When I do not behave
Like a meek little slave,
I'm spared from the Horse and Strappado.
In their place, there's the beat
Of a cane on my feet –
The punishment called “Bastinado”

My cruel torments begin

when I’m stripped to the skin

And bound in a most stringent pose.

With my tender feet bare

Both suspended in the air

From cords tied around their bit toes.

My stern master then picks
Two or three limber sticks
Of birch, or of willow or thistle,
And his powerful swing
Makes the sultry air sing
With spine-chilling, ominous whistle.

Then a lightning bolt shoots
To my hair’s very roots
From the tips of my poor tethered toes…
For his deadly sure aim
Sets my left foot aflame
With the swiftest and keenests of blows.

Next the sole on the right
Fells the rod’s savage bite –
I am wading right through Hell’ fiery streams
I gnaw hard on the rag
That’s to serve as a gag,
But that barely can muffle my screams.

Then with movement so deft
He turns back to the left,
Marking it with another cruel weal–
Slowly he weaves a mesh
Of pink stripes on the flesh
Of each sole from the toes to the heel.

Lashes like burning sleet
Rain on my tortured feet
And my mind fills with slavish contrition.
It’s as if my poor soles
Were trapped over hot coals
In the stocks of the dread Inquisition!

But at last the tattoo

Of the cruel rod is through,

My limbs from their bonds are set free–

And I kiss the gold ring

Of my master and king

To thank him for chastening me.

In the East, it is said
That to warm a man’s bed–
His pleasure to heighten and sweeten–
There is no greater treat
Than a maid whose bare feet
Have been thoroughly, expertly beaten.

And indeed, I agree
There’s a difference in me
As I serve him with hot tongue and lips
For my sex feels the same
Thrilling blue and white flame
That he spreads on my soles with his whips.

Now, my sisters, you can

Bring new joys to your man,

And know ecstasy mixed with sweet pain–

If, when in your slave roles,

You will offer your soles

To be kissed and caressed by the cane.