’Twas the week before Christmas and all through the kitchen,
Thoughts of Master selling me made my heart quicken.
The countertops and pantry and fridge were laden with food,
Though seeing Master’s friend again dampened my mood.
Baking pies and cakes and cookies, I was not nestled in my bed,
Though kinky visions of Sir M caning me danced in my head.
Late that evening, I settled in the tub for a long, soothing bath,
And worried if I told Master the truth, I would suffer his wrath.
I had just relaxed when downstairs there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bathtub to see what was the matter.
The moon abreast on a dusting of snow,
Gave the furniture in my bedroom a lustering glow.
And what to my wondering eyes should appear,
“Um…Master, you’re here?”
With his broad stance, and his toy bag at his feet,
His powerful presence and penetrating gaze I could not meet.
More rapidly than I could count, thoughts of cuffs and whips and chains came,
He took in my appearance, nodded his head, and whispered my name.
“Now slave, now cunt, now bitch, my whore,”
He spanked my bottom until it was sore.
He put his finger to his lips, then he gave me an order,
“To your knees,” tightening the nipple and clit clamps, he gave me no quarter.
As meting out his punishment did subside,
With his fingers, my tears he dried.
My lips parted to give him pleasure,
He pushed his cock to the back of my throat for good measure.
His eyes half-lidded, his jaws clenched tight,
Soon I’d taste his come with delight.
His mouth drew into a tight bow,
Which let me know his cock would soon blow.
The chain grew tight in his hand,
I cried for release; “not yet,” was his command,
His pronounced cheeks and flat belly,
Contrasted with my tits and ass jiggling like jelly.
Master’s expansive shoulders cut a commanding figure,
But I refused to confess, and he became stricter.
The look in his eyes, and the tilt of his head,
Let me know, I had something to dread.
He spoke not a word, but went straight to work,
Stuffing all my holes and flogging me with a smirk,
He pressed his thumb and finger to my clit,
And commanded, “profess your feelings for Sir M, slave. Now. Submit.”
He shoved me to my back, his cock slammed into my cunt,
Our orgasms crashed into us, and we shouted through our lust.
And before I passed out, I heard Master exclaim.
Happy Christmas, my slave, you are only mine to claim.
Visit our YouTube Channel to hear me recite the poem.
mastersplayroom.com 
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