INTRODUCTION BY THE AUTHOR

 

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.


CHAPTER ONE - THE BEGINNING, AND THE BARNET BASTILLE

 

“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.