The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Somewhere in Washington, D.C.:

“You’re sure?” The speaker was a middle-aged woman in a neat gray suit. Like the others seated around the long conference table in the windowless room, she wore mirror sunglasses even though she was indoors.

“No, of course not,” a younger man in a male version of the first speaker’s outfit responded. “But with the file we’ve got on that place, why take chances? Why are we maintaining our phone taps there if we won’t act on what they turn up?” He riffled some papers and added, “This Dr. Fatakis was involved last time, too. We’ve got a pretty fair dossier on him, too.”

“Very well,” the first speaker decided. “Dispatch an operative. Status Yellow—observation only, until I authorize moving to operational mode.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the second speaker said respectfully. “I’ll get right on it.”

The director of Homeland Security, Division Six, nodded at her subordinate. As always, her face showed little emotion. Privately, though, she wondered if D6 shouldn’t have moved in during the last incident rather than letting a civilian handle it. Maybe if they had, there wouldn’t be a problem now.

Oh, well, she philosophized: no use crying over spilled milk. Better just to get the mop. At least no one seemed to have actually died this time. So far.

The party was in full swing at the FCU Student Union.

Luci, surveying it, felt smug. Her influence was making itself felt. So was that of the Nirvana she and her slaves were spreading around.

In one corner, a group of young guys was gathered around the gorgeous but usually frigid Miss Christie Lowe, the university’s head librarian. One tab of Nirvana, dropped into Miss Lowe’s lemonade at Luci’s mischievous suggestion, had turned her into pliant flesh. As the college boys cheered her on, she writhed on her back on a table, kicking her way out of her panties. Most of the rest of her clothes were already gone, tossed away and claimed as souvenirs by the boys.

Dean Hinton, who was supposed to be chaperoning, had other things on his mind. In a side room, he and Greta Nordquist were thrusting and panting, unaware of anything but each other. Greta was tabbed out too, her inhibitions gone; Luci was tempted to take her as she’d done with Jennie. Or perhaps, she thought idly, I should have Jennie and Greta do each other. In public, of course.

Nirvana wasn’t the only mind-altering substance present, either.

Luci drifted by a table bearing several large punch bowls. A strong alcoholic whiff came from them. Alcohol was forbidden on campus, but Dean Hinton had been easy to talk into ignoring the rules; since that night at Luci’s apartment, he’d become a full-blown lush. The succubus had pushed him along, inspired by her success at making him drink himself into a stupor at her apartment party. Now he couldn’t get through the day without drinking.

She smiled a feral smile. By the time she was done with him, he’d be a drooling drunk in the gutter somewhere. If his wife didn’t kill him first, for screwing around with her.

There was someone present she was particularly glad to see. Brad Connor had come in along with several members of the varsity football squad.

Luci studied him. The youthful handsomeness she recalled was still there, a few more years having merely added character to his features. The junior coach’s outfit he had on fit snugly over his well-muscled form.

Brad Connor noticed the spectacular redhead checking him out. What a babe, he thought. Funny, though—I’d swear I’d seen her before somewhere. He licked his lips and wound his way toward her through the partiers.

He felt vaguely guilty. He knew that what he was thinking and feeling about this woman wasn’t very Christian. But then, he’d never been a saint. He grinned slightly, remembering a couple of times he’d given in to temptation.

As he approached the woman, Brad thought suddenly of his old prof from Medieval History, years ago. What was her name—Jones? Yeah, Dr. Jones. She’d disappeared after that weird flap when the Reverend Bryer and a couple of other people had died. He had no idea why he’d suddenly thought of her; certainly the dowdy professor hadn’t looked anything like this doll.

Reaching his objective at last, he introduced himself. “Hi, I’m Brad,” he said, looking into her eyes. “Brad, uh—!”

Suddenly, he faltered. Those eyes—they were so beautiful. He could get lost in them, and it would be glorious. . . .

“Brad what?” the redhead prompted.

“Brad Connor,” he managed, the phonograph needle in his mind coming unstuck. “Yeah . . . Brad Connor. That’s my name.”

“What do you do, Brad?” the vision of loveliness inquired.

Brad puffed out his chest. “I’m one of the coaches for Freedom Christian’s sports program, Miss . . . ?”

“Ms.,” the woman corrected him. “Ms. Luci Ferra. You can call me Luci, if you like, if I can call you Brad. I can call you Brad, can’t I? Of course I can.”

“Of . . . of course you can,” Brad gasped.

Luci smiled at Brad. For just a moment, there had seemed to be a flicker of recognition in his eyes. She’d taken him while wearing this form, back before her banishment, and ordinarily any man would remember having sex with someone who looked like her. As Susan Jones, however, she had commanded both Brad and her first conquest Jerry Chisholm to remember their erotic trysts with her, in any shape, as nothing but exciting dreams. By now, his memories of his “fantasy” encounters should have faded—and so, it seemed, they had. After a moment, the glimmer of familiarity faded.

“That’s nice, Brad,” she said, answering his agreement to let her call him by his first name. “I’m so glad we’re going to be friends.”

Luci giggled girlishly. “Brad, sweetie, do you think we could find someplace private to talk? If we can, I’ll tell you a secret.”

Brad, falling deeper and deeper into the she-demon’s eyes, managed, “Y-yeah. Sure. Someplace private.” Turning away with an obvious effort, he mumbled, “I know a place. Follow me.”

The muscular young man led the demon seductress away from the big hall where the festivities were going on. As she left the room, Luci noted out of the corner of her eye that Christie Lowe, still on the table and quite naked now, was squirming and squealing beneath the equally naked form of one of the varsity guys. Her legs were locked firmly around him and he pumped into her as onlookers cheered.

The succubus smirked at that. No one was trying to break it up, or calling for campus security or the local cops. The corruption of her influence was spreading beyond those she had subjugated directly. Her eyes glowed, ever so faintly.

Brad led her into a small lounge which contained several low, wide couches upholstered in soft material. “Here,” he said, waving a hand at one of them, “please sit, and you can tell me whatever it was you wanted to tell me.”

Luci sat. A moment later, so did Brad, taking a position on the same couch, facing her. He looked earnestly into her eyes.

She smiled warmly. “Brad, do you know who I am?”

“S-sure,” he answered. Her eyes made him feel unsteady. “You’re . . . you’re Luci.” Those eyes, those beautiful eyes—he struggled to recall her last name. Those eyes. . . . “Luci . . . Ferra,” he finally managed.

“That’s not what I asked,” the demoness chided. “Think, Brad sweetie. Haven’t you met me before?”

“I-I-I . . .” Brad struggled. Those eyes. Those wonderful eyes. There was something familiar about those eyes. . . .

The memory, dredged up at last under the prodding of Luci’s power and suggestion, made him gasp. “Dr. Jones?”

“That’s just who I am, all right,” she cooed. “I’m the woman of your dreams, isn’t that true, Brad? The woman of your hottest, wettest dreams.”

“Nnnngh,” Brad grunted as a wave of pure pleasure shot through him along with the long-suppressed memories of what the two of them had done together. “Oh, God! Oh, Jesus! Oh, Susan! Oh, YES!” His trousers tented with a sudden massive erection.

Luci hissed in pain at the Names Brad had uttered. As she’d done with Jennie, she moved quickly to prevent him from doing it again. “Brad, sugar, don’t swear!” She fluttered her eyelashes at him coyly, and reveled at his answering squeal of pleasure. “Don’t say those names to me, ever again. You won’t, now will you? There’s a good boy.”

Brad accepted her decree, of course, as Jennie had. He nodded. “I . . . I won’t,” he promised.

“But,” Brad had enough of a mind left to ask, “what happened to you? You disappeared!”

“A bad man made me go away, Brad,” Luci answered, speaking as if to a child or a moron—which Brad, falling deeper and deeper into trance as he continued to stare into her eyes, effectively was now. “A very bad man.”

“A very . . . bad man.” Brad nodded again. His face had smoothed into trusting innocence.

“And when I came back, Brad,” Luci went on, “I had to come in disguise. You must never call me Susan, or Dr. Jones, ever again, do you understand me? Never. It’s our little secret who I really am.”

“Yes,” Brad agreed softly. “Our little secret.”

Luci cupped Brad’s face in her elegant, long-nailed hands, holding his gaze and watching as he dove happily deeper into her eyes. Brad, she remembered, had been quite amusing as a sexual play-toy. He could be useful in other ways, too, she realized: as muscle, for instance. In her demon form, she was inhumanly strong, but she couldn’t be everywhere. It would be handy to have a thrall as strong as Brad.

Yes, very handy indeed.

She addressed Brad once more. “Brad, sugar, the bad man who sent me away before may be coming back again. He wants to hurt me, Brad.”

The beefy athlete whimpered.

“Yes,” Luci continued. “He wants to hurt me. He wants to send me away. And if he sends me away, you won’t ever see me again.”

“No,” Brad sobbed. “No, please. Don’t go. Don’t go. . . .”

“I don’t want to go, Brad. I like it here.” Luci kept her hold on Brad’s eyes and stroked the sides of his face soothingly, lulling him. “You’ll help me stay, won’t you, Brad? You’ll do anything I need you to, to keep the bad man from sending me away.”

“Yes,” the big man promised in a child’s voice. “I’ll do anything.”

“I’m so glad,” Luci said. With serpentine grace, she slid across the couch, pressing herself against Brad and fastening her lips on his. Brad’s body responded instantly, his rampant hard-on growing even more as his arms seized at her. His hands tangled in her long, long dark red hair.

Very soon, the two of them were naked and bucking against each other on the big, soft couch. Brad was nothing but eager flesh; if the entire university administration had trooped through the lounge, he couldn’t have stopped. He wouldn’t have noticed them, or even remembered who they were. Luci, of course, would have been delighted to put on a show for those pious prudes—before making them grovel at her feet.

Reluctantly, the succubus cut it short after only twenty minutes or so. She had other business.

Brad shuddered helplessly in the grip of his third orgasm since they’d started. He slumped over her, obviously ready to pass out. She didn’t let him.

“Brad, sugar,” she commanded, “stay with me. Stay awake. Relaxed, so relaxed, but awake.”

“Yes, Luci,” came his answer. Brad propped himself on his elbows so he could continue to gaze into those all-important eyes. He sighed, utterly content.

“Brad,” instructed Luci, “we need to get up and get dressed. We need to go back to the party. Now, please, Brad.”

The junior coach sighed again, less happily this time. He obeyed anyway. Naturally.

A half-hour after they’d left, Luci and Brad returned to the party. Both were neatly dressed again, even their hair in place. A happy glaze was slowly fading from Brad’s eyes. His satanic seductress had permitted him to remember what they’d done together, though she’d “asked” him not to tell anyone. “Let’s keep our privacy, shall we, Brad, sugar?” she’d said playfully.

No one had even noticed they were gone. Christie Lowe, the lusty librarian, was still a major center of attention; she and a new partner were on their knees on her table, pounding into each other while spectators clapped and cheered. Driven by the drug bubbling through her brain, she was insatiable, inexhaustible. Every lewd suggestion hooted by someone within earshot became her absolute command, and obeying brought pleasure so powerful it blasted away anything resembling thought. Eventually the Nirvana would loosen its grip, and when it did, she would drop into a deep, happy sleep—but not yet.

Luci laughed softly. When Miss Lowe woke up, she’d remember everything, unless someone told her not to—and no matter what her moral scruples might be, she’d soon be longing for another dose. If she got one (and Luci would make sure of it), she’d be hooked for certain.

Scanning the room, Luci suddenly saw a familiar face. She hadn’t seen that face in five years, but it was burned into her mind. She felt a vicious satisfaction: Rita Hawkins was here. And if she was, that meant Dr. Fatakis couldn’t be far away.

All it would take, she thought, would be one tab of Nirvana, and the self-righteous brunette would be eager to do anything she wanted, no matter how evil or humiliating. And after another dose or two, she’d belong to Luci, heart, mind and soul, despite her immunity to the demon-woman’s magic.

Luci’s incipient stalk on the paranormal investigator was interrupted, though, when she noticed a man gawking at her. By itself, that would have been nothing: men couldn’t help gawking at her, even when she wasn’t deliberately trying to seduce them. But there was something about this one. She didn’t recognize him, and he had an air of being somehow out of place here.

Perhaps, she decided, she should to get to know him better.

Walter Karendren stared at Luci. The magnificent woman with the rippling waist-length charcoal-red hair was hard not to stare at. She had caught his attention the moment she’d first entered the room, and when she’d left with that jock, Brad whatever-his-name-was, he’d felt a powerful surge of jealousy. Now she was back.

God, she was beautiful.

Business, he reminded himself. I’m here on business.

And so he was. Division Six of the Department of Homeland Security had sent him here to investigate what might be a threat to national security.

Division Six was perhaps the most secret arm of DHS. It investigated potential threats involving mind control, and over the few years since its founding, it had encountered an amazing variety of such threats. Some were simple, involving the use of drugs or hypnosis; D6 was active in the war against narcotics like Nirvana and its chemical cousin Yes, and some years ago, a nerdboy inventor at the secular college whose campus was now occupied by Freedom Christian University had come up with a sophisticated type of hypnotic pendant and had had to be dealt with. But this was different.

Agent Karendren remembered what he’d read in the file. Five years ago, an embittered female professor here had apparently—he still found it hard to believe this stuff—summoned a demon and made a bargain with it for power over others. Several people had died, and in the end it had been a private operator, rather than D6, who had defeated her.

He gulped. According to the file, the professor had become the chrysalis for a succubus. Over time, the she-demon had taken over, corrupting and finally consuming her until, when it was exorcised, what was left had simply crumbled away. His superiors were afraid the creature was back.

He hoped they were wrong. Just in case they weren’t, though, he’d come prepared with Division-standard precautions: a small gold crucifix on a neck chain tucked inconspicuously beneath his shirt, a vial of holy water stashed in an inside coat pocket, and D6-issue mirror shades to guard against strobe hypnosis. If he needed anything more, he was probably doomed anyway; he didn’t have the training for heavy-duty supernatural conflict. He was just supposed to find out whether a demon was present. If one was, whether it was the one from before or a different hellspawn, he was supposed to notify Washington and then get out.

Karendren chuckled. If it turned out there was no demon, he wouldn’t mind getting closer to that spectacular redhead. The government-agent racket definitely had its perks.

He was startled to realize that the beauty was coming toward him, undulating her way through the crowd with a growing tail of guys behind her who had suddenly found it interesting to move in that direction. The Division Six agent grinned. He could hardly blame them.

Suddenly she was right there in front of him. A rich voice said, “I don’t recall seeing you around the campus before. Why don’t you introduce yourself?”

“Uh, uh, um, I’m, er,” Walter answered, suddenly completely flustered, “Walter.” He swallowed. “Walter, um, Calendar, I mean, Karendren.” It was a sign of how off-balance he was that he’d blurted the nickname he’d gotten stuck with in grade school.

“I’m Luci Ferra, Walter,” that voice returned. Drawn by it, Walter looked into its owner’s eyes.

Luci smiled as the man she’d come over to see suddenly stiffened, his eyes going wide and blank as a stupid smile spread over his face. Her eyes glowed faintly red.

There was nothing but those eyes. Walter was falling, falling toward twin swirls of dazzling color, and it was wonderful. After a few seconds—or perhaps it was a million years—the pinwheels merged into a single fabulous maelstrom which drew him further in, deeper down, deeper.

A voice began speaking. It was the voice of an angel, a goddess. It said things, wonderful things. It was the only sound he heard, or ever wanted to hear.

“Tell me, Walter,” Luci asked, putting her hand on his arm, “what do you do for a living?”

Walter answered happily. “I’m a federal agent.” He puffed out his chest. At that moment, he wanted nothing more than to impress the owner of those eyes and that voice. “I work for Homeland Security—Division Six.” He eagerly spelled out D6’s mission to his luscious listener.

“That’s very interesting, Walter dear,” Luci said. Indeed it was. Government involvement was something she didn’t want, if she could help it. And she could. “Why don’t we go someplace private and talk?”

“Yes,” breathed Walter. “Please.”

Luci propped a playful forefinger under Walter’s chin and steered her stupefied subject out of the big ballroom, away from the party, as if she’d had him on a leash.

Her admirers tried to follow, but Luci swept her eyes back and forth over them and said, her voice teasing, “Now boys, be good. I want a little privacy for a while. You don’t mind, do you, cuties?”

Moans and gasps of pleasure answered, followed by murmurs: “Sure.” “Y-yeah.” “Of . . . of course.” There was even one whispered ”Yes, mistress” from a guy Luci’s mesmerizing glance had obviously sent deep into some private submissive fantasy.

“Such good boys,” Luci praised them. “Just go on back to the party and have fun. I’ll be back, I promise.”

There were a few cheers, and the knot of masculinity crowding the doorway broke up as its constituent parts drifted back to the celebration, obeying Luci. They were such good boys for her. . . .

Luci took Walter back to the lounge she’d used with Brad. Sitting down on the same couch she’d used before, she patted a spot next to her. Walter took his cue and sat there.

“Now, Walter,” Luci said when he’d settled, “tell me, why are you here? What could your agency possibly think is going on here? You can tell me.”

Walter told her. When he finished, he sat quietly, staring into her eyes with adoration.

“Walter,” Luci said after a short while, “you find me attractive, don’t you? You want me.”

“Oh, yes,” breathed the government man.

“You’d do anything for me, wouldn’t you, if you could have me.”

“Anything.” Walter was panting now. “Anything.” His eyes slipped away from hers and scanned her body. The front of his trousers bulged.

Luci undulated out of her clothing while Walter watched. His mouth fell open, and a thin line of saliva began to drip down his chin. When she was naked, she slid over to Walter, who was lost in a haze of lust, and worked on his clothes as well. His body cooperated with her by sheer reflex, no thought involved. He was capable of no thought. His crucifix was useless; under Luci’s spell, he tossed it away along with everything else he had on. Luci hardly felt a twinge.

Finally she pressed herself against him, pinning him between her legs and wrapping him in her slender arms. Her hands pressed his face into her bosom, and he shuddered, his own arms clasping her desperately.

Several dynamite blasts of ecstasy later, he sagged against her, breathing raggedly.

“Walter?” Luci asked. “Are you awake?” She needed him awake, at least for a little while longer.

“Awake,” Walter agreed sleepily. His eyes were closed.

“Open your eyes, Walter,” commanded the succubus. “Open your eyes, look at me and listen carefully.”

Walter opened his eyes, looked at Luci and listened carefully. His face was drenched in slowly cooling sweat, but bore an utterly peaceful expression.

“That’s a good boy, Walter.” Luci smiled and ran a hand through the agent’s hair. “We need to get dressed now, Walter. We need to go back to the party. But before we do, I need you to agree to do something for me. You’ll do what I ask, Walter, won’t you?”

“Yes,” came the response. Walter gazed at Luci in worship. “What do you . . . need me to do?”

Luci stroked his hair again, matching the rhythm of her moving hand to that of his breathing. “I need you to tell your bosses in Washington that there’s nothing wrong here. Tell them everything is fine. You can do that for me, can’t you?”

“Yes,” Walter answered. “I can. I will.”

“Promise?”

“Yes. Oh, yes. I promise. . . .”

“Good boy, Walter,” the temptress said. “But from now on, if I ask you to do something for me, you’ll do it, won’t you? No matter what it is.” Luci had finally realized she didn’t really need trigger words to place a victim back under. A command like the one she’d just given would work perfectly.

“Yes,” answered Walter. “Whatever it is.”

Luci gazed at him with the sort of possessive fondness an animal trainer might show toward one of her charges. She was sure Walter would perform the tricks she’d taught him. Men always did.

“Then it’s time to get dressed, Walter, and rejoin the party.”

“Yes, Luci.” Walter began putting his clothes back on. So did Luci.

When Division Six operative had gotten his underwear, socks and pants on and had shrugged into his unbuttoned shirt, he reached down to pick up his pendant cross.

Luci hissed.

“No, Walter,” she said. “Not that. Don’t put that back on.” It hadn’t stopped her before, of course, but why take chances? Once again she regretted her new vulnerability to holy items. As Susan Jones, that hadn’t been such a problem.

Walter dropped the cross and straightened up. His hands went to his shirt to button it.

Luci had an idea. “Walter, I want you to believe you did put your crucifix back on. I want you to feel it against you. If you feel the need to take it out, I want you to see and feel it as if it were really there, unless I tell you it isn’t.”

“Yes, Luci.” Walter dropped the cross and straightened up. He began buttoning his shirt.

Luci waited until he was finished, then said, “Walter, did you remember to put your cross back on? It would be bad if you forgot it.” She batted her eyes at him. “Take it out and show it to me, please, Walter.”

The Division Six agent obeyed. He pantomimed drawing the chain out from under his collar and dangling the crucifix for Luci’s inspection.

Luci smiled at him, her eyes on his raised hand with its fingers clasped around empty air. “That’s just fine, Walter. You can put it away now.”

Again, Walter did as he was told. He acted out tucking his cross beneath his shirt, utterly unaware that it wasn’t really there. When he was done, he stood waiting for Luci to give him his next instruction.

Luci quickly dressed. When she was done, her clothes on and her hair smoothed into place, she addressed the waiting Walter once more.

“We need to get back to the party, Walter,” she informed him. “When we leave this room, I want you to act as you normally do. No one must know you are under my power, Walter. You know you’re under my power, don’t you, Walter? Of course you do.”

“Of course.” Walter’s voice was serene. “Under your power.”

“And no one must know,” Luci reminded him.

“No one must know.” Walter nodded.

“So you will act perfectly normally once we leave this room. You will tell no one what we did in here, and you’ll act just as you always do.”

“Yes.”

“And what will you do if I ask you to do something for me later?”

“Whatever you say. No matter what it is.” Walter gazed dreamily at Luci, seeking out her eyes, letting them pull him under deeper, deeper. It was wonderful to go deeper. . . .

Luci rubbed her hands together, gloating. The government agent would serve her unquestioningly now. She was his mistress, in more ways than one—his lover and goddess.

She linked arms with her newest tool and left the lounge.

The party was still going on.

Rita Hawkins didn’t like it. She had come here to help her employer Dr. Fatakis check out a disturbing possibility that Freedom Christian University was once more under demonic attack. So far, she’d seen no evidence it was true. She was growing restless. If there was no supernatural menace here, she and the Doctor might as well leave.

Not that everything was fine. She’d seen enough even before this evening to realize there was a growing drug problem on the FCU campus. And not just any drug, either: snooping around, she’d found out it was Nirvana. In her opinion, that so-called “party drug” was more dangerous than crack. People talked about people being “enslaved” by cocaine, but Nirvana was more than just addictive. Someone high on Nirvana would do or think anything he or she was told; obedience was rewarded with an incredible payoff of pleasure. And when it wore off, the memory of that pleasure remained.

She’d seen the little smiley-face tabs being passed around, and tonight she’d seen one used to turn a beautiful but prim librarian into a mindless nymphomaniac. It was a chilling demonstration. These days, technology could do things only magic could have managed once upon a time—and that technology was in the hands of human beings no more virtuous than those who’d summoned demons in the Dark Ages.

Her attention was drawn to the banquet hall’s entrance. A crowd seemed to be gathering as a couple came in.

Rita choked.

The woman was the most stunning creature she had ever seen, all tawny skin, lush curves and billowing dark-red hair. She totally eclipsed her male companion. No wonder men were drawn to her like moths to a flame.

She was totally, absolutely out of place here.

Rita had arrived late, then been distracted by the spectacle surrounding Christie Lowe’s erotic tabletop performance. She’d missed seeing Luci lure first Brad, then Walter, away. But now, every instinct screamed that this woman was the one she and the Doctor had come to find.

She looked familiar. After a moment, Rita realized why.

When she and Dr. Fatakis had come to Freedom Christian University five years before, they had realized Susan Jones was a succubus—but to defeat her, they’d needed to know her demon name. They’d finally found it in a video the egotistical erotic entity had recorded of herself with then-Dean Caleb Mather and the university’s founder and patron Reverend Charles Kellogg Bryer. Rita had found the demoness’s name mentioned near the end—but in fast-forwarding through the tape, she’d caught sight of the creature in a form which was neither that of Dr. Susan Jones nor of the demon Lilibat.

This woman was the one she’d seen. Rita was sure of it.

Luci saw the other woman’s eyes on her. She drifted casually over to Brad Connor, who was sitting in one of the folding chairs arranged along the walls, and bent over him. After a moment, she stepped away. Brad looked toward Rita and nodded.

Rita paid no attention to the coach. He was just a victim. As Luci walked away from him, Dr. Fatakis’ young aide moved toward her purposefully.

Suddenly, a strong hand closed on her arm. “Excuse me, miss,” a male voice said. “I need you to come with me.”

“What are you doing?” Rita was indignant as she twisted to face the man who’d grabbed her. It was the coach, the one the redhead had been speaking with.

Brad moved like a striking snake. He’d been holding a tab of Nirvana in his free hand, and while Rita’s mouth was still open, he brought it up and popped it into her mouth, then pinched her mouth closed with his fingers. It began dissolving immediately. Don’t swallow, she thought desperately.

But as the tab began melting, so did Rita. The drug soaked into her bloodstream through the soft lining of her mouth. After only a couple of seconds, she had relaxed enough to forget about not swallowing. Once she’d done that, the Nirvana began bubbling through her in earnest. The world softened in her vision. Everything was fine, just fine. . . . Her breathing shifted into a deep, even rhythm, as if she were fast asleep.

No one paid much attention. Rita, after all, was just another pretty girl zoned out on one of the smiley-face tabs, and there were plenty of those at the party.

Brad let her go. She stood quietly, arms at her sides, face calm. There was something she had to do, wasn’t there? Something important? She couldn’t seem to remember, and it didn’t matter.

Luci came over. The satanic seductress inspected Brad’s handiwork and gave a nasty chuckle. “Nice work,” she complimented him.

“Thank you,” he sighed. It was wonderful to do as this beautiful babe said. It was wonderful that she was pleased with him. He’d do anything for her to be pleased with him.

“Run along now, Brad, sugar,” she commanded. “Rita here and I have things to discuss.”

Smiling, Brad wandered off.

Luci turned her attention back to Rita, who was still standing meekly before her. “Oh, my dear,” the succubus gloated, “I’ve been waiting for this for a long time.” She reached up and ran a hand lightly through Rita’s hair, dislodging a few strands from the neat bun in which she was wearing it. “Just come with me, dear.” She turned on her heels and headed for the exit.

Rita followed. After a few moments she began giggling softly, as the Nirvana rewarded her obedience with jolts of pleasure. It felt so good to do as she was told.

Luci didn’t take Rita back to the student lounge where she’d had Brad and Walter. No, she had bigger plans for her latest capture. She led the docile Ms. Hawkins outside to her car and ushered her in, then got in and drove off toward home.

Arriving at her apartment, she sat Rita down on her living-room couch and stood over her, one hand on her hip, the other cupping her chin in a pensive manner. “Let’s see, Rita dear, whatever shall I do with you? What would you like to do for me?”

By this time, Rita was floating in ecstasy. In Nirvana. “Anything,” she burbled. “Hee hee, ooh, I’d do anything. . . .”

“Of course you would, Rita sweetie. It feels so good to obey me, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, yes,” Rita babbled. “Yes. It feels so good. Obey. Yes. So goo-oood. “ Her eyes rolled in their sockets as she shuddered in delight.

“Then I’ll have to give you some orders to obey, won’t I, Rita sweetie?” Luci smirked. “I know just the thing to start. Why don’t you tell me where Dr. Fatakis is, and what his plans are.”

Rita told her, blurting everything out amid moans and gasps of delight as the drug in her system delivered its reward. Finally she ran down and sat slumped, head hanging, soaked in sweat. Beneath her clothes, her panties were soaking wet; in her ecstasy, she had come.

“Such a good girl, Rita,” Luci said. “Now I have a surprise for you.”

“A . . . surprise?” Still panting from her artificially-induced orgasm, Rita looked up.

“That’s right, Rita sweetie.” And Luci changed, flowing smoothly into her demon form.

“Lilibat! But . . . but you’re bad. Evil.” Despite her words, Rita’s voice remained soft and breathy, almost a coo.

“That’s right,” the demon-babe agreed. “I’m bad. I’m evil.” She smiled a wicked, triumphant smile. “And you want me. You want to go to bed with me. You want it so badly it makes your head spin. You can’t think about anything else right now, and you don’t want to. Isn’t that right, Rita sweetie?”

Rita whimpered. “Yes, oh, yes! Please. Please.” Without even being prompted, she got off the couch and went down on her knees, begging. ”Please.“

“Then get up, Rita sweetie, stand up and come with me.”

Rita stood up. The she-fiend’s small neat hooves pranced silently across the carpeted floor and her barbed tail swished and coiled as she led the human woman toward the bedroom.

There was time enough to take care of the Doctor, now that she’d enslaved the person he trusted most in all the world. Tonight, though, she would take Rita.

Just as she’d promised herself, revenge was going to be a bitch.