Morticia looked dubiously at the modest bonfire currently crackling in a merry and pleasant fashion in a plaza at the local university campus.
Like all the Addams, Morticia reveled in a good bonfire. Or more specifically in a horrible bonfire in which revelers lept and jumped over the fire, singing their naked nethers, while throwing sacrifices into the crackling flames. Even the various Addams who had been burned alive at the hands of rabble was to the glory of the Addam's legacy, or in the case of Desdemona Addams, who had been burned alive three times as the first two had not taken, particularly glorious. Morticia did wish that Desdemona's recipe for staying young in the blood of the innocent had not been lost. It would have made an excellent present for Ma'ma's three hundredth birthday this next year.
In any case, when she'd seen the women march down the street with their colorfully painted signs promoting their bonfire, she had decided to go.
She looked at the modest bonfire currently crackling away full of lingerie. "I'm not sure I quite understand the purpose of this exercise."
Terri, whose buxom bosom benefited from a bra, raised her right hand and shook it in a violent manner against the backdrop of the blaze. "We're throwing off the oppression of the patriarchy and taking control for women kind. Down with the Penis!"
At first, Morticia was distracted by the thought that Terri would look far more striking were she not wearing her shirt and brandishing an axe, as all powerful women must eventually do. Then her eyes widened as she realized that she had at last uncovered the secret cabal of women who ran the world. The Addams did their own small work in this matter, but this was the first sign that the secret order of women rulers were throwing off their yoke of secrecy to burn brightly in the light.
She lightly clapped, but did have to add. "You shall pry my corset from my body when you pull it from the rictus grip of my cold dead hands. However, I accept your invitation to join your cabal. At what time and day do you meet and should I bring refreshments?"
She was provided with a flier printed in ink rather than the blood of a virgin man sacrificed on the night of the Hunter's moon, but she supposed in the age of Free Love virgin men were as hard to come by as it had been in the seventeen hundreds when various Matriarchal Societies had lustfully fornicated and debauched their way across the Europe and certain parts of the Americas. It did her heart good to see young people following the old ways.
When she arrived at the location of the cabal, the back room of a small outré coffee shop with a certain bohemian vibe, she saw that they were serving punch and cupcakes. This would never do. She snapped her fingers for Lurch to place her own offering on the table.
Terri said, "Holy, fucking Jesus!" and dropped her cupcake.
Morticia smiled down at the blood red cake in the shape of a phallus. She held up a knife and said, "Shall I play Mother?"
Janice, who had the unbathed aroma of a savage lost in the wilderness and given to the feasting on human flesh said, "Now that is hard core. Yeah, whatever, play Mother."
Morticia made a moue of her mouth and cut delicately into the cake to reveal the cream filling inside. The room erupted into spontaneous cheering. She should perhaps have mentioned that the cream filling was Ma'ma's favorite recipe for Bacchanalian rites, but she had so wanted to make a good impression.
She made as it happened an excellent impression.
However, when she began making little suggestions, they were summarily rejected. For example, that rather than going to the Legislature to protest, which seemed a futile exercise and would also result in Morticia's exposure to sunlight, she thought that they should drag out certain members of Congress and decapitate them on the capital steps. This would have several benefits. Everyone would see that they were serious. Also, this would have the natural result of that patriarchal organization's wives taking up their seats, at which point the open assumption of power by the feminine cabal would flow naturally. Her women's group had not even wanted to set fire to the Justice building.
Terri had actually said, "Morticia, I respect your balls of steel, but we're all about peaceful resistance. Like Ghandi and Dr. King."
Morticia said to Gomez, "I'm doubting the seriousness of the feminine cabal. They did not list the great feminists of old. Not so much as one mention of Hypatia torn apart by an angry mob or Joan of Arc burned alive. They kept mentioning two men. And to suggest that I have balls of steel!" She looked up in disdain. "My steel balls are kept in a cabinet and are a private matter."
"My dark enchantress, they are simply not worthy of your incandescence." Gomez kissed her arm currently strapped to the Catherine Wheel.
She considered her Gomez, willing slave to her will. "Mon amour," she purred.
"Morticia, French!" Gomez pressed a further dozen kisses to her other arm. Some of them pressed to the Catherine Wheel it was true, but she was not jealous of mere wood.
"Bring me my axe and the cake currently sitting in the kitchen," she commanded.
She smiled fondly as he rushed to do it and stretched luxuriantly at the confinement around her wrists and ankles. Clearly, the feminine cabal was not yet ready to come out of secrecy. But that was fine. Perhaps one day her daughter, Wednesday, could set fire to the world order and place a black boot upon the ashy remnants of its back.
Morticia's eyes narrowed. As long as Wednesday did not burn her corset. But that frown quickly melted as Gomez came back into the room laden down with an axe, the phallus cake, and… "Oh, Gomez, you remembered." She licked her lips, "The Judas Chair that we used on our wedding night." She let her eyes drift shut. "Mon amour, je t'adore toi quand tu detruit moi."
Gomez exclaimed, "French, Morticia!" and did exactly as she directed.