Titmas - Part One

Twas the night before Titmas, when all through the street,
Not a ‘bator was stroking, but one awful cheat.
The gift-bras were hung by our chimney with care,
For fear that Ms. Claus would come visit us there.

The jack-offs resisted their cocks in their beds,
While visions of sugar-tits bounced in their heads,
But mom with no bra, and my hand in my lap,
Her tits silenced my brain for a long winter’s fap.

When out on the lawn there arose a sweet moan,
And I sprang from our bed for we two weren’t alone.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
One-handed tore open the shutters and sash.

The moon on their breasts way up there in the sky,
Made me lusty and horny for women nearby.
When my wondering ears did hear laughter and bells,
I saw miniature sleigh and eight sexy boob-girls.

Up there a strict Mistress was driving eight whores,
And I knew in a moment she must be Miss Claus.
More lurid than porn-stars her coursers they came,
With a whistle, and shout, she cat-called them by name:

“Ballsmasher! and, Dancer! and Stripper and Vixen!
Oh, Nipples! oh, Cleavage! oh, Boobies! and Tits then!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
But jiggle your boobs and then take off clothes all!”

As big tits will surge against errant bra thread,
When they meet with a hurdle, straight through it they shred.
So up to the housetop the women they flew,
With a sleigh full of torments, and Mistress Claus too—

And then, in a twinkling, I heard up above,
The moaning and gasping of girls making love,
And before I had taken my hand from my cock,
Down the chimney, Ms. Claus came, and gave me a shock.

Half-dressed all in fur, her big tits nigh in sight,
And her cleavage all silky, and oiled and bright.
With a bundle of gifts she had wrapped in a bra,
Each cup a gift-sack half the size of a car.

Her eyes—how they glared! Her expression, so cruel!
Her cheeks were like roses, but warm not at all.
Her sweet ruby mouth, an ice smile did show,
And the hair on her head was as sleek as the snow.

A handful of sweet-treats held tight in her breast,
So enticing—the cinnamon scent of her chest.
And her huge pair of tits laid on taut little belly,
So they shook when she laughed, like a bowl full of jelly.

She was sexy, and tall, and sashayed a cute rear,
And I laughed when I saw her, but mainly from fear.
First a wink of her eye, then she blew me a kiss,
And I knew I’d be troubled escaping this Miss.

She spoke a few words, before starting her work:
“You look like a guy who must know how to jerk.”
I snatched hand off my cock, “It’s not true!” so I said.
”I only wank sometimes, and only in bed.”

So laughing, my Mom plucked a sweet from Claus’ chest:
“He’s a wicked young man, and ne'er gives it a rest.
He tugs it, he rubs it, he pumps, and he plays,
He slaps it, he gropes it, and strokes it for days.”

“Is this true?” Claus asked me, “You do nothing but ‘bate?
If nice boys I give treats, then that shan’t be your fate.”
To my mother spoke Claus: “Find the beds. Wake the boys.”
“For all naughty hand-humpers must turn into toys.”

And from house-then-to-house my dear mother did go,
The free-men of our street she did line in the snow.
And naked and freezing we stood out in the cold,
Us seeing no option but to do as she told.

So glared Mistress Titmas, and eight of her tarts:
“You better prepare, in ten seconds this starts.
For any good boy, this test shouldn’t take much:
To prove that you’re nice, then your penis don’t touch.”

And Ballsmasher did grope, and Dancer did tease,
And Stripper and Vixen bounced titties to please,
And Nipples and Cleavage and Boobies and Tits,
Tormented us boys with their scanty outfits.

The first part of a cautionary poem. 'Traditionally’ read by unenslaved men around Titmas time.

Traditions ain’t what they used to be.