The card machine accepts my card with a beep. I am just in time to hold on to a bar, as the tram sets into motion before I have reached a free seat. Line 4 shocks and squeals its way through a sharp curve. My destination is Rooseveltlaan, one of the avenues in Amsterdam-South, a 20-minute ride. Luckily, there is still a free seat in the middle of the busy tram.

Nineteen years old and filled with enthusiasm, I love my new life in Amsterdam. It is my first year as a student at VU University.  My first semester is about to end in 2 months. Student life here is vibrant and free; Bye-bye childhood and hello new times! But boy, how hard it can be sometimes to keep things under control with so much going on, so many tempting possibilities! Getting my act together should be goal number one actually, but sometimes I feel I am really in need of a guiding hand.

I am a well-shaped sporty girl, at least that is what my friends say.  Member of two clubs and on the committee of one of them, and no lack of attention from the guys, although I don’t care too much about them. I remember my first sex with a puppy-love boyfriend. Several times even, but always with a feeling of disappointment. It never felt like much of a thing. My sister claims an orgasm is like a wonderful explosion in Paradise. Pff, I can’t really understand why the whole world is making so much fuss about it.

Anyway, I am not a high school pupil anymore, and not an easy catch. A guy‘s got to be on top of the game. He has to show me what he is made of, otherwise, I won’t even consider a relationship and sex. 

My shoulder is pressed firmly against the window when the tram takes another squealing curve. Narrow and full are the cozy Amsterdam streets with their Hanseatic brick facades and eclectic mix of shops, billboards, bicycles, cars, and walking crowds, all seeming to follow their wayward destination. I sigh in contentment. I love the capital, this big city of joy and diversity.

The tram is filled with people, each of them preoccupied with their thoughts, their shoulders flexing slightly to and fro on the sway of the ride. Left of me, a young black guy with earphones is swinging his head to the rhythm of whatever music he is listening to. On the aisle floor, a guitar case is resting against his leg. Opposite me, a portly girl is eating licorice out of a red paper bag. She takes them into her mouth one after the other, chewing slowly in contemplation while staring forward as if looking into infinity. 

I am going through a stage in my life that is full of new, vibrant feelings and self-discovery. Sometimes this is exciting, sometimes also frightening. It is in the west of the Netherlands where I grew up as a child, my parents well-provided, but with little time for me, always working in the family business.

Unfairly sharp is the contrast with family life at my aunt’s home. She is married to an American and lives with him and their daughter, Ava, in Brentwood near Nashville. They both teach at the local high school: he English literature, and she chemistry. They are lovely, warm-hearted people and embrace the old values of family life.

A tingle of joy touches me, thinking back to the quality time I spent with them last year during my summer vacation. Our kayak day on Radnor Lake, the fresh flowery scent on the green meadow at Luke Lea Heights, where we had our picnic. And then, of course, the balmy home evenings in the garden with the father playing the banjo, my cousin the fiddle, and the two neighbor girls often joining in, singing country songs in that cute drawly accent of the south.

No way I could have expected that this sparkling vacation would bring about a change in my life. Was it predestination?

It turned out that warm-hearted family life and togetherness is not just about joy and having fun. It is also about upbringing, responsibility, and correction, the old-fashioned way when needed...

With glowing cheeks, I listened to my cousin Ava when she gave away her secret how she was punished for her debaucheries that sometimes got out of hand. According to Texas tradition, she would be asked to make a choice: Either a spanking or a timeout for the entire weekend without TV and phone. She would usually go for the first option as she felt she sometimes badly needed it. It would make her calm down and find herself back afterwards, as she told me with a smile of mystery around her lips.

I was ever so surprised and intrigued. An 18-year-old and then getting spanked voluntarily? I have never been disciplined that way by my parents. They are against corporal punishment. But apart from that, they wouldn't have had the time, always working like crazy in that darn business. 

However, Ava’s confession was just the top of the veil, as I found out a few days later. Returning from a short walk, I saw a police car driving away.  The family car on the driveway looked badly damaged: A dent in the fender and door and one headlight dangling helplessly down from a piece of wire. The living room door, open a crack, was about to reveal a breathtaking scene to me: My cousin and aunt, both folding themselves over the table, willingly pulling their panties down and skirts up. Then, the unimaginable happened: The middle-sized paddle in my uncle’s big hand swayed high up and cracked down alternately on the naughty bare behinds. Soon, the room was filled with tears and explosive smacks.

I remember, as if it were yesterday, the epic concert of yells, sobs, and loud slaps on the quivering bottoms, gradually turning from freshly white to pink and then from red to cherry red. I can still picture their hands stretched forward and clenched onto the table edge, their feet sometimes losing touch with the floor while floundering with remorse, panties gliding further down and ending up on the floor in a plop as the paddle kept cracking down and down.

Oufff, the punishment seemed to last quite a while, as my heart was pumping in my throat with excitement and fascination. Why was I so deeply shocked with a touch of yearning in my tummy at the same time?

I sigh deeply.  The tram takes another curve and the licorice-eating girl throws a glance at me, her examining blue eyes hitting mine. She must have noticed the blush waves of recollection in my face.

I quickly turn my head away and quasi-look out of the window.

The streets are getting wider. Long brick buildings are passing by in the undulating movement of the tram. The numerous shop displays are gradually giving way to long rows of residential doors and bay windows. We are moving away from the town center. The tram is already more than half-empty. The vernal evening sun is shining just between the roofs from a low angle.  

Excitement overtakes me when I think of him, Tom… It’s only two months ago that I was looking for someone to coach me with my studies, recognizing that my approach to things can be called at least, ‘a bit’ chaotic and impulsive. We first met at an evening party at the tennis club. Tom, a Ph.D. student at the mathematical faculty, agreed to spare me one evening a week, to take me under his wings.

Seven years older, he radiates a certain upper hand and he gives me a sense of security and direction. I can’t deny that by the course of time my feelings for him have grown, but my inner self keeps reprimanding me: Get a grip silly girl! He’s only helping out as a good friend. Stop dreaming! 

The road splits up into two wide avenues. The tram chooses to make an easy curve to the right and continues its way through Roosevelt Avenue. The second stop is for me. The tram halts with a shock. I hop off and walk into a side street. The evening is setting in rapidly. The greengrocer is carrying his outdoor display into the shop, while the butcher and flower shop are already lowering their roller shutters. Still, a 10-minute walk. 

My stride unconsciously slows down when I think back to the serious scolding, he gave me last week, as I had failed again to stick to the agreed schedule. “Always the same thing with you!” sounded his preach.

“Promises, promises, promises, and then nothing at all. Too bad I am not your father, otherwise you'd have another thing coming, young lady! You surely wouldn’t be able to sit comfortably for the rest of the day!” I well remember how his remark hit me right into a sensitive spot deep inside. The memory of America, that warm family love with the mystery of strictness… “Sometimes I feel you really need it!” he continued with a softer voice, putting one hand around my shoulder.

We had a long sincere talk. It was the very first time ever that I disclosed my confused feelings to someone else, still afraid of being rejected. But I let it all out, confused and in tears: my parents, their business, my cousin, care, love, need… But he understood and connected with me. He is my counterpart. I have seen it in his eyes, the dominance he radiates, and his caring attitude towards me.

An agreement was made, just between the two of us. Our secret pact of motivation and consequences. At home, I have had doubts about carrying on with him. The agreement, so sincere but also frightening… 

“Hej!!!” Rrrring! An angry shout and a bell shake me up from my deep thoughts. Damn, didn’t see that bicycle while crossing the street!

One more street to go. I follow the sidewalk alongside the parked cars.

This week has passed by so much faster than I realized. The yearly event with the tennis club and not to forget, my new Japanese friend, who has just started her internship in Amsterdam. I have been hanging out with her all week showing her every cozy corner in Amsterdam. It was only this afternoon, I realized in shock that today is ‘visiting day’ with Tom…

Pffff, my schedule. When will I ever learn?…  Anyway, too late now to do anything about it, here it is already. My finger doubts for a second and then presses the copper bell button. A few seconds later the door opens with an angry buzz. I climb up the narrow wooden stairs that creak under my hesitating pace. He is awaiting me in the open door on the second floor with a generous smile.

“Hi, Marieke, come in.”

His apartment is decorated in a simple and basic way. It comprises a sitting room that also serves as a study, a small bedroom, a tiny bathroom, and a narrow kitchen. I like this snug place with its antique wooden wall panels and the cream-colored doors with their stained-glass windows. He is chattering about a hundred things, but I am not able to concentrate this time, as my thoughts are wandering ahead in angst about how he will react. I fear his rant.

I gulp when he politely invites me to look through my week together…

 He is furious.

“Week after week, and no progress at all!” he snaps, slapping his hand on the table to emphasize his anger. “Not even a small attempt to improve! I would sink right through the floor with shame if I were you!!”

I shrink to the size of a mouse under his fury, muttering some incomprehensible words, not even knowing what it is I want to say. I know well I have messed up again and fear what is about to happen inevitably: our secret agreement, now hanging above my head like a sword.

He continues telling me off. It is a long preach. Then he stands up, puts his chair in the middle of the room, and sits down on it.

“Very well then, take off your shoes and jeans!” he says with an unrelenting voice.

“You…you mean…?”

“Yes, that’s what I mean!” he snaps back furiously.

My thoughts are all over the place. Oh god, is this really happening or is it just a bizarre dream?  On trembling legs, I obey his command, not a single vein in my body daring to oppose his anger. I fumble off my sneakers and ease my jeans down my thighs. I rise from my chair while vainly trying to hide my panties under my too-short T-Shirt. His dominant silence fills the room like thick air. Immersed in shame, I step out of my jeans and slowly approach him in my thin socks and little tight panties. Eyes cast down, I stare at my bare legs.  At the tennis, one guy once said I look like a blonde goddess, with my long blonde hair, a provocative round booty, and a sporty pair of gams to die for.

Right now, I don’t feel godly at all. I have never been spanked in my life. Oh my god, it’s really gonna happen now. How would it feel? The room suddenly seems to be narrow and small, the walls enclosing me. My little heart is thumping wildly in my chest.

“Panties as well, take them off,” goes his strict voice.

“Nooo,” I moan softly. “Not like that. Please!”

A scowl of rage sweeps over his face, nostrils flaring in anger.

“You should have thought about that sooner, young lady! You fail to stick to your schedule time after time, but now you will stick to the agreement!,” he cracks up in a tone that does not allow any further dialogue.

A lump of anxiety gets stuck in my throat. My mind flashes back to America. The spanking had looked ever so beautiful and purifying at the time, but now I think it is terrible. On my bare bottom like a little girl!

My thighs feel smooth and firm when I glide my thin panties down and step out of them one foot after the other, almost stumbling in the movement, while he seems to be waiting without any empathy for my embarrassment. My breath stops when his compelling hands pull me over his lap in one fluent swing. It is a totally new experience, this posture, my bare bottom high up, so shamefully exposed to the air in the room, and to him.

The dye has been cast. I have to let go now, there is no way back…

His hand caresses my bare butt and the back of my thighs as he speaks to me. Arousal and Angst are whirling restlessly in my belly. So scary, and yet so exciting his touch. I can’t focus on his words any longer and only feel his caressing hand and the rough fabric of his jeans under my naked hips.

Suddenly, the smacks come down loud and hard on my bare behind, from one cheek to the other. My legs start kicking wildly in the air as I try to shake off the raging war that unfolds on my backside. Oh my God, this hurts!  But his big hand doesn't show any mercy. Soon, the first tears start welling up. My naughty heart cries in remorse. I will improve, I’ll be good! And yet I painfully feel safe and taken care of over his knees. I deserve it so much, this spanking for my own good. I bravely clench my jaws, pressing a moaning sound through my teeth, letting tears flow down silently.

“Do you feel regret now, bad girl?!” his voice sounds from above, as the spanking continues steadily with explosive smacks.

His words seem to release something in me. I start weeping like a little girl, while the recital of loud swats keeps coming down on my bare bottom. My behind is glowing ever so painfully and the impact of the whacks trembles through my belly, arousing deep down a confusing sensation.

The spanking continues uninterruptedly. The glorious glow of my tortured rear end reaches a magnificent intensity when he suddenly stops.

“Stand up,” sounds his voice. “Over there on the sideboard is my school bag. Just have a look into it and you’ll find what you deserve.”

With trembling legs, I walk toward the old school bag, my sore buttocks glowing up in the sway of each step.

It seems he has been dragging this old bag along since he was a school kid, or otherwise it must have been a gift of inheritance. The scratched rusty lock still shows some traces of what once must have been a brass layer, and the brown faded leather is worn out, giving this particular antique a scent of old-school austerity when I open the flap. My hand searches around between some documents and small rattling stuff until my fingers hit something hard. It is an old-fashioned wooden school ruler!

It starts dawning on me that this is going to be the strict school punishment we both agreed upon last week.

“Oh no, please, it’s okay, this won’t be necessary. I have learned my lesson. I really will become a good girl, I really will improve, it’s okay!...”

My words vainly vaporize into the air, as I could have guessed. He reaches out his hand determinedly, palm demandingly up, without even caring to look at me. Sobbing aloud, I hand over the hardwood ruler to him and return to my ashamed position over his lap, my naughty bottom high up. I feel the cool hardwood, softly touching my bare behind, shooting a shiver of anxiety and erotism over my back and to my vulva.

But then it happens! Bitter swats crack like rifle shots, hitting both bare cheeks at the same time as if meant as a double punishment. The ruler hits me at full speed. The first thwacks numb my behind but then turn into a fire of craziness. My weep turns into long squeals of pain. I kick, shriek, but the roaring ruler doesn’t care a bit. My rear end feels unimaginable, while the thin wooden lath gradually changes into a spitting rain of hot lava, the slaps cracking down in full force, more than forty times… 

Then it is over. I keep lying in my fold-over position, sobbing and crying loudly. My bottom glows and stings as if the ruler was still raining down on me.

He helps me stand up and guides me to the corner like a naughty little girl. I am a mess, sobbing, facing the old wallpaper, its tiny silver curls shimmering through my tears. I am soaking wet between my legs, mysterious feelings teasing my tummy, my naughty bare bottom ever so sore.

“Come here,” he says a few minutes later and wraps his arms around me, my head safely drawn against his chest. Then he takes my wet face in his hands intending to comfort me with a little kiss on the forehead, but I eagerly tilt up my head, bringing my mouth towards his. He shows an expression of surprise.

After a few seconds of hesitation, our mouths touch carefully. Our lips meet again, and a third time. Then, tongues explore each other in a long kiss. My inner devil is cheering out in victory. Who’s in charge now hey?  We lose ourselves in passionate kisses while my smoldering behind finds comfort in his caressing hands. The sharp sting has gradually ceased while a deep, wonderful glow remains.

I notice I have unleashed something in him. It shows in his eyes and the rhythm of his breath. Our tongues swirl around while I feel a bump behind his zipper swell. My arousal hits the sky, knowing it’s me, making him so excited. I wrap one leg around him, standing on the other, as his fingers start touching my soaking-wet sex ever so erotically, making me shiver with pleasure.

An unexplainable desire to seduce him, to please him, fills my mind. Trembling, I go down on my knees, urged by an unexplainable inner power. My impatient fingers fumble open his jeans to search their way through the fabric that still separates us from each other. A sweet fragrance of erotism caresses my senses when his swollen phallus fills my hand. Driven by an inner impulse, I wet my lips and kiss the round shape. My tongue cautiously touches the stiff top. His erotic taste is slightly briny and yet flowery sweet. It tastes sexy, mysterious, arousing. This is so thrilling, so new! I close my eyes. I have never done such an intimate thing in my life. Carefully, my lips encompass him. He starts swaying his hips slowly back and forth, as my mouth makes love to him in the romantic waltz of passion. Making him moan turns me on to infinite heights. With one hand I gently support his scrotum, stroking it softly with my palm. His moan gets louder. My heart is cheering. He is all mine, every bit of him!

His stiff erection keeps gliding back and forth in my mouth while I grab the back of his thighs. Then, my hands find their way up until I am clasping two palms full of the gorgeous masculine butt. Smooth is his skin, hard his muscles, perfectly round the shape of the tight buttocks, sticking firmly out and then sloping gradually towards his back. I move my hands sideward, feeling the concave form of the manly butt sides.

Suddenly, his strong hands lift me up like a feather and fling me on the table. Hunger for sex engulfs me when my glowing bottom hits the cold wood. He turns around, bangs open a drawer. I hear him make a crackling sound, opening hastily a foil package with protection. Then he enters me wildly and rowdily, galloping me to the remote hunting grounds of paradise.

I can’t help moaning in ecstasy, the hard tabletop recalling my blissful pain, this wonderful pain of love.

What happens next is hard to describe. We both come at the same time in an eruption of lust, my climax so intense that it almost drives me unconscious. I shake and tremble in his tight arms in pure orgasm, while his mouth covers my face with kisses. I am crying again, but this time with elation. Then, the fire of arousal gradually settles.

We keep kissing tenderly for a long time.

Softly, he takes my face in his hands:

“Was this your first time?”

I look into his eyes through a happy haze and whisper:

“This was my first real time.”