#mattdomposts

Being a Dom is so much more than sex, spankings and whatnot.

Care for your sub.

Be steady for them.

Comfort them.

Be a safe harbour in the storm.

Small things matter.

A degradation kink does not mean someone gets to degrade you whenever they feel like it.

A humiliation kink does not mean someone gets to humiliate you because they had a bad day.

A pain kink does not mean someone gets to hurt you outside of what you agreed to.

This should not be complicated.

If you have negotiated degradation, fine.

If you have negotiated humiliation, fine.

If you have a dynamic where certain words, rules, tone or behavior exist outside of scenes, also fine.

Adults can do complicated things.

But it has to be agreed.

Actually agreed.

Not implied because you once got wet reading something filthy.

Not assumed because you call them Sir, Mistress, Daddy, Mommy, Owner, or whatever word makes your knees weak.

Not smuggled in because you like being called a good little slut in the right context.

Context matters.

Consent matters.

And care matters.

Your dominant should not be calling you stupid, useless, pathetic, ugly, worthless, annoying, too much, not enough, or whatever else cuts into you, and then hide behind your kink when you react like a human being.

Especially not if you have told them it hurt you.

That is the part people need to pay attention to.

Not just what they say.

What they do when you say:

"That actually made me feel bad."

Do they listen?

Do they adjust?

Do they care that they hit something real?

Or do they make you feel dramatic, weak, oversensitive, ungrateful, or bad at submission?

Because that tells you a lot.

A good dominant can enjoy hurting you in the ways you both agreed to.

They can enjoy the tears. The shame. The struggle. The filthy little collapse.

But they should not enjoy damaging your self-worth.

Those are not the same thing.

One is kink.

The other is just cruelty.

Outside of the agreed dynamic, you are still two people.

Equal in worth.

Equal in humanity.

Even if the relationship is not equal in structure.

That difference matters.

A D/s dynamic can include control. It can include obedience. It can include degradation. It can include harshness, if that is what you both want.

But it should not slowly train you to accept being treated badly just so someone else can feel powerful.

If someone keeps hurting you, refuses to listen, refuses to adjust, and then uses your kink as the reason you should shut up and take it?

That is not dominance.

That is not ownership.

That is not a hard style.

That is someone using BDSM language to cover ordinary abuse.

She’s already bound in the passenger seat when I turn the key. Not helpless, not surprised. Exactly where she asked to be, with that smug little brat-glint still in her eyes.

Then I take the bumpy back roads.

The first few jolts steal her breath in the best way. A sharp little shiver, a startled sound she tries to swallow. She’s fighting a smile like she can out-stubborn the road, like she can keep it playful.

But the rope doesn’t care about her performance.

Every dip in the asphalt translates straight into her body. The sensation starts sweet, then turns insistent, then turns mean. It rubs, tugs, nags at the same raw nerve again and again until she can’t find a position that makes it stop. She’s forced to feel it. Forced to take it as it comes.

Her breathing gets messy. Her thighs tense and tremble against the restraints. She tries to keep her chin up, but her eyes go glossy anyway, anger and arousal mixing into something helpless and hot.

“Daddy,” she says, like it’s a complaint.

Another bump. She flinches, then whimpers, and the word changes shape.

“Daddy… please.”

I don’t look at her right away. I let the suspension bounce once more, just to make sure she understands what she’s asking for. Not rescue. Not mercy.

Relief.

“Tell me,” I say, calm as ever. “What do you want.”

She swallows hard, voice shaking, pride cracking at the edges.

“Please stop,” she whispers. “Please untie me.”

I smile to myself and keep driving just a little longer.

Because brats don’t learn from getting their way.