That only aggravated his already sour disposition.Often he would sit up in bed, his uneasy slumber disturbed by the distinct sensation of something el...e in bed with him. His wife had long since left him for the more tranquil atmosphere of her parent's home. His sudden screams in the middle of the night were most disturbing.Osman began to shy at shadows. His work suffered considerably. His fellow officers began to regard him as, to say the least, unreliable. He grew more miserable than. Are you willing to be a slave?What would your husband think?" He could never know," I whispered, answering her questions out of order. "But, yes, I think I'd like to be a slave. It would be nice not tohave to make decisions. Only do as I'm told." My voice trailed off becauseshe was shaking her head."It would never work. He'd find out. And I'm talking heavy D/s. Realslavery. Pain, humiliation, discipline. I'd mark you. Change you.Subjugate you. You'd live and work her at the . So it was at Christmas 1984, I was the sole security officer at a multi tenant office block. The five floors housed nine different companies, with a communal executive dining room on the top floor where the pent house would normally be. At this time of year this dining room is usually a very busy place booked up for all the staff parties of the tenant companies.As a rule the parties normally begin around the 17th December and go through to the 24th. This particular year the 24th was a Saturday. I’d started early and I’d made it in under four hours. I looked up at the clock on the bank building across the street when I got to the Ralston Building. It was 10:33A.M. He’d be in, I was pretty sure.A security guard stopped me, and looked me over pretty good. Well, I was dressed in row-chic. “Name’s Clausen. I’m here to see Rodney Pollard, ninth floor,” I said. The guard tendered me a sour look, stepped behind a bank of monitors, picked up a phone, hit a button, and waited. He talked to.
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