No-LIMIT-Rooms 01 English

He stopped in front of the door, opened it and asked me with a wordless movement of his head to go inside. He closed the door from the outside. I didn't doubt for a second that he was taking up position next to the door.

"Johanna, you're messing up my schedule. We were supposed to meet 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 whip in the basement yesterday, and I was just going to get it," I began, but Rebecca interrupted me, not unkindly.

"A misunderstanding, I know. It's also largely my fault, and I owe you an explanation. Now put those down. What would you like to drink, Scotch, bourbon, champagne?" She walked to a bar.

"It's too early for alcohol for me. Do they have diet cola?"

Rebecca looked at me for a moment as if I were joking, then nodded. "Of course, I'll send for one." With a glass of bourbon in her hand, she walked back to the desk and pressed the intercom. "Joana? A Diet Coke for Mrs. Blauert, please."

"Coming right up," was the reply.

Confused, I sat down across from Rebecca. Shortly after, a woman brought my Coke and immediately left the room again.

Rebecca regarded me closely, over the rim of her glass. I sipped my Coke.

"Did you happen to record our conversation yesterday on your camera?" she opened abruptly. I almost choked on the Coke. She was damn good.

"What, uh, no. Why? I acted genuinely surprised.

Her gaze seemed to penetrate me endlessly, then she nodded in surprise, putting her glass down. "Could have been. You were going to work when I barged in, after all. And for that I must apologize." She raised her hand to block a comment from me. "Someone was out, and the show just can't wait. Would be silly if what I explained to you there had somehow been put on audio. That's why you should show up here today without a cell phone. Just to be sure. I have to explain other things to you that I don't want documented."

My inner tension clearly gave way, but outwardly I didn't let on, "The rules?"

"The rules." she confirmed.

"I learned three yesterday."

She raised an eyebrow questioningly.

" 1.You do NOT say a word about Fight Club. 2.You don't bring the uninitiated to Fight Club. 3.You don't tell on Fight Club."

Her laugh was genuine. "That pretty much sums it up," she nodded. "Thomas?"

"Yep."

With her left hand, she slid a folder across to me. "It's all in here. Most of it should be obvious. Read through, memorize, follow. Then there'll be no misunderstandings like there were just now."

"Right away?"

"Please."

Not War and Peace, at least in scope. Setting the Coke aside, I took the folder from the table, and found a reasonably comfortable position to sit in, before opening it, and beginning to read. No legalese, everything written very clearly understandable. The three basic rules were right at the beginning, formulated somewhat differently and in more detail than Thomas had said. The rest was also clear.

And there it was: no cell phones in the basement. Always lock up private things there during the shoot, don't forget anything. No liability for wardrobe. Observe fire protection, behavior in emergencies, cleanliness, tidiness.

An almost normal operating constitution, had it not been for the points: Torture devices, their use, limits and emergency measures would have been.

"Not using it for private purposes?", I inquired in surprise.

"You'd be surprised how many have used the studios for private amusements."

"Can't understand that at all," I remarked with a grin.

She remained surprisingly serious. "These aren't toys for S&M shows or studios. Our equipment doesn't just seem real, it is real. Before you're even allowed to turn the wheel of the rack, you'll first be instructed on how to apply the restraints and what to look for when stretching. We cause real pain, but want to avoid permanent damage at all costs. It's the details that our customers love. The iron cuffs aren't so wide that models have to clench their hands into fists and bend their wrists to keep from accidentally slipping out."

I had already noticed that. I had been pretty helpless. No chance of getting out of there without help. Nodding, I indicated that I understood. But that was just the sort of thing that excited me. What a pity. Edward's reaction yesterday I could now understand a little. "Wouldn't a playroom for private purposes be appropriate here in the house? I mean for leisure?"

"Very few people are really into the hard stuff privately. It's a job. You either get your kicks in the basement while you're working, or you go to a club. The equipment down there is for work. We need them functional and ready to go. Not broken," she explained to me.

In my mind, I imagined how to play a rack broken. 'You wicked witch, you just broke my rack when I tortured you with it!' I bit back a grin.

"And the AI room is a world apart. No one goes in there without a trained technician."

"AI room?", I asked, now curious.

"It's brand new. Direct connection of the users with the devices. It's not Jelena screwing with your back, it's a robot. Compassionless, mechanical, emotionless. Once the program is running, only the technician has his hand over the red button to stop it. You can't do anything there. These will be self-bondage shows."

My head cinema kicked in, and my nether regions began to tingle. "Sounds interesting."

"Thought you'd be interested. You'll get a briefing on it soon. But the AI room is reserved for VIP solo sessions for the stars. You're not one yet."

"Where is that? Can I see that one?" I simply ignored the last two sentences.

"On the second level. That's where the auditoriums are. Auditoriums. The AI room almost looks like an old peep show stage. Viewers take their seats in booths behind glass, and are allowed to place their bids for the program there on a pad. There's no deepfake, and no digital distance from the customers. And the viewers do whatever they feel like doing there, while you suffer. They jerk off, fuck, or make deals. You can see them as they see you when they don't turn on the mirror. Very intense. No live broadcast to the site. VIP pay directly, and a lot."

Wow. My curiosity was rising, my excitement too.

I had almost read through the folder. Finally came some questionnaires where I had to tick off the usual likes and dislikes so they knew what to schedule me for.

"You don't have to fill out the questionnaire right away. You'll take that with you and fill it out at your leisure." She handed me another piece of paper. "Your login information for the site. VIP status. This will give you unrestricted access to the archives. You can see what all is possible for you."

Kumiho, was my user name. I wanted to google that too.

"About the payment...", I began.

Rebecca tilted her head with interest. "What's unclear to you?"

"A lot of things," I admitted. "But first, how do I get my cash into my account? And how can I use it to pay my rent here?"

"That will be explained to you by the accounting and tax department in 505. You can go there right afterwards and talk to them openly about everything. Also 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 house?"

"You got the one I offered you and it was free right away. If you want to move to a cheaper one, you'll have to wait until one becomes available. But then you also carry your laundry to the basement. The cheaper ones are very small, there's no room for a washer and dryer."

Bingo. Rogue!

"As for scripts, assignments and planning," she handed me an additional small pad. "Anything concerning the basement, exclusively over here! Only use it here in the house, and don't let anyone outside access it! Release by fingerprint, index finger right hand, and your chip must be within 1 meter maximum. Anyone who wants to use it without you would need body parts from you."

"Points 8 and 9: Digital secrecy and protected house communication," I confirmed my knowledge.

Rebecca nodded with satisfaction.

"You'll find all the procedures described in detail in there. You may, of course, take this tray with you into the basement. Don't lose it, though, like your smart card."

Oops. Almost forgot.

"It was found, by the way, and handed in properly at the reception. Good thing you reported it right away, otherwise someone could have gotten into your room without authorization. It's best to leave the card in your room, normally you don't need it unless your chip breaks.

"That can happen?"

"Yes, fortunately extremely rarely. That's why you wear it in the back of your left hand, even though you're right-handed. If you hit it too hard, if you're unfortunate enough to hit it, or if the shock is too strong, it can break. Then it has to be replaced. It's quick, but if you're stuck somewhere at that moment, or you really need to open a door, that would be stupid."

Indeed.

"So, enough telling. I have other appointments. I had to reschedule because of you. Hope Aaron wasn't too rough on you?"

"Uh? No, not really. Very professional. Not very polite or diplomatic, though."

Again Rebecca laughed. "No, those aren't his strong points. But he's reliable. And if you're ever in trouble with someone and you need help ..., he is."

"Does he give classes in aikido?" it slipped out of me before I had thought. But Rebecca didn't seem to have noticed anything unusual.

"You can ask him to teach you in his spare time. If he wants to make some extra money teaching you the basics of self-defense, and you want to pay for it, I wouldn't object."

Basic skills probably not. Rebecca didn't need to know the state of my skill. That might raise questions. So no advanced training. Too bad. Surely there was a club here in town, though.

"I'll ask him when I get a chance. Right now I don't think I have time for it anyway." With that, I tapped my tablet for clarification.

Rebecca rose, and held out her hand to me. I stood up as well and took it. "I'm sorry you had such a bumpy debut with us. Here's to good cooperation. And if anything comes up, don't hesitate to ask."

"Uh, thanks, for everything."

She nodded, then spoke into the intercom. "Joana, we're done. Ms. Blauert is now taking her tax appointment." Turning to me, "Send Aaron in again on your way out, please." That ended our conversation for the day.

On my way out, I pointed my index finger wordlessly first at the gorilla, then my thumb toward the back of the room. "Aaron: Now!"

I was thievishly pleased at how quickly he jumped, startled.

It wasn't until a few steps away that I remembered, "darn, my cell phone." I shrugged. So then down to reception again later.

The 'tax consultation' was like financial matters always are: Long winded, complicated, and only lucrative for those who manage and move your money. At least there was a little snack and something to drink for me. Customer service. By the end, we had negotiated a model where a portion of my basement income went into my internal chip account, which I could use to pay around the house, and at select stores.

A part through veiled channels became my official camgirl income, which of course I would have to pay full tax on. And the last part would continue to be paid to me in cash. For the cash I was also offered a solution on the Grand Caymans. But I would only think about that when the bills in my room started to mold. At the moment, however, I was far from that, because he presented me with the official list of all my liabilities. And that was already a lot. Some, after all, he didn't know.

What I could earn per session, I could find out in the tablet. For certain things I could set the prices myself within certain limits, for others there were fixed rates. It's kind of funny talking to the accountant in his office, about the rates and calculation for bondage, whippings and labia clamps, while he doesn't make a face. Boy was he jaded. I didn't make him the least bit nervous. I don't know what kind of abortifacients he was into before work. But it could also be due to my clothes and lack of makeup. Next time I would dress up before coming here. Hey, I love to present myself, and sexually arouse others, or I wouldn't be doing this job. Probably.

The result of the hour-long session was satisfying, to say the least. I understood what and how much I needed to work on to get off the ground. And it could be done in a manageable amount of time. What it didn't solve was my other 99 problems. And there was no solution in sight either. Triple predicament. No matter what I did, I was screwed. So I continued to juggle with 5 balls, and always kept three balls in the air....

I took the express elevator to the lobby. At the reception I picked up my cell phone again, which was even fully charged again. No doubt they had gone through everything. But I didn't care. It was new, and nothing damning was stored on it. Besides, they had most likely done this before, when I was in a coma. Still, I didn't have my whip back yet. I loved my whip. It was the first really expensive toy I had bought, and it had helped me. Besides, it was Jenny Pain's trademark. Loss was not an option. Should I try the basement again? No, my refrigerator took priority.

I turned back to the front desk. "If a riding crop from Studio 11 is turned in here as lost and found, that's mine." The front desk was manned and completely professional. An acknowledgement, a nod, that was it. They could also tell me where the nearest supermarket was, and how the streetcar connections to it were timed. Should I go back up? I decided against it. I had enough in my pocket for the essentials. So I set out to fill my refrigerator.

'Never go shopping on an empty stomach,' my mom had always said when I was little. That inevitably popped into my head as I lugged the heavy bags of groceries back to my apartment. I had spent everything, so much that it was not enough for the ticket back and I had to carry the bags for felt 30 km across the city. The problem was the water and fruit juice bottles. I had definitely packed too much of them.

When I had stowed everything, made myself a snack and eaten, I started my new tablet and looked at the files. Fuck, I already had another shoot for the day after tomorrow. Yet I hadn't even filled out my Do and Don't list. Ah, ok, I was reserve casting, for an Elisa, that's why.

As I read through the script, questions immediately came to me. I hadn't done that yet, and had no outfits for it. Who were my costars? Mimi and ... Isabell, great. 322 was dialed quickly. Busy signal. Later, then.

But the tablet also gave me more information. I found what I needed in the fundus. The funny thing: I was suggested exactly the right sizes. If something was not in stock in my size, I could not select it. Wow, you could choose that too? I was perplexed. I really enjoyed browsing. However: the offer was not free. But I could use most of it for my private shows, if I was willing to pay the high rental fees. It would have to be calculated on a case-by-case basis whether it would not be more cost-effective to buy the equipment myself.

My cell phone announced a message. Holger: "Everything okay?"

"???", I typed.

"My mother is worried about you."

Oha, had he found out about my accident, or had something else happened? In fact, I had ignored him completely. Not that he was doing anything stupid.

"Give my love to your mother Christa, and tell her everything is fine. Strange city, new job, new apartment just. I have to find my way around first. May take a while to find time to get back to you and report extensively."

That should reassure him. The ball had to stay in the air for the time being. Still, I wouldn't be able to stall him forever. A little more support wouldn't have been bad from his side either. I almost had to sleep on the street.

"I will. Love back, don't take too long. CU"

Ass. The phone landed in the corner of the bed.

I let myself fall back on my pillow. My back was feeling much better today, almost didn't hurt anymore. In my mind I tried to sort out what to do next now. Always one step after the other.

Isabell.

This time the line was free. "Hi, Johanna here! How was your shopping?" Oh, you don't say. You, which is why I'm calling ... yeah, right. Now? Okay. See you in a bit."

Quickly the tray was grabbed and I was out the door. She had her gig in an hour, so I had to hurry. At apartment 322, I rang the bell.

Isabell opened the door for me. She was wearing a hot, red latex suit, which was probably supposed to represent a demoness or she-devil: "Welcome to hell!" she invited me.

8 kittens

Wow, Isabell's outfit was just... hot. No cheap vinyl, but real latex. Predominantly red, black wings on the back, and a little transparent on her pretty breasts. At the crotch it was open, and I could see her shaved pubic. A small clit ring adorned her pleasure pearl. Such a one was also still on my wish list. On her head she wore small red and black horns. In the bed lay the matching demon cock to the costume. The amazingly large plug made it unnecessary to ask how it would be attached.

"Well, seen enough? Do you like any of what you see?" she smiled at me.

"All of it! Really stunning."

"Are you a lesbian?"

"Open in all directions, which is fun."

She laughed. "So am I. That promises to be fun. Filled out your go/nogo list yet? I haven't found anything in your profile yet."

"No, I just got it earlier."

"Do you need help with that? Do you know what it all means?"

"Most of it, I think. I've been in the scene for a while, even privately. That's not why I'm here, I'm here for our shoot the day after tomorrow."

"Okay, what do you want to know?" She sat down on the bed, tapping the space next to her.

I sat down, half diagonally next to her. "The challenge, how does it work, what do I have to pay attention to, and what's the trick to it?"

She explained. Then she complimented me out to start her cam show.

Back in my room, I immediately had to relieve myself. The sight of her and what she had told me actually made me feel ratty. This time, the idea of what was in store for me was completely enough to make me climax without much technique. Exhausted, from the exciting and exhausting day, and also a little tired from masturbating, I slipped into sleep.

The next day I woke up relatively early. My bandage had slipped a bit, which reminded me that I should come to the doctor's office today. After I had been in the bathroom, put on some clothes and eaten breakfast, I called the practice on the house phone. I took the number from the pad. I was told to come in at 1:00.

A message came in over the pad. Thomas Blaureuter had written to me. "Hi Kumiho, do you have time for a meeting today? We need to discuss your trailer."

"Just a doctor's appointment at 1:00, otherwise I don't have anything planned yet." I typed in.

The reply came promptly, "Great. Meet me in the break room, basement level 1, in an hour?"

"Do I need to style myself for shoots?"

Again quick reply, "No, just meeting. Just need your pad."

"Ok, I'll be there."

"Great, see you there."

Three times I had been in that darn basement, and each time something had gone wrong. So I was already feeling a little queasy as I entered it for the fourth time. The light above Studio 11 was red. No entry. So no riding whip. So I strode straight to the break room. Thomas was already there, although I was 10 minutes early. We greeted each other. I grabbed another Diet Coke and we sat down.

"So," he began, "have you Googled your name yet?"

"Honestly, I haven't gotten around to it yet. I've been all stressed out. Yesterday I had my check-in with Rebecca, was in accounting, had to do some shopping and get into the pad. Finally, I had a meeting with Isabell about tomorrow."