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think about it.”
    The slave scurried across the taproom, heading for the kitchen.
    “How much to rent a room, I wonder,” mused Tyll. “I have an itch I’d like to scratch.”
    Pajel chuckled throatily. “I think we can do something about that. A real bed would be a plus.”
    “Don’t count on it,” Tyll warned. “A straw-stuffed pallet is first rate here.”
    The ales came, and shortly after that, their food, and the two men fell silent while they ate. The food was surprisingly good, the ale palatable, though Tyll thought the Koilathan brew superior.
    When the food was naught but a memory, Tyll signaled the slave girl. “We’d like to rent a room for an hour.”
    “That’d be a full silver penny, master.”
    “A full silver? One could get a room for the night for that much,” drawled Pajel.
    “Sleepin’ room, sure, master. Playroom’s not fer sleeping. Playroom’s got equipment.”
    “Ahh,” breathed Tyll in understanding. “Wonderful.” He set a silver coin down.
    “Might need two hours,” Pajel said, a smile lurking in his eyes.
    After glancing at Pajel, Tyll set out a second coin. The slave took both coins and trotted across the taproom to the bar where the tavern keeper presided over the room. She came back quickly and handed Tyll a key. “Room two. Will ye be wantin’ me or another girl?”
    “We’re paying for the room, that’s all we need,” Tyll told her and made a shooing gesture.
    “Rooms’re down that hall.”
     
    Tyll stood up and headed for the room with Pajel almost clipping his heels.
    The room was as promised—a playroom. There was a padded leather couch, a pleasure rack, a padded sawhorse and a whipping post in addition to the various bars, manacles, chains, tools and whips dangling from the walls. Pajel slid up behind him and proceeded to undress him. Tyll cooperated, turning and moving to help get the garments off faster. Between the two of them, it wasn’t long before Tyll was naked and Pajel’s hand was between his legs, playing with his cock and balls.
    “Are you willing?” Pajel asked.
    “I am willing to be bound by you.” Tyll closed his eyes in delight at the sensations coming from his nether regions. Pajel was a dear friend, one of the few that knew his secret—at some point, he didn’t know when or how or who, he’d been dosed with the slave fire potion. Not the male-obligate potion, thank the night, but he had a physical need for sex that couldn’t be denied for long.
    Unlike his dear Loftoni, Tyll could satisfy his fires in any number of ways, and usually he preferred to be on top. But with Pajel, he got to experience the pleasures of the submissive side. Not only would Pajel top him, Pajel would dominate him in ways Jisten was fundamentally incapable of contemplating.
    Pajel pushed him back against the pleasure rack and fastened his body into the device. The rack was a clever contraption. It held the body securely with straps across the waist, the chest, the upper arms and wrists, the thighs just above the knees and the ankles. The chest strap could go either above or below the breasts depending on user preference. None of the erogenous zones were covered, and the device could be adjusted in numerous ways to allow the user to position their partner as they pleased.
    Once Tyll was secured into the device, Pajel brought out a worn leather collar. He stroked it along the length of Tyll’s bare, bound body before fastening it around Tyll’s neck. “Just in case someone comes in,” Pajel murmured.
    Tyll smiled at him. This wasn’t the first time he’d worn Pajel’s collar. The butter-soft, supple leather was almost comforting in its snug embrace about his neck.
     
    * * * *
     
    Pajel adjusted the pleasure rack, levering the body back and spreading Tyll’s legs wide open. He didn’t push Tyll’s trunk down too much; he made sure that Tyll could still see what he was doing. He plucked a many-tailed belt whip from the wall. The soft strands were