No-limit-rooms Johanna
Copyright© 2026 by Jepasch
Chapter 7: Welcome to hell
Thriller Sex Story: Chapter 7: Welcome to hell - 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
My knees almost gave way, but not because I was afraid, I was just stunned and furious at the same time, but because the elevator was going up. I took a closer look at the security guard. His appearance was rather inconspicuous, but he had just impressively proven that he knew what he was doing. Probably, no, definitely, I wouldn’t stand a chance against him. Not with my hands tied. Apparently, I should take lessons from him, given how skillfully he had taken me by surprise. Years of training in aikido, and then this. I still couldn’t believe it.
We stopped, on the fifth floor, of course. His grip on my arm was firm but not brutal, and I let myself be led away without resistance. He directed me to a small, tastefully furnished waiting room and left me there, sitting in an armchair.
However, I didn’t have to wait too long for him to return. He could have at least removed my restraints and offered me something to drink. Rude fellow. “Get up, the boss wants to see you.” He helped me up and cut the cable ties. I bit my tongue at the last second to stop myself from saying that I normally liked this kind of thing and would enjoy it under different circumstances. It was the wrong time and the wrong place.
We walked down the hall to office 501. He stopped in front of the door, opened it, and motioned for me to go in with a wordless nod. He closed the door from the outside. I didn’t doubt for a second that he was standing guard next to the door.
“Johanna, you’re messing up my schedule. We had an appointment later. Sit down.” Her tone was reproachful.
“Rebecca, I don’t know what he told you, but I didn’t do anything wrong. I just forgot my riding crop in the basement yesterday and wanted to go get it,” I began, but Rebecca interrupted me, not unkindly.
“A misunderstanding, I know. It’s mostly my fault, and I owe you an explanation. Now sit down. What would you like to drink, scotch, bourbon, champagne?” She walked over to a bar.
“It’s too early for me to drink alcohol. Do you have diet cola?”
Rebecca looked at me briefly, as if I had made a joke, then nodded. “Of course, I’ll get you one.” With a glass of bourbon in her hand, she went back to the desk and pressed the intercom button. “Joana? A Diet Coke for Ms. Blauert, please.”
“Coming right up,” was the reply.
Confused, I sat down opposite Rebecca. Shortly afterwards, a woman brought my cola and immediately left the room again.
Rebecca looked at me intently over the rim of her glass. I sipped my Coke.
“Did you happen to record our conversation yesterday with your camera?” she asked abruptly. I almost choked on my Coke. It was damn good.
“What? Uh, no. Why?” I acted genuinely surprised.
Her gaze seemed to pierce me endlessly, then she nodded surprisingly and put her glass down. “It could have been. You were about to start working when I burst in. And I have to apologize for that.” She raised her hand to block any comment on my part. “Someone dropped out, and the show can’t wait. It would be stupid if what I explained to you had somehow been recorded. That’s why you should come here without your cell phone today. Just to be on the safe side. I have more to explain to you that shouldn’t be documented.”
My inner tension eased noticeably, but I didn’t let it show on the outside: “The rules?”
“The rules,” she confirmed.
“I already learned three yesterday.”
She raised an eyebrow questioningly.
“1. You do NOT talk about Fight Club. 2. You do not bring anyone who is not in the know to Fight Club. 3. You do not betray Fight Club.”
Her smile was sincere. “That pretty much sums it up!” she nodded. “Thomas?”
“Yep.”
She slid a folder over to me with her left hand. “Everything is in here. Most of it should be obvious. Read it, remember it, follow it. Then there won’t be any misunderstandings like just now.”
“Right away?”
“Please.”
At least not War and Peace in terms of length. Putting the Coke aside, I took the folder from the table and found a reasonably comfortable position to sit in before opening it and starting to read. No legalese, everything written in a very clear and understandable way. The three basic rules were right at the beginning, formulated slightly differently and in more detail than Thomas had said. The rest was also obvious.
And there it was: no cell phones in the basement. Always lock away personal belongings there during filming, don’t forget anything. No liability for cloakroom items. Observe fire safety regulations, behavior in emergencies, cleanliness, tidiness, order.
An almost normal set of operating rules, were it not for the points about torture devices, their use, limits, and emergency measures.
“Not for private use?” I asked in surprise.
“You’d be surprised how many people have used the studios for private entertainment.”
“I can’t understand that,” I remarked with a grin.
She remained surprisingly serious. “These are not toys for SM shows or studios. Our equipment not only looks real, it is real. Before you are even allowed to turn the wheel of the stretching rack, you will first be instructed on how to apply the restraints and what to look out for when stretching. We cause real pain, but we want to avoid permanent damage at all costs. It’s the details that our customers love. The iron clamps are not so wide that the models have to clench their hands into fists and bend their wrists to avoid accidentally slipping out.”
I had already noticed that. I had been pretty helpless. No chance of getting out of there without help. I nodded to indicate that I understood. But that was exactly what excited me. What a pity. I could now understand Edward’s reaction yesterday. “Wouldn’t a play room for private use here in the house be appropriate? I mean, for leisure time?”
“Very few people are really into the hard stuff in their private lives. It’s a job. Either you get your kick while working in the basement, or you go to a club. The equipment down there is for work. We need it to be functional and ready for use. Not broken,” she explained to me.
In my mind, I imagined how someone could break a rack. “You evil witch, you just destroyed my rack while I was torturing you with it!” I bit back a grin.
“And the AI room is a world unto itself. No one goes in there without a trained technician,” Rebecca added.
“AI room?” I asked, now curious.
“It’s brand new. Direct connection between the user and the devices. It’s not Jelena who flogs your back, but a robot. Merciless, mechanical, emotionless. Once the program is running, only the technician has his hand on the red button to stop it. There’s nothing you can do. These will be self-bondage shows.”
My imagination kicked in, and I felt a tingling sensation in my lower region. “Sounds interesting.”
“I thought you’d be interested. You’ll get a briefing on it soon. But the AI room is reserved for the stars’ VIP solo sessions. You’re not one yet.”
“Where is it? Can I see it?” I simply ignored the last two sentences.
“On the second level, there are auditoriums and viewing platforms. The AI room looks almost like an old peep show stage. Viewers sit in booths behind glass and can place bids for the program on a pad. There’s no deepfake and no digital distance to the customers. And the spectators do whatever they want while you suffer. They jerk off, fuck, or do business. You can see them just as they see you when they don’t turn on the mirror. Very intense. No live broadcast on the site. The VIPs pay directly, and a lot.”
Wow. My curiosity grew, as did my excitement.
I had almost finished reading the folder. At the end, there were a few questionnaires where I had to check the usual likes and dislikes so they knew what they could schedule me for.
“You don’t have to fill out the questionnaire right away. Take it with you and fill it out at your leisure.” She handed me another piece of paper. “Your login details for the site. VIP status. This gives you unlimited access to the archive. You can see what’s available for you.”
Kumiho was my username. I wanted to google that too.
“About the payment...” I began.
Rebecca tilted her head with interest. “What’s unclear to you?”
“A lot,” I admitted. “But first: how do I get my cash into my account? And how can I use it to pay my rent here?”
“The accounting and tax department in 505 will explain that to you. You can go there right away and talk to them openly about everything. Including what it will cost you if you don’t want to be paid in cash.”
I thought so. Crooks. “My apartment isn’t the cheapest in the building?”
“You got what I offered you and what was available immediately. If you want to move to a cheaper one, you’ll have to wait until one becomes available. But then you’ll also have to take your laundry to the basement. The cheaper ones are very small, there’s no room for a washer and dryer.”
Bingo. CROOK!
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