No-limit-rooms Johanna
Copyright© 2026 by Jepasch
Chapter 33: Night Johnboy
Thriller Sex Story: Chapter 33: Night Johnboy - A BDSM cam girl is searching for her kidnapped twin sister.
Caution: This Thriller Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fa/Fa Consensual Lesbian BiSexual Heterosexual Fiction Crime BDSM DomSub FemaleDom Humiliation Light Bond Sadistic Torture PonyGirl Interracial Anal Sex Exhibitionism Oral Sex Squirting Water Sports Public Sex Nudism Porn Theatre Revenge Slow
When it was time for dinner, the others returned from their activities through the wing. My cell door unlocked automatically and I joined my slave sisters who were going to the communal wing. Twenty had cooked there. Four was not present, nor was Isabell. But Isabell was allowed to do her online show today, so I hadn’t expected her to be there. She would probably return shortly before the end.
Twenty was eating from her bowls on the floor again, this time dry food.
“What is it?” she asked when she noticed my gaze.
“The dog food, doesn’t it bother you?”
She shrugged. “I just imagine it’s crunchy protein bars. It doesn’t taste that bad.”
I shuddered inwardly at the thought. Not because of the dog food, but because of the whole humiliation: being shaved bald, eating on the floor, and having to spend the nights chained up in the bunker was already a very severe punishment.
And I was only two ranks away from having to suffer this myself. Given my great relationship with Jelena, I could certainly slide further down the ranks quite quickly.
“Does any of you have experience with pony girls?” I asked the group.
To my surprise, they all shook their heads. “But what about Four?”
They looked at each other uneasily.
Twelve, who was sitting next to me, replied hesitantly and very quietly, “Four has been here the longest. She’s a volunteer slave who is being trained in all areas.”
“But why would anyone do that?”
“Psst,” Twelve said fearfully, pointing her eyes toward the camera. Barely audibly, she admonished me: “You must never ask that. It’s personal! Actually, I’m not even allowed to tell you about the voluntary part, so please forget that!”
I nodded. The food tasted really good, and I could only hope that Twenty had at least tasted it properly while cooking.
After the meal, I helped clear the table and clean up. I stood close to Twenty, as if by chance.
“What was going on with the Dalek at your place? I’m scheduled to be there tomorrow,” I said quietly as I handed her the dishes.
Twenty froze for a moment, but then continued loading the dishwasher.
“He suddenly started swerving wildly, as if he didn’t know where to stand. Sometimes he came very close, then very far away again. And he was constantly swinging his whip. Sometimes he missed me, then he even hit me with his arm. I still have a nasty bruise and a stitched wound on my thigh!” She pointed to her right leg.
“Damn, didn’t they react immediately?”
“Apparently they tried, but the signal was disrupted.”
“And then you freaked out? I probably would have too!”
“There was a break while they tried to fix the problem. After that, it was supposed to continue. But I demanded that they stop, and when they didn’t respond immediately, I yelled at Master P and insulted him in front of the guests.”
“That’s not true, is it? They wanted you to continue? I wouldn’t have done that either.”
Twenty looked at me, tears in her eyes. “I’ll never do that again, no matter what they say. Never again!”
Hesitantly, I took her in my arms and held her tight. And she was punished for that? The girl had rightly had a panic attack, and they locked her in the bunker for it? I had always thought of René as friendly and nice, but that turned out to be a complete misjudgment. At least towards us 24/7ers, he was a sadistic asshole.
“What happened after that?” I noticed her trembling. It was probably the first time she had been able to talk to someone about it, and now the shock was setting in. Compassionately, I stroked her bald head.
“They freed me, but then I had to kneel while Master P shaved my head on stage. Only then did they take me to the hospital. The doctor intervened and insisted. Thanks to her, I was allowed to recover a little first. She helped me a lot. Eighteen, I don’t know how I’m going to survive the time here!”
I would have loved to know why she was down here. But I couldn’t ask her that. At least not here and not now. Maybe later, when there was no surveillance, an opportunity would arise.
“You will. I’ll help you, and Isa ... I mean Five too!”
Of course, I was now preoccupied with the Dalek’s malfunction. I had completely trusted Rebecca that the technology was safe. Now I had doubts.
Twenty had calmed down a bit and let go of me. She looked me in the eyes as she squeezed my hands. “Thank you!”
I nodded and we continued washing the dishes together.
There was no training that evening, but we had to study on our computers later in the evening. As soon as I was in the bathroom, I tried to get out of my boots. My meters were burning and a little sore. But there was nothing I could do about it now. Unfortunately, there was no one there who had a key to my “clothes,” so I couldn’t go to the bathroom or take a shower to rinse myself off. At least I could cool and wash my sore meters. When Elf saw my heels, she left briefly and returned shortly after with some ointment.
“Here, use this, it will help it heal better.” She spoke with a distinct Italian accent. “Around the corner is the medicine cabinet with remedies that are free for everyone to use. There are also bandages and dressing materials. You haven’t had a proper tour down here yet, have you?”
“No, the tour guide was a bit superficial!”
Elf laughed. “Come on, I’ll give you a thorough tour of our common rooms and explain everything to you before we have to go to the cells. We have plenty of time. Take your boots with you, they go in the day locker.”
The day locker was a small locker for each slave girl where she could store the clothes she wore down here. Nothing that wasn’t absolutely necessary was allowed to be kept in the cells. I could also store my ‘toiletry bag’ here. The lockers were in the room that was accessible from the corridor leading to the cells and the bunker. Cleaning supplies and our work clothes were also stored here.
After Elf had shown me this, she gave me another thorough tour, explaining where everything was done and where I could find what I needed. It was a little strange: at first I had thought that this would be like a normal prison, where prisoners are not allowed to have dangerous objects and I would therefore not have free access to my belongings, but now it turned out to be more complicated than that.
We even had a lot of dangerous items here, such as knives, scissors, ropes, chains, whips, and paddles, but not in our cells. I assumed this was to help prevent suicides.
“Who’s going to lock up Twenty today? Four isn’t here, is she?”
“I’ll have to take over. Always the highest-ranking. So Four, Five, Eleven, and so on.”
“I find it confusing that no one here has a fixed name, but that it changes all the time!”
“Well, it’s not quite like that. It can happen, but basically the ranking is made up of several parts: length of stay, level of education, and penalty points. Newcomers never get the first number. Four was Number Two for a very long time, until ... well, let’s not go there. Anyway, if someone drops in rank, they get the next lowest available rank. So, if I were to slip, I would get number 15. But Twelve would not become Eleven. However, my rank would only be temporary. Since I have almost finished my training, I would either get my old rank back quite quickly or be given a penalty number if I didn’t improve.”
“I see,” I confirmed, although it still wasn’t entirely clear to me.
“And penalty numbers always mean a shaved head and nights in the bunker?”
“That depends. We’ve had women here with claustrophobia who can’t go into the bunker. And hair is usually off-limits for women who have less than a year left before release, unless otherwise specified. Women with natural curls can also expect to have their sentences reduced. But the alternative punishments can be pretty nasty.”
“Such as?”
She pointed to my chastity belt: “Well, that’s already quite uncomfortable. But there are other ways to make it extremely uncomfortable. Ever had ginger stuck up your butt for hours? Or received mild electric shocks every few minutes?”
“Not ginger, but I’ve already had the pleasure of electricity in the bunker! And besides, my bra is electrified.”
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