People say that intelligence is sexy. Wrong. Intelligence is sexy until you realize that your submissive is capable of analyzing behavioral patterns faster than you. I should add a new maxim to my list: "Don't date someone smarter than you."

Because that's the problem with intelligent submissives - while you're trying to maintain control, they've already found the optimal way to get exactly what they want.

Maybe someone can tell me I'm exaggerating. "Well, the dynamic is already set, even if you've given in a little. Everything will flow naturally." Sure, that person isn't warning you that your perfect submissive can turn into a rebellious fucking teenager overnight. And no, I'm not exaggerating - I've been wondering for days if Alex has suffered some kind of brain injury that has made him forget all the basic concepts of professional behavior.

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It all started last Wednesday. We had an important meeting with a client, one of those that require everyone to dress like functional adults and not like programmers fresh out of a 48-hour coding marathon.

"Good morning," Alex said as he walked in, and so far everything was normal. The problem was that as he passed by my chair, his fingers "accidentally" brushed against my neck. In the middle of the fucking meeting. With the fucking client in front.

I tensed up but maintained my composure. Okay, a slip-up. It can happen. He probably didn't even mean it.

But then he started with the pen.

You have to be kidding me with the pen. He put it in his mouth, suckling on it distractedly while "taking notes." And every time I looked in his direction (which was more often than I'd like to admit), he caught me watching him.

"Alex," I said when he finally finished the torture, "can you stay for a moment?"

I waited for everyone to leave. Including the client, who seemed pleased with the presentation. Normal, he wasn't the one who had to endure watching his submissive practice fellatio with a Bic in front of the entire department.

"What the hell was that?" I asked as soon as the door closed.

"The what, sir?" and I swear his innocent face almost made me doubt. Almost.

"You know perfectly well what. The... act with the pen. The touching as you passed. Have you lost your mind?"

"I was just taking notes," he replied, but there was something in his smile that annoyed me. As if he was... satisfied?

"Tonight," I growled, "we're going to have a very serious conversation about professional boundaries."

"Yes, sir," he replied, looking down in that gesture of submission that usually drove me crazy. But there was something... different. As if he was holding back a smile.

The "conversation" that night was... intense. I tied him up, made him beg, denied him orgasm until he was practically crying. A prime e...