I’ve officially reached a point where I need to be careful about who becomes my sub.

That probably sounds strange coming from me. After all, I’ve written plenty about my travels, the boys I’ve met along the way, and my tendency to find a willing submissive almost anywhere I spend enough time. But as my career has evolved, I’ve discovered that those choices can have consequences that extend well beyond the bedroom.

As most of you know, my non-FemdomU work takes me to colleges and universities all over North America. My actual profession has absolutely nothing to do with kink. I spend my days dealing with administrators, faculty, researchers, deans, and all the endless meetings that come with that world.

A while back, I accepted a long-term assignment that would have me based at a particular university for about seven months. I would still be traveling, but this campus would essentially serve as my home office. The university provided office space, support staff, and all the usual resources needed for the project.

Like I often do when arriving in a new city, I made a few personal connections. On my second day there, I met a local submissive who had responded to one of my ads. He passed my screening process, seemed intelligent, discreet, and respectful, and we spent time together over the course of several days.

He turned out to be an excellent submissive.

Attentive. Obedient. Reliable. The kind of man who seemed genuinely happy to serve. He stayed with me at my hotel, helped with whatever I needed, and generally made himself useful. By the end of those few days, I had developed a very favorable opinion of him.

Then came my first morning in the office.

I arrived early, coffee in hand, hoping to make it to my office before anyone else showed up. I wanted a quiet start before the inevitable introductions and interruptions began.

Instead, the moment I walked through the door, I froze.

Sitting at a desk near the front of the office was my submissive.

Not somebody who looked vaguely similar.

Not somebody who reminded me of him.

Him.

The very same young man who had spent the previous several days serving me was apparently the office intern assigned to support the project.

He looked up.

Our eyes met.

And that’s when I realized something that made the situation considerably worse.

He wasn’t surprised.

Not even a little.

The little bastard knew exactly who I was.

Which meant he had known from the very beginning that I would be working there.

He had known during every conversation.

Every interaction.

Every moment we spent together.

And he never mentioned it once.

Meanwhile, I had absolutely no idea.

I spent the rest of that morning trying to maintain a professional expression while internally asking myself a hundred different questions. Why hadn’t he told me? How long had he known? Was this coincidence, or had he intentionally responded because he knew I was coming? Most importantly, what exactly was I supposed to do now?

Because suddenly this wasn’t just a personal situation anymore. It was a professional one.