She walks where echoes still remain,
soft footprints pressed in stone and flame.
A voice once hushed, now rising strong,
a chorus built from silent songs.

The ink of history fades too fast,
but she is more than just the past.
She is the present, bold and bright,
the hands that shape the coming light.

Not just a name, not just a tale,
not just a face behind a veil—
she is the fire, the storm, the sea,
the force that bends what’s meant to be.

So speak her story, say it loud,
let every name be strong and proud.
Not one month, nor just one page—
but every breath, every age.

‘Twas the night before Christmas, and all through the dungeon,
Not a safe word was spoken, not a plea, not a one.
The paddles were hung by the chains with great care,
In hopes that the Mistress soon would be there.

We subs were all nestled, each snug in his cage,
Awaiting her orders, our bodies ready to engage.
Our collars shone bright under flickering light,
As we each dreamed of discipline this Christmas Eve night.

When out in the corridor arose such a clatter,
I knelt to attention to see what was the matter.
Crawling forward with caution, head bowed low and meek,
I glimpsed a high heel’s shadow—tall, dark, and sleek.

Her boots, how they gleamed! Her corset, so tight!
Her gaze was commanding, her aura alight.
With a crop in her hand and a smirk on her face,
She exuded such power, such elegant grace.

“On elbows, on knees,” she commanded with flair,
Her voice like a melody, cutting through air.
We scrambled to obey, heads bowed to the ground,
For her word was our law, her power profound.

Her corset of crimson, a fierce, fiery sight,
Her crop tapped with rhythm, commanding the night.
With power and grace and a sly, knowing grin,
She ruled over the dungeon, and controlled all those within.

She moved through the dungeon, inspecting each chain,
Ensuring that all would submit, feel the strain.
With a flick of her wrist, she teased here and there,
Pulling tight on a leash, adjusting with care.

And then, with a flourish, a gift she bestowed:
New clamps for my nipples, restraints to behold.
Her laughter was gentle but held iron inside,
As she watched me quiver, unable to hide.

She spoke not a word but went straight to her work,
With a smack and a tug, she gave a quick jerk.
My backside was reddened, my cock still denied,
But her praise filled my heart with submissive pride.

Each sub got a token of her holiday cheer—
A stinging cane’s kiss, a whisper in ear.
And though we were bound, denied and constrained,
In our hearts, the spirit of Christmas remained.

For beyond all the shackles and muffled soft moans,
There’s comfort in service, in kneeling at thrones.
The glow of the candles gave warmth to the scene,
As power and trust shimmered, unseen but serene.

As the hours passed by, she pushed each to his peak,
With teasing and edging so torturously sweet.
And just as I thought we could take it no more,
She declared, “Good boys,” leaving us all sore.

Then she turned with a flourish, her beauty aglow,
Her laughter like bells as she headed to go.
“Rest well, my pets; tomorrow we play more.
For tonight, I’ve given you all you adore.”

No sugarplums danced, but we cherished this bliss,
A truly kinked Christmas sealed with Dominant’s kiss.
I heard her exclaim as she walked out of the dungeon’s low light,
“Merry Christmas, my pets, and sleep tight through the night!”