Melanie lounged on the living room couch, browsing articles in a magazine and generally feeling relaxed and content not to have anything else she needed to do.

The pretty blonde wore sleepwear that both hugged and revealed her lithe, toned, feminine figure. She lay stretched out over all three seat cushions, with her head at one end and her bare feet at the other. Her husband sat in an adjacent armchair, mellowly doing his own thing, but still making her happy that they were spending time together.

This was her idea of a perfectly pleasant evening.

"Who's your favorite superheroine?" she asked suddenly.

"That's easy. You are."

"Ha, ha. Very funny. I'm not a superheroine."

"You could be, though. That bod of yours could fill any spandex suit and knock out crooks without throwing a punch."

"Stop teasing."

"I'm not teasing. I mean it."

"Aww, thanks!"

Melanie blushed and blew her husband a kiss.

"But seriously," she said a moment later. "Who's your favorite superheroine?"

"My favorite? I don't know. I don't think I have one. Superheroines are your thing. Who's your favorite?"

"I don't have just one. I have a few. And some of them are very specific incarnations of the character in question."

"Do tell."

Happy to be able to wax poetic on a cherished topic to a sympathetic ear, Melanie took a breath, gathered her thoughts, and then began.

"These are in no particular order. So, there's Batgirl. Specifically, the Yvonne Craig version, or at least one that is portrayed in the same costumed likeness. Then, there's Wonder Woman. Pretty much any version, except the depowered pants-suit one from the 70's. And She-Hulk. Preferably the classic green version from the 80's John Byrne run one. And finally, Swift from Stormwatch and The Authority. Well, more from The Authority, when she actually had wings instead of just feathers running along her limbs. There you have them: my favorites."

"A worthy list. But, I'm curious now. What made you randomly bring up superheroines out of the blue?"

"I was daydreaming earlier, and I just started thinking about them. Well, about them and mind control."

"Superheroines and mind control?"

"Yeah, like, how would I brainwash my favorite superheroines? Would I use the same method on all of them, or a different method on each one?"

"That's bizarrely random."

"Hey, you knew about my eccentricities before you married me," Melanie said with feigned annoyance and a matching pout.

"If by eccentricities you mean your superheroine and mind control fetishes, then yes, I did know about them before I married you. They didn't bother me then, and they don't bother me now. But since you've brought it up, don't leave your graciously understanding hubby in the dark. Tell me how you would brainwash your favorite superheroines."

Melanie's pout evaporated into a gleeful giggle, as she prepared for more poetic waxing.

"Okay, so, going in the order I listed them before, I'll start with Batgirl: I would strap her into a restraining chair and subject her to electro-mechanical mental programming."

"Can you translate that into non-geek, por favor?"

"I would tie her up and use a hypno-helmet on her."

"Ah, got it."

"I would watch her futile struggles as she slowly succumbed to the hypno-helmet. Little by little, the fight would leave her. She would grow drowsy, then she would slip into a deep trance state. And then, I would erase all of her do-gooder proclivities and replace them with overwhelming needs and desires to serve and obey me. Oh! But before all that! Once I had captured and restrained her, I would tear off her boots and whatever socks or stockings she wore, leaving her barefoot and vulnerable."

"Of course you would."

"Hey, we've already established that you knew about my eccentricities before you married me," Melanie faux-complained again, this time punctuated with a stuck out tongue.

"If by eccentricities you mean your superheroine, mind control, and foot fetishes, then yes, I did know about them before I married you. They didn't bother me then, and they don't bother me now. So, please continue."

Melanie withdrew her tongue, smiled sweetly at her husband, and then continued.

"Next is She-Hulk. I'd do something completely different to her. In Byrne's stories, she loved getting foot massages. And that would be her downfall. I'd give her a foot massage, but not just any foot massage. The most soothing, relaxing, and utterly disarming foot massage she'd ever had. Before she knew it, she would begin drifting off to sleep. But I would guide her away from actual slumber and into a hypnotic trance. I would take her deeper and deeper until she was completely suggestible. Then, I would brainwash her into being my doting slave."

"I see you've put a lot of thought into this."

"What's the point of half-assing one's fantasies? Anyway, onto Wonder Woman. With her, I would be open to any one of numerous brainwashing techniques. But whichever one I went with, it would have to start with binding her with her own will-sapping Golden Lasso. Once she was under its influence and had to do what I told her, I would make her shed those red knee-highs and follow me in her bare feet to wherever I was going to implement her mental enslavement."

"Using her own weapon against her. Nice. And by nice, I mean nefarious. Just one left now."

"Right: Swift," Melanie said with a nod. "Sorry to disappoint, but this one is less nefarious than the others. In the comics, Swift had relationships with some of her female teammates. I would be one of them. In the course of our intimacy, I would suggest using hypnosis and light bondage in a mistress-sub scenario to spice things up. With her as the sub, of course. As an A-list ass kicker, that would be a foreign concept for her. But I, being the persuasive vixen that I am, would convince her. I would bind her wrists and ankles to the bed and then slowly hypnotize her with a combination of eye fixation, vocal instruction, and sensual touch. Her heightened arousal would weaken her will and allow me to implant irresistible suggestions of submissiveness and obedience into her receptive brain. For use only during our private lovemaking, obviously."

"Obviously. But what about her feet? You didn't mention her being barefoot."

"That's because Swift always goes barefoot."

"How convenient."

"Yep! Gotta love it! Anyway, that's what I was thinking about. Superheroines and mind control."

"Barefoot superheroines and mind control."

"Well, yeah, that goes without saying."

"Here she is, ladies and gentlemen, my lovely wife and her adorable fetishes."

Melanie shrugged, essentially a non-verbal repetition of you knew before you married me. Then, the topic having been played out, she went back to her magazine. Watching her intently, her husband pursed his lips in thought.

"Speaking of fetishes," he said, snapping his fingers. "Slave mode."

Melanie sat up. Her eyes glazed over. Her jaw went slack. She stood, the ignored and forgotten magazine absently falling to the floor by her feet. Her arms raised up in front of her. She held them there as if it were a perfectly natural pose.

"Get me a drink. A double of my usual."

"Yes, Master," she said in a monotone drawl.

With unhurried steps, she walked out of the room, her arms still held out in front of her. When she returned a few minutes later, her husband had moved to sit on the couch, where her legs had been previously stretched out. She approached him, bent down slightly, and handed him his drink.

"Your drink, Master."

"Sit beside me. Now, turn to face me and put your legs over my lap."

She did exactly as bidden. Then, he snapped his fingers again.

"Wife mode."

"Hm? What?" she said, blinking as wakefulness returned to her.

"Here she is, ladies and gentlemen, my lovely wife and her adorable fetishes."

Completely unaware of her trance state, loss of time, or even his repeated statement, she giggled and pantomimed a curtsy. He raised his glass to toast her, then sipped from it.

"At least you think I'm lovely and find my fetishes adorable," she said, her tone growing more serious. "Not all husbands feel that way about their wives. In fact, I would say most don't. I'm lucky that way. Thank you."

"You don't have to thank me. You're amazing. You're a superheroine."

"No, I am definitely not."

"Oh, but you are. You are my superheroine. You think I'm teasing you, but I'm not."

Another snap of his fingers removed all clarity from her eyes and expression from her face.

"Slave mode. No, I'm not joking at all. Not that you'll ever consciously know that truth again. The name Supragirl no longer has any meaning for you. Your powers are as forgotten as your previous need to frivolously fight crime and help every stupid person in the city. And you are so much happier for it, if only because I tell you that you are. I will say it's fascinating how you've incorporated your own experience of being captured and brainwashed by me into your fantasies, along with you aiding me in capturing and brainwashing those three teammates of yours. But my hold on you is strong enough that even relating those experiences back to me as if they happened to fictional characters doesn't give you any inkling that they really occurred. They're just daydreams to you, flights of fetish fancy that you are so thankful you can relate to your graciously accepting husband without judgment whenever you want. All of that is well and good, but your fetish talk has me wanting right now. So..."

Snap.

"Pleasure mode."

"How may I please you, Master?"

Cyril Wellington answered the brainwashed superheroine's question. In response, she carefully placed her bare feet where they were needed and began gripping, kneading, and rubbing with them in mindless deference to his desire.

This was now Cyril's idea of a perfectly pleasant evening....