Second Life
Copyright© 2026 by Bisamrattan
Chapter 1: Bridge
Mind Control Sex Story: Chapter 1: Bridge - A suicidal girl is offered the choice of having her memories wiped and becoming a sex worker. She agrees.
Caution: This Mind Control Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including mt/ft Ma/ft ft/ft Fa/ft Consensual Mind Control BiSexual Fiction Restart Orgy Foot Fetish Prostitution Slow
The bridge was dark and empty, illuminated just by sparse, dim streetlights. Jessie walked slowly. She stopped sobbing long ago, and now felt just a numb determination. Here, maybe. The place was just as good as any other, maybe the best she could find. She turned to the railing and looked to the dark empty road far below. Yes, it should do it. There was a safety net below, but it was there just for incidents. She could roll to the edge, and it all would be done.
Jessie grabbed the railing. Her heart suddenly raced; the adrenaline rush made her hot and shaking. Her traitor body was trying to betray her again, to keep her alive. She squeezed the cold metal until the knuckles went white, took a deep breath, and raised her leg to climb over.
“Pretty stupid thing to do.”
The calm, unemotional, masculine voice behind her made her jump. She turned around, her heart hammering wildly. A man stood about ten steps from her, smoking and looking down from the bridge. He was wearing a simple, cheap black suit, more a dull office working uniform than an elegant piece of cloth. He looked middle-aged or older, with his black hair graying at the temples, and wore glasses. He looked more like a cheap salesman or a crook, like people her parents used to warn her about.
“Shit!” She lowered her leg. Now she’ll have to muster up her resolve again! “I did not ask you!”
“Doesn’t matter. I’m not going to stop you, just to interrupt for a few minutes.”
“Who are you?” she asked, surprised at the calmness of her own voice.
“Doesn’t matter, either. What does matter is that’s just wasteful what you are planning to do. Nice healthy young body with many good years left. A waste.”
“Mind your own business,” she said.
“I’m taking care of it right now, actually. I make you an offer. You’re not happy with your life, and you want to get rid of it.” He didn’t ask; he just stated the fact. “How about a deal? What if I could offer to discard your personality, not your body?”
“What?” Jessie was confused.
“We could wipe your personality. All of it.” He clicked his fingers. “Your memories, your trauma, your issues – whatever they are, I don’t care. We could just reboot you to a fresh, simpler one. For your present self, it will be an instant and painless end. And we’ll get your pretty body, alive and intact. It’s a win-win. What would you say to that?”
Jessie stared at him. This must be some kind of insane prank. A pervert with bizarre ideas. Yet, the logic appealed to her.
“Why?” she whispered. “Why would you do that?”
“It’s a business.” He smiled without humor. “We have contracts to deliver nice young girls to our customers. So? You’re going to die anyway. What have you got to lose?” His eyes were black, and he watched her with the unnerving curiosity of a scientist observing a lab mouse.
Jessie shuddered. His words sank in, cutting through the numbness and shock, and triggered some obvious associations.
“Nice and young girls ... For what?”
“Guess!” He smiled. “It’s the simplest job there is. You’ve got what it takes. Think of it as your destiny.”
“Sex trafficking.” She didn’t ask; she just stated the fact.
“Nice, young, and clever.” He nodded. “You’ll make a perfect escort. Good education, decent manners, and a presentable appearance. Not just any cheap hooker. Your personality will go away, but not your qualities. That’s what we need.”
Jessie stared at him. The proposition was insane, depraved, impossible. But the sheer rationality behind it was the most terrifying thing. She couldn’t have imagined a more cynical and realistic end for a hopeless and meaningless life than this. To be used by men until worn and discarded.
She pictured it. No memories. No pain. No self-hatred and despair. Just a blank slate and a purpose, however depraved. An instrument of pleasure. Not the person she was now.
“And if I say no?”
“Then go on. I’ll watch you fall.” He didn’t even flinch. “With a disappointment, though.”
She looked down. The night traffic hummed lazily some far away. Then back at the man. His calm certainty made it seem like the most natural thing in the world.
And maybe it was.
“It ... won’t hurt?”
“Not at all.” He pulled out a device, a short black stick with a red light on the top.
No matter how weird the situation was, Jessie couldn’t help but laugh. “Men in Black?”
“Sort of.”
Jessie hesitated. A final flicker of doubt. A final memory flash of a broken home, of school bullies, of an endless cycle of misery. What was she even hesitating about? A clean slate seemed like paradise. Even a slate made to be soiled.
“Yes,” she said, and the word hung in the darkness. “Do it.”
Click.
She opened her eyes in a room that looked like a lab. She was sitting on a chair.
“What’s your name?” she heard a male voice.
“Jessie.”
She turned to him. It was the man from the bridge. She remembered everything. Their bizarre talk, the cold railing in her desperate grip, her run through the night city...
“Hey! You said I’d forget everything!”
“You did. Selectively. Having to teach you to walk, speak, and do everything from the ground up would be too cumbersome. We’ve only removed the top social contacts layer.”
“I don’t get it.”
“You will soon. Your age?”
“Fourteen.”
She felt a cool gust of air and looked down. She was naked. Strangely, it did not bother her. She wiggled her toes and thought her legs were pretty. And, um ... her cunny was bald. She examined her armpit. Clean, too. They must’ve epilated her body.
“Your home address?”
“Um...”
She had no answer. She couldn’t recall anything like that. She could remember the bridge, the suicide attempt, but not why. And neither where she lived nor what her home looked like.
“My family? ... What happened to them?” She tried to remember their faces, but only got a vague mix from TV series and ad images of a happy family.
“Probably grieving for a dead child. They’d find an empty jacket at the bridge. That’s fine. You’re a better investment as a non-existent person, anyway.”
He approached her. Jessie could see he was checking her out like an object on a shelf. She had a quick thought that maybe she should feel shy or uneasy. Instead, she felt warmth and tickling in her lower abdomen. She leaned back in her chair, taking on a more seductive stance.
“Reflexes, check,” he said with a smile. “We also gave you a few shots while you were asleep. Your nice little breasts will become firmer and will never sag. Your sexual sensitivity and multi-orgasmic capability are amped up quite a bit. And the last one, into your uterus. No more periods or chances of pregnancy. And, as a bonus, we’ve permanently epilated your body.”
Jessie looked down at her small developing chest. She felt no sadness, no violation. Only excitement and curiosity.
“Okay,” the man said. “You’re all set. We’ll send you to another city, far away. Just to reduce the chances of someone from your past life meeting you. Get into the corridor, turn left, and wait in room eleven. There is already another girl like you, and one more is on the way. We’ll arrange the delivery soon.”
Jessie stood up. She felt wonderful, full of energy, curiosity, and— yes, arousal. The cool floor under her bare feet felt wonderful, too. She looked around. There was another naked girl sleeping in the chair next to her, a redhead with pale freckles all over her.
“Yes, this one,” the man nodded. “She’s about to wake up soon.”
Jessie padded softly to the corridor, humming some tune she couldn’t remember where she had heard. The whole world seemed brand new and fresh, waiting to be explored. And for the first time in her memory, she felt she had a purpose.
The room was small and windowless, lit by a dim lamp on the ceiling, with several chairs and benches scattered around. A temporary goods storage. One of the benches was occupied by another girl her age, with short, cut black hair and a lean, muscular body that gave her away as a gymnast or a dancer. She lay on her back, one foot on the bench, another on the floor, and masturbated wildly. Her breath was ragged, her small flat chest heaved, and her whole body arched in what appeared to be a constant orgasm. She was completely oblivious to Jessie’s entry. Or she didn’t care.
Jessie stared at her, fascinated. She had never seen anything like that before, she thought. Or had she? She couldn’t remember. She watched the girl squirm, her face contorted in what looked like pure pleasure and pain at the same time, her muscles straining as she rode the wave of the climax that would not end.
The girl finally slowed down, her body still shaking, and she slowly relaxed, gasping for air. She opened her eyes and saw Jessie. There was no shame in her gaze, no surprise. Only a lazy satisfaction.
“Hi,” she said, her voice a husky whisper. “Name’s Chloe. What’s up?”
“Jessie.” She sat on the bench opposite the girl, copying her pose. She could feel her own arousal spike. “What were you doing?”
“What does it look like?” Chloe raised her head, her eyes glazed and unfocused. “Having a ball. And you’re next, pretty.” She sat up, her movements fluid and graceful. “They said we’ll become whores, or something like that, so I thought, why not practice beforehand?” She chuckled. “The rest is all hazy. Either I was quite slutty before, or they’ve wiped our inhibitions, too.”
Jessie already worked her fingers on her spread labia, gasping from surges of pleasure. She grabbed her small breast and squeezed it hard. “Ohhh ... Yeah, aaahhh...” She raised her eyes at Chloe. “How did they get you?”
“Bridge,” Chloe said nonchalantly. She stood up and approached Jessie, her step feline. She looked down at Jessie, her expression unreadable. “You?”
“The same. I don’t remember why I wanted to jump, but I wanted it badly.”
Chloe leaned down, her face inches from Jessie’s. Jessie could smell her scent, a mix of sweat and something floral and intoxicating. Chloe’s dark hair fell around her face, framing her sharp features. “So we’re bridge sisters,” she whispered.
“Aaahhh...” was all Jessie could say, her body arching as the pleasure washed over her. She could feel her pussy clenching around her fingers. She closed her eyes.
Chloe’s hand touched Jessie’s shoulder. Jessie flinched but didn’t move away. The touch was electric, sending shivers down her spine. Chloe’s fingers danced across her skin, tracing patterns that made her tremble.
“You’re a responsive little thing,” Chloe murmured, her breath hot on Jessie’s ear. “I like that.” She stepped over the bench, spread her legs, and pressed her dripping pussy to Jessie’s face. Jessie did not need another invitation. She grabbed Chloe’s butt cheek with a free hand, pulled her closer, and began sucking and licking her greedily, not slowing down her own masturbation.
“Mmmm...” Chloe ran her long fingers through her hair. “You are so good ... Good ... Aaaahhh...”
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