A Day to Remember

Photo-story from Janus 128 featuring "glamour model" and former gymnast Amanda Dawkins.

Two men sit on chairs in the otherwise empty gymnasium, their faces tense.

‘Come!’ calls the man on the right. The sound echoes. Seconds pass, as though the one being summoned is making a point of asserting her independence by taking her time. After several insolently-delayed moments she steps into view at the far end of the room. Her name is Sheena Steele. She is twenty years old. Dressed as instructed in short skirt, white top and trainers, her nubile body is trim, toned and shapely. Her eyes are hard. She chooses not to look at either man.

Especially not the visitor.

Sheena is a youth leader. The man seated to her left as she faces them is her supervisor, Ray Dayton — one of the few people in this world she respects and trusts.

The other man has come to punish her.

Sheena actually laughed about it when Ray put the situation to her. One of her charges, a rather frail seventeen-year-old called Caroline Bradley, was pushed to physical exhaustion during an adventure hike led by Sheena, and was so crushed and harried by her leader’s accusations of being ‘weak and feeble’ that the younger girl suffered a nervous breakdown from which she is only just recovering.

‘Her dad’s complained about it, and wants some form of redress,’ said Ray. ‘Apart from driving young Caroline almost to the brink of suicide on account of your over-zealous treatment, it’s screwing up her A-levels and jeopardising her academic future.’

A contemptuous smile had crossed Sheena’s disturbingly attractive face. ‘She’s a complete wimp,’ she sneered. ‘You’d only have to cough to blow her away.’

‘All the more reason to have gone easy on her,’ Ray had chided. ‘I consider Caroline’s father perfectly justified in his complaint, and I’m asking you now if you’ll agree to be punished by him.’

‘Punished?’ she laughed. ‘You must be joking.’

‘Mr Bradley would like to put you through your paces in the gym. Make you sweat a little, like you made his daughter sweat.’

‘Ha! — him and whose army?’

‘But more than that,’ Ray continued, ‘he wants to apply some good old-fashioned discipline. To take it out on your hide, in fact. He really is extremely upset about his daughter.’

‘Well,’ Sheena laughed, ‘if he’s only half as much of a weed as she is, I don’t suppose he could do much more than tickle. Okay, go ahead and set it up. Let daddikins do his worst. I’m game.’

Now here is “daddikins”. Actually, from where Sheena is standing, he looks disconcertingly unwimpish as his gaze roams her taut young body from the other end the gym.

‘Head up! Hands to your sides,’ he suddenly says. There is an edge to his voice to which Sheena instinctively responds, finding herself standing rigidly to attention. The fact annoys her vaguely. She has always said, proudly, that nobody pulls her strings.

Before she can come to terms with this new phenomenon, that voice comes at her again across the distance between them. ‘Let’s see if you’re made of the stuff you bullied my daughter into trying to be,’ he snapped. ‘If you fail, I shall walk out of here and let her know how badly you showed when it came to the crunch.’

Sheena’s eyes find his. She almost smiles.
‘Try me,’ she says.

‘Running on the spot, BEGIN!’

Ah, the age-old clarion call for young limbs and lungs to respond to! Easy-peasy for the likes of Sheena Steele, who runs five miles every day before breakfast and works out three times weekly. Her body springs into action.

‘Put more effort into it, girl! This isn’t a picnic! Knee’s higher — higher!’

Sheena goes up a gear, jabbing knees skywards, putting more energy into the exercise. As she does so, sucking in air, elbows thrusting like pistons, the stress of the activity begins to bite. The man’s voice keeps her doing this for several minutes, till her lungs are starting to strain and she is actually panting.

‘Stop!’

The youth leader is glad to do so, but doesn’t want Caroline Bradley’s dad to know that. Sheena inhales deeply, doing her damnedest not to gasp, hoping for a minute or so’s respite. It doesn’t come.

‘Face the wall and do a handstand against it,’ comes the next command. Sheena does so. ‘Very sloppy,’ snaps the man. ‘Do it again.’

Sheena does. And again, and again, and again. For minutes more, with hardly a pause between handstands, the girl places hands on floor and flings her legs high till her heels hit the wall. In that position he orders her to widen her legs, then bring them together. Ten times. The energy required to perform this seemingly simple feat is considerable.

‘Stand up!’

God, thinks Sheena, that voice is like a whip. She does so, gasping, and sees that young Bradley’s dad is walking towards her, cold-eyed and grim-faced. In his right hand is a riding-crop. She stares at it.

‘You’ve agreed to this procedure,’ Mr Bradley reminds her, ‘and your supervisor is here to see fair play. I’ve brought this crop with me because I have every intention of using it.’ He pauses for effect. ‘On you.’

‘What?’ Sheena stares, then glances at Ray — who merely nods his acquiescence. She straightens then, dragging air into her stressed lungs. Let him do his worst; she is determined she can take it.

‘Face away from the wall this time, and stand on your hands with your feet against it. I want your bottom towards me.’

Sheena flinches slightly. His voice sounds calm, yet with an edge to it that is difficult to oppose. She glances at the whippy shaft in his hand. Up she goes, feeling her arms tremble under her weight as her toes find the wall. Her skirt falls clear of her bottom, which juts out, the gym pants snug and tight. It feels terribly vulnerable.

A streak of fire sears across her buttocks. She yowls like a cat, and the sound of the impact echoes around the gym.

Crack! Crack! Crack!

The springy crop sweeps firmly down, biting deep into Sheena’s knickered rumps and rebounding off as though repelled by a powerful spring at each stroke, etching lines of heat and hurt. The girl’s every instinct is to grab with both hands at each stricken buttock — an action her upturned posture renders impossible. Instead, she has to bear the stinging shocks of ten more vigorous thrashes that scorch across her helpless bottom like a scourge. Every blow is delivered with judicious vigour, as if this man has used the implement before and knows precisely how hard to strike so that the pain is just about bearable while imparting a stern corrective message.

‘Get down. Stand up and face up the hall!’

The strength drains from Sheena’s arms and she half collapses to the floor where she lies for a while, grasping her scorching rear. Hell, she thought this was going to be a doddle, and here she is fighting back the tears and hoping she’ll be able to stand up properly.

By the time she has regained her feet and is standing to attention, Mr Bradley has regained his seat and is gazing across at her again. He leans down and picks up something, then walks up and hands it to her. It’s a skipping rope.

‘You haven’t even begun to sweat yet, Miss Steele,’ he says. ‘I’m going to sit down again, and I want you to skip. And I do mean skip. Any slacking, and you can expect my crop across your arrogant young arse again. I hope I make myself clear.’

Sheena begins to skip. Up, down; up, down.

‘Faster than that!’

She finds her body, super-fit though it is, under stress. As she jumps and jumps, the rope whipping beneath her feet and over her head, she begins to sweat and gasp, while his voice drives her on with quiet but unopposable persistence. After ten minutes of this her legs are beginning to tremble. She isn’t sure she can go on much longer, but a streak of stubborn pride drives her. Her bottom continues to smoulder from the beating, and Sheena has a shrewd feeling that it may well come in for some more close attention before this session is over.

‘Stop!’

God, the relief of it! Sheena is panting, sweating hard. This man is really driving her. Like she herself drove his daughter? If Sheena is hoping for a rest now, she is sorely disappointed. He is pointing a finger.

‘To the exercise mat — NOW!’ Sheena walks to the mat, forcing herself to breathe as normally as possible. ‘I understand you’re a bit of a contortionist,’ come the biting tones. ‘Bend right down, grip your ankles and present your bottom again.’

Another flash of pride determines the girl to show him what she can do. She has always been able to twist her body into positions others cannot. Bending steeply over, she brings her arms around outside her legs and grips her toes. Locked in this position, her bottom is once more at its most vulnerable. The crop whizzes in to strike it hard, again and again. The flashes of pain make Sheena cry out, swaying in her torment.

Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack!

Her body starts to rock as her buttocks absorb the fierce, whippy onslaught that blasts heat into her rear. As the fiery pain rises and intensifies, Sheena finds her bottom becoming more resistant to the drubbing, and — painful though it continues to be — it doesn’t feel as shockingly severe as it did at the beginning.

As if sensing this, her chastiser pauses. This young woman’s a tough one, all right. Secretly he wishes his daughter were half as much so. But bullying and harrying is not the answer — and this extremely attractive, overbearing young woman has a stern lesson to learn. Bradley helps her to her feet, and looks into her face, now flushed and glowing from exertion. But not half as much, he guesses as her bottom is flushed and glowing.

‘Take off your clothes, Miss Steele. All of them.’

Again Sheena glances at Ray, but his expression is noncommittal. In Ray’s view, she knows, discipline should be exactly that, and humiliation must play a part.

‘That’s right,’ says Bradley, as though reading her mind. ‘You humiliated my daughter many times in front of her friends, and reduced her to tears of exhaustion and shame. It’s time for you to feel the same.’

He stands behind her as, with head bowed, Sheena pushes down her skirt. Then, unhappily, she pulls off her top and steps out of her gym pants. She dares not look at either her punisher or Ray, but steels herself once more to try and take whatever this man dishes out.

Again with scarcely a pause in this breathless sequence of ongoing activity and punishment, Bradley again hands her the skipping rope. Sheena finds herself, consumed with embarrassment as her naked breasts bounce and quiver to her frenzied skipping, faster and faster to the goad of his tongue until she feels as close to exhaustion as she has ever been. At last, panting and weak from effort, she stops on his command and droops before him, naked and gasping.

‘On your knees on the mat, backside in the air. C’mon, c’mon — quick about it!’

Sheena sinks to the mat again. She pushes her bottom high, and cannot hold back a shriek when the riding-crop hisses through the air again and ignites her bare bottom with a streak of livid pain.

‘Aaaaaaghhh!’

More firm thwacks follow, full across the naked flesh. As her buttocks sizzle and throb, the man insists that she change position, straightening her legs to elevate her splendidly round, full bottom high, the better to receive the electrifying thwacks that continue to blaze tracks of anguish across the upthrust nates.

Whack — a gasp — Whack —a howl — Whack — a grunt —Whack — a plea.

As if in self-defence against the searing strokes, Sheena collapses into a forward roll and remains on her back in the most extraordinary contorted position, feet behind her head. The position opens up her secret feminine places to his stern glare — although it must be said that lascivious gratification is clearly not this man’s motive for punishing her so soundly. Sheena Steele is being comprehensively dominated and thrashed in a way she would never have dreamed of before today. The man is a true master!

‘Stand up, spread your legs, bend down and grip your ankles!’

Sheena has lost her will to resist. As a thoroughly bossy and dominating person, she is totally unused to surrendering her will to another, let alone enduring humiliation and pain at his hands. The experience is all the more incredible because at its dark centre is an errant stirring of totally unexpected pleasure. It will take a while to surface, but it’s there.

Thwack! Thwack! Thwack!

More searing strokes of the riding-crop slam against her yielding buttocks as she bends — now in the traditional posture for receiving punishment.

After six of these, delivered crisply and firmly, he orders her to stand up straight with hands on head and brace herself to take a further ten on slackened bottom-cheeks. The flesh, now unstretched, absorbs the shock of the pliant shaft as it sinks deeply into the twin softnesses, imprinting further streaks of livid pain.

Tears pour down her cheeks now. She wails and weeps. Sheena hardly seems aware that the man has finally stopped, that she is left frantically grasping and kneading her tormented cheeks, streaked and blotched and burning unendurably from the punishment.

For a while both men watch her, arms folded.

‘Well done,’ says Caroline Bradley’s father at last. His voice has lost some of harshness. ‘I’m a horse trainer, and wouldn’t dream of dishing out to any of those beautiful animals what I’ve given to you today. But you deserved it, Miss Steele, and I hope you realise that. Have a care with my daughter again. You’ll be surprised to know she wants to come back. She told me that her greatest wish is to be like you. I’d like that for her, too, Sheena — but have a care. Put a curb on your excesses and you’ll be an exemplary leader. I hope this has served to teach you a lesson you won’t forget.’

Then he is gone, Ray too.

Sheena stays a while longer in the stillness, gently rubbing her bottom till the scorching sensations mute to a more manageable smarting glow.

It has been a day to remember.

Here is a feature on Amanda from that highly-respected British journal, the Sunday Sport: