’Twas the night before Kinkmas, all quiet in the den,
Not a creature was stirring—not sub, Dom, or friend;
Thigh-highs draped by the cross with deliberate grace,
In hopes Saint Nicholas Tanek would soon fill the space.
The kinksters lay nestled, all snug in their beds,
While visions of floggers and paddles danced in their heads;
And I in my corset, my boots tall and tight,
Had just settled my whip for a long Femdom night.
When out from my screen there arose such a glow,
I sprang from my throne to see what it would show.
Away to the monitor I flew in a dash,
Clicked open the browser and banished the trash.
The glow from the pixels on objects below
Gave the lustre of midnight to toys in a row,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a digital portal—and Dommes drawing near.
With a saintly guide, so lively and wise,
I knew in a moment Saint Nicholas did rise;
Not a sub nor a Dom, but a switch, tried and true,
A keeper of balance with insight anew.
Dressed sharp in black tailoring, blue tie neatly set,
He carried no whip—only trust and consent.
Through cables and currents, through waveform and stream,
He stepped into presence like a beautifully coded dream.
More rapid than clicks, his companions came,
And I named them with pride as I called each by name:
“Now, Sunshine! Now, Nicco Noire! Now, Schari is so keen!
On, Claudia! On, Sophie! Valentina, command the scene!
Now, Danielle bold! Morgan Sterling so grand!
Madame C wise! Miss Kim Rub, take a stand!
Vivian Vibes with verse, Sera Miles—PepLove immerse,
Ami Mercury bold! Giselle fierce and terse!
Now, Starla! Eustacia! Jade Desires—delight!
Stan Vladimir! Karen Joyner-Washington is bright!
To the top of the feed—bring insight tonight!”
As pixels that swirl when a livestream runs high,
When they meet with no buffer, leap fast to the sky,
So into my screen the bright figures they flew,
With gifts full of wisdom—and Cherri Bomb too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard through the sound
The clicking of heels with each confident bound.
As I drew in my flogger and turned with a grin,
Through the glowing wide screen, he stepped fully in.
He spoke not with force, yet the message rang clear:
Of consent and of safety, of trust held sincere.
Of laughter and learning, of pleasure done right,
Of a community built in respect and in light.
Chastity devices lie locked in their lust,
With keys and fine locks that deepen our trust;
The Chastity Queen reigns—composed, controlled, serene,
A symbol of power in steel and in sheen.
Floggers and paddles on benches displayed,
St. Andrew’s great crosses, where scenes are well played.
Corsets and heels, thigh-highs sleek and divine,
Boots that command with their elegant shine;
Sploshing tubs gleam, electro play’s spark,
Crossdressing joys in the glow or the dark.
Femdom’s fierce power, yet balanced and true,
The Rope Show with Briska, knots tied expertly through;
YKF Weekends where panels ignite,
The Author Circle—where kinky words write.
From Mischief Manor, Mistress Schari’s domain,
The dungeon alive with lessons to gain;
Our shows streamed and recorded, a world to explore,
Where kinksters learn, laugh, and always want more.
Then, with a flourish, a new voice took the stage,
A presence commanding, a fire to engage:
Lady Lioness! Her entrance a sight,
Adding new energy to the YKF night.
He turned toward the screen with a nod calm and slight,
Then paused—just a moment—to bless us that night.
A message to carry, gentle and refined:
“Be cool. Be kind. Keep an open mind.”
Then he vanished through pixels, his presence in flight,
And I heard him proclaim as he faded from sight—
“Happy Kinkmas to all, and to all a good night.”