The day is here fiends and fright fans, and to say Merry Christmas here are a pair of poems from the two main genres I write in. From the horror category "Bloody Snow", one of the poems from Frog Nog And Other Horrorday Tales. From the erotica category, what in some circles has becoma a classic, "Noel The Christmas Sub".
Little drops of red on white,
Crimson spheres on the ivory ground,
Red little drops shine,
Tiny mirrors smooth and round,
Dark and red,
Warmth of life,
White melts for red,
Each drop grows in snow,
Red drops drip from ax,
White takes in red,
Santa lies in the snow,
Suit and head white and red,
"Noel The Christmas Sub"
‘Twas the night before Christmas,
And near the corner of 34th Street and Grouse.
All was quiet,
Except for in one house.
While all good little subs were asleep in bed,
A girl named Noel was awake instead.
She had anticipated this particular night all year,
And she squirmed with delight as the hour grew near.
For you see Noel had waited for tonight for just one cause,
Her dream to be used by Santa Claus.
At midnight finally came the click, click, click,
Which heralded the arrival of jolly St. Nick.
She had been by the fireplace for over an hour,
Not too long after she finished her shower.
He would be down there soon of that she could bet,
Already her pussy began to grow wet.
Within a minute he appeared in the fireplace,
Looking to Noel with a puzzled smile on his face.
She wore a jingle-bell hat and red teddy fringed with white fluff,
It was the closest thing that she had to a muff.
He said, “My dear child, your clothing is bold,
But you had better get dressed before you catch cold.”
“Cold a girl won’t catch girl, one hopes you get the gist”, she replied,
“One wants you to know what she has on her list.”
“You wish to tell me what is on your list?
Be glad I am Santa, or I would get pissed.”
She said, “When it comes to gift giving a girl knows St. Nicholas is the boss,
But she’s really been wishing for a St. Andrew’s Cross.”
Santa placed his hands on his hips and said, “Oh, my,
I suppose if you don’t get one that you might cry.”
And she looked at him with her lips in a pout,
It was time to let the puppies come out.
She reached up and pulled down the top of her teddy,
Both nipples were hard and standing at the ready.
“You must know, my dear, that I have a wife,
And we have a very active sex life.”
She said, “This is a gift from a girl’s soul,
A place to bury your hard North Pole.”
“One will get on her knees just like a dog,
So you can fill her up with your big Yule log.”
“I am an old man, and not your speed”, he said,
“Perhaps someone your age would fill your need.”
“The butcher, the baker and the candlestick maker have all had me this day,
But it is with you one really wants to play.”
Santa removed his hat and dabbed his head,
Acting as if he had never heard such things be said.
“It sounds, my dear, like you’re quite a slut,
I think you need someone to spank your sweet butt.”
Noel smiled. “A girl needs her butt spanked, Sir Santa, that is true,
And she needs it to be done only by you.”
Very soon Santa’s red suit was shed,
Laying in a heap at the foot of her bed.
Noel smiled when she saw his cock,
Nice and long and hard as a rock.
Taking him in her mouth she sucked with need,
Careful not to make him spill his hot seed.
He turned her over and used his hand to redden her butt,
He called her, his good girl, doggie slut.
Santa tied her wrist with a bright red bow,
And he pumped her from behind yelling, “Ho, ho, ho!”
“Yes, Sir”, she cried, “please go faster!,
A girl is lucky to have Santa for a master!”
They came together and it felt like a dream,
As he filled her with his hot and sticky cream.
Once he was done she was off to sleep,
Master Santa had fucked her so hard and so deep.
She did not awake until Christmas Day,
Already hoping for the year to pass so they could once again play.
Under the tree she found a gift that gave her joy,
It was a nice, fat, remote controlled, nine speed sex toy.
And against the wall was a gift too big to fit under the tree,
Noel knew that a St. Andrew’s Cross was the only thing it could be.
FROM HOUSE OF MASTER VYLE