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A Very Kinky Christmas

A Very Kinky Christmas

The time has come for Fetish Friday and in honour of the festive season we have a wonderfully kinky poem straight from the lips (and pen) of Charlotte. Please enjoy!

Merry Christmas from Bondara x

‘Twas the night before Christmas,

And all through the house.

Not a creature is stirring,

Except for your spouse.

 

He lifts off the covers,

And creeps out of bed,

And changes into something,

Warm, festive and red.

 

He puts on a hat,

With a furry white trim,

And climbs back into bed,

With an excited grin.

 

You wake from a dream,

To a feeling of bliss,

A sensation down below,

Like a warm and wet kiss.

 

You peek under the covers,

Where a man has appeared,

With your husband’s face,

But a jolly white beard.

 

His eyes are intense,

And his technique exquisite,

You always enjoy,

When his mouth pays a visit.

 

But there’s something that’s new,

Which feels so very nice,

He’s teasing your body,

With a smooth cube of ice.

 

He says “ho ho ho,

“On this Christmas day,

“I thought I’d start off,

“With some temperature play.

 

“Every gift you receive,

“Will have some kinky twist,

“Because you’re at the top,

“Of my naughty list.

 

“You’ve been a bad girl,

“So I’m going to spank you,

“And when I am done,

“My bad girl will say ‘Thank you’’”

 

Then he leads you down stairs,

And sits by the tree,

And bends his bad girl,

Over his thick red knee.

 

He delivers a spank,

Then two, three and four,

He asks “should I stop?”

You cry “no Santa, more!”

 

“I’ve been a bad girl,

“It’s true what you said,

“So please spank me Santa,

“Until my butt is all red.”

 

He spanks your ass sore,

And when the spanking was through,

You stand up elated,

And say merely “Thank you”.

 

“There’s my good girl,

“Now please take a seat,

“As I prepare Christmas dinner –

“You’re in for a treat!”

 

He wanders into the kitchen,

As your ass is still stinging,

And from the street just outside,

You hear carollers singing.

 

Now pans are all a clatter,

And you smell something sweet,

Then after much anticipation,

He yells “Bon appetite!”

 

The brussels are steaming,

And the turkey looks great,

But none of this food,

Will end up on your plate.

 

Without further ado,

You reach for the custard,

But out from the cupboard,

He pulls the French mustard.

 

You throw your hand first,

Then grab for some jelly,

As he rubs warm desert,

All over your belly.

 

In the blink of an eye,

You’re both covered in cream,

But a Christmas Day sploshing,

Has always been your wet dream.

 

With gravy soaked clothes,

And hair full of mice pies,

You gaze at your lover,

With lust in your eyes.

 

You must have him now,

On the dining room table,

So you sweep off the crackers,

And Nativity stable.

 

Now there in the mess,

You make love with such desire,

That your screams could outdo,

The Christmas church choir.

 

You collapse from exhaustion,

Then he whispers in your ear,

“Head over to the fire place,

“We’re not finished here”.

 

You race to the fire,

Where your stocking is hung,

It contains just one gift,

“I hope this is fun!”

 

You reach into the stocking,

And pull out a tube,

“Wait, just a second,

Is this fisting lube?”

 

“That’s right my darling,

“For your final Christmas gift,

“Santa will give you,

His jolly wet fist.”

 

He rolls up his sleeves,

As you lie on the floor,

And wonder how much pleasure,

Your body can endure.

 

He inserts one finger,

Then two and now three,

Then slips in a forth,

By the light of the tree.

 

As his whole fist slides in,

And you cry out with delight,

“Merry Fistmas to all,

“And to all a good night!”

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