Twas the run up to Christmas

[JackJonesHull]

Twas the run up to Christmas,
as she laid on the bed,
Not a paddle was missing,
the thought filled her head;
Her stockings were worn with seams straight with care,
In hopes that her master soon would be there;

...

[JackJonesHull]

The masochists were nestled all tight in their beds;
While visions of manacles danced in their heads;
And mistress in her corset, and I in my chaps,
Had just practiced our swing for loud sounding slaps,
When out from the lounge there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the dungeon to see what was the matter.
Away to the door I flew like an arrow,
Tore off my hood and tripped over the barrow.