The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

It had been a hard Brexit indeed. The nation’s leaders had stubbornly stuck to their position that “No deal is better than a bad deal.” And they’d ended up with no deal at all. Having lost their main trade partners, the market for UK exports dried up nearly overnight, and multinational companies fled the UK in droves, relocating to the continent. The value of the British Pound plummeted, as the economy cratered. A Scottish independence referendum was imminent, and a similar vote in Northern Ireland might soon follow.

It was clear that desperate measures were needed. But what? What resources did Britain possess that it could capitalize upon to restart its economy? After painful deliberation, the nation’s leaders decided on a course of action: they must rely on the manly virtues of the British public.

At least England was in the semifinal, Roy thought, popping open a can of lager and sitting down on the sofa to watch the match. Everything else might be going to shit, he might be losing his job next week, but at least England was in the semifinals of the European Championship. Against Poland, no less. Bloody Poles. Roy took a swig of his lager as he thought about how sweet it would be to watch the English team crush them. Those bloody Poles, coming over here and stealing English jobs. Roy could hardly walk down the street without hearing one of them jabbering away in a foreign language. Brexit was supposed to get rid of them—that’s the main reason Roy had voted “Leave”—but it seemed like most of them were still around. Roy shuddered at the thought of losing his job, having to compete with those bloody Poles for low-paying work, stocking the shelves at Tesco or summat.

Roy could feel himself getting agitated. This couldn’t be good for his heart; he just needed to calm down and focus on the match. He got out his mobile and texted Liam, his 20-year-old son: “Where R U? Match is starting.”

“Down at the local with Baz and Tariq. Watching on the big screen”

Typical. Just typical for Liam to ditch his dear old dad like that. The man who’d raised him, and raised him all alone for the past ten years. Roy was about to sink into self-pity when the match started. Fifteen minutes in and he was on the edge of his seat. No one had scored yet, but it looked like England was getting close. Just one…

SQQZZFF! SQQZZFF! SQQZZFF!

God, what was that noise?! That squelching, piercing, buzzing noise suddenly coming from the TV set?! Roy reached over for the remote, to see if he could mute it. But it was hard to move. He could barely move a muscle, could barely stretch his arm. It felt like he was freezing. Freezing in place. Frozen in front of the TV set, staring at the TV set, listening to that squelching, piercing sound penetrate his brain, macerate his brain, turn it into mush.

The words flashed on the screen, arranged in the familiar logo.

Roy felt some of his panic abate. He still couldn’t move—he was paralyzed. But maybe that was okay. He should just relax and watch the telly.

He should just relax and focus on reading the screen, reading the very important messages he needed to obey.

Roy found that he could move his arms and legs again, but he made no effort to reach for the remote control and turn off the TV set. Instead, he lifted his hips slightly and calmly slid his football shorts down around his ankles.

Roy lifted his hips again and calmly slid his white cotton briefs down around his ankles, leaving him wearing just an England football jersey, naked from the waist down.

Roy found himself thinking about his reprogramming. Reprogramming. The word bounced through his empty mind. Reprogramming. He didn’t quite know what it was. But he knew he was looking forward to it.

Reprogramming. Something about that word was making Roy so horny. So horny he just had to reach down and stroke his uncut dick. Just sit on the sofa and stroke as he awaited his reprogramming.

The reprogramming squad. They’d be coming along soon enough to assist him in his reprogramming. For now all Roy needed to do was sit and stroke. Just sit and stroke and obey and comply and await reprogramming.

The squelching, buzzing noise wasn’t quite so loud anymore, but Roy could still hear it running through his head. Maybe he’d always hear it running through his head. So a few moments later he could hear the knock at the door and the voice barking, “Reprogramming Squad! All men inside must report to the front door!”

Stepping out of his shorts and underwear, Roy walked to the front door, his erection leading the way. He opened it to find two muscular men in skintight white spandex bodysuits with the Three Lions crest emblazoned on the chest. One of them pointed at a minibus parked at the end of the road. “Walk into the bus and sit down on one of the plugs. Keep calm and we will transport you to the reprogramming centre.”

Roy obeyed the man’s orders and walked to the bus as the Reprogramming Squad moved next door and knocked on his neighbor’s door. The minibus was nearly full of men, all gyrating in their seats as they stared at the flashing monitors above each seat. Roy took the first available seat he could find, beside Witold, a Polish builder in his early 30s who lived further down the street. He could see that Witold was squirming and moaning, his large erection bouncing against his Poland football jersey. Before he sat down, Roy glanced up at the monitor:

He glanced down at the butt plug protruding from his seat, then gingerly lowered himself on top of it.

It was painful at first, but Roy tried to relax his hole and submit to the penetration.

After a moment, Roy began to enjoy it. The butt plug was hitting his prostate. If he moved just right, swiveling his hips, bouncing up and down on it, he could get the stimulation he craved. Soon Roy and Witold were moving in sync, squirming and moaning as the butt plugs hit their pleasure centers. They barely noticed when the bus started moving.

Once they got to the Reprogramming Centre—what, up until that afternoon, had been the local community centre—Roy and Witold had to queue up for their turn on one of the reprogramming machines. Luckily, there were lots of television monitors they could watch, to advise them to keep calm and keep stroking as the queue slowly moved forward.

Finally, Roy was led to one of the reprogramming machines, fitted with a virtual reality helmet and a matching buttplug and a Fleshlight-shaped “erectile coupler” that kept his prostate and dick stimulated throughout his reprogramming. Roy sat there for nearly an hour, absorbing all his programming, learning what his new role would be, learning how he would serve his country with pride.

Roy and Witold walked home from the Reprogramming Centre together. On the way, each man recited what he had learned.

“We must remain naked from the waist down,” Roy said proudly. Witold nodded, smiled, then reached over and gave Roy’s dick an encouraging stroke. What Roy said was True and he needed to be rewarded for repeating the New Truth.

“When we see unprogrammed man, we must bring him to Reprogramming Centre,” Witold said.

“That’s right, mate, all men need to be reprogrammed!” Roy reached over and gave Witold’s big uncut Polish dick a vigorous stroke. His mate Witold really had the right idea, and he needed to be rewarded!

Suddenly, Witold stopped in the middle of the street and pointed. “Look, one of the new cameras.”

There was an overhead surveillance camera pointed right at them.

Roy looked at it for a moment, then remembered something. “We’re in front of a camera. When we’re in front of a camera, we need to fuck other men.”

Witold nodded and paused, slowly processing this information. “We’re in front of a camera. We need to fuck. Now.” He knelt down and began rimming Roy’s ass.

Roy moaned in pleasure, then reached into the carrier bag he’d been handed at the Reprogramming Centre, pulled out a condom and a packet of lube, then handed them to Witold. “Here, mate, use this.”

Roy felt grateful that he’d had some practice on the buttplugs to stretch him out. Otherwise, his 44-year-old virgin asshole probably couldn’t have taken Witold’s whole Polish sausage. They fucked standing up, in full view of the camera, Roy supporting himself on a pillar box as Witold thrust into him. Finally, Witold pulled out and, making sure to look straight into the camera, pulled off his condom and shot his load all over Roy’s England jersey. Soon, Roy followed suit, staining Witold’s red Poland jersey white with his cum.

They each gave a wink to the camera, then walked the rest of the way home. Occasionally, Roy would walk behind Witold and sneak a peek at the Pole’s firm hairless arse. He couldn’t wait to sink his dick in that arse. He was sure he’d get his chance soon. After all, Witold was his close neighbour!

The house was still empty when Roy got home. Liam wasn’t back yet then. Roy hoped that Liam hadn’t somehow resisted the programming. He’d feel ashamed to have an unprogrammed son. There was probably nothing to worry about, though. Liam and his mates had been watching the game. They were probably just out somewhere, fucking each other on camera.

Speaking of cameras…Roy reached into the carrier bag they’d given him at the Reprogramming Centre and pulled out four little boxes, each with its own surveillance camera. He needed to install these around the house—one in his bedroom, one in Liam’s bedroom, one in the shower, and one in the living room. Too bad they’d only given him four. He’d love to install one in the kitchen, to film himself fucking Liam against the refrigerator or summat.

He’d just gotten the living room camera installed when he heard the front door open. “Hey dad, I’m home. And I’ve got Baz and Tariq with me. And we’re naked from the waist down.”

“Good lad!” Roy walked up to greet them, “All men should be naked from the waist down.”

“Oh dad, that’s so true!” Liam smiled and reached over to give his father’s cock an encouraging stroke. “I’m so happy we’ve received the same programming!”

“Everything go well, then? I didn’t see you lot at the Reprogramming Centre.”

“Oh, they just came into the pub,” Baz replied, his youthful erection bouncing against his Fred Perry polo as he recalled the pleasant memory of his reprogramming, “They brought a few machines and butt plugs with them. It took a while, but they got the job done.”

“So where have you lads been since then? Fucking in the streets, no doubt.”

“No, sir,” Tariq said. “We went back to my place. You see, my dad doesn’t watch the footie, so we figured that he’d be one of the unprogrammed,” he said, looking slightly ashamed.

Roy tried to look the Pakistani boy in the eye, but he kept getting distracted by the sight of Tariq’s mouthwatering brown dick, standing up against his light blue Superdry T-shirt. “Oh, that’s awful, lad. All men need to be reprogrammed. I hope you got him sorted.”

“We sure did, dad!” Liam said proudly. “He fought us at first, though, didn’t he, Tariq?”

“Oh yeah, he tried to get away. He kept shouting for help. But I kept telling him, ‘It’s for your own good, dad. You’ll feel so much better once you’re reprogrammed.’”

“Good lads!” Roy reached over to give Liam and Tariq’s dicks some encouraging strokes. “So the three of you grabbed him and carried him all the way to the Centre?”

“Well, when we got him out the door, it was easier. Some guys down the street stopped fucking and came down to help carry him.”

“You lot have had a busy night! So, does that mean that no one has fucked your arses yet?”

“No, dad! You want a piece of this virgin arse?”

“I want a piece of all of your arses. I just got the camera hooked up, and you know what we need to do when we’re in front of a camera…”

“Yes, sir!” Tariq said with a lustful look in his eye as he reached out to stroke Roy’s erection, “When we’re in front of a camera, we need to fuck other men. And I need you to fuck my virgin arse, sir.”

“And you, Baz?”

“Well...my girlfriend and I…we were really big into pegging and toys…so I don’t know if this is still a virgin arse…but it’s still hungry for your big dick. I need to be fucked on camera!”

“That’s what I like to hear, lads! That’s what I like to hear! Now bend over, look into the camera, and let me eat those arses like there’s no tomorrow!”

When Roy was made redundant at his firm the following week, he found that he didn’t mind. After all, now he had more time to fuck. To fuck his son, to fuck Witold, to fuck the postman, to fuck Tariq and his dad, to fuck the local rugby team. Roy now lived to fuck, as long as it was captured on camera and broadcast across the globe.

And better still, the government even let him have a percentage of the revenues from his home cams. Truly, he lived in the greatest nation on Earth.