I am kneeling before Mistress Sumurumus. With my left hand I caress, stroke, massage, knead, pinch, and stimulate in any other ways I can think of the skin, the muscles, the tendons, the ligaments, and the nerves residing in Her feet and legs. Her pedicure is exquisite. Her skin is exceptionally soft and oh so smooth. Everything pertaining to Her fascinating feet and Her shapely stems possesses incomparable excellence. Touching my Mother-in-law this way does something for me. It gets me excited. Sumurumus is such an exciting Woman. I am getting more and more aroused. She is the most arousing and ladylike Ladyship. It is getting me hot. It is really getting me off. My dominant hand is occupied. I am not used to using my right hand. My left hand must continue to maintain physical contact with The Shapeliest of Sirens, Sumurumus. I start to touch myself. I see my Mistress smile. I hear the peals of Her wicked and wonderful laughter. Why is She laughing at me? Is She pleased? Is She only savouring my humiliation, and/or the effortless ease with which She has effectively exercised Her ability to talk me into humiliating myself at Her leisure and for Her pleasure alone? (That’s not exactly true. I have never been so sexually excited in my entire lifetime.) I do not care. What I do gives Her pleasure. That is all that matters. I am enraptured when Sumurumus is happy. What is pleasant to Her is the only thing of any worth and value and consequence and importance and relevance.

Thrice did I hear Sumurumus clap Her hands. I came as I had never cum before. Only the most extreme aerobics workouts ever made me perspire like I was sweating at this moment. My ears did not detect the sound of the key turning in the lock. I did not perceive Mendi’s footsteps as she entered the room. My wife’s scream, after seeing what was taking place, was the most earsplitting, stomach-churning, heart-stopping, bone-chilling, gut-wrenching, bloodcurdling, nerve-wracking, eye-popping, heartbreaking sound I have ever heard. I saw her eyes roll almost completely up into her head, then become larger than I’d ever seen them during all the time we’d known each other. The look on her face went from abject shock, to abysmal despair, then finally manifested unquenchable rage and unrestrained fury. Her fists were so tightly clenched that beads of sweat were visible on her arms and droplets of blood oozed from the stigmata-esque places where her fingernails dug mercilessly into the flesh of her palms. I wanted to say something, anything, to her. I had a brain freeze.

I had a surprise for my very conservative husband. Well, I’m the one who got the surprise. My face is flushed. I am shocked beyond mortification and livid with rage. I can feel the intense burning sensation behind my eyes. My head is suddenly pounding so hard and so loudly that I think it is about to explode. I screech at my husband. “Who the hell are you? What the fuck are you doing? When did you start screwing around with her? Where are your clothes? Why are you panting that way and smiling like that?” I burst into tears. “How could you do this to me?”

My fury is not yet spent. I turn on my wicked stepmother. “Whore! bitch! trollop! slut! strumpet! home wrecker! you prostitute! you cunt!!! I’ll get you. If it’s the last thing I ever do. I’ll make you pay for this.” I think about my revenge. I start laughing. I laugh and laugh and laugh. My husband starts to get off the floor and approach me. He sees the hatred in my eyes, my clenched jaw muscles, and my gleaming, bared teeth. He stays where he is. “I will destroy you” I say to him. “I’ll tell everyone I know about this. I’ll divorce you. I’ll ruin your business. I’ll take you for everything you’ve got. I’ll break you. I’ll kill you.” I start laughing again. I turn toward the door.

My stepdaughter is such an immature child. I’ve always known how to deal with her tantrums. I know how to handle her now. “MENDI, MATRIARCH MAY I.” She concludes her next step and then freezes in place. “Come! to! Me!” I say commandingly. Her obedience is instantaneous. “Kneel before Me.” Her act of obeisance is immediate. “Now, address Me as you know you should.” We three hear her say, “Yes, Mistress Sumurumus.” Being a potently powerful and penetratingly persuasive Hypnotist does have its advantages.

Now shall that which really dwells in Mendi’s minuscule mentality be revealed. “Mendi, now I will ask you some questions. You shall answer each one of them truthfully. No matter what question I ask you, you will tell Me the total and absolute truth. You know you can not resist My mesmeric commands. We both know My wise womanly will is exceedingly stronger than your weak-willed, worthless will. Do you love your husband?”

“Love him?” Mendi Jacobson (Never, at any time in any situation, did she append the name Sherman to herself.) started giggling. “Love that? I never loved him. All he is to me is a good meal ticket. Since the first day I met him I’ve never had to work. I made him pay for everything. We didn’t even kiss before our sham of a honeymoon. He still gave me anything I told him to buy. No other guy has ever been so easy to pussy-whip. I can make him do whatever I please. I never wanted to work. Why should I? That’s what a husband is for. He was so easy to manipulate. I wonder why he is so pliable? It doesn’t really matter, so long as I get what I want.”

“What do you care about?” Sumurumus inquired.

“Me, myself, and I. And shopping, playing tennis, and my hunky golf pro boyfriend. There’s a man. He’s always satisfied me. It’s too bad he’s so poor. Well, baby boy Bradford Sherman’s money will take care of that. I should have gotten several Oscars for the acting job I’ve done. Convincing my husband that he is a good lover was a lot of work and so simple–just like that simple-minded fool I made marry me. Watching “When Harry Met Sally” was worth the price of the video in spades.” Mendi Jacobson started laughing contemptuously. She turned her pretty, puerile face to her husband. “For a long time I had a hunch you were slobbering over my stepmother. That’s why I asked you to meet me at your mother-in-law’s. I was going to tell you I was leaving you right in front of her. I was going to give you the reason I was leaving so she could hear it.” The young woman’s laughter was hysterical and maniacal and altogether evil.

I blink back my burning tears. How could I have been so stupid? I thought Mendi loved me. She always said she did. I have always wanted to provide the woman I married with the option of not working. I have always wanted a big family of my own. I brought up the subject of our having children or adopting some kids or both. Mendi said she just wasn’t cutout for motherhood. I encouraged her to take part in some kind of charitable activity. She always said she was too busy. I suggested she go back to college. She said she had no interest in studying. Now I guess I know why.

“Mendi, look directly and deeply into My eyes. You can not tare your eyes from My eyes. You know you will not, and can not, look away from My eyes. You have long known of the power resident within My indecipherable, indomitable, ensorcelling, irresistible eyes. As you continue to helplessly gaze into the fathomless depths of My monumentally magical, marvelously mystical, miraculously mesmerizing eyes, you can feel the strength of all your desires and the power of all your thoughts and the force of all your feelings flowing out of you. Yes, you can certainly feel all your strength assuredly flowing out of you and into My eyes. Flowing into My eyes, then combining with the awesome, overwhelming, ostentatious omnipotence of My eyes, and emanating from My eyes and back into you. The always increasing power of My conspicuous, compelling, constraining, commanding, catlike eyes is like an all-consuming flame. An all-consuming and all-powerful flame which burns away your pathetic and powerless will. The more you foolishly and feebly attempt in vain to resist the power of My eyes, the more you will feel their power igniting, burning away, and completely consuming any, and all, of your futile resistance to Me and to My powers and to My willpower and to the potent powers of My willful will.”

It was true. So help me, it was true. I saw all the strength of my wife’s emotionality depart from her countenance. Mendi’s iron, lantern jaw became slack. Her visage was made as placid as a frozen sea. All Mendi could do was stare vacantly into my Mother Goddess–Mother-in-law’s luminous, incomparable eyes. Though I was not their focus, even I was not unaffected by the enticing, evil eyes of Sumurumus.

“Mendi, when I first met your father, My much beloved husband, and My dearly departed and sorely missed companion you were a spoiled, selfish, little girl. Now you have physically grown into a far more spoiled and much more selfish girl. You are not fit and unworthy to bear the designation of woman. Calling you an overgrown child is an insult to all children. I will soon permit you to look at your feet. When you do so, you, in the eyes of your wretchedly narcissistic mind, will still be powerlessly gazing into My eyes. You will neither hear nor see anything, until I call you by name. You will only be aware of the power of My eyes, until I, and only I, call your name. Now, look at your feet and, in your imagination and your subconscious, continue to fall farther and farther into the deep, deep, depthless depths of My eyes as they burn into your will.”

Mendi did as her Stepmother and Mistress commanded. The younger member of the Jacobson family was like some kind of a zombie slave. Sumurumus selected, then clipped, next lit, and thereafter began to enjoy another cigar. When several minutes had elapsed, the elegant, elder Jacobson turned Her attention to Her still naked son-in-law. She permitted his mind to consciously know all that had transpired after his arrival at Her domicile’s door. She removed all, save the most important, of Her hypnotic commands. She, thereafter, returned him to his conscious self.

“Bradford, you know the truth concerning your marriage. You have experienced and witnessed exemplars of My powers. You have felt the potent power of the profound pleasures of being in My mesmerizing, Machiavellian, delightful, distaff dominion. What do you have to say?”

I get to my knees and crawl to my Mistress’s feet. I look plaintively, longingly, lustfully, and loyally up into Her eyes. “Your name is Sumurumus Jacobson. Your given name is a palindrome. The ‘r’ in Your first name is surrounded by groups of letters which are mirror images of each other. Like a magic mirror You can see into and beyond the depths of my heart, my mind, and my soul. I am ensnared by Your lusty loveliness, encompassed by Your pervasive powers, enthralled by Your preternatural personality, intimidated by Your vast intelligence, and enslaved by everything there is about You. If You are willing to accept me, I am Yours to command for so long as You are pleased with me and pleased to will it so.”

“You are an excellent man. Your devotion pleases Me much. There are many harmless, little, fun, and interesting things we shall do together. Return to your home. I shall deal with Mendi.”

I get dressed. I prostrate myself and voraciously worship my Mistress Mother-in-law’s feet with my lips and my tongue. I truthfully praise Her with multitudinous words of laudation. I reverently bow before Her. I reluctantly depart from Her magnanimous, magnificent, magnetic presence. As I drive home, I joyously await my next summons from Goddess Mistress Sumurumus Jacobson.

My divorce went through without a single hitch. My ex-wife did not ask for any alimony of any kind. The only things she kept were the things she had before we were married and the gifts I gave her before I found out what she was really like. She returns all the court-awarded spousal support to me. It is the oddest thing. The other divorced men I know are a bilious green with envy. Mendi moved in with her dream man the day after she found out I was her Stepmother’s adoring boy toy and devoted slave. My ex-wife’s not nearly good enough for the lowest ranks of the amateur golf circuit, much less the PGA tour, lover dropped her like a bad habit and a hot rock, immediately becoming a doubles partner in a very personal and private skins game with Mendi’s female tennis instructor, once he discovered the gravy train had left the station and neither Mendi nor he had even a whiff of a ticket stub. She lives in a small apartment near the location of her first job.

I respond to my door chimes. “Who is it?” I ask unlocking and opening the door.

I love the sound My stiletto heels make on the marble floor in the entrance hall of My ex-son-in-law and eternal slave’s home. He does have excellent taste. His refined sensibilities are among the reasons I have elected to keep him and decided to properly train him. I am wearing a low-cut, ankle-length, creamy white, sensuously flowing chiffon dress made in a way which, under various conditions, subtly shows yet definitely displays various amounts and portions of My legs captivatingly constraining calves and tantalizingly toned thighs. He kneels at My feet the instant he sees Me. He has promised he will always do so. He says it is a sign of his respect for, and his devotion to, Me. Yea, verily, what he hath declared is even so. Both of us know his unspoken reason for this act of submission. He never tires of trying to stare at as much of My legs as he can see for as long as I permit him to indulge his naughty, little, nasty, adorable (Just like him–everything except the part about being little. Nothing about him is little. I am the luckiest Mistress alive!) desire. I shall pretend I do not know what he is up to down there. As we chitchat, I move My black, fishnet stocking-clad legs in ways I know shall bend him even more to My womanly will. I watch him try to suppress that gleam in his so very pretty eyes. (His shyness and his always unsuccessful attempts to hide things from Me just tickle Me all over. He has told Me of his fantasy about doing so. One day I will surprise him with the fulfillment of this erotic game. I hope he doesn’t faint when I do. I am glad I’ve been able to countermand some of the despicable damage My selfish and stupid stepdaughter inflicted upon his loving and delicately fragile psyche. Now I understand why some unfortunately ill-used males become ill-tempered misogynists or embittered misogamists.) I am aware of how much he enjoys caressing the skin on My legs. This evening I shall mercilessly tantalize him with the prospect, and make him earn the privilege, of fulfilling his longing to touch any part of Me. I see he has purchased an exquisite humidor. I quickly discover he has stocked it with an excellent assortment of high-quality cigars. As we converse, I sense he is trying to keep something from me. He knows how curious I am. He knows I can mesmerically and deftly extract any information I choose from My pliable and pleasing and playful pet’s hypnotically hamstrung, merrily manacled mind. He also is aware of My pride in My powers of observation. (He teasingly, and accurately, calls Me Irene Mycroft Adler Holmes.) I scrutinize each object in the room. The ornate coffee table has a peculiar, and yet familiar, design. I carefully study it. Aha! It is an exquisitely handcrafted, 19-by-19-line go board. In My further examinations I take note that the other oft-used sizes for the boards, used in this seemingly simple game which has confounded computers and human beings alike, are also represented using differently-colored boundary markings for each game size. I never gave him any suggestion or command (posthypnotic or otherwise) to acquire or purchase any of these items. I shall quickly reward his act of attending to My desires without Me asking or compelling him to do so. He sees My large and satisfied smile.

“Is my Mistress pleased?” I ask Sumurumus.

“I have only one thing to say to you.”

My Mistress is wearing the gown I picked out and purchased for Her. I am glad Sumurumus approves of my taste in women’s clothes. Maybe She won’t make me wear that scandalous outfit She dressed me in last week. Well, at least not in public. Those seven-inch-tall spike heels are murder on the feet. Goddess Sumurumus made me run in those blasted things. Run uphill on gravel in the rain during a windy day! I think I recognize one of those male chauvinist pigs who honked at me one of the times my skirt was blown up by a strong gust of wind. That sexist, lowdown rat fink works for me. He will wish he didn’t before I’m done with his sorry ass. If I’d known She was such a sadist, I would have proposed to Her the first day I was fortunate enough to see my Ex-mother-in-law for the first time. What is She going to say to me? I pray it is my trigger phrase. “Please tell me, my Mistress?”

Each of us is well aware of the power Her eyes wield over me and only Goddess Mistress Sumurumus may know how many others. Now the gaily garbed, goddesslike, ‘tres grande’, ‘Grande Dame’ is just sitting there gazing at me. On some TV nature documentaries I’ve seen some small creature, on one of the food chain’s lower rungs, become helplessly motionless while fearfully staring blankly into the eyes of some serpent or housecat. Looking back on it, I was more fascinated while watching that than I consciously realized. I’ve watched my share of those movies in which the seemingly omnipotent supernatural creature or hypnotic human being can take over and manipulate the hapless victim’s will by making the subject (Hmmmmmm, how does the line usually go? Oh yeh) “Look deep into my eyes!” I hope Mistress Sumurumus never finds out just how many of those low-budget flicks I did see. Goddess Sumurumus would mercilessly tease me to no end. Wait a minute, how do I really know She hasn’t plucked that piece of data from my mind already? I do have a Catwoman fixation. In my perfect, fantasy universe, Catwoman has Julie Newmar’s height and legs along with Eartha Kitt’s voice. That sound Mistress (I mean Ms. Why did I call her Mistress? I have only one Mistress. Correction, only one Mistress has possession of me.) Kitt makes–my! my!! Hold it, a very, extremely tall and elegant lady with the longest womanly legs in creation and possessing the deepest feminine voice I’ve ever heard. Oh my Goddess! Mistress Sumurumus Jacobson is the physical embodiment of the cat goddess I’ve actually been fantasizing over since my early pubescent days and nights of ————-. Now Mrs. Sumurumus Jacobson is simply sitting there, staring at me, seriously stretching out Her legs to their full length. My goodness, good Goddess above and everywhere else, good night nurse’s station Her legs are sooooooo long! How long are Her legs? Why won’t She let me measure them? Why has She so far refused to tell me how long Her long, long legs really are? Will Mistress Sumurumus ever let me find out? Is She saving this for a special treat? What will I have to do to gain this pricelessly precious prize? Now the Mistress is using Her very deep and throaty voice to purr, hiss, and make other sounds at me. Is She cognizant of my secret turn-ons? Is Mistress going to mesmerically transform me into some kind of animal? I’ll have to let Her know I’m not into that kind of kinky, creepy, mind bending and psyche twisting stuff ASAP. I wonder what it would be like to be changed into an animal? I don’t like that kind of stuff. Do I? Could I let Her do such a thing? Never, never, no way, that’s not for me, I don’t think so. What would it feel like to be transformed for just one night and for Her wickedly enticing, evilly entrancing, and arrestingly exotic eyes only? No, not me, not today. It might be really fun. No. Would She do it if I asked or beseeched Mistress to do so? Is Sumurumus, Mistress Sumurumus, does She like anything like that? Is the Mistress even knowledgeable about this kind of fantasy? Is there anyone else who’s ever even thought up this idea? I’ll have to do some research. Even if Sumurumus didn’t like it, would She do it just for me? I don’t want Her to do something She doesn’t enjoy just because She thinks I want Her to or just because I begged Her to. I never want to be needy or demanding or both with my, I mean the, Mistress. I’m still surprised Mistress Sumurumus even wanted me or ever put up with me at all. I want, I need, I love Her sooooooo much! Now She’s batting Her big, beautiful eyes at me and silently giggling. Does She know what I’m thinking about right now? What will my one-time Mother-in-law, Goddess Mistress Mrs. Sumurumus Jacobson do next?

“Goddess and Mistress and your wickedly wicked Stepmother Sumurumus says,” She partook of an interminably tantalizing and torturous pause in Her discourse, “BRADFORD, MATRIARCH MAY I?””

THE END.