don’t be a jerk

The Golden Rule of BDSM: Don’t Be a Jerk

Strip it down and it all comes back to one line: don’t be a jerk. You can rig someone in suspension, drag them across the floor in rope, whisper filth into their ear, but if you don’t respect the person under your hands, you’ve missed the point. Respect isn’t pocket change you toss out of habit. It’s earned. It’s heavy. And it doesn’t disappear when the knots loosen or the blindfold slides off.

BDSM isn’t about cruelty for cruelty’s sake. It’s not a contest to see who can get darkest, meanest, or weirdest for the bragging rights. It’s about trust. And trust only grows when you treat the person in front of you like a human being, not a prop. Respect isn’t just the before-and-after courtesies. It’s baked into the middle—the way you watch their breath shift, the way you honor the surrender they’ve given you. When someone hands you their body, their head, their heart, you’re holding something breakable. Don’t drop it.

Real power isn’t in making someone crawl or cry. It’s in pushing them to the edge of what they can take, testing boundaries, pulling them into those shadowy corners—and still letting them walk away safe. Power is knowing you could destroy, but choosing instead to create. If you’re here for ego, if you’re here to feed cruelty, you don’t belong. Playing “the bad guy” doesn’t give you the right to forget you’re supposed to be a good human while you’re at it.

This whole thing only works if you communicate. If you think domination means plugging your ears while your partner struggles to get a word in, you’re not dominant—you’re negligent. BDSM is a duet, not a monologue. You call the shots, yes, but you’re listening while you do it. Respect lives in the check-ins, in the pauses, in the ability to pull back when you need to. Respect is knowing what your partner wants, what they don’t, and being cool with both.

The scene might feel like a game—roles, rules, good versus evil spelled out clearer than in day-to-day life. But don’t get it twisted: under the costumes, you’re both still human. The Dom isn’t a god. The sub isn’t an object. Strip away the humanity and you’ve stripped away the point. Dominance without empathy is tyranny. Submission without trust is hollow. That’s the rule, even if no one says it out loud.

You’re going to fuck up sometimes. Everyone does. You’ll lose your cool, get drunk on the rush of power, say the wrong thing, push too far. That’s not the sin. The sin is refusing to own it. The sin is crossing a line and pretending you didn’t. You don’t need to be perfect. You need to be humble. Apologize when you should. Take responsibility when you’ve screwed up. Because what’s the point of the screaming, the knots, the breaking-open, if you leave your partner less than when you found them?

Respect is the ticket in. You wouldn’t walk into a friend’s house and smash their dishes for fun. You wouldn’t scream at strangers in a crowd just to watch them shrink. Why the fuck would you treat someone in the most vulnerable moment of their life that way? Respect is your currency here. Without it, you’re just another jerk with a toy.

Kindness is the unsung gear in the whole machine. The floggers and cuffs get the spotlight, but it’s the quiet care that makes it all work—the way you guide someone into subspace, the hand on their chest after the scene, the words that remind them they’re whole when the adrenaline fades. Aftercare exists because limits cut deep, and the people who go there need to be stitched back together. And not just subs—dominants need care too. They need to know what they gave mattered, that they didn’t cross a line, that the exchange was received. Both sides need the reassurance.

At its core, BDSM is negotiation—an ongoing conversation about power, pleasure, and trust. If you can’t communicate, if you can’t respect, if you can’t honor the humanity of the people you’re playing with, then you’re just running dangerous games. Not the good kind of scars, but the kind that eat away later.

So let’s keep it blunt. Don’t be a jerk. Be kind. Listen. Own your shit. Build trust like it’s the only thing keeping the lights on—because it is. Do that, and you’ve already won.