#bridglar

"There's only one bed," Frances said.

There was only one bed! Tamsin thought, suppressing a smile. "I'm sure I booked a room that said it had two." She pulled out her phone and checked the booking. "Ah, here we go - the sofa folds out."

She felt a slight, unjustified pang of disappointment at how relieved Frances looked.

"I think that's worked out quite well. People might have thought it strange if you and your date were checking into a twin room."

"You think of everything, Jopson."

Tamsin glowed. "I try, sir."

---

"Welcome to the Pleasuredome! Anything I can help you with today, or are you just browsing?"

Normally, Henry hated being approached by shop assistants. And he would have expected to particularly hate it in this context, when the last thing he wanted was to be noticed. But there was something about the man standing in front of him that seemed to radiate reassurance. He was in his fifties, at a guess, with silvery hair and a full beard and the warmest, kindest eyes Henry had ever seen. He probably had to deal with nervous people all the time, and requests for much stranger things than what Henry was after. Plus, if he had to hunt the items down himself he might be here for hours.

"Uh, yes, actually," he said. "I'm looking to buy a strap-on harness."

---

"There's nothing I wouldn't let you do to me."

Fear and arousal warred in Francis' mind. "That's a dangerous statement."

"I know."

The building wasn't one of those new-fangled places with glass walls. Francis' office had four solid, wood-panelled walls, and the cleaning ladies knew better than to come in while the light was still on. Nobody would disturb them.

He lowered his voice nevertheless. "So what do you want me to do about it?"

---

“One last thing, Commander. We'll require a couple of photographs for the stud book.”

Goodsir guided James to a sectioned off part of the room where a camera was set up, with a white cloth hung on the wall facing it. He gestured for James to stand in front of a wooden contraption that James vaguely recognised from the ethnographic portraits he had seen in scientific collections.

“If you'd just place your head in there for me, sir,” Goodsir asked, gesturing towards the top of the stand. James stepped back and let Goodsir adjust the height and tightness of the clamp until his head was fixed gently but firmly in place. “It's because of the length of the exposures, I'm afraid. Helps with making sure we don't get any blurs or wobbles.”

James focused on maintaining a straight spine and trying not to shiver as Goodsir took his picture from the front and the side.

“You can relax now, sir,” Goodsir said eventually. The clamp was loosened and he was handed a towel to wrap around himself. The gesture towards modesty made James want to laugh at the absurdity of it - that it should be a concern now after having every part of him scrutinised and recorded, and that in short order he was to be attached to god only knows what kind of contraptions to milk him dry of vital fluids. And yet, he found himself feeling grateful for the moment of respite.

"So what next?" James asked.