How did it happen? Ten years ago, back in 2020, the wearing of clothes in public was mandatory. The now normal sight of a naked woman, or occasionally a man, being calmly led down the street on a leash would have been utterly shocking. Sex took place in private. These days women commonly allow themselves, at the prompting of their masters, to be fucked by strangers in broad daylight in parks and supermarket carparks; one forgets that in the UK and other places laws had to be changed to catch up with the shift in attitudes that made such behaviour the most natural thing in the world. Ten years ago, a person's sexuality was expressed, overwhelmingly, in the context of a so-called "relationship of equals" -- a model now widely regarded as emotionally sterile as it is hypocritical and which has become something of a minority pursuit. Extreme sexual submissiveness was once seen as a perversion and weakness -- particularly for an assertive, career woman. Today, the world's most famous film director -- a lady who, when on set, is treated with awe and respect by men and women alike -- arrives at galas and premieres wearing nothing but a pair of silver heels and a ball gag and crawls proudly along the red carpet at the feet of her partner. The Prime Minister of Sweden, when she is not solving the climate crisis leading meetings with other world leaders, is often photographed bent over the official state Volvo and fucked by her chauffeur, always with a cheery smile on her face. If your own sister isn't one of the many women who routinely eats out of a dog bowl and spends warm afternoons being suspended from a tree and used as a cum depository by barbeque guests, then your cousin or your neighbour probably is.
If the story of this seismic cultural shift were told as piece of erotic literature -- and it would serve that purpose well -- it would be hard to classify. Some of it has the flavour of a story about an erotic coupling, some of it that of a description of a BDSM relationship. Parts would have the feel, were they not true, of speculative fiction. But at its start, and at its core, it is the story of a how a young, absurdly influential woman was pushed grudgingly, sometimes without her consent, further than she ever intended to go. Eventually -- as we will learn in later Chapters -- she brought the whole world with her on this reluctant journey.
Chapter 1: The Leak
Rich had worked for some tricky customers in his time but he had a premonition early on that this one would be something else.
Astrid McEntee. He recognised her when she opened the front door. She was that bitch who had made a name for herself a few years back as a teenager -- a hugely successful "influencer" giving fashion tips to other kids on Instagram, YouTube, or whatever it was. Now grown up, she was frequently on the TV saying cruel things about what other celebrities were wearing.
Astrid barely looked up from her phone as she let him in. "Hey, hello. The leak is in the kitchen, right? Sorry dude, I'm super busy right now, so maybe just get on with it, OK?"
"Sure." He followed Astrid's gesture and walked through the hallway to the kitchen, at the back of the townhouse. He had no desire anyway to make small talk. Rich Fenner was 38 years old -- a plumber his whole working life. He was a bit rough looking, but he was intelligent and proud of his craft. Clearly, he had nothing in common with the spoiled 20-something D-list celebrity whose leak he had been called out to fix. He did not give a fuck about fashion or Instagram followers.
Astrid was, in the flesh, a desperately attractive young woman -- long-limbed, full-bosomed, glowing skin and silky brown hair -- and, as befits a fashionista in the age of social media, beautifully turned out even though she was at home, in full make-up and a stripy halter top. But Rich barely registered these facts at first. Perhaps this was because this woman would no doubt consider herself well out of his league, or else because he was still smarting a little from the end of his last long-term relationship a few months ago. Perhaps it was because over the years he had become such a professional that the job at hand remained the focus. At any rate, he got to work straight away, locating the leak and the stopcock.
Soon, Astrid drifted into the kitchen. "You
do
know who I am right?" she asked.
"Yes, I think so," Rich said over his shoulder; he was crouched at the plumbing under the sink.
"You've seen me on TV?"
"Yeah. Astrid, isn't it?" The plumber turned back to his work.
"Yes! So, tell me, what do you think of my little show?" Astrid sought to pour as much condescension into her tone. Rich just thought she sounded catty. It occurred to him that the claim she had made just a few moments ago that she was "super busy" was evidently bullshit, given that she was now engaging him in needless chat. It also occurred to him that this young, fashionable woman was, for some reason, rather insecure.
"If I'm honest...," Rich began as he turned off the stopcock. He paused, thought better of it for a second -- and then he said it anyway. "I don't think much of it. You're a complete bitch to those women you talk about -- you always say mean stuff about what they wear even though they never asked for your opinion. It is not my thing, my friend." Oh well. There went his five-star review. Or, more likely, he thought, that had never been on the cards. Rich had learned that you rarely got a review -- and if you did, never a fair one -- from the sort of person who fails to look up from their phone as they let you in.
Astrid peered at the stocky, rat-faced man, crouched on her kitchen floor. She could not remember a time someone had been that rude to her face. Certainly not a man, Men usually fell over themselves to please her, such were her charms. Astrid's cheeks flashed red to match her lipstick.
"Ha!" she exclaimed. "Keep your fucking opinions to yourself. Sort out this leak quickly. And then get the fuck out!" She stormed out of the room. Rich shrugged inwardly. That's what I planned to do anyway, he thought.
But here was the weird thing: Astrid kept coming back and trying to engage him in conversation.
"Fixed it yet, Mario?" she asked when she returned only a few minutes later. She swayed from side-to-side on her hips as she spoke -- an unconscious provocation to the older man. sexual
"The name is Rich. And no, Astrid, you've got a busted main inlet pipe. So, of course it's not fixed yet, no."
"Huh. Well, sort it quickly." She flounced out again.
Five minutes later she was back. "Are you even a proper plumber?" she asked, sarcastically. "How do I know you're not a cowboy?"
This really got to Rich, who was prone on the floor at that moment.
"Listen, my friend." He twisted round and propped himself up on one burly forearm. He waved his wrench with his other hand to emphasise his words. "I've been doing this for a lot longer than you've been taking selfies of yourself for a living. I have my own trade -- and I'll still have that in 5, 10 years' time regardless of what random shit people are tweeting about then. I'm the only professional here, as far as I can see."
Astrid was shocked by how forthright this man in filthy overalls was. Shocked but also strangely fascinated.
"Pah. What do
you
know about what I do for a living?" She stormed out again -- only to return a few moments later.
"Are you always this rude to your customers?"
"Only when they are as obnoxious as you, my dear," Rich replied. "Would you like to let me finish? Or do you want me to turn the water back on, flood your kitchen floor again and piss off? Then you can try your luck with another plumber. Though you should know, Astrid-off-the-telly... we're all much the same sort: proud folk. We don't stand for anyone treating our trade with disrespect. But if you'd like to go back to having a wet kitchen floor, please let me know and I'll turn back on the water supply and get out of your hair."
Astrid huffed and left the room. A few minutes passed before she entered yet again. But this time, as she swept into the kitchen, she stubbed her foot on Rich's steel toolbox. She howled and flew into a sudden rage.
"What the fuck is this thing doing in the doorway?" She gave the toolbox a kick, toppling it onto its side. A bunch of tools rattled out onto the tiles; she proceeded to sweep the tools against the base of the kitchen units with another sharp kick, delivered by her pink-socked foot. There was the sound of something metallic breaking -- one of Rich's screwdrivers.
She had gone too far. Rich, who had been standing at the sink, spun around and pushed Astrid away from his kit. "Leave my tools alone, you brat!"
"Get off me!" Astrid squealed, even though Rich had only given her a little push and was now merely barring her way to the toolbox. She flung an arm at Rich's face. In carrying out this action she somehow managed to claw his left cheek with her long nails. They cut deep into his skin, like razor blades. Rich's cheek suddenly bloomed with glistening red blood. The stuff flowed profusely out of two wide gashes and onto Rich's overalls.
Rich stumbled a step back. He tried to stem the flowed of blood with his hand. Astrid gasped and covered her mouth with her hands. There was a moment of silence as they both stood there in shock at what had happened. Then Astrid started to blubber: "Oh my God...! Oh my God...! I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry...!"
"Fuck it," Rich said. "I'm calling the police." At this point he meant it. He was not putting up with this kind of treatment. No tradesperson should have to. "You've smashed up my tools and cut my face open, you crazy, fucked-up woman."
Astrid was horrified at the turn events had just taken. She surmised quickly that her arrest for assaulting her plumber would likely be the end of her budding television career and might be the death of her social media cachet too. The timing was very bad. There had been a big campaign recently against TV stars mistreating assistants and other such lowly workers; a former colleague of hers on the 'magazine show' that she appeared on had been booted off it for a lesser incident than this. This was serious.
"Oh God! Please, no. Don't do that. I'll pay... I'll pay for your injury. And your tools. I'm so, so sorry." Tears started to well up in her eyes.
"No," Rich said. "You're an evil bitch. You need to be dealt with by the authorities." He was not going to be paid off this bratty woman. If she did pay him, before long she would be bragging about the whole incident to her mates:
I had a stroppy plumber but I put him in his place with my nails! Had to pay him off, of course, but that's just one of life's expenses isn't it?
Haha!
No: that was not going to happen. This time, Astrid was going to be made to face the consequences of her nastiness to her fellow human beings.
Rich fumbled with his free hand to fish out his mobile from his pocket. As he did so he took a good look at Astrid for the first time. She was a hot, smooth-skinned, long-legged woman in a bright, vertically striped halter top and white denim hotpants. Cute features. A nice firm ass, and good-sized tits. She stood a good inch or two taller him and she was not wearing shoes, just her pink socks. Her glossy brown hair was almost ridiculously luscious. It seemed to sweep upwards and then around her head in a great swirl before falling down, impossibly neatly around her shoulders. It was her best attribute, Rich thought. She was looking past him into the middle distance, her eyes welling up, shaking her head distractedly.
A wicked thought crossed Rich's mind. There might be an even more effective way at putting this brat in her place -- one that offered him a bit of fun too. He stopped fumbling for his phone and addressed Astrid in a decisive tone.
