To say that Martin Hertzog was infatuated with Melissa de Vere would indeed have been an understatement. He was quite besotted with her. And this suited Melissa. A natural-born gold­digger, she was fully aware that Martin was load­ed. She wouldn't have agreed to be escorted by him in the first place if he hadn't been. He was a South African, with family investments in a dia­mond mine.

'Are you a millionaire, Martin?' Melissa had ask­ed in an attempted-naive way on their very first outing.

'As near as makes no difference,' Martin had replied. Melissa was satisfied. She had always planned to marry a millionaire one day ... and this might be the right time. However, she intended to play this rather guileless, good-looking man along for some time before she agreed to anything. What she firmly intended from the outset, was not to get into bed with him until the marriage contract had been signed. And; of course, certain financial arrangements had been made.

Melissa de Vere was no fool, and under a sweet exterior, she was hard as iron. That wasn't her real name. She had been born Mary Chalmers, the daughter of a bank clerk in Ealing. However, she had good looks and an astute brain. When she became a model, Melissa de Vere sounded rather better than Mary Chalmers. Modelling, however, was only a means to an end. That be­ing to meet men with money. One couldn't exactly have called Melissa a prostitute but she always managed to get lumps of cash, or jewellery, out of men she gave herself to. Usually in advance.

Then this rather simple-minded Martin had turn­ed up. She'd met him at a party and had quickly ascertained his status. It was quite clear he hadn't got the wit to make money himself; it was simply family money. Melissa didn't mind about that. Soon it would be her family money.

After two or three expensive evening meals, Martin cautiously put his hand on Melissa's thigh and haltingly enquired if she didn't think it would be a good idea to go to a hotel for the night. They were in a taxi and Melissa had at once slapped his face. Martin had apologised and was a con­trite as a naughty boy. It was at that point that Melissa began to get the idea. Any man who would put up with that kind of treatment in this day and age must be a right booby, she reflected. She must take advantage of that. Marriage was her main objective but now she was beginning to think it could be very much on her terms. Not on­ly did she like using a man's money, she liked us­ing a man. Controlling him. Largely by the withdrawal of sexual favours. It was quite remarkable, she often thought, what the male would do for a bit of nookie. As far as she was concerned, she could take it or leave it. Often she had to feign excitement or an orgasm. Sometimes she thought she might be a latent lesbian. One day I'll give that a whirl, she told herself.

Now Martin proceeded more cautiously in his courting. Melissa became firmer and more demanding. Presents were showered upon her and she took them with little grace; as if they were hers by right. Martin didn't seem to mind. As long as he could be at her side, wining and dining her, showing her off to his friends, he seemed content. The more casually Melissa treated him, the more fawningly sycophantic Martin became. Frankly, Melissa despised him. Sometimes she even showed it. Still Martin didn't seem to mind. It seemed he would put up with anything as long as he could keep her company. And, of course, still hope for the eventually, exquisite, prize!

Martin finally plucked up enough courage to propose marriage.

He was turned down.

Melissa had thought he was going to burst into tears. He was like a child suddenly deprived of a packet of sweets. Melissa enjoyed the moment. It gave her such a great sense of power. My God, she thought, I can do virtually anything I like with this man. I can run his life down to the last detail. I can make him crawl; make him grovel. How marvellous! It was the way she had always wanted to treat a man. But Martin was something extra. Not only wealthy but an utter weed. She had but to snap her fingers and he'd come running like a dog - wagging his tail!

The future was beginning to look very rosy. On the second occasion that Martin proposed, Melissa said she would think about it. Martin had looked over the moon with delight. Melissa had despised him even more. How could a man be so happy when she treated him like shit? It was incredible, yet it was a fact. Could it be that he was a masochist without knowing it? She guess­ed, actually, that Martin didn't even know what a masochist was. He was that kind of guy.

A plan began to form in Melissa's mind. She was aiming to secure the perfect marriage. For herself. A marriage in which she would be the completely dominating partner. All decisions would be hers. Martin would simply have to go along with them. He would, she thought with an inner smile, be more like a 'slave' than a husband. Someone who had to earn favours and was then granted very few. That, to Melissa, seemed an ideal situation. Amazingly, she was sure Martin would go along with it. Provided he could marry her, provided he could be at her side, he would do virtually anything. Melissa had become sure of that

She sat down and wrote out a list of `Marriage Rules'. These she decided to present to Martin when he proposed for the third time. Which wouldn't be too long now, she reckoned.

Melissa was right. Having imbibed rather too much champagne at dinner (The Dorchester again!), Martin took her to a small, exclusive nightclub in Belgravia.

`M-may ... may  I       once  more ... oh my    dear Melissa ...b-beg you to m-marry me?' he almost whined. The fellow looked quite desperate. He rather reminded Melissa of P.G. Wodehouse's Bertie Wooster.

'I have considered this, Martin,' she answered. `And agree under certain conditions.' 'Oohh.... darling ...darling!' Martin leapt to his feet.

'How w-wonderful!' He began to come around the table to embrace his new fiancee.

`Sit down, Martin,' ordered Melissa firmly. `You may not like the conditions.' Martin sat down, pink-cheeked but a shade crestfallen.

'O.oohhh...I'm sure I will, darling...' 'Don't call me darling. I don't like it...' 'S-sorry ...d-d...Melissa.'       He    was   on tenterhooks. Melissa could see that. Just in the right condition. Such easy meat. She opened her handbag and took out a sheet of paper.

'Read that, Martin. Those are my conditions for marrying you.'

Martin's hand shook as he picked up the paper and began to read.

If he was shocked, he certainly didn't show it, though it was an amazing document. Only one of his temperament could have read it and accepted it without feeling a complete idiot. Yet, such was his infatuation, he somehow didn't mind these ab­surd 'Rules' which were being laid down for him. All the time he kept thinking, when we are at last married, I'll be able to make her soften up. Alright, she might be the stronger partner in the marriage (no bad thing for him) but he was sure she would soften up in time. He would show her his love ... his utter devotion  ...and she would respond to that. Yes ... yes ... surely.

Martin hurried to the end of the page and then began to read again.

MARRIAGE RULES

1.     Before marriage, Martin will make over half of his estate to Melissa. Cash to be deposited in Lloyds Bank, Knightsbridge.

2.     This marriage will not be an equal partnership. Melissa will make all important decisions and Martin will abide by them. For example, where we live, how the establishment is furnished, where we holiday, what guests we entertain. 

3.     Melissa will decide what servants to employ.

4.     Melissa is entitled to entertain, or have in residence for as long as she likes, whatever friends - male or female - that she chooses. Martin will not entertain friends at home. He will ask permission of Melissa to entertain friends at his club. This may or may not be granted. In any event, he will not entertain female friends anywhere.

5.     Melissa and Martin will sleep in separate bedrooms.

6.     There will be no sexual intercourse for the first six months of the marriage. At that stage, Melissa will decide (taking into ac­count Martin's behaviour) whether or not he has earned the right to it.

7.     Martin will treat Melissa with respect in public and with even greater respect in private.

8.     Martin will obey Melissa at all times. 

9.     Martin will not complain at any time con­cerning these arrangements. Nor will he complain at the treatment he receives at the hands of his wife. She is to be recognised as the dominant partner in this marriage - at all times and in all situations.

10.    Martin will sign a document to the effectthat he agrees to all these conditions, this document being lodged with Melissa's solicitors.

Melissa waited patiently, but slightly nervous­ly, as Martin read these conditions. Had she gone too far? Only some sort of imbecile would accept such conditions in a marriage! Yet, if he did ac­cept, she would be living the life she had always wanted for the rest of her life. No wonder she was slightly nervous.

She watched as Martin put down the paper. He looked rather disturbed; very serious.

`I accept, Melissa,' he said a shade heavily. 'it will be worth anything, I know, to be married to you.' He attempted a half smile.

Melissa felt a surge of relief. She'd done it! She now smiled. `You may kiss me, Martin,' she said. Martin rose and came eagerly around the table. Melissa presented her cheek to him.

In a way, Martin did not mind Melissa taking charge in this way. Once it had been his mother who had run things; and those had been peaceful, contented times for him. Also, he had always found it difficult to make firm decisions. Now Melissa would be making all the decisions. Of course, he was rather disturbed about the extent of her `domination' over him but reasoned that, in time, she would mellow. Once they were truly husband and wife, she would soften up.

Mind you, that was another thing. Having to wait six months. That was going to be really difficult. Would he be able to control himself? Perhaps, he thought hopefully, it would be Melissa who would break down and permit him his conjugal rights. The main thing was that, at last, she had agreed to marry him. How proud he would be to show off his beautiful wife!

He went to his solicitor and made the necessary arrangements about finances. That was the least of his worries. Even with half his fortune he was still rich. And, in any event, was it not only right that a wife should have half the family estate? He handed the documents to Melissa that evening. She didn't thank him but merely studied them carefully. Then put them in her handbag. Melissa may have looked calm but her heart was poun­ding with delight. She really had hooked some fish! Now there was going to be all the fun of playing with it!

`When ... when can we be married, Melissa? Soon, I hope...'

`I'll let you know, Martin,' came the curt answer. 'And where?'

`I'll let you know that too. It will be very quiet. No friends or relations. Just two witnesses - as there has to be.'

Martin felt a stab of disappointment. He had en­visaged himself leading a beautiful bride from church, admired and envied by all his friends. Most women wanted a white wedding. It was strange. And why none of her relatives? It sud­denly occurred to him he'd never met any of them. Once, long ago, he had broached the subject and had been abruptly told she didn't want to discuss her family. She must have good reason, he reflected. Perhaps she had had an unhappy childhood. Melissa did indeed have good reasons. Her family were far too common and she had cut herself off completely from them long ago.

`Very well, my dear,' he said a little disap­pointedly. `You're in charge.'

Melissa's eyes brightened. `You can say that again' she laughed. `Now, Martin, during the next few weeks I shall be choosing a London apart­ment for us. Then furnishing it. I suggest you go to your cottage in the country. Play golf, go riding. Do what you like.' Melissa smiled. `After all, you won't be free much longer will you? No more the gay bachelor.' Martin felt a sudden stab of ap­prehension. Was his life going to be controlled that much? `We'll keep that country place for the time being. Spend the occasional weekend there.' `Yes ... yes ... whatever you say, dear.'

The next day, Martin packed his bags and headed towards the Sussex coast.

Ten days later, Martin received a Telemessage. It read:

MARRIAGE ARRANGED FOR FRIDAY 13th. RETURN TO LONDON IMMEDIATELY. MELISSA

It was not, thought Martin, a message exactly couched in loving terms. He noted the date. Some said it was an unlucky one. Martin did not then realise quite how unlucky it was going to be for him!

He packed his bag and drove up to Town. On­ly two days! Then Melissa would be his wife. His Wife! It made his nerves tingle to think of it. Then, suddenly, it occurred to him he'd made no ar­rangements about a honeymoon. What a fool. Panic seized him, for a few moments. Then he calmed down. After all, he'd only just learnt the wedding date. Also, without any doubt, Melissa would have made those arrangements. They would honeymoon where she wanted. Martin sighed. He didn't care very much where that would be. So long as they were together.

The civil wedding took place in the Registry Of­fice of a North London Town Hall. Two strangers were brought in off the street to act as witnesses. Melissa was plainly dressed; almost severely dressed. She wore no flowers, just a diamond brooch at her throat. Martin was sporting a but­tonhole - a red carnation. Melissa removed it and tossed it away before they entered. Martin felt a spurt of resentment but said nothing. He would have to get used to such minor slights, he supposed.

The ceremony was soon over. It was dull and formal. So, so different from what Martin had once imagined. Then they were out in the street again. Melissa hailed a taxi ... and in they got. Man and wife, thought Martin. Then he leant across and kissed Melissa on the cheek. He had aimed for her mouth but she quickly turned aside. As he moved, Martin touched Melissa's thigh.

`Get your hands off me!' she rapped out. Martin was stunned. 'But ... but we're married now!' he spluttered.'

`What difference does that make?' snapped Melissa. `Do you think it gives you the right to maul me whenever you feel like it?'

Martin sat back, deflated. `Sorry...' he manag­ed to say. But, he thought, it was I who should be apologised to.

`Just keep in mind those Rules I laid down, Mar­tin, and we'll get along fine,' said Melissa, lighting a cigarette. Martin hated smoking, but had never made any protest. Often he had got the impres­sion that Melissa was deliberately puffing smoke in his direction. Like at that moment.

`Er...what about the honeymoon, my dear. I'm afraid I had no time to make any arrangements.' 'There won't be any honeymoon,' stated Melissa firmly. 'We're going straight back to the new apartment I've chosen. Plenty to do there...' 'Well, really...' Martin was further stunned. No honeymoon? He'd never heard the like of it!

'Is there something the matter, Martin?' `No ... no ...I suppose not...'

`Remember Rule 2, Martin. I quote; `Melissa will make all important decisions and Martin will abide by them.'

Martin said nothing. The cigarette smoke made him start coughing. His eyes watered. He wasn't exactly crying but he rather felt like it. And this was supposed to be `the happiest day of his life!'

The apartment was large and luxurious, in St.John's Wood. It had a spacious living room, a din­ing room, a study and three bedrooms. The master bedroom was very opulent but Martin knew that was not for him. There was a barely fur­nished small room at the end of a passage where he would sleep. At least, he thought, for the first six months. Melissa showed him around in pro­prietorial fashion.

`Like it?' she asked at last.

'You have done wonderfully, darling,' he said. He tried to take hold of Melissa's hand but was evaded.

'I don't like being called `darling',' said Melissa, seating herself on a couch. She suddenly looked very stern. 'In fact, Martin, when we are alone, you will always address me as `Ma'am'.'

`What!' Martin looked at his wife incredulous­ly. `Ma'am,' he repeated despairingly.

`You heard me, Martin. And, again, I refer you to the Rules. No. 8, this time. `Martin will obey Melissa at all times'.' Melissa smiled sweetly. `Remember?'

Martin did remember, but it seemed absurd to have to address one's wife in this fashion. 'D­do ...you really mean it?' he asked feebly.

`Of course I mean it, dolt!' Melissa's eyes blazed. 'Don't forget the agreement. What happens after six months very much depends on how you behave, Martin. Right from the start. Particularly right from the start. I shall be keeping a written account ... so nothing will be forgotten. Understood?'

'Yes ...I suppose so...' Martin nodded miserably. 'Already you have forgotten something...' 'Yes ...Ma'am,' said Martin. It not only made him

feel foolish, it positively hurt him. He would have to put up with this domineering young woman. It was the agreed price to pay for ultimate bliss!

'Now, Martin, until I get my personal maid, you will wait on me and do all the necessary chores...' Personal maid? This was an unexpected development. And he - wait on her? Do the chores? This really was a bit much. A protest came to his lips but he checked it. His behaviour was being noted. He must play along, difficult as it was.

'Yes ... Ma'am,' said Martin. He felt quite wret­ched. Inwardly, Melissa was exulting. Minute by minute she was asserting her authority more and more. Soon this idiot would be like putty in her hands. Still, she mustn't rush things.

'Get me a drink,' she ordered crisply.

'Yes ... right, dear ...I mean ... Ma'am   ...sorry!' Martin hurried into the kitchen. Perhaps she would be in a better mood after a drink or two. In a few minutes he returned with ice bucket, bot­tle and two glasses on a tray. He set everything down on a low table.

'Why two glasses?' enquired Melissa. Martin looked at her, startled.

'Well ...I mean ...I thought we ... we'd be drink­ing ...a wedding toast,' he said. 'Ma'am...' he add­ed lamely. It sounded rather like a sheep baa-ing, thought Melissa. Quite appropriate.

'I'm afraid not, Martin,' smiled Melissa sweet­ly. 'You see, from now on, you are forbidden alcohol...'

'What?'

'You heard me. Frankly, I've always thought you drank too much. It's bad for your health. As a wife, I'm entitled to a healthy husband, am I not?'And a good deal more, she said to herself. 'It ... it's        not ...f-fair...'

'Fair or not, you'll abide by my order. And don't forget your mode of address. Come along, pour me a glass.'

Miserably, Martin poured one glass of cham­pagne, then stood back. He watched Melissa sip contentedly. Things were certainly not going as he had anticipated. A dominating partner was one thing ... but such complete control was another.

'I have some more directions for you, Martin,' said Melissa, emptying her glass and indicating it should be re-filled. 'Whilst you are in this apart­ment, waiting on me and doing chores, you will wear nothing but a pair of knickers...' There was a gasp; Martin looked utterly disbelieving. Had she gone too far?

'W-wear ... knickers ... you ... you can't mean that...'

'I do ... oh I do, Martin. Don't you understand? It is a simple sign of your accepting that you are subservient to me. That I run this little show you were so keen to get on the road. You will do as I say!'

Martin went suddenly sulky. 'No ... no ...I won't do that,' he said, almost half to himself. Melissa sighed. 'Ahh well then. You can leave the apartment right away. And not come back. 

Ever!'

The world seemed to crash about Martin. How could he leave, after having been married only an hour or so? It was madness! Yet so was what she was asking him to do! What a humiliation!'

'Please ... please ...M-Melissa ... don't be I-like this...

'MA'AM!' Imperious ... eyes flashing! 'Mar­tin ...you obey my orders or go!'

Martin knew she meant it. Melissa wasn't so sure as she sounded, however. Admittedly, she'd got half his money but now she had an intense desire to play games with this creature. To humiliate and humble him to the limit. She hoped, in short, that he would not walk out on her. But she knew she was pushing her luck. One would have to be a right imbecile to do what she was demanding. But then, was not Martin a right imbecile?

'Oh God!' Martin covered his face in his hands. Was he going to have to submit to such degrada­tion? Lose all male pride?

'Well?' The voice sharp as a blade.

He knew he was going to have to submit. Whatever it cost. He was in thrall to this lovely female creature. There was no escaping her; nor her demands.

'If ... if you really insist...'

'MA'AM!' She was winning! Her luck was holding! Soon she would be able to make him do anything. After all, she'd only been in control for under an hour and she had made giant strides. Oh what a booby!

'If ... you insist, Ma'am...' ' I insist!'

'But ... but ... Ma'am ... it seems so ... so silly...' 'Silly or not, Martin, it is my order. I want cons­tant visual proof of your subservience to me. That, signed and sealed, was the basis of our marriage. You knew that. It is, to say the least, ungentlemanly, to try and change the Rules now that we are joined in matrimony.'

Ungentlemanly! Joined in matrimony! Words were being made into a mockery. Despair over­whelmed Martin. He knew he was defeated. This woman was too much for him. Far too much. He might as well go under. Right at the start.

'H-have you no f-feelings for me ...M'am?' 'Oh yes!' Melissa's smiled was glacial. 'But I shall not elaborate upon them.' There was a long pause. Did he see a look of triumph in her eyes? Maybe. But did he not also see the alluring glory of those eyes? Their seductiveness? Martin knew he was totally bemused by this extraordinary young woman. And, in his heart of hearts, he sud­denly became aware that he did not mind. He almost welcomed it. Am I utterly different to other men, he asked himself? Am I...am I...(he search­ed for the word) ... kinky? Maybe he was. But it didn't matter. He was with Melissa. Melissa, his wife. That was all that mattered. He possessed; had won her. No, he didn't possess her. Not yet. But, one day, he would. He must work diligently towards that goal.

'Do you ... do you ... Ma'am ... think our marriage is ... is going to work?' It was a pathetic enquiry. 'Oh yes,' responded Melissa, 'I am sure it is go­ing to work. On my terms. You must fully unders­tand that, Martin. Also you must hope that your correct behaviour earns you some reward. However modest.' Melissa smiled almost gleeful­ly. It was difficult for her to hide the joy of powercontrol which she was receiving. Money she hadacquired from this cretin but, beyond that, she was going to enjoy squeezing the pips out of him. At that moment she recalled what one of her bygone friends had said: 'If you find a mug, squeeze him to death.' That was what she intend­ed to do to Martin.

'I ...I didn't think it was going to be I-like this...' Martin was suddenly overwhelmed by a wave of self-pity.

'Well, now you know,' said Melissa emphatically. 'You have been pestering me to marry you for longer than I like to think about. When I agreed, and laid down conditions, you still wanted to marry me. I can't see what you have to complain about.'

Martin thought about that. How could he com­plain? She had made the Rules, now he was go­ing to have to abide by them. Oddly, he found a certain sense of relaxation in that knowledge. No responsibility. His life in somebody else's hands. Had it not always been like that? The difference was that now the pressure on him was infinitely greater. He summoned himself, saying that he must be humble before this divine creature.

'I have nothing to complain about, Ma'am.' He found his voice surprisingly firm.

'Very well then,' said Melissa, smirking faintly, 'go to your room. Then strip. Put on one of the pairs of knickers you will find in the bottom drawer. Then come back here.'

'Yes, Ma'am...' Oh dear Lord, he thought, so it had all been arranged in advance. Every detail. Not a honeymoon ... but a pair of knickers in a drawer for him to wear.

Martin left the room feeling about six inches tall. A pathetic weed. But he couldn't help it. In any case, was it his fault? Perhaps it was all his mother's fault for cossetting him so.

Martin felt near to tears again as he took off all his clothes, then opened the bottom drawer of a dressing cabinet. Bottom drawer. Brides usually built one up. Now he had had one built up for him. There lay a variety of knickers. Some frilly, some plain, some definitely sexy. He chose a pair as near masculine as possible. Then he pulled them on. How strange it felt!

But, even stranger, how many men could have begun their marriage under such incredible conditions?

Martin walked back to the living room feeling utterly ridiculous. Melissa, looking at him, seem­ed to take it all in her stride. She gulped down her glass. 'Pour' she said disdainfully. Martin picked up the bottle. How can I be doing this, he asked himself. Wearing women's knickers, serving my new young wife? It was all madness. Yet it was happening. Melissa took the glass without thanks and drank again.

'That's better,' she said derisively, 'more your style.' Martin said nothing. He had never before felt so put down in his life. How could he be do­ing this? It was all crazy. But, nevertheless, as he looked upon Melissa, desire flooded him over­whelmingly. He had to have her ... one day ... he had to. No matter what it cost. So ... he must work toward that day. That divine day. She was worth it.`  Worth all this awful humiliation. It was only a little kink she had. About being boss. So why shouldn't he go along with it for the time being? Only reasonable, surely, that a new husband should try and please a young wife. Whatever her foibles. Thus it was, that Martin tried to console himself.

'P-please ... can't I have a drink? I f-feel so ... so down...'

'Remember your mode of address.' 'May I have a drink, Ma'am?'

'No'.

The answer was flat and emphatic. Martin felt it like a blow in the belly. How was he going to survive this regime? He would obviously have to remould his whole way of life. That wasn't easy. Not at all. Then, on the other hand, the prize was great. Was it not? Oh yes ... oh yes ... Martin assured himself.

Truly to possess Melissa would be the greatest prize in life he could possibly imagine. Crazy? Maybe. But it was the crucial basis of his life. 'Empty this bottle. Bring another.'

Was his new wife a dypso? 'Yes, Ma'am,' said Martin. He went and took another bottle out of the fridge. He returned and poured deferentially, see­ing her look at him with mirthful disdain. Resent­

ment swirled and was repressed. Either he was going through with this, or he was wasn't. All the time he clung to the hope that Melissa would soften in time. Oh heavenly idea!

'Martin ...I have another instruction for you...' 'Yes, Ma'am?'

'You will go to the drawer, then you will take out another pair of knickers and put them over your head.'

'W-why...?, 'Why what?' 'Why ... Ma'am...'

'Simply because I say so,' Melissa smiled silki­ly. 'Rules are Rules, Martin.'

'It ... it's c-crazy...' Martin half sobbed. Melissa looked daggers.

'Don't you dare criticise me, you worm!'

'No ... no ...I w-wouldn't!' Martin was recalling that Melissa was taking all this down. Summing him up. Seeing if he were worthy to be a husband. It was indeed a terrifying obstacle course he had to survive. Win, in fact. Was he capable of it?

He stumbled from the room, went to his small bedroom, then removed a pair of knickers. They were pink and lacy. He just couldn't have cared. He simply pulled them over his head. That was what his new wife had decreed, so he did it. Ab­surd. Absurd! Yet he did it. He came back, hands outstretched, into the living room.

`Ah yes, that's better,' said Melissa. `At least, now I don't have to look at your stupid face.' Bitterness burned within Martin. How could this lovely woman have married him if she thought of him like that?       How ... how? It was    utterly unbearable. Yet, there he was, playing along with the whole set up. Wearing knickers ... and with knickers over his head.

`Ma'am ... please ... why are you treating me I-like this?'

`Because it amuses me to do so, you twit,' answered Melissa casually. `You will now go and stand in a corner of the room, with your hands on your head, and stay there till I need you again.'

Martin stumbled towards a corner. Utterly bereft of all male pride. Knickers over his face; knickers covering his genitals.

And he was the new bridegroom!

The new loving, passionate bridegroom!' He stood in the corner, as he had been told to do. Defeated, degraded. Made a complete idiot of. Because of his adoration of this divine woman. Oh yes ... even in that moment, he knew he would do anything he was commanded.