You’ve met him on Fetlife. You’ve seen him at a munch. You’ve attended his flogging classes and dated him on Tinder. He’s the dominant who’s so domly he comes with his own damned domly pants. He’s such a sadist he carries a trigger warning. He’s so masterful he can make you his puppet without your even noticing. Be careful, sweetheart. He’s the worst and the best you’ll ever meet–the most loving, ethical, humble dominant in the scene, and if you take the risk of speaking to him in full sentences, there’ll be no going back.
He’s not like those other guys. It’s true. He’s a special one, and this bragging tells you all you need to know about his little-boy heart and big-boy ego.
Ego never did get my panties wet, but you’re welcome to form a queue on the left. He says he’ll drag your intestines out of your belly button, and it must be true because, well, he said so in this 300-word piece of smut he wrote last Thursday. Look at all these hordes applying to be his subly muse.
What? He’s single? Well, I guess he’s involved with “Someone Not on Fetlife.” He’s so poly he invented poly, so ethical he wrote the book, and he has all these pictures of floggers from Google Images to prove it.
Every time I write about a humble and powerful dominant I once knew, Super Dom populates my threads and charges into my inbox thanking me for taking the time to appreciate his obvious humility. Funny, that, because the instant you claim the humility label, you prove you’ve no right to.
The most compelling dominant I ever knew never called himself a D-type. He was just a man who loved finding the strings that drew out my lust; who looked at me closely enough to terrify. His power was never intentional. He inspired submission by encouraging my power. He earned service by providing service and drew me to the floor by building me up. He wasn’t sadistic so much as intimately acquainted with every aspect of his sexuality. He never bragged about his claws.
And he certainly never called himself humble because he was humble.
The sadist who boasts about his rage-red warning label will never convince me to suffer his worst treatment. I need love for that, not ego. I submit to a man who focuses outward, not in; who sees me, not his own bragging rights.
This post, like every other, will still attract a rash of self-aggrandisement, and that’s a sign as clear as any other of how little self-awareness Evil Dom has. The only D-type safe enough to win my submission knows every knot in his own tangled soul. That’s the very foundation of diffidence.
And diffidence is the very fabric of the submissive urge.