The Influencer Ch. 01

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.

"Listen. You need to be punished for what you've done. I don't care if it's at the hands of some judge, or the press, or by your followers deciding to unfollow you..." (Astrid winced at this comment. This man had understood all too well her motivations and had put the boot sharply.) "... Or if I punish you myself." Rich slowly rocked the knuckles of the hand that he had been using to staunch his wounded cheek, smearing the blood a little, as if to emphasise his entitlement to mete out punishment to the dejected woman standing before him.

"How would you punish me?" Astrid asked flatly, trying not to sound too contemptuous. She did, in fact, have an inkling of where this might be headed.

"By getting you to strip off and giving you a spanking on your bare bottom."

Astrid let out a performative gasp. In truth, the situation now seemed to be heading back towards something more manageable for her. Disgusting as this nasty man's request was, she knew something about men and their desires. The alternative -- her being arrested for violent assault, being labelled a criminal by the papers, losing her God-appointed career as an influencer and fashion critic -- was bizarre, unprecedented and unthinkable in the world of Astrid McEntee. By contrast, so long as she was using her sex appeal to placate and control men, she was on more familiar territory.

"You're a pervert."

"Haha. Maybe. But at least I'm not a psycho bitch who smashes up her plumber's tools and cuts his face open. Anyway. It sounds like you'd prefer the police to sort this out and I'm fine with that."

Astrid didn't wait for the plumber to go for his phone again. "No. Don't get the police involved." She gave a weak smile. "Be a real man and sort this out yourself."

Rich looked at her quizzically.

Astrid sighed. "I mean: you can spank me, pervert."

Rich nodded. "I want you to strip for it. Otherwise it's no real lesson for you."

"I'm not happy with that," Astrid replied cautiously.

"Yeah, well I'm not happy with this." Rich pointed to his cut cheek.

Astrid sighed again. She was coming to accept that she was not going to get out of this situation with her dignity fully intact. "Let me tidy you up first," she suggested.

Rich nodded. Astrid rummaged in a cupboard and produced some dressing gauze and tape which she placed on the worktop by where Rich was standing. She wet a piece of kitchen roll and set about cleaning the wound, gingerly dabbing his right cheek. Rich stood impassively as she did this. But when she repositioned herself before him to apply the gauze, Rich smiled cruelly and took the liberty of placing his arms around her waist, pulling her in towards him. Astrid rolled her eyes at this but remained silent. There seemed to be little point in objecting to the overfamiliarity given the treatment she had already agreed to.

Unwillingly huddled to her patient in this manner, as she finished taping the gauze Astrid could feel an unmistakeable bulge pressing into her thigh. She gave a quick, disgusted glance downwards to let the plumber know that she had noticed his erection.

"We're not having sex, OK?" she said gently. "I have a boyfriend. He's in Brazil on a photo assignment." She resisted a powerful temptation to add something to the effect that she would, in any event, under no circumstances consider letting this perverted nobody fuck her.

"When he gets back you can tell him then that you enjoy being spanked," Rich replied. Assuming you do enjoy it." He grinned.

"Oh, fuck off," Astrid hissed, breaking free of Rich's embrace. "Just get on with it."

"Your move. You just said you would strip. Come on." Rich took a step forward, drawing himself back up to Astrid, and gave two quick, demonstrative pats to the side of her hotpants, followed by a quick tug to the neckline of her dress and a couple of pats to her cleavage. Astrid felt suitably demeaned by this patronising gesture. And yet.... She could not help feel a pang of admiration for how Rich was taking charge of the situation. There was something compelling about being dominated by a man in this manner. Was it a turn-on, even? No! What am I thinking? She tried hard to push this line of thought out of her mind as she began grudgingly to remove her shorts.

She muttered, thinking of Rich's tug of her dress: "You don't need to have a person's top off to spank their bottom."

"It's all coming off, Astrid, or else I've lost interest. Bra, panties and socks as well. Strip!"

Astrid gave Rich a withering look as she slid off her shorts and then untied her halter. She took off the top and stood there in her underwear. "Pervert," she said.

Rich sighed to express his impatience. "I said strip," he insisted firmly.

Astrid rolled her eyes again and quickly unfastened her bra and let it drop to the floor. Her pink socks came off next. She had intended to peel down her panties just as quickly to show how unfazed she was by the whole affair. But she hesitated when the moment came. For she had suddenly become acutely aware of just how turned on she had become by the predicament. There would be no mistake about it. Her shaved pussy was getting wet. She hoped desperately that Rich would not notice. She could get through the experience of having her bum slapped by this rat-faced man with most of her dignity intact so long as she remained coolly aloof from the situation. But if he found out that her body was lubricating itself at the prospect -- and dear God, it was -- the humiliation would be abject. Astrid McEntee, turned on by the kinky play of a disgusting plumber, a rough looking, working-class man, a good couple of inches (she now noticed) shorter than herself? That her own sexuality was so out of her control was a revelation to Astrid -- it was the most shocking thing about the situation.

She took a gulp of breath and pulled down her panties. "Where do you want me?"

Rich walked over to a chair the other side of the kitchen. He sat down on it and patted his lap. "Here."

In something of a daze, the naked woman walked across the room to meet with her punishment. She allowed herself to be manhandled by Rich so she was virtually balanced on his lap, her bare cunt squished against his thigh and her equally bare bum in the air, in easy reach of his right palm, with which he started to rub her butt-cheeks. Her head and her boobs dangled off to his left side. She found it was natural to put her hands against the floor to take her upper body weight. Her long legs, likewise, arched down so that her feet touched the floor some way off to the right of the chair. Thus, her body formed the shape of a "D" on its side, her bum at the top of the curve. Astrid felt, though, that her throbbing, sopping wet cunt, wedged in her plumber's lap, was the (unseen) pivot of the scene. As Rich drew himself up in his seat in preparation for her spanking it was all Astrid could do to stop herself from rubbing herself up against his trousers.

"This may sting a little," Rich said. He brought his palm down firmly on Astrid's smooth butt.

WHACK!

Astrid moaned: "Ohh!"

WHACK!

"Aaah!"

"I'm hardly using any force. I don't believe it hurts quite that much, Astrid. Anyone would think you were enjoying it!"

Astrid had no response. She took deep breaths and tried to focus on not giving away to her tormentor the fact of her arousal. It was so difficult! She noted the irony that she had often found herself simulating pleasure in response to her boyfriends' ministrations, yet now she was trying hard to pretend that she was not being driven wild by this pervert. The thought was interrupted by a third slap.

WHACK!

"How long do you intend to carry on beating me?" Astrid asked, her head dangling down from her shoulders and her eyes closed. Her voice was weak with the effort of struggling with her own arousal.