Bloggin' With Bitchass

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the domain,
not a subbie was stirring, (they were tied down with chain).
The shackles were hung by the chimney with care,
and the St. Andrews cross stood empty and bare.

The subbies were nestled all snug in their beds,
while visions of floggers danced in their heads.
Chained in self-bondage, with cage on my cock,
I'd just settled down after clicking the lock.

When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I crept from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew very quickly.
Tripped on my legirons and cursed soft and thickly.

The moon on the breast of the new-fallen snow,
gave the luster of mid-day to objects below.
When, what to my sleep-crusted eyes should unfurl,
but a miniature sleigh, pulled by eight pony girls.

With a Dominant driver, so gorgeous but stern,
I knew in a moment I'd a great deal to learn.
More rapid than eagles Her pony girls came,
and She whipped them, and shouted, and called them by name;

"Now, dashslave! now, danceslave! now, pranceslave and switch!
On, subbie! on slavegirl! on, slavepet and bitch!
To the top of the porch! to the training room wall!
And I'll redden your bottoms, should one of you fall!

As terrified tears before the cat-o-nine flow,
when they meet with an obstacle, gather courage and go.
So up to the house-top the pony girls flew,
with the sleigh full of sex toys, and the Dominant too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof,
the prancing and pawing of pony girl boots.
As I drew in my head with a sense of forbode,
in through the front door the Dominant strode.

She was dressed all in black, from Her head to Her feet,
in a tight leather outfit all shiny and neat.
A bundle of sex toys She had flung on Her back,
and She looked very menacing opening Her pack.

Her eyes, they were hard with a definite glower.
Her countenance cold, and I quite felt Her power.
Her pink glossy lips bespoke no reprieve,
for the unlucky subbie who caused Her to grieve.

The corset She sported made me suck in some air,
as did the boots She had chosen to wear.
Her nails like long daggers, they glinted and shined.
She gripped Her pink flogger, and eyed my behind.

She was lean, mean and fit, quite the Domme of my dreams,
and I wanted to serve Her, so went down on my knees.
She looked down upon me, with a turn of Her head.
She made my soul tremble, my heart filled with dread.

She spoke not a word, but put me to straight to work.
She watched me in silence, never hiding Her smirk.
"Heel me," She commanded, the lone words She would say,
and She stalked out the door as I rushed to obey.

She sprang to Her sleigh, to Her team cracked the whip.
Pulled me 'cross Her knee, where I hung scared and limp.
And She whispered to me, "I shall teach you a lesson.
Happy Christmas, My bitchass; tonight we shall session."


DISCLAIMER: This poem was forwarded to me from an Atlanta based group. My apologies to the author, but I had to change a few things to fit my situation a bit better.

little bitchass