The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

“Oh, Nickie!”

Nicholas Fatakis looked up at the sound of the all-too-familiar female voice. He was wanted.

He rarely thought of himself as “Doctor” Fatakis anymore. In the three weeks since he’d come to live with Luci Ferra—otherwise known as Lilibat, demon of lust and submission, and, once upon a time, Dr. Susan Jones—he had been far too thoroughly humiliated to feel comfortable using the title anymore.

He had been preparing to move against the succubus when she’d struck first. She had ambushed his assistant Rita Hawkins, whose immunity to her supernatural power of mind control he’d been counting on, and used the drug Nirvana to turn the mortal woman into her puppet. Under Lilibat’s control, Rita had made sure Fatakis was home and unsuspecting at a prearranged time—and the demon had simply breezed in, accompanied by several human slaves. Even the mystical bar against demons entering a dwelling without invitation had been no protection; it had been the work of moments for Lilibat, in her mortal guise of Luci Ferra, to suborn his building’s doorman—and once she’d arrived at his apartment, Rita had obediently invited her inside.

They’d been done for after that. Lilibat had dropped her mortal disguise and attacked—and, caught by surprise and with Rita helpless, he had soon succumbed. The satanic sex-bomb had subjugated him despite all his training and discipline, unearthing a weakness within him he’d tried for years to bury and using it to bring him to his knees.

Now he was at her beck and call, unable even to leave the apartment or use the phone unless his malevolent mistress permitted it.

“Coming, Mistress Lilibat!” The words came from his lips by reflex, just as his legs were carrying him toward the evil enchantress without any conscious command on his part. He hated the way his body obeyed every suggestion she gave, but he couldn’t stop himself.

She’d worked on him with fiendish care since he’d fallen into her clutches. When it suited her, she could swamp is mind with eagerness to obey, a lust-driven servitude in which he adored every word, every gesture, everything about her. At other times, like now, she left his mind more or less free—but he was compelled to obey and act just as if he were willing. It was torture.

And the worst of it was that he was learning to enjoy it. . . .

“Ah, there you are, Nickie!” Lilibat’s use of that diminutive was one more jab at him. Sometimes she called him Nicholas, but more and more it was Nickie. Once, just once, he’d managed to protest. He shuddered at the memory; she’d punished him by looking deep into his eyes and regressing him to an infant’s mentality. His next clear memory was of sucking eagerly at a scarlet nipple. Even after she’d restored his adult mind, she’d made him continue nursing for a while, and commanded him to enjoy it. And so, of course, he had.

“Yes, Mistress Lilibat.” Fatakis stopped in front of the demon, who was sprawled on the soft cushions of her big living-room couch, resting on one elbow. In demon form, that was more comfortable for her than sitting, since it left her tail free. The sharply barbed appendage was draped over her leg now, twitching idly.

“Good boy, Nickie,” the she-devil said. “Is everything ready?”

“Yes, Mistress Lilibat.” She’d ordered him to make preparations for a big party. He’d even been instructed to purchase costumes for himself and Rita: a tuxedo for him, something sexier for his former aide. The demon-woman had handled the invitations herself, summoning the rest of her slaves—even Walter Karendren had been ordered in from Washington, D.C., to attend—and arranging for a number of influential people to come. As far as any of them knew, it was simply a social event, hosted by a rising star in local society—but by the time they left, all of them would belong to her.

“Oh, goody!” The sensuous siren clapped her hands.

Fatakis shivered. When Lilibat put on that little-girl air, it meant she had something particularly nasty in mind.

He was right. Lilibat called out, “Rita sweetie, are you ready yet?”

“Yes, Mistress Li-li-bat,” came a breathy voice. Rita Hawkins’ old acquaintances would hardly have recognized it as hers; it sounded more like Marilyn Monroe as Lorelei Lee in Gentlemen Prefer Blondes.

“Then come on out, sweetie, and let’s have a look at you.”

Rita came out. Fatakis’ jaw dropped.

His ex-assistant was dressed in a fetish French maid’s costume: tiny black miniskirt under a skimpy white apron, fishnet stockings, glossy black pumps with six-inch spike heels, all topped off with a little white cap nestled in her dark hair, which was bound up in a large bun. Fatakis felt himself go rock-hard. A small moan leaked from him.

“You like?” Rita turned this way and that, posing with a sexy smirk on her face.

She wasn’t just acting, Fatakis knew, going through the motions like a puppet the way he was at the moment. Lilibat had taken savage delight in destroying Rita’s mind. She’d used the control provided by the little smiley-face tablets to strip away the young woman’s education, intellect and morals, leaving her a nymphomaniac exhibitionist who had to struggle with any word over two syllables. And unlike him, she was never permitted to have her own mind back.

“He likes,” Lilibat assured her. “Isn’t that right, Nickie? Tell the truth, now.”

“Oh, yes,” he whimpered. “Oh, yes.” It was true, God help him, it was true—but through the haze of pleasure and desire rising from his groin, Fatakis felt a dull horror. She couldn’t be going to . . . !

She was.

Gleeful malice in her voice, Lilibat commanded, “Look into my eyes, Nickie dear. That’s it, look at me, look into my eyes, drown in my eyes once more. It’s so good to sink into my eyes, drown in my eyes, isn’t it, Nickie?”

“Yes. . . .” Fatakis’ voice was low and dreamy. His body had obeyed the command to look into Lilibat’s eyes, and when it did, her power had drawn him under once more. Gone were the anger, the disgrace he’d felt before; everything was gone but those beautiful eyes and the beautiful voice that went with them, the voice which told him what he must do and think.

The she-fiend flowed off the couch in a single sinuous movement. Standing, she stroked her slave’s cheek and murmured, “Rita’s very sexy in that outfit, isn’t she?” She laughed. “You don’t remember, of course, but in one of our little talks since you came to live with me, you told me this French maid fantasy of yours about Rita. You never even allowed yourself to think about it before, did you, Nickie? Never knew it was in there, in your head, until I brought it out. Aren’t you glad I did?”

“Yes,” mumbled the dazzled doctor. “Thank you.”

“So disciplined. So controlled,” murmured Lilibat. “But now it’s my discipline. My control. Both of you are under my control.”

She turned to Rita and handed her a yellow tablet. Rita swallowed it, and within moments, although her eyes stayed open, her breathing had fallen into a sleeper’s rhythm.

“Rita,” she instructed the brunette, “I want you to have sex with Nickie here. I want you to play out your little French-maid role, that you’re dressed for, and take Nickie, right here. You’ll do that, won’t you? Of course you will, because you know how it makes you feel to obey. You’ll act the role, and get into it completely; you’ll forget you’re acting. You will be the French maid. Do you understand?”

“Oooh, oui, Maitresse Li-li-bat,” Rita breathed. “I weel be ze Franch maid, an’ have ze sex weeth Neeck-o-las.” Already she was embedded in the part, and her obedience was being rewarded; her breathing changed again, going fast and sharp. Lilibat was amused that despite having been dumbed down, the girl automatically pulled French words and a French accent out of her subconscious in response to her suggestion.

“Go ahead, then,” Lilibat commanded. “Nicholas won’t mind. He wants it, don’t you, Nickie dear?”

“Unnhhhhh. . . .” Nicholas’ mouth fell open again.

“Ooo,” cooed Rita. “Now zat’s what I like to hear.” She oozed toward Fatakis and struck a pose, knees bent and hands crossed below her outthrust bosom.

The Doctor’s hands came up, cupping Rita’s breasts. A deep sigh escaped from him.

“Zat’s right, Neeck-o-las,” the girl continued. “Don’t stop.”

Fatakis took hold of the apron Rita wore and eased it over her head. She helped him, straightening up and raising her arms to let the garment slip off freely. It fell to the floor, forgotten, as Rita reached for Nicholas’ shirt.

Moaning softly, the two of them sank down, continuing to undress each other. Rita murmured French-accented sweet nothings to the man she didn’t remember as her former employer. Nicholas, lost in lust, no longer cared that the woman before him had once been his assistant. He no longer cared that Lilibat was looking on. All that mattered to him—to either of them—was pleasure.

Neeckolas—no, Nicholas, he reminded himself, Nicholas!—opened his eyes.

A few seconds passed before he realized where he was: on the floor in Lilibat’s lush living room, the dark-haired bimbo who had once been his highly educated aide in his work as an occult investigator nestled against him. As he stirred, she sighed, opened her eyes and giggled.

“Oooo,” she cooed, “zat was fun, wasn’t it, Neeck-o-las. Want to do eet again, m’sieu?” Her hand reached down and caressed him intimately, forcing a moan from his lips.

Lilibat intervened. “Maybe later, Rita sweetie.”

“Oui, Maitresse Li-li-bat,” came the response. Rita got obediently to her feet, shivering with pleasure as the Nirvana still in her system rewarded her again.

“You can stay in character as the French maid, if you like. In fact, I order you to.”

“Yes!” The pleasure had Rita writhing now. For a moment, it jolted her out of the fantasy—but only for a moment. “Oui! Oooo-eeeeee!“ Rita went rigid, legs apart and head thrown back, as a wave of ecstasy crashed over her. Afterward, she stood silently, head hanging.

“You may go now, Rita sweetie,” directed the demoness. “Sleep, if you need to.” Soon enough, Lilibat knew, the girl would need to sleep, as the last of the tab she’d been given wore off. “Just be sure to be up, washed and dressed by seven tonight. We’re having guests, remember.”

“Oui, maitresse,” Rita responded. She bent over, collected her cast-off costume, and walked away, still nude.

Lilibat turned back to the stunned Nicholas Fatakis. “Perhaps I’ll make her French maid persona permanent. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, ’Neeck-o-las?’”

Fatakis was powerless. “Yes, Mistress Lilibat,” he whispered.

“Then earn it,” the demon-woman demanded. “Look into my eyes, Nicholas, that’s right, look, and relax, it feels so good to look into my eyes, and relax, so good. . . .”

There were more words, but Fatakis didn’t hear them, at least consciously. Looking into Lilibat’s eyes, he fell headlong into a swirling maelstrom of beautiful colors and wonderful sensations.

“You know what I want, Nicholas,” the demon of lust said. “Come to me!”

He came to her.

Under her spell, he clutched her to him, toppling the two of them onto the couch. Her tail curled around to his back, its point skillfully stroking the spinal nerve centers she’d learned about, and he shuddered and thrust into her. Even if he hadn’t been under her supernatural sway, those cunning caresses would have rendered him helpless, a thing of mindless male meat. As it was, they drove him into a frenzy. Despite his sexual workout with Rita only a short time earlier, he went hard immediately and pounded away. When he finally came, he screamed her name.

His next awareness was of elegant hands stroking his hair and a magnificent voice saying, “Good boy, Nicholas; good boy. Now go get washed up and rest for a while. I want you fresh when it’s time to set up for my little party.”

“Yes, Mistress.” It was a happy sigh. For the moment, at least, Fatakis drifted in a place where there were no thoughts of his slavery, and it was so good to drift there. . . . He stood, gathered his clothes and left.

Watching him, Lilibat could not suppress a sinister chuckle. Victory was sweet indeed. Nicholas awoke in the small room Lilibat had assigned him as quarters—a large closet, really, with a mattress on the floor. Rita had similar accommodations. In moments of clarity over the past weeks, he’d suspected that if the demon had had horse stables, he and Rita would have been sleeping there.

No such bitter notions crossed his mind now. He was still drifting in his happy place. All he knew was that his beautiful mistress needed him dressed and ready, needed him to help set up the party she was giving. It was so wonderful to help her. Just the memory of their lovemaking made his head spin pleasantly, and if he helped her, there would be more. He would do anything for that.

He made his way into the suite’s lavish kitchen and began the final preparations.

Rita woke in darkness. For just a moment, she felt a stab of fear. Something was wrong, something bad was happening. She tried to think, tried to remember. . . .

No. There was nothing wrong. Mistress Li-li-bat needed her.

Giggling vacuously, she got up. The closet she slept in held various costumes, including several sexy maid’s outfits. She put one of those on, finishing up with a frilly little cap and glossy black pumps with six-inch heels.

“Neeck-o-las weel love me in zis,” she murmured, slipping automatically into character in obedience to Lilibat’s post-narcotic directive. She had no memory of the life she had once led; under sway of the succubus’ suggestion, she believed she really was a sexy French maid. It wouldn’t last, of course, without reinforcement—but Lilibat intended to reinforce it, over and over.

Rita didn’t know any of this. If she had been told, she wouldn’t have cared. All that mattered was serving Maitresse Lilibat, who had the glorious yellow tablets which rewarded obedience.

The party promised to be a hit.

Transformed into her human persona of Luci Ferra, the demon-babe looked over the celebration and found it good. It filled the two largest rooms in her luxurious suite at the Stafford Arms hotel, and spilled over irregularly into other parts of the apartment. And all her favorite toys were there: Nicholas, of course, dressed in a handsome dark suit; Rita in her skimpy maid’s dress and apron; Jennie Morgan, her boss Peter Hardesty and his cute systems man Aaron Lieber; Brad Connor; Tom Dennis; Greta Nordquist; Ned Braithwaite and Paula Petrosino—Ned, Luci noticed, had somehow neglected to bring his wife along. Walter Karendren had flown in from DHS headquarters in Washington. And of course, the young man to whom she owed it all, Frank Willis. A number of local notables were in attendance as well, including Mayor George Constable and his friend the district attorney, Harrison Sayle. There was even a congressman, Representative Nelson Schindler. Luci smiled wickedly as she spotted him.

The refreshments looked very good, she noted approvingly. Nicholas had done a very good job in making those arrangements—all the more so considering it wasn’t really his kind of work. Under her power, though, he had dedicated himself to the task.

The festivities had been underway for most of an hour when Tom approached her, an apprehensive look on his face. “I need to speak with you, Ms. Ferra,” he said.

Luci frowned. Now why was Tom suddenly not on a first-name basis with her? Well, no problem. “Of course, Tom sweetie,” she purred. “Come with me. Let’s talk in private.”

She led him into the bedroom. “There,” she decided. “This should do nicely.” Turning to face the tall blond man, she went on, “Now Tom sweetie, what was it you wanted to say to me?”

“Um, uh, er,” Tom Dennis stammered. He seemed to be having trouble marshaling his thoughts. “Er, it’s like this. I . . . I really can’t . . . I can’t go on with our, um, financial arrangement.” He shivered.

Luci smiled. So Tom was trying to back out of the deal they’d made which switched her from the short end to the long one in their eighty-twenty split of the money from the Nirvana sales she—and now her slaves—made? Naughty boy!

“I don’t see any reason to change the terms of our little partnership, Tom,” she told him.

“But I—” Tom blinked and swallowed hard. “I want—!”

Words failed him as Luci’s conditioning took full effect. The last time they’d been together, she’d “persuaded” him to make her the senior partner in his Nirvana trade by plunging him into her trademark trance of sexual ecstasy. While he’d been under, she had ordered him to feel the same way again any time he tried to disagree with her. It was obviously working.

“You want what, Tom sweetie?”

“Uh, duhh,” Tom blathered. “Nhhh, ooohhh—!” He stumbled blindly toward Luci, shaking with lust and pleasure. She reached out casually and stopped him with one finger.

Luci giggled. “Poor, dear Tom. You really are a sucker for me, aren’t you?”

Tom moaned.

Luci giggled again, and peeled her blouse off over her head in one graceful motion. That phrase was another trigger she’d planted in him. The drug dealer was lost now in a state as far from reality or self-control as any his little pills could produce. Her breasts, freed of the restraint imposed by her tight white blouse, bobbed freely; she hadn’t bothered with a bra.

“Oooogh,” came from Tom. Drooling slightly, he stared at her chest, transfixed by the gentle motion of its large, soft globes.

“Now Tom,” Luci said in a teasing tone, “what was it you wanted again? You wanted me to take all the money?”

Tom nodded vigorously, eyes staying on her bosom. “All. Yes. Please. T-t-take it all off—I mean take it all.” He whimpered. “All the money. Please.”

“Why Tom, how sweet,” the satanic seductress cooed. “But no, I’m perfectly with our present setup. Just as long as you remember who’s in charge. Who’s in charge, Tom?” As she spoke, she moved closer, until the two of them were mere inches apart.

“You—ooooh!” Tom spasmed in ecstasy as he babbled his submission. “You are! You’re in charge! Yes! Yes! Y-ymmphh. . . .” His words cut off as Luci’s hand slid around to press against the back of his head, forcing it down until his open mouth pressed against her erect nipple. Regressed instantly, he sucked, all thought banished from his head.

Luci drew him to her. “There, that’s right, Tom, that’s all right, suck, you’re a sucker for Luci, you’ll do whatever she wants, yes, good boy. . . .” Her own breathing quickened as his lips working at her breast sent pleasure jolting through her.

Yes, this was going to be a great party. Luci’s disappearance with Tom left Nicholas Fatakis free—as free as he ever was these days, anyway. And despite all he’d endured, despite the growing temptation he felt to submit completely, he still had enough of his own mind left to make one last try at defeating his demonic mistress.

He had one chance.

Something the succubus had said back when she’d ambushed Rita and him at his apartment had given him an idea of how to defeat her—but she’d taken control of them too quickly for him to try it. And since then, he hadn’t been able to; he needed her young conjurer for it to work. Now, here he was.

It was now or never.

Nicholas turned to Frank and asked carefully, “You’re the one who brought Lilibat to the mortal plane, aren’t you?”

“Yes, of course,” Frank replied happily.

“So,” the occult detective said, leaning toward Frank conspiratorially, “what did you get from her when you summoned her? What wish did she grant?”

“I-I don’t understand,” faltered Frank.

“You must know,” Fatakis said, “she’s bound to perform at least one task for you in exchange for her freedom from Hell.” Suggestively: “Anything at all—as long as it’s within her powers. And with a demon, that covers a lot of ground.”

“I never thought of it,” the younger man confessed. Why hadn’t he? Frank remembered looking into the sexy she-demon’s eyes, and sighed. Oh, yes. That was why. He’d had much more important things on his mind.

“Would you like a suggestion?” Fatakis had Frank’s full attention now. “You know that unlike many other demons, Lilibat used to be human, right?”

Frank nodded. “Yes, I remember her saying something about that once.”

“Yes.” Fatakis nodded as well. “A history professor by the name of Susan Jones, right at FCU.”

“Yes, that’s right. What are you getting at?” For no reason he could put his finger on, Frank felt faintly frightened.

Fatakis read his apprehension and said soothingly, “Nothing harmful, nothing dangerous, I assure you. Something simple.” He smiled. “Now here’s my idea. . . .”

Frank listened. When Fatakis finished, he grinned. “Sure, why not?” It was an hour or so before the succubus returned. Despite the food available, guests were getting pretty well lubricated, just as she’d planned. They’d be even easier to seduce and enslave with their minds already fogged by booze.

She had changed into Lilibat again while toying with Tom, and when she came back out, she didn’t bother to resume human form. The sight of her in demon shape, nude, scarlet, horned and tailed, provoked a startled reaction.

“Hey, what is this?” That was from the Mayor.

“Nothing to worry about,” responded the fiendish female. She caught his gaze, and his face went slack.

“Nuh,” he mumbled, “nothing . . . to worry about.” He stared at her, his breath quickening.

“That’s right, honey.” Lilibat broke eye contact with him, and swept her hypnotic gaze around the room. Most people received no more than a glance, but for those who’d never experienced it before, it was stunning. The room fell into stupefied silence. “Nothing to worry about.”

After a few seconds, Fatakis managed to speak. “Now, Frank. Ask her; go ahead.”

Lilibat turned, raising one eyebrow. “Ask me what?”

“You told me once that you used to be human,” Frank answered.

“Yes, that’s true,” Lilibat said. “What of it?”

“And is it also true,” Frank went on, “that as the one who called you to Earth, I have the right to one request from you?”

“Yes, it’s true,” Lilibat answered again, a slightly wary note in her voice this time. What did the boy have in mind?

Frank drew a deep breath. “Then I claim that request now.”

Lilibat nodded. “Very well.” She looked into Frank’s eyes, and smiled as his face went slack and a swelling grew in his trousers. “Nothing to harm me, of course. You don’t want to harm me, do you, Frank honey?”

“Nuh—no,” Frank mumbled, eyes wide and blank. “Don’t want to . . . harm you.”

Lilibat relaxed. “Then make your request, Frank, and by so doing, complete the contact between us, binding your soul forever.” Frank swam languidly up from the depths of Lilibat’s beautiful eyes. There was pleasure; as he stared at her naked form, his body shuddered in sudden climax. Then it was over, and the world returned. “Your request, Frank,” Lilibat reminded him, tapping one small hoof impatiently on the floor.

“Uh—oh, yes.” With an effort, Frank composed himself. He had to struggle to remember what he’d been about to ask for. “I want you to show me what you looked like when you were human. Become Dr. Susan Jones for me. That’s what I want.”

Lilibat smiled, flicking her tail carelessly. “Is that all? Very well, Frank honey.” Her body began to flow. . . .

“No!” The cry was shot through with pain and fear. “No! What’s happening to me? What have you done?” The she-demon’s mouth opened in a scream. “Take it back! Take it BAAAACCKKKK. . . .“ Lilibat’s sensuous voice rose to a shrill scream, then died away.

As Frank Willis and Dr. Fatakis watched, Lilibat collapsed to the floor, her gorgeous body crumbling. Within less than a minute, all that remained was dust.

Fatakis, with his occult-trained eyesight, saw what no one else in the room could. For a few seconds, a translucent specter of the satanic seductress stood over the powdery remains of her material body. Then, a snarl of fury on its face, it plunged out of view through the floor.

“I don’t understand,” Frank Willis whispered. “What happened?”

“It’s simple enough,” Fatakis replied. “You asked her to ‘become Dr. Susan Jones’ for you. Remember how I told you to ask for that, in just those words?”

“Yes,” responded Frank. “But why did”—he gestured at the pile of dust which was all that remained of his demon mistress—”that happen?”

“Again, it’s simple.” Fatakis, too, glanced at the dust pile. “When Lilibat was exorcised last time from the human form of Dr. Jones, she left a mortal body which had been almost entirely subsumed into her demonic form. Dr. Jones died immediately—there was nothing anyone could do—and crumbled away, just like that, leaving no corpse for anyone to find.”

“So when I asked her to—!” Frank’s mouth dropped open.

“Exactly.” Fatakis smiled, a real smile, his first in weeks. “She became Susan Jones—exactly as Dr. Jones is now. Ashes to ashes,” and his smile grew fierce, “dust to dust.”

“Is she—dead?”

“No.” Fatakis’ smile faded. “Nothing can kill a demon. Destroying her physical body while she was outside of a summoning pentagram simply broke her connection to the mortal plane. In effect, it exorcised her, sent her back Below where she belongs.”

“But . . . I’m free, aren’t I?” Frank rubbed his head. “Free from her control, I mean.”

Fatakis nodded. “Yes. We all are. The moment she was forced out of our world, everyone she’d enslaved was released.”

“You tricked me,” Frank realized. “You didn’t tell me what would happen, because you knew she’d forbid me to wish for anything which could harm her. Since I didn’t know what my request would do, that didn’t stop me.”

Fatakis looked at him calmly. “Would you prefer it had? Would you rather she was still here?”

Frank shuddered. “God, no!” He closed his eyes and drew a ragged breath. “Now that she’s gone, it gives me the creeps to think of her. Of what she did—what we did. It’s terrifying to remember how I did anything she wanted, how she made me beg to serve her.”

The young man made hand-washing motions. “I feel . . . stained. What can I ever do, to be clean again?”

Dr. Fatakis spoke reassuringly. “It wasn’t your fault, Mr. Willis. From what she bragged, you didn’t realize you would actually call up a demon with that ritual. And once you did, you were easy prey for her powers.” The occult investigator closed his eyes in pained remembrance. “So was I, despite my training. No man can resist her for long. You’re not the only one to feel tainted.”

He looked around the room. The others present wore shocked expressions. Her face nearly as red as Lilibat’s had been, Rita Hawkins glanced back and forth, first at the Doctor, then at Jennie. Jennie looked back at her, the bank clerk’s dark skin flushed to a deeper shade. Peter Hardesty and Aaron Lieber were horrified; freed of the she-demon’s influence, both feared for their careers if what they had done for Luci Ferra became known. Walter Karendren’s face suggested he was harboring similar thoughts.

Brad Connor sank weakly into a chair. “Not again,” he whispered. “Not again. . . .” He closed his eyes and buried his face in his hands. Fatakis’ words to Frank were no comfort to him. He thought of himself as a strong man, and a godly one—yet unlike the others, he had been conquered not once but twice.

Even those Luci/Lilibat hadn’t yet taken, like Mayor Constable and District Attorney Sayle, were in shock. They’d just seen something out of a horror movie acted out right before their eyes.

Sayle gathered himself. “What in the name of God—!”

“God,” countered Fatakis, “had nothing to do with it.” Briefly, he outlined Lilibat’s history for those not yet aware of it.

When the supernatural sleuth was finished, the district attorney shuddered and said in a shaky voice, “It’s insane—but I saw what I saw. And when she looked at me, just before,” he hesitated, “the end, it was like the whole world disappeared into her eyes, and I felt . . .” He reddened, and his voice trailed off. It was several seconds before he finished. “I never felt anything like that.”

Several of the others murmured agreement. Even one quick glimpse into Lilibat’s hypnotic eyes had plunged them into a happy fog. Remembering that now scared them.

“What do we do now?” That was from Congressman Schindler. “We can’t just pretend this never happened.”

“I don’t see why not.” Fatakis’ voice was cool and confident. With Lilibat gone, he had recovered a measure of his self-confidence. “At least for public consumption. Some of us,” he looked over at Hardesty and Lieber, then at Ned Braithwaite and his secretary Paula, “may have some loose ends to tie up, but I don’t see that as impossible.”

He sighed. “The hardest part will be dealing with our personal memories of all this. I wish I could offer help in that regard.”

Fatakis faced Rita Hawkins.

“Neeck-o-las?” Rita was still in character, accent and all. “What ‘as ‘appened, Neeck-o-las?”

“Rita?” Fatakis reached out to grasp his assistant by the shoulders. “Rita, it’s okay. She’s gone. Shake it off, girl.”

“Shake w’at off, m’sieu?” The brunette blinked wide, innocent eyes at him.

And he knew. The Doctor’s heart sank.

It was the drug, that damnable Nirvana. He and the others had returned to their normal selves immediately because their condition had been due to Lilibat’s supernatural spell. Rita was different. The succubus had known she was immune to that, and had used the smiley-face tablets to gain control of her instead. The commands the hell-bitch had given her while she was under the chemical’s influence were still in place—even the kinky servant personality she’d been instructed to adopt. Lilibat’s off-hand order that she stay in that role had locked it into place.

“It’s not hopeless,” a voice behind him said. Turning to face its owner, he saw it was the man Lilibat had introduced as a government agent. What was his name—yes, Walter Karendren. That was it.

“No?”

Walter shook his head. “No.”

He went on, “My agency has an experimental treatment program for victims of Nirvana and other such poisons. I don’t think I’d have any trouble getting your lady friend enrolled.” At Fatakis’ look of relief, he warned: “There are no guarantees, you understand. We can break the physical dependency, but beyond that, undoing the psychological craving, not to mention the programming she was given—well, I don’t know. We can only try. That creature did a real job on her.” He sighed. “If we had a non-addictive version of the drug to use, it would be a lot easier—but we don’t.”

Fatakis swallowed painfully. “Do what you can for her, then. She didn’t deserve this.”

A new voice spoke up, that of Brad Connor. “Is it over, then?” The coach had pulled himself together and was standing again. “Can we get out of this damned place?” He was carefully not looking at the spot on the floor where a small pile of ashy dust marked the second banishment of Lilibat.

“Yes,” Fatakis answered nodding.

“Good,” Connor grunted. Without another word, he headed for the door. Almost immediately, the others followed.

EPILOGUE:

Frank Willis dropped out of Freedom Christian University. With the departure of Lilibat, her command that he forget the ritual he’d used to summon her lost its grip along with all the others. Despite himself, he is frequently tempted to use it again. He has taken to prayer to battle this urge, and lives in constant fear of going to Hell when he dies. He dreams erotic dreams of his former demon mistress often.

FCU itself folded in the wake of the Hinton murder-suicide, the second major scandal to rock the fundamentalist college.

Dr. Nicholas Fatakis retired from his career as an occult investigator. Lilibat’s manipulation of his darkest impulses had shaken him badly. After doing what he could for his former assistant, he left the United States for Nepal, where he is rumored to be studying and meditating under the guidance of an ancient monk at a monastery high in the Himalayas.

Walter Karendren returned to his duties at the Department of Homeland Security, Division Six. True to his word, he arranged for Rita Hawkins to undergo treatment for her Nirvana addiction. Presently, he transferred from field agent status to administration, and is now in line for a position as assistant to the deputy director of Homeland Security.

Rita Hawkins “graduated” from Division Six’s treatment regimen after about a year. As Agent Karendren had promised, she was freed of her physical addiction to Nirvana. Her psychological cure was less successful. Although it proved simple enough to decondition her out of her “French maid” role, a complete restoration of her former intelligence and personality could not be achieved. Eventually she became an exotic dancer, undergoing breast enhancement surgery and adopting the stage persona of Gigi Galore, complete with French accent. She remains haunted by the memory of the pleasure she experienced while on the tabs.

Jennie Morgan, Peter Hardesty and Aaron Lieber returned to work at First Union Bank as if nothing had happened. They never spoke of Lilibat or Luci Ferra again. Two years later, Aaron Lieber resigned from his position and emigrated to Israel, where he became prominent in a small but influential religious political party. After his departure, a routine bank audit uncovered evidence of the tampering he’d done on Luci Ferra’s behalf; the Israeli government, however, refused to extradite him.

Tom Dennis was gunned down by a hitman employed by his Nirvana suppliers when he was unable to account for over a half-million dollars in profits from the drug. The assassin caught up with him as he was about to board a plane to Bolivia.

Brad Connor, Greta Nordquist, Ned Braithwaite, Paula Petrosino, DA Harrison Sayle, Mayor George Constable and Representative Nelson Schindler resumed their normal lives. All of them did their best to repress all memory of the bizarre events they had witnessed.

Lilibat is in Hell with her master Asmodiel, awaiting her next summoning. Even if Frank Willis never yields to temptation, a number of written copies of the incantation remain in existence on Earth, waiting to be found and used.