Second Life
Copyright© 2026 by Bisamrattan
Chapter 5: Third life
Mind Control Sex Story: Chapter 5: Third life - 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 browsed through her inbox, mercilessly deleting the spam and the messages that started with an insult. She stopped at the one that caught her eye.
“Hello,” it said. “I saw your videos, I watch them every day. You are beautiful. You are the most sexy girl I ever saw. I saw in your profile that you are meeting in person, too ... So, could I have a chance to have you? I am 19, and I am a virgin. Will you be my first?”
Jessie’s fingers hovered over the keyboard, a small, private smile playing on her lips. A virgin. A clean slate, like she was. And an honest one. It felt ... fitting. Her fingers danced across the keys, a response taking shape. She was good at this, the digital dance of seduction, the careful crafting of words that promised pleasure and discretion. She had a gift for it, one of the many talents she’d discovered in her new life.
“Ha, of course! I do it for money, you know, but for my own pleasure as well! So I’ll give you a discount! So, please, find a place for the whole weekend where nobody would bother us. I can suggest some affordable motels whose owners don’t ask questions if you’d like to. Don’t worry, don’t try to prepare or to impress me. Your only job is to come, relax, and let your feelings lead you. I’ll take care of everything else. And ... I’m glad you’ll be my new partner to care for.”
She sent the message and stretched, her muscles a pleasant ache. The sun was streaming through the window of her room – the same old room, but with most of its contents changed. She had kept her old books, though. It seemed that her old self and her present self had similar tastes in literature. Or maybe her new preferences had been guided by a forgotten echo of the girl who had devoured these books under the covers with a flashlight.
Her notebook chirped. The answer came fast; he must have watched his inbox.
“Oh, thank you! I have the place. Could it be this weekend?” And the address, and the phone number.
A week later, Jessie stood in front of a cheap-looking motel, a faint smile on her lips. The air smelled of dust and exhaust fumes, a stark contrast to the exquisite perfumes of the salon left in her past. But she was in such places before, too. She was wearing a new sundress, pale yellow, and was still barefoot. She got so used to being barefoot over the past year that wearing shoes irritated her, so she included bare feet into her brand image. Some clients simply drooled at them.