Beth Hart ~ Take it easy on me
But if I gave it all

Let the wall come down
Would you take my hand?
Would you show me how?

It’s easy for me, this BDSM thing, to endure, for Him, to receive the pain, even accounting for the pushing of limits and regression of boundaries.
It’s what I do, it’s who I am.
This is my normal, this is my home.

The challenges are infinite, the tasks arduous, but never am I more free to express than when I am underneath, than when I am subject to His will.

I challenge Him frequently, fucking make me, if you dare, and He does just that, because it’s our kink, our normal, it’s who we are, it’s what we do.
The movements are easy, fluid, even when the chaos reigns.

The monsters in my fantasies, the ones which make their home in His dark, are not the ones of which I’m afraid.

*anecdote*
He stands in front of me, tall and strong. I cannot help but find myself lost when faced with the onslaught of emotion that threatens to choke me. Heart races, I have nowhere to go, overwhelmed, exposed. I catch the movement as His hand comes towards me, towards my face. Instintively the demons arise, and without thinking, I flinch.
Time stops, I don’t need to see it to know the pained look which settles upon his face.
Guilt, immediate, these demons are not of His making, He doesn’t deserve to be burned by their fleeting ferocity.
Panic, what now?
I pull His hand to my face, hold it there so I may feel what rationally I know. There is no threat in this most gentle of gestures.
Contrition….I’m sorry….words whispered as I bury my head in His chest.
*/anecdote*

Intimacy is my nemesis, the most simple of things at which I still sometimes fail, the burden of that memory is contained within my vanilla infused Pandora’s Box of sickly sweet secrets I’m afraid to reveal, even to Him, the one who creates for me a haven of safety.

No.

If I really wanted to challenge myself,
if I really wanted to stare into the abyss,
if I truly wanted to feel vulnerable and small,
if I truly desired to find out what abject, terror laced fear tastes like,
I’d kneel at His feet, bow my head, and whisper ‘Please Sir, make love to me’

C