*Uncontrolled laughter*

You look around the room with a raised eyebrow, observing the functional library of sex-toys and **** devices, before the sheer ridiculousness of the setup starts to get to you. You break into a grin, then - before you can do much to stop it - find yourself laughing uproariously, leaning against the rough-hewn cement "table" in the middle for support.

Mr. Baxter looks at you with concern as you struggle to contain yourself long enough to explain. Eventually, with time and effort, you manage to bring your laughter down to the levels of brief intermittent chuckling.

"It's- it's... it's so textbook!" you sputter at last. "It's like the Complete Idiot's Guide to BDSM version of a dungeon!" Immediately you break into laughter again, and the attorney stands with his arms crossed impatiently while you recover once more.

Finally you just can't laugh any more. Your sides hurt too much. Taking deep, long breaths, you lean against the wall next to the door and rub the tears from your eyes.

"Ohhh..." you sigh with a long, slow shake of your head. "This is just rich. I can barely believe it."

"You'll pardon my interruption," Mr. Baxter says at last with a pointed cough, "but I simply do not understand. What have you found that is so humorous in here?"

Taking a deep breath, you close your eyes and try not to crack up again as you formulate a reply. "Okay... so, I'm just going to guess that you're not particularly versed on the BDSM fetish?"

"Correct," the attorney replies with a derisive glance at his surroundings.

"Alright..." you continue, with no small annoyance at his offended tone. Given the circumstances, however.... "...fine. So you wouldn't understand, but this is some serious Christian Grey shit. Are you familiar with that at least? Fifty Shades of Grey?"

"I've heard of it," he answers quickly, and you can tell from his look that he clearly wants to convey he isn't the sort to read such a thing.

"Yeah, well - it's garbage," you say with a shake of your head. "Complete trash. Makes a mockery of the fundamentals of the lifestyle. Generally hated by everyone who actually lives it. And this," you say with a wave of your hand around the room, "is EXACTLY the sort of shit you'd see in that book. There's no creativity, no artistry, no... no personality in it. It's a carbon-copy, cookie-cutter creation made by someone who doesn't even have the barest surface-level understanding of the practice. I've seen better setups done with a hundredth the investment, because they at least had flair. This, on the other hand... this is - frankly - pathetic."

Mr. Baxter looks at you for a long moment, then sighs. "Well, we agree on that at least. Shall we continue?"