Second Life
Copyright© 2026 by Bisamrattan
Chapter 3: The river and the boat
Mind Control Sex Story: Chapter 3: The river and the boat - 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
Jessie found out that she’s remembering new faces and names quite easily. Makes sense, she thought, considering that this part of her brain has been wiped clean. Maybe it’s easier to learn something when the cup is empty. She remembered Eve, Lana, Irina, and the two gaming girls— Mia and Rose— now, and they started to treat her like a younger sister, and all others. She learned that Lana, the haughty blonde, and Irina, the world-weary Russian, were the oldest residents. This was their house as much as it was Ellie’s, and they behaved like they were co-owners.
A speaker on the wall beeped, and Ellie’s voice said: “Fifteen-minute standby, girls! The client has called, he’s driving here. Get down to the lobby.”
The hall turned into a whirlwind of frantic activity. The girls were slipping off their robes, adjusting their lingerie and makeup; someone was putting on short skirts and heels ... Jessie was puzzled. She had nothing to adjust, she was ready. So she simply joined the flow, heading down the stairs to the podium by the wall. Eve, still naked, gave her a quick, encouraging nod. The other girls, Lana, Irina, and two younger ones, Kim and Nikki, lined up as well, their expressions a practiced mixture of seduction and nonchalance, and others were joining, forming a sparse line.
They stood there for a few minutes, the air thick with a strange tension. Then the front door opened, and two men walked in.
They were both in their forties, maybe, in tasteful, expensive suits, and that was the only common thing about them. The one in the lead had the kind of face you saw in financial magazines, sharp and confident, with a neatly trimmed beard and piercing blue eyes. He looked like a man who owned things, and people, by right of birth. He swept his gaze over the line of girls, his eyes lingering on Lana’s breasts, then on Irina’s long legs. He looked bored, like a king surveying his court, searching for a new diversion.
The other one was a completely different type. He was smaller, plumper, with a bland, forgettable face and glasses. He looked like a mid-level accountant, a man who blended into the background. His gaze, however, was anything but forgettable. It was intense, focused, and full of a nervous energy that seemed to vibrate in the air around him. He looked like a man who was about to do something he wasn’t supposed to, something that both thrilled and terrified him. He scanned the line of girls, his cheeks flushed, his hands clasped and unclasped nervously in front of him. When he saw Jessie, his breath caught, and he nudged the other man with his elbow.
The confident one, who she instinctively knew was the primary client, stared at her intently. She felt the blush creeping up her cheeks. He turned to his companion, and they exchanged nods.
“This one, Ellie,” he said, pointing at Jessie. “We want to try this new one.”
Ellie bowed her head. “Of course, Mr. Collins. An excellent choice.” She took a step forward, her demeanor shifting from a madam to a concierge. “Jessie is our newest addition. A delicate flower, full of surprises. Be careful with her, please.” She looked at the shorter man. “She’s a special, new talent, sir. Perfect for a debutante.”
Jessie’s heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat in the suddenly quiet room. A debutante. Was that what she was? A debutante-whore. The thought was so absurd, so far from anything she could have imagined, that she had to fight back a nervous giggle.
Mr. Collins nodded, and swiped his platinum card at the payment terminal. “As usual. We’ll return her tomorrow.”
“In one piece, haha!” added the plumper one.
“I hope so, gentlemen.” Ellie’s tone was perfectly neutral. She turned to Jessie. “Follow them, dear, and do everything as they say.”
Jessie’s head swam. Tomorrow. She would be gone until tomorrow. The reality of it crashed down on her, sudden and immense. She looked at the other girls. They gave her a mixture of supportive and envious glances. Lana gave a slight, theatrical roll of her eyes, as if bored by the whole affair. Irina gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod. Eve gave her a genuine, warm smile and a thumbs up. A sign of solidarity. A rite of passage. Jessie was being initiated.
She approached the men, looking at them with sincere interest. She’ll be spending a day and a night with them. Who are they? What are their tempers? What will they request from her? Will she like them? Will they like her?
“Hi! I’m Jessie!” She smiled at them and, to her own surprise, took Mr. Collins’ hand. “I’m ready!”
His palm was warm and dry, and he squeezed her hand with a proprietary confidence, not as a greeting but as an appraisal. “A feisty one,” he said to his friend, a smirk playing on his lips. “I like that.”
They led her out of the salon, onto the quiet street. The sun was still bright, the air warm, the normal world bustling around them, oblivious to the transaction that had just taken place. A black sedan, sleek and polished to a mirror shine, was parked at the curb. Mr. Collins opened the back door for her.
“After you, Jessie.”
She slid onto the cool leather seat, the smooth material caressing her bare thighs. The men followed, the plumper one – whom Jessie privately started calling ‘The Accountant’ – sitting beside her, while Mr. Collins took the driver’s seat. The doors closed with a solid, expensive thunk, shutting out the sounds of the street, cocooning them in a world of muted leather and expensive cologne.
“I’d like a breakfast, Charlie,” said ‘The accountant’, taking out a cigar from his top pocket. “Or a coffee at least. How about you?”
“Coffee, too, but with a proper Mediterranean breakfast! You know that bare coffee kills my stomach, Jack!”
He started the engine, and the car moved softly. Jessie looked around, intrigued. It all felt like a plain family morning trip, nothing more.
Charlie drove them through the city streets with a practiced ease, navigating the traffic with a confidence that seemed to come as naturally to him as breathing. They were heading out of the city center, into a more affluent neighborhood, the buildings growing grander, the streets wider and greener. Jack enjoyed his cigar. Jessie did her best not to cough.
“So, Jessie,” Charlie began, his eyes fixed on the road. “Ellie tells us you’re ... new. How new are we talking?”
“Well ... I just arrived yesterday.” Jessie replied, wondering how much she should reveal at once. Then she relaxed. In the worst case, she could fail the chat, but she would still end up fucking, and what does it matter if they don’t pick her again? Someone else would! So she let the words flow. “I ran away from my home, my parents were total assholes! I knew Ellie, just barely, so I ran to her, and she let me stay.”
“A fresh runaway?” Jack chuckled and stroked Jessie’s bare leg above the knee. “How convenient! A runaway with a history, eh? A little bird with a broken wing.” His fingers traced the line of her inner thigh, his touch possessive, yet surprisingly gentle. “You know, I have a soft spot for strays. I’ve ... rescued a few in my time.” He leaned closer, the stale smoke of his cigar clinging to his expensive suit. “Let’s see if you’re housebroken.”
They stopped at a small, classy restaurant where Charlie ordered breakfast for them all. Jessie felt severely out of place, just a teenager with tousled hair and dirty bare feet among those people in business outfits, sitting with these two men in suits, but no one even batted an eye at her appearance. Probably she wasn’t the first escort here.
They ordered her a full breakfast, and it was the most delicious thing she’d eaten in her life. Scrambled eggs with bacon, toast, fresh orange juice ... and then the conversation started again, and Jessie’s role as the main attraction was reaffirmed.
“So, Jessie,” Charlie began again, once their plates were cleared, “have you thought about what you’ll do? With your ... new life? Ellie says you’ve got no past. So you must be thinking about the future.”
He had a deep, steady voice, a voice used to command. He looked at her over the rim of his coffee cup, his blue eyes piercing, as if he could see right through her, see the blank space where her memories should have been. He was probing, testing her, trying to figure out the limits of her manufactured personality. Jessie felt a flicker of ... something. Not fear. Not anger. It was more like a professional curiosity, and— yes, the familiar warmth in her crotch. She was an actress, and this was the audition.
“I— I haven’t thought that far,” she said, trying to match the tone of a broken little girl, but there was a spark of something else in her. A genuine curiosity. “Probably, I won’t rush it. Just to live in the present moment for— for a year, or more, who cares? Let the river of life carry me!” And she bit a cookie. It was delicious.
Charlie smirked. “Let the river carry you. That’s a nice way to put it. Or perhaps, to be a boat for others, hmm? That’s what the river does with boats. It carries them. It takes them where they need to go. To their destination.” He gestured to the waiter for another coffee. “How far are you ready to go, little boat?”
Jessie held his direct gaze and grinned. “Anywhere! Just don’t break me, please! I want to be a nice little boat for a long, long trip!”
Jack, who had been content to observe, now chimed in, a greasy glint in his eyes. “She’s a fast learner, this one. A natural.” He took out his wallet and laid down a few large bills on the table. “Charlie, let’s get this show on the road. My ‘breakfast’ is getting cold.” He patted Jessie’s thigh again, his hand lingering, his thumb stroking her skin in a slow, possessive rhythm.
Charlie’s lips curled into a thin smile. “Patience, my friend. The best meals are those savored. And we’re not ordering from the dollar menu.” He turned back to Jessie, his expression unreadable. “He’s right, though. The destination is calling. Let’s not keep it waiting.”
They got back into the sedan. The cityscape blurred past the windows as Charlie drove them towards a gated community on the city’s outskirts. The houses here were mansions, hidden behind high walls and carefully manicured foliage. Each gate was a statement, a declaration of wealth and power. The car glided through one such gate, into a sprawling estate with a swimming pool that glittered under the late morning sun.
Jessie followed the men. She stepped off the track and savored the feeling of the grass under her feet. The warm blades tickled her soles, a simple, grounding sensation that was a world away from the cold pavement of the city. She looked around, her eyes wide with a genuine sense of wonder. This was a different world. A world of clean lines and impossible space.
The house was a monument to glass and white stone, all sharp angles and vast, empty rooms. Charlie didn’t bother with the tour. He led them through a minimalist living room, past a kitchen so sterile it looked like it had never been used, and up a sweeping staircase. Jack kept a firm grip on her arm, as if afraid she might bolt.
They entered a large bedroom, dominated by a king-size bed with crisp, white linen. And there were also lights and several mounted cameras.
Charlie caught her curious stare. “We like to keep our nice memories. For private viewing.” His tone was casual, as if he were talking about buying a souvenir. Then he turned to Jessie. “Alright, Jessie. Let’s see if you can handle your new job. Leave your dress here. The shower is by that door. Make yourself clean – everywhere! We still have some time before others arrive.”
Others?! ... Jessie’s heart fluttered. But she obediently threw her sundress on the carpet and stepped into the bathroom, wearing only her anklets and bracelets. This was the performance, the stage. And she was the main act. She turned on the water, steam instantly fogging up the glass. She stepped inside the large glass stall, the warm spray a welcome caress against her skin. She found a bottle of expensive-smelling body wash and began to lather herself, the bubbles a fragrant cloak. She washed her hair, her face, her arms, her legs. Then, remembering Charlie’s words, she hesitated. Her fingers traced her anus, a tentative, unsure touch. She squeezed some of the body wash onto her fingers and slowly, carefully, pushed them inside, cleaning herself as instructed. A blush crept up her neck, a mix of shame and a weird, unfamiliar heat.
She felt like a doll, being prepared for her tea party. A doll that was about to be used in ways she hadn’t even dared to imagine. A doll with no past, and a present that was spiraling into a dizzying, terrifying unknown.
She got out and dried herself on one of the plush, white towels, then looked at her reflection in the large mirror. She looked ... innocent. The girl with the big eyes and the small, firm breasts, who soon will be—
She heard several more male voices and shuddered, more with excitement than with fear. Should she come to them naked or wrapped in a towel? Let them unwrap their candy, haha! She pushed the door and stepped out to the bedroom.
There was quite a party gathering! Charlie and Jack, plus three more men, all of them in their late thirties to early forties, well dressed and self-confident, and a woman who looked like she owned the place. They made a little circle of couches, and there were drinks on the table. Charlie greeted her with a nod.
“Everyone, this is Jessie. She just started working for us today. She’s fresh as a daisy.” He looked at her with a smirk. “We’ll be her ... mentors. For now.”
They looked at her, their gazes a mix of curiosity, appraisal, and raw hunger. The woman, too. Jessie felt a jolt of adrenaline, a primal thrill. She was the prey, the focus of the pack. She stood up straight, her chin lifted, a small, confident smile on her lips. She wasn’t the scared runaway on the bridge anymore. She was Jessie. And this was her stage.
The woman stood up and sauntered towards her. She was tall and slender, with perfectly styled hair and a dress that probably cost more than a car. “I’m Caroline,” she said, her voice smooth as silk. “And you, my dear, are a work of art.” She traced a finger down Jessie’s collarbone, her touch cool and deliberate. “But a work of art needs to be ... displayed.”
She took Jessie’s hand and led her towards the center of the room, in the open space between the couches and the bed. The cameras whirred softly, red lights glowing like malevolent eyes in the dim light. The woman pulled the towel off her and tossed it aside. The men leaned forward, their drinks forgotten.
“A blank canvas,” Caroline purred, circling Jessie like a shark. “So much potential.” She stopped in front of her, her eyes dark and intense. “Let’s start with the basics. On your knees.”
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