The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

The Legend of the Spectral Seal

Sealed Up Alone

by JHB ()

Bobbing, helpless, alone there in the void
and feeling more than a little annoyed
at my tiny craft, I quickly deployed
my force shields. Perhaps I could still avoid
a murderous meeting with an asteroid
or red dwarf. With navigation destroyed
and all my hopes pinned on a strange, spheroid
compass, I paused. My computer’s cancroid
calamity was entirely too real.
I was a victim of the “Spectral Seal.”
I’d been among those who thought it made-up
back in the day. Some guys sharing a cup
must have crafted a tale with a dollop
of legend about an old rune. But, yup,
this virus creates more than a hiccup
in your RAM. It’s wiped, rearranged, smashed up,
given new code at a manic gallop
which spreads itself through every hookup.
Still, I had no choice but to give the wheel
to an A.I. warped by the “Spectral Seal.”
There was no other way out of my fix.
But there was a one more wrinkle in this mix:
when I synced my mind up and grabbed the sticks,
then I’d be open to the virus’ tricks.
Sure flesh would be safe from positronics
and with no choice, I hooked in with all six
electrodes. Very soon, I felt the licks
of another mind, a million pinpricks
out to open me up, make me reveal
control of my will to this “Spectral Seal.”
A class “M” planet appeared on the screen
(well, in my visor); it was only eighteen
light years off. But this corrupted machine
overrode the visor, painted a scene
of a dungeon where I was chained between
two pillars. A woman, shapely but lean
caressed my body, began to preen
me, working me up to a sweaty sheen.
I knew it was a mirage, a surreal
mindscape created by the “Spectral Seal.”
Thing was, I’d been out here so long, alone
in a barren, uninhabited zone
of space, that my A.I.’s vision of tone,
tanned beauty could easily make me groan.
Soon the air vents shot out some pheromone
that left me panting. This bawdy cologne
sent tingles from my skin straight to each bone
as I wriggled and mewled. The seeds were sown
for my fevered mind to be mashed, a meal
for the ever voracious “Spectral Seal.”
I accessed the monitors, took a guess;
if I hung on ten minutes, maybe less,
I’d be home free. Then I felt a caress
of red-lacquered nails that seemed to fluoresce
from the visor. Was my brain such a mess
that I could feel an illusion undress
me? And had I now begun to obsess
about lustful, wanton, debauched excess?
If I couldn’t bring my passions to heel,
I might yet be thralled by the “Spectral Seal.”
Now caught in the gravity of the sphere,
I’d reason to hope salvation was near
when I felt her whispering in my ear:
“Do not fret or try to resist, my dear.
Just let Celia smooth away all your fear
and wrap you in ecstasy, pure and clear
and hot. No crisis, no planet, just here
with you and me and sweet sensations. We’re
gonna have such fun, baby, while I peel
back all resistance to the ‘Spectral Seal.’”
The rockets fired, but I was in a dance,
snuggled close to Celia, the sweet expanse
of my soul laid bare. I fell to the trance
of cyber-seduction, robo-romance . . .
. . . but the virus within me does enhance
my allure. And I know that there’s no chance
that it will harm my world: the quickest glance
at the dials shows I’m in a place called “France,”
in their year Twenty-Twelve. I truly feel
these humanoids will love the “Spectral Seal.”