Wendy said with a friendly, but pointed nod, “but, as you said, it’s really only recently that it’s become a part of the modern public consciousness.” Pointing to her notes with fabulously, almost artistically manicured nails, she traced every word on the page as she said, “Lionel Wayne, from the Foundation for Defending Families, was quoted saying, ‘advocating and glorifying deviant behavior outside the traditional norm not only teaches that such behavior is acceptable—normalizing and tacitly approving it—it commodifies and sells it in such a way that it tantalizes and targets the young and naïve.’ ” She looked up at Pip, her blue eyes both curious and more than a little bloodthirsty as they blinked with inquisitive innocence. “Do you worry that presenting your self-proclaimed deviant opinions alongside the extremely factual and encyclopedic content on the website will be construed as lending it more validity and intellectual credence than is warranted?”

“That’s enough.” Will stood up, his already gel-spiked hair seeming too much like an indignant cat’s as he shooed at the cameras. “The interview is over.”

“No.” Pip tossed out an assuring hand to her boss.

God! She frowned. Had that come off as defensive?

Well, she felt a bit defensive.

But was that really how she wanted to appear on camera?

Pip coughed and straightened her tailored suit coat that had shifted oddly with her sudden movement. “I’ll answer.” She nodded stiffly and sat back, her spine straight.

If only she knew how to answer.

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Arrested Restraints - Part Two

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CHAPTER FIVE: ARRESTED RESTRAINTS - PART TWO

Sam was already waiting for her outside Café Bien when Pip stepped out of her car. “Hey Sam.” She walked up to her and waved. “You get here all right?”

“Uncle Phil dropped me off.” She pointed toward Cover to Cover, one of Pip’s personal favorite places. “He’s puttering around the bookstore around the corner till we’re done.” Well, there were certainly worse places to while away time at for an hour or two, but Pip wondered why Phil was bothering.

“I could’ve given you a ride,” she pointed out. “It wouldn’t have been a problem.”

“No.” She shrugged. “I know. It’s just…” She shook her head. “He and my mom have been keeping a pretty close watch lately. They’re afraid I’ll,” she said sardonically, “wander off.”

Pip smiled, sure that was part of the reason. She knew that Phil was still a little wary about her talking to his niece. She was a last resort. And an unpredictable one, to boot. She shook her head at the email he’d sent her of all the articles he’d found, warning about the dangers of BDSM, kink, and teenage sex.

And, while many of the articles had rather surprisingly come from sites she’d thought too reputable—psychological journals and news sites—to publish such biased and skewed pieces like that, most of them hadn’t said anything she hadn’t heard before and knew to be complete bullshit. Bad analysis riddled with logical fallacies that preyed on worried parents’ and prudish finger-waggers’ confirmation biases.

After they’d been seated at one of the outdoor patio tables in the back of the café, facing the ocean, they looked at the menu and just exchanged basic small talk. They talked about Sam’s classes and Pip’s latest blog post. They talked about her mother and about Phil. And Pip told Sam a story about how Phil, last month, had tried to run the dishwasher with liquid dish soap rather than the dishwasher soap.

After sharing a good laugh at the image Pip had painted of the office dishwasher angrily gurgling up bubbles, like a rabid dog about to attack, Sam sighed and narrowed her gaze at Pip. “So did my uncle wrangle you into trying to talk me out of seeing Fischer again?”

So it was time to get into it, huh? Pip gave a half-smile. “I think he thinks he did.”

“But you’re not going to?” Sam still sounded suspicious but a little hopeful too.

Pip bit her lip and looked up thoughtfully. “Okay, requisite question time.” Her voice was light but serious. She gave Sam a studying look. “You’re not being forced or coerced into anything, right?”

Sam rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest as she sat back. “Why does everyone just assume that I’m some kind of victim? My mom thinks I’m some naïve kid who’s going to end up just like her. My uncle thinks I’m some kind of abuse victim who needs to be in therapy.” She ran her hands through her hair in frustration. “I’m fine; why doesn’t anyone believe me? I can be healthy and kinky at the same time, you know.”

Pip tilted her head. “Believe me,” she said, arching her eyebrow, “I know. I get it.” She, all too well, understood the sentiment. Of all people, Pip knew that kinky didn’t mean damaged or broken. “Actually, did you know that the latest, most reputable studies are showing that kinksters, on average, are psychologically healthier than our vanilla counterparts.” It was Pip’s current favorite piece of sexy science. “But, if you’re kinky, get used to people poking their nose in your business; you’ll be answering these questions for the rest of your life.”

Pip shook her head as Sam gave a disgusted sigh. “But, as annoying as it is, that’s how it should be.” She gave a resigned smile and nodded when Sam looked up at her, a surprised and more than a little appalled look on Sam’s young face. “Kink has risks. Not done right, people can get hurt. In lots of different ways. We keep each other safe by keeping an eye on each other. By making sure that we’re all doing all right.”

She picked up her drink and sipped. “And anyway, kinky or not, you want people around you who care about whether you’re being safe or not. Who check in on you. Who love you enough to worry.” She smiled at Sam, thinking of the people—Peter, Kat, Hayato, Max, and tons of others—who did that for her in her life. “And that’s the difference, whether it comes from caring—from a desire to know that you’re safe and healthy and happy—or from the automatic and judgmental assumption that what you’re doing is somehow morally wrong.”

Sam took a mindful breath. “Okay,” she said, conceding. “I can see that.” She nodded firmly. “I’m not being forced or coerced,” she recited in an obvious tone, as if by rote, before meeting Pip’s gaze with earnest honesty. “I’m having fun and Fischer is great to me.” Her brow furrowed and she frowned. “I don’t see why no one else can see that. Why they just assume that he’s some How to Catch a Predator creep who I need to be saved from.” She jutted her chin out defiantly. “I don’t need saving from anyone, least of all Fischer.”

Pip shrugged. “Look, I don’t know Fischer;” she admitted, holding up her hands, before pointing out, “I don’t even really know you.” She took a breath and looked at Sam, who really did look so much like her uncle, she could have been his daughter. “It’s not up to me, whether you see him again or not, and it shouldn’t be.” It wasn’t Pip’s call. Sam was of age; it wasn’t really anyone’s business but her own. “All I really want is to make sure that, if you had questions, you got answers. From someone who’s been somewhere near where you are now.”

Sam gave a dismissive wave of her hand. “Ever since you joined Infommunity, I’ve read everything you’ve written. I listen to your podcast weekly. And Fischer’s answered a ton of my questions already.”

“And you met him on a Steele’s Edge fansite?” Pip tilted her head suspiciously.

Sam nodded, the excited smile of someone who’d discovered a secret on her face. God, Pip remembered that feeling. “Steele’s Secret,” the young girl said. “It’s just a big community of people who love Elliette Roberts and the book and just want to talk about it and learn more about BDSM and everything.”

“So,” Pip asked, trying not to sound too judgmental while still making her point, “it’s mostly a site made up of people who don’t do BDSM themselves, right?”

“There are some kinksters there.” Sam shrugged, a little more unsure. “Like, Fisher’s been doing it since college.”

Really? Pip’s eyebrow raised. “Is he involved in any of the local communities?”

“You mean outside the Steele’s Secret site?” Sam asked. When Pip nodded, the young girl just shrugged. “Maybe. But not that I know of.”

Pip fought the urge to frown. “It’s just that,” Pip said, “I’ve been an active part of the largest local community for about seven years now.” She shook her head. “And I don’t know him.”

She saw Sam bite her lip. “But it’s not like you know everyone in the community, right?”

Pip conceded. “No, but I’m pretty well-connected,” she said, “even among other communities. And, if Fischer’s been doing this as long as he says he has and I don’t know him…” She let that thought hang. It didn’t automatically make him a liar or a bad guy; it just seemed odd. “Did you get references from past partners? Or has he introduced you to people who can vouch for him?”

“He’s told me about them.” Sam frowned and hedged. “And, like you’ve said, it’s a private world. Wouldn’t giving out references kind of be like outing?”

“Is that what he told you, when you asked for references?” Pip’s brow furrowed as she frowned.

“No,” Sam said, making it sound as if Fischer hadn’t specifically said it, but had probably hinted at it. Hard.

“It’s kind of the nice thing about being part of a community.” Pip smiled. “BDSM is a private world. One that you’ll have to hide and keep secret from most of the people in your life, because they just won’t understand. But, like I said, being part of a community means that you have people who care about each other, people you trust with your secrets and who trust you with theirs.”

A longing look lit in Sam’s gray eyes. “Sounds nice.”

“It is.” Pip nodded. “You ever think about joining one?”

“Can I?” Sam sounded doubtful but intrigued.

“I know the girl who runs CinKY, the local College Kinky Youth program.” Pip pursed her lips thoughtfully. “It’s meant for college students, but I’m sure I could talk to her. It’s not a play group,” she clarified. “It’s meant as an informational meet-up for people who are curious about kink to learn about it—what kind of kink is available out there and how to do it safely, sanely, and consensually.” Which was what Pip thought Sam really needed. “And, once you get involved in that, it’s much easier to get to know and join other groups. To really build your community.”

“That sounds really cool,” Sam said with a smile. “I could be interested in trying out something like that.”

“And,” Pip suggested, “if you wanted to try out a site run and enjoyed by actual kinksters, my friend, Peter, runs a site you might want to join.” She pulled out a piece of paper and wrote out SyncKink’s address. “Again, it’s all about awareness and learning how real people do kink smart.”

Sam grinned as she took the slip of paper, clutching it in her hand like a treasure map. “Thanks.” She stared at it as if she were committing the letters to memory. “I’ll definitely be checking this out.”

“I put my username on the end there.” Pip pointed to the bottom of the page. “You should come find me, check out some of the groups I’ve joined. If you’re a fan of my blog and podcast, you’ll love this site.” Pip pulled out another piece of paper and wrote down her cell number and personal email address. “And, if you ever just want to talk, about anything,” she said as she handed over the second piece of paper, “feel free to contact me. Anytime.”

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