The Dutch girls

Working with my colleagues in the Netherlands recently…

Their office is next to a college; the latter stages of my walk to work therefore entailed dodging a succession of young ladies on bicycles.

Which, I wondered, was sitting uncomfortably? Words spoken across the breakfast table. Her father’s firm tone: “You will not speak to your mother like that.” The instruction to fetch the strap from its home, hanging in the hallway. Six sharp strokes as she bent over – glowering with resentment, yet knowing the punishment was deserved.

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On arrival at the office on my first day, the cute, friendly receptionist called up to my colleagues to come and meet me. They were impressed: apparently, there had been complaints lately about lax security, and the young lady concerned had been reminded that all visitors, without exception, needed to be accompanied by their hosts.

Yet on the second day…? She welcomed me, and sent me upstairs alone. I imagined the discussion at the end of her shift with her supervisor: “Important rule… Made very clear to you… Wantonly ignored…”

An OTK spanking, I think. Hard. Very hard. She’d be in tears after the first few smacks; he’d not relent with the pace or strength of the punishment. She’d head home in disgrace; security on site would surely be far more diligent from the following morning onwards.