To my submissive brain there’s something intrinsically erotic about winter, the season when nature becomes stark, unforgiving and even a bit cruel. At its best, winter torments us with cold, howling winds, shows us who’s boss by dumping snow all over our streets and driveways, and gives us a dominant’s harsh choice between confining ourselves to warm homes and cars or shivering outside in the dark. I think winter is terrific.
Perhaps this attitude to winter partly explains why new, BDSM-flavoured lyrics to an old holiday song began to come into my head on Christmas morning. When I sent the finished verses to My Lady, she instructed me to turn them into a post, so I’ll present them without further ado.
On my chest, clamps are gleaming
Down my flanks, sweat is streaming
My shackles are tight
I’m moaning tonight
Writhing in your wicked wonderland.
Gone away is the bluebird,
In your cage, I’m the new bird,
Your knife and your tongs
Elicit strange songs
Terrors of your wicked wonderland.
In the meadow I’ll build you a snowman,
With a badge that says Big Sheriff Brown
You’ll say “Arrest this boy”
And he’ll say “Sure, ma’am,
“Just let me cuff his wrists and take him down.”
Later on, you’ll conspire
With your friends, by the fire
And I’ll be afraid
Of the plans that you’ve made,
Ruling in your wicked wonderland.