by Vincent Valcroft

T'was the night before Christmas and all thro’ Claus Castle,

Not a sound could be heard save the chains as they rattled.

Santa's wrists were bound, locked with great care

And his hocks strung up with tinsel; held fast to the chair.

Mistress Claus nestled her furs, languoring nearby on the bed,

Whilst visions of her milk and cookies danced in Santa's bald head.

She sprang forth from the bed like a cat from the rafters;

The reindeer shifted in their stables -- such was the clatter.

She shifted her hips with a twist and the fur slipped off;

Santa's eyes grew wide and his face fell white as frost,

For moonlight glowed on her breasts like new fallen snow,

Giving the luster of midday to Santa's naked objects below.

She grabbed the jolly old elf by his bristly white beard,

Pulling him hard and low, she hissed in his ear:

“I've checked the list and must confess, my dear,

That you're the naughtiest boy I've heard of this year.

I've seen what you do when you think no elves are around,

Donning my snow-lace undergarments and parading around

Like a Santa Slut dancing 'neath the snowbough pines;

Your presents may belong to the world -- but your goodies are all mine.”

Santa’s cheeks were rosy and his candy cane rigid with cheer,

His breath quickened, sweat thickened as the scent of Miss Christmas drew near.

St. Nick gave a cry as he felt her hand slip

to rake nails against his snowballs and dick.

Mistress Claus drew back and with deft fingertips

She shut up her slave, closing his hood with a zip

He writhed and he whimpered as his muscles bulged with the strain,

Enduring each lick from her whip as she partook of his pain.

His back was soon dimpled, butt cheeks striped and merry;

Dew dripped from his lemon drop cock, the head gleamed red like a cherry.

“Think of that when you're riding tonight in your sleigh

And remember that it's my altar to which all naughty boys pray.”

She unzipped his hood and her eyes trapped his in their gleam.

“Yes, Santa moaned. “You are the true Winter Queen.”

Mistress Claus chided, “But words alone shall hardly suffice,”

And she drew back the sash of her curtains to reveal sweet delights.

St. Nick's tongue grew hard as he set straight to business

Giving his Mistress her due, the true gift of Christmas.

She gasped as she came, her thighs gripping tight,

“Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night!”

--Submitted by Vincent Valcroft