Dear Reader,
How time flies! It was over twenty years ago today that
the first Ian Smith novel, “The Wench Whackers’ Ball”, was published by my good
friends at the now sadly defunct Olympia Press, closely followed by “Animal
Farm”, which remains to date my highest seller. (WWB was later re-issued as
“Ali, Slave Girl Incarnate” because Terry, boss at Olympia, didn’t like the WWB
title. He and I have agreed to differ on that point ever since …) but Stuart at
Fiction4All has happily agreed to return it to its original title.
The two books were in fact written together, both
finished a month or so before WWB came out. Now, whereas when I wrote them I
had the freshness and enthusiasm of (comparative) youth, I have learnt so much
since then about how to write, aided and guided by my wonderful editor from
those days, Dee. So now I look back and think, well, these days I would probably
phrase things differently, bring out more aspects, paint perhaps a more vivid
picture at some points and so on. On the other hand, the basic plot idea
remains one of my better and more engaging ones, and Ali is still in many ways
my favourite character.
So some years ago I started to wonder if I should
re-write Animal Farm, try to use the writing experience and also greater scene
experience that I have now with the same fundamental plot that has stood the
test of time, because that book still sells to this day. Having finally decided
to do so I felt that, given that I was not also going to re-write WWB, I needed
an introductory stage to set the scene, and thought that it would be nice to
use my modern experience to create a fresh beginning, set mainly in a place I
have spent a few happy hours in, because the Barnet Bastille exists, can be
found on the internet and is a wonderfully equipped dungeon which I can
heartily recommend.
So here is the new version of Animal Farm, now retitled
“The Volunteer”. If you have read the original (mine, not Orwell’s!), I hope
you find this a refreshing variation. It’s not the same book by any means, but
there are a few scenes you might recognise. If you haven’t read the original,
then this is a new book for you and I hope you enjoy it.
Ian Smith.
“In my opinion, young lady, you deserve a good spanking.”
It was a comment John Tyler had made to Ali Balcombe on
more than one occasion before. Never
seriously, of course: although he would have liked nothing better than to smack
that pert little derriere of hers, he was at pains not to let her know it. It wasn’t that sort of a relationship. In fact, it wasn’t a relationship at all, at
least not in the modern sense. They were
simply friends, but more in the sense of uncle and niece than as equals. The age gap wasn’t that great – just turned
thirty, he was only a dozen years older than she – but as she had always
observed, he always acted old.
Responsible, mature and dignified, he said; she used other less
complimentary words, but always with that mischievous twinkle in her lovely
green eyes and the slight hint of a smile on her pretty face that betrayed the
fact that she was teasing him. It was
just such a tease that had caused him to make this comment. Normally she would answer something like this
with a further tease, but this time for some reason her reaction was rather
different. She put her hands on her
hips, stared defiantly at him and said, “Are you man enough to give me one?”
It was a very blatant come-on, and somewhat out of
character. In most ways she was demure,
almost shy, and certainly completely platonic towards him. But they were alone, she having called round
at his house to ask for some help with her college studies in accounting, which
was the field he earned his living in, and he lived alone. Still, he hesitated.
“Don’t tempt me,” he prevaricated.
“I’ll take that as a no, then,” she said in mock
superiority, and thumbed her nose at him.
John saw a way forward.
He backed off and sat down in his armchair. “If you dare to put yourself over my lap,
you’ll find out your answer,” he said, neatly putting the ball back in her
court.
He expected her to make some further teasing comment or
airy joke and move the conversation on, but instead she hesitated. Indecisiveness played over her lovely
features and showed in her posture. She
was not particularly tall, but her shape was excellent and she had the best bum
and legs he had ever seen on a girl, the contours of which were, happily for
him, often displayed because she liked to wear either shorts or tight tracksuit
bottoms such as the black ones she had on today along with a light blue t-shirt
that showed off a firm but not excessively large chest. Not an hour glass
figure, then, but lithe and athletic.
Perhaps best of all, she was unaware of her beauty, considering herself
to be only average at best, which gave her a charming lack of ego and a natural
character. A sporty girl who spent hours
in the gym, she seemed free of any attachments to the boys, though he was quite
sure she wasn’t a lesbian.
“If I do, you’ll be beastly to me,” she observed
coquettishly.
John relaxed slightly.
He knew she wouldn’t use a word like ‘beastly’ if she was seriously unhappy
with the situation. “That’s the general
idea,” he replied, keeping the ball in her court.
With trepidation, Ali stepped forward. My god, thought John, she’s going to do
it. Hesitantly, she moved round to the
side of the chair, then without looking at him leaned over until her hands were
on the carpet on the other side and then settled down onto his lap. The perfectly shaped rear beneath the tight
tracksuit bottoms filled his vision, whilst her subtle scent teased his
nostrils and her weight on his legs proved to him that this was not some
blissful dream. He could feel the
tension in her body. He put one of his
hands on her delicious body to hold her in place.
“Tell me when you’ve had enough,” he said
challengingly. That would keep things
from going beyond what she could deal with and at the same time dare her to
take plenty. She didn’t reply. He laid his free hand on her bottom, the
first time he had ever been able to touch her there. She flinched. It occurred to him that actually
it might just be the first time she had felt any male hand on her bum. Then he lifted his hand up, and felt her
tense again, because she knew what would happen next.
Smack!
It was a very light stroke. Too light, he told himself: you need to be
firm here. Even so, she twitched
underneath his controlling hand, undoubtedly from shock rather than anything
else.
Smack!
That was a much better one! Ali gasped.
It wouldn’t really have hurt, at least not much, but now she knew that
this was not going to be make-believe.
Smack! Smack! Smack!
Smack! Smack!
There was silence from Ali.
Smack! Smack! Smack!
Smack! Smack!
Still silence. But
that bottom was so wonderfully vibrant beneath his touch: firm, yet soft and
yielding, and so perfectly shaped that it was difficult to believe that he had
not died and gone to heaven.
Smack! Smack! Smack!
Smack! Smack!
Still Ali remained silent, but he could feel her shaking
slightly through his legs. What was
causing the shaking he wasn’t quite sure. It would be starting to sting a bit now, but
she was no wimp. Humiliation? Embarrassment? Or sexual excitement?
Smack! Smack! Smack!
Smack! Smack!
John could have continued with this all day, but he
didn’t want to push it too far. His hand
was beginning to feel the cumulative effects of smacking her, so her bottom
would certainly be smarting by now. He
helped her back to her feet, very aware that the next few moments would be
critical. He could play things almost
apologetically or be firm and strong. He
decided the latter course was best.
“Have you learnt your lesson, young lady?” he asked with
his best air of authority.
She rubbed her bottom ruefully. “You meanie,” she said without real venom. “My bum’s black and blue.”
“Nonsense,” he said airily. “Maybe a healthy red glow at the most. Shall we inspect the damage?”
“No thank you,” she said tartly. Apart from the tight tracksuit bottoms, she
always dressed demurely and wasn’t one for showing her body off. “Can we carry on with the college stuff now?”
And that was that.
She sat back down beside him – slightly gingerly, he noted – and carried
on as if nothing had happened.
John assumed that this would be a one-off, and cherished
the memory of spanking that superb bottom.
But a few days later she called again for more help – they had agreed
she would come for help twice a week - and from the start she went out of her
way to provoke him. This time, instead
of daring her to go over his lap, he grabbed her slim wrist and pulled her over
him and gave her a second spanking, every bit as energetic as the first. When he had finished, she climbed back off
him and with a chastened demeanour but no comment returned to what he was
showing her about her studies.
“I think,” he ventured later in that session, “that it
would help if I set you a few questions as a sort of test at the end of each
lesson. You could do them ready for the next lesson. It would be a check to make sure you’ve
understood everything.”
She nodded. “Yes,
I think that would help,” she agreed.
Now for the try-on, he thought. “Of course, I’ll expect you to go over my lap
for some more attention to your bottom if you don’t pass.”
She didn’t look at him, but said quietly, “fair enough.” Again she had surprised him by agreeing; he
had expected her to argue and had been ready to back off.
“Shall we say eighty per cent as the pass rate?”
She nodded, and that was that. He set the questions, trying to be fair and
give her a chance but not make it too easy.
She handed it in at the start of the next lesson, but despite his own
eagerness he left it until near the end of the lesson before marking it. It wasn’t bad, but … seventy-five per
cent. She stood up and put herself over
his lap without complaint.
Smack! Smack! Smack!
Smack! Smack! Smack!
Smack! Smack!
Time to up the ante, he decided. He ran his hand over her tautly stretched
tracksuit bottoms, loving the feel of the firm young flesh underneath. “You know,” he said conversationally, “I
think these trackies are giving you far too much protection.”
“They’re honestly not,” came her somewhat breathless
voice from her head, which was only a few inches off the floor.
“Nevertheless, I think they need to come down.”
There was a startled silence from Ali. “No, please,” she said, but there was not
enough conviction in her voice.
“I’m having to work altogether too hard here to get any
effect,” he argued.
Again there was a pause before she replied. When she did speak, there was a tone of
defeated surrender in her voice that he’d never heard from her before. “I can’t stop you,” she said.
It wasn’t true, of course. She could easily refuse, or even get up if
she so chose. What she was doing was
telling him that he could go ahead. So
he did. Slipping his fingers into the
elasticated waistband of her tracksuit bottoms, he pushed them firmly
down. She even co-operated by lifting
her hips up so that he could do it. A
pair of demure white knickers came into view, tightly stretched over that
perfectly formed bottom. Lowering her
tracksuit bottoms didn’t actually reveal that much, just the tops of her
thighs, a small amount of the lower curves of her cheeks, and her lower back
just above the waistline, but they made him feel deliciously in control.
Smack! Smack! Smack!
Smack! Smack! Smack!
Smack! Smack!
Smack! Smack! Smack!
Smack! Smack! Smack!
Smack! Smack!
When he finally released her, he noted that her face was
redder than usual as she hastened to pull her tracksuit bottoms back up to
cover herself once more. But she made no
further comment.
Next lesson, after again scoring seventy-something per
cent, she allowed him to lower her tracksuit bottoms without protest, though
the panties she wore were if anything even more demure. But the lesson after that, her test paper was
distressingly good. Even applying the
strictest marking, he could not bring the score below ninety per cent. As her teacher he was delighted with her
progress, but as a man he was naturally disappointed.
“Looks like no spanking for you today, then,” he
observed.
“Thank goodness for that,” she replied archly.
“Rubbish! You
enjoy every moment of it.”
“Huh! Having you
brutally beating my poor little bottom?
I don’t think so,” she replied haughtily.
A daring idea began to form in his mind. He sat back in his chair. “So you can relax for today, then.”
“Absolutely. Next
week too, I bet. I’m really getting to
understand the work now.”
“So no more spankings, then?”
“Doesn’t look like it,” she replied smugly.
“You’ll miss them.”
“I don’t think so.”
He let that hang for a moment. “Well, I tell you what. I’ve an idea for a bit of a challenge for
you, and an adventure too. Something rather different.”
She eyed him suspiciously. “What sort of challenge?”
He smiled, taunting her.
“You won’t know unless you take the plunge. Simple deal: I’ll take you somewhere for a
day; somewhere where I can … shall we say, deal with you more effectively. All you have to do is agree to surrender
completely to my orders from the time I pick you up to the time I drop you
home. Absolutely complete compliance: no
deals, no limits, and no complaints afterwards.”
She raised her eyebrows.
“Is that meant to be a good deal?” she asked archly.
“It’ll certainly be very tough, and more than a bit
painful. It’ll be quite an endurance
test.”
“OK,” she said quietly.
The simple agreement took the wind out of John’s
sails. “Are you sure?” he managed. “You understand clearly the rules?”
“Total surrender, from the time you pick me up to the
time you drop me back home,” she repeated tonelessly. “No deals, no limits, and no complaints
afterwards. What was the phrase you
used? Absolute complete compliance.”
“And you agree?”
“I’ve just said so, haven’t I? No need for any discussion. Let me know the date and I’ll get the day
off.” She terminated the conversation
firmly, and when he came back to her with a date several days later, having
made certain arrangements, she simply said the date was fine and refused any
further conversation on the matter. When
he pointed out to her that she would be really jumping into the deep end, she
just shrugged and affirmed flatly that she would keep to what she had agreed. But now that he had said this, she would not
be able to complain that she hadn’t been warned. He began, as if in a delightful dream, to
make his plans, starting with a phone call to book a rather unusual room.