No-LIMIT-Rooms 02 English

"Right again. What are your plans now, I mean until tonight? You still have six hours."

"Now, if that was a veiled invitation to do another show with you beforehand because you reckon I won't be able to for the rest of the week, I'll have to disappoint you. I want to get out and jog again. I probably won't be able to do that the rest of the week either," I laughed.

Isabell acted offended. "No, that's not why I asked, although that would certainly be a good idea. We could have gone to the spa again."

"Sauna, massages and jacuzzi before a mega torture session, nice to make the skin soft and sensitive? Not a good idea."

"Jogging is probably not a good preparation there either, right?"

"I don't want to overdo it. But I need some fresh air first. I don't have a bicycle."

"I could help you out with that, there's mine in the bike cellar, but I haven't used it for a while, if I'm honest."

I thought about it, it was a good idea. "I'd really appreciate it, I'd be happy to."

"How grateful?" she asked mischievously.

"Depends on the bike."

"Oh, too bad." She seemed honestly disappointed.

When the two of us were standing in the bike basement a little later, I could understand her disappointment. It was an ancient, pink three-speed city bike with a shopping basket. Not a sport bike. At least the tires seemed to hold air after being inflated. Still grateful, I gave Isabell a passionate kiss and then swung myself onto the bike outside.

I was wearing sports clothes. I had left my purse and cell phone behind, only money. The bicycle was really a good idea. This way I could easily shake off any pursuers who might otherwise follow me unnoticed on foot or on public transport. And today that was important. Holger had posted a seemingly harmless status message signaling that he wanted to meet me. The place and time had been set in advance, so all I had to do was get there unnoticed. After a few small swings through parks and allotments, I arrived at the agreed meeting place. There he was already sitting on a bench. I put my bike down, and looked at a large information board with a recreational map of the area, which was right next to the bench.

Next to Holger was a cell phone, which he pushed me over. As inconspicuously as possible, looking around to see if anyone was watching us, I grabbed it and held it to my ear. Holger also held a cell phone to his ear.

"You can use it to call your friend Walter. See if you can get rid of him, he's interfering with our operation," Holger opened our conversation.

Immediately, I dialed the contact number. It rang a few times. Just as I was about to hang up again, Walter answered, "Yes, please?"

"Johanna here, we need to talk."

"I'm glad to hear from you. A little late, don't you think?"

"I'm following a lead to my sister, it's a bad time to meet with you."

"They're not meeting with me, they're meeting with the agency that lent them a new identity and that they have to keep in regular contact with. I don't really care relatively much how they make their living, or what they do in their spare time. But if they move or change jobs, they have to inform me. They cost the taxpayers a lot of money."

"You're not innocent in my situation either, remember?" I reminded him of his department's mishaps. "It wasn't planned that way, though. I had an accident two weeks ago, then everything had to happen very quickly. I've also been broke and had to find something new quickly."

"That seems to have worked out perfectly for you. Do you know where you live? There's a whole file on that in our office."

Well, that was interesting. "A file, why?"

"Normally I'm not allowed to tell you, of course, but since it's about your life: suspicion of promoting prostitution, human trafficking, money laundering, financial fraud. The building probably belongs to the Calabrian mafia, although we can't prove that. It's also linked to two missing persons cases. Cam-girls, like you. Johanna, you on the run from the Russian mafia and running to the 'Ndrangheta? Are you actually still sane?"

"I could give them information."

Walter sucked in a breath. "Isn't a bounty enough for you?"

"Do they want to, or don't they?"

"Sure I do, stupid question."

"Then leave me alone for some time. I'll get back to you as soon as I can. The whole house is bugged, and so are my complete other lines of communication. I'm calling right now on a borrowed cell phone, which I'm about to return."

"What have you gotten yourself into? I don't feel like having to identify your body. You're not trained for this, let me help you."

"I can do it."

Holger handed me a piece of paper.

"Walter, make a note of the following credentials, I've set up a Facebook account for you. You are now officially my cousin. More or less regularly, I will publish status messages. I'll give you the following code words that you can access. What to look out for and what they mean."

"Johanna, they've clearly been watching too many spy movies. But all right, I'm listening."

I gave him all the information from the piece of paper. A few more explanations followed, then I ended the call. I still kept the cell phone to my ear, but spoke directly to Holger.

"I'm sorry, I really didn't expect them to cause any problems."

"No problem, I had expected it sooner or later. But now, bring me up to speed."

In brief words, I reported everything that had happened in the last two weeks that was important and what I had already learned. I also mentioned that the BKA suspected the 'Ndrangheta as the owner of the building.

"That coincides with our suspicions. But there is a lack of any evidence."

"It's nice to hear about that, too. You know, I'm already being hounded by the Russian mafia. I would most unwillingly be the cause of a bounty bidding contest between the two organizations." I was close to exploding.

"I told you it would be dangerous, but also that we would protect you. Would it have changed anything in your approach if you had known who it was about? I was more afraid that with that knowledge you would have asked careless questions."

"So, what exactly is it about? Spill the beans."

"The VIP's, we want to know who they are."

"Good, what else?"

"We need access to internal communications."

"Impossible, I'm not allowed to bring my pad outside, and I'm sure they're monitoring that."

"No doubt, but we'll figure something out."

"What about my sister? I'm not doing this for fun."

"We're on it. She's alive, that's for sure. We've been able to locate her, too. That's where she was taken from the airport, so we suspect she's still there."

Unobtrusively, he slid me a small envelope, which I quickly grabbed.

Inside satellite photos of a large compound, a ranch or something similar. In addition, a Russian name. I handed the envelope back.

"When are you going to get them out?"

"It's not that simple. We can't send task forces there for no reason and possibly kill people. The owner of the compound is an influential businessman."

"You promised me."

"I promised you I would do everything possible to free them. There are also legal, low-profile ways. If we have more evidence, we can get the local authorities involved. Then we'll be on the outside looking in."

"Then pass your information on to the BKA, they're investigating too."

"You know I can't do that."

"But I can." By now I was furious.

"And where do you say you got this information? Or do you think they're just going to send a bunch of target investigators on vacation to Cyprus?"

I chewed on my lower lip, thinking. "All right, your way, then."

From my back pocket, I fished out an envelope. "You pass that on, please, you know to whom. And tell him he'll get the rest soon, to keep his feet still."

Holger accepted the envelope only after making sure we weren't being watched. "I will. And if he makes trouble, I will calm him down. The cell phone in your hand is for you. There's a flap under the map in front of you, I'll hide it there later. If you need a secure connection, use this. Otherwise, keep a low profile. You're in, now settle in. In a few weeks, they won't be so suspicious. Now put the phone back on the bench. Good luck Johanna."

On the way back, I pedaled hard. Inside, I was boiling with rage. They knew where Nadine was, but did nothing. Of course not, as long as she was there, I had to play the mole for them here. Of course, I was not so naive to assume that they would shake my hand after this job and wish me all the best for the future. Whoever got involved with them did so forever. Ideally until retirement, otherwise until death. Still, without Nadine, they lacked any real leverage against me. By now, it was clear to me that they needed me at least as much as I needed their help. The BKA was now rather a hindrance for me. Nevertheless, it couldn't hurt to have them up my sleeve. My loan shark should now also rest for the time being, I had him almost all my cash delivered. It wasn't enough to pay off the loan, but it was a discount on the interest. I shook myself, in the worst case, he would send me to buy, if I would not pay. I could well do without that. That made me turn my thoughts to the evening. That would take a lot of pressure off me, if I could get the bonus there. What time was it anyway? I wasn't wearing a wristwatch, nor did I have my cell phone with me. I stopped in front of a store and bought something to drink. At least the shopping basket on the bike was handy. The clock in the store showed me that I still had time. Outside, I drank some water. My eyes fell on a travel agency across the street. It seemed to specialize in bicycle travel. A poster showed a group of cyclists, with full panniers, pedaling happily through a Mediterranean landscape: 'Explore Cyprus by bike'. I really should cycle more.

How does a woman prepare to get through an impending torture reasonably well? I should write a book about it. There would certainly be a need for a corresponding manual in many countries of the world. In the meantime, I was already a professional at being tortured. Basically, a woman had to prepare herself as if she were doing competitive sports. Warming up the muscles, stretching the ligaments, paying attention to nutrition. But there were also differences from sports. In the event that anal torture plays a role, never do a cleansing enema immediately before the session, otherwise there will be messes. Enemas make woman two hours earlier and refrains from solid food at least 6 hours before the session, optimal are even 12. However, a growling stomach is also not pleasant, and if it takes longer, then the energy is missing. Which leads me to the energy drinks. Yes, absolutely. But really only before and during the session. For general thirst quenching, completely unsuitable, unless the body fullness is to be increased sustainably. Opinions are divided as to whether before the session a hot bath should be taken, or rather not. Of course, this relaxes the muscles, but this is exactly what leads to greater pain during strokes. It also makes the skin softer and more sensitive. Do not get me wrong, soft skin is already important, brittle, dry skin tears extremely quickly. Therefore, always cream nicely. But a bubble bath even deprives the skin of water, and the protective skin flora is also destroyed. Therefore, I avoid it at all costs. Before that, it is always advisable to go to the restroom and empty the bladder, provided that there are no peeing scenes. I always looked to be tortured quite healthy. Singing. Yes, singing was also always essential to me. Why? Because screams strain the vocal cords. So the vocal cords should also be warmed up. Therefore, dressed only in a bathrobe and sneakers, I strode into the gym at 6:00 p.m. singing, undressed, began stretching exercises and a light warm-up workout. Much to the amazement of two roommates, I hadn't met before. Everyone has different strategies to deal with stress, mine was quite special.

Punctually at 6:55 pm. I stood, still singing, in front of the AI room on the second studio level. Then I entered the room, where my make-up artist Yvonne was already waiting for me. Here, the studio was not entered directly, but like a theater from the back, virtually through the stage entrance. Here were the dressing room, make-up, shower and toilets. From the direction of the stage sounded gloomy, nerve-shredding music. Yvonne made up not only my face, but also my nipples and labia. In addition, my whole body was generously oiled. In the mirror I hardly recognized myself, the make-up was modeled on my deepfake at the other shows.

Rebecca sat in an armchair, smoked a cigarette and examined my transformation. Along the way, she gave me and Yvonne some instructions. When she was satisfied with my make-up, she nodded and Yvonne moved away. The music had a strange effect on me. I had never had one of those at a session until then, it was new territory.

"Do you like the music? They requested the VIP for your debut."

I shook my head. "Is that billed as torture too?"

"No, but should we" She handed me a black lace eye mask. "So you won't be recognized, we want to prevent some VIP from locating us via image search. Come on, time for your entrance."

She led me to the stage door, where I had to wait until she called me up, then she entered the lamplight. The music fell silent.

"Ladies and gentlemen: No Limit Rooms presents you as a world premier Hal, the world's first AI master, and the brave Kumiho, a world-class slave in a session you have never seen before."

The music started again, violent, yet somehow fitting.

"Kumiho, come in!"

With my head erect, I entered the stage. Initially blinded by the spotlights, I oriented myself to Rebecca's shadow and stepped next to her.

"Let the show begin!"

Before I realized what was going on, the Dalek had approached from behind, unnoticed by me. Unerringly, two steely arms grabbed my wrists, turned my arms behind my back, and forced me to my knees. At first, I cried out in fright, but then I bowed to the pressure. I had not expected so much force and violence. Rebecca stepped down, and now I was alone on stage with the robot. Again the music fell silent. A surprisingly gentle, male voice sounded. "Kumiho, my name is Hal. Are you here of your own free will to be tortured by my Dalek, answer yes out loud."

I thought he couldn't talk? "YES!"

The lighting changed, for the first time I could see the room in front of me. In the semicircle in front of me was a wall of windows. Partly reflective, partly clear. I saw rooms, furnished like private movie theaters, only instead of the screen just the window to me. And I saw men and women, with drinks in their hands, sitting comfortably in the armchairs to watch me break under the torture. Greed, contempt, excitement and indifference I thought I could recognize. It reminded me of my last club performance, the one in which I was so badly injured that I had to go to the hospital.

Other music sounded, no less piercing, just as dark.

The Dalek urged me to stand up. I received the first electric shock, which I acknowledged with another scream of surprise. Backwards, it dragged me to the rack I already knew. More telescopic arms extended, forcing my feet apart until I stood with them spread wide in marks. Immediately the arms of the rack extended, the clamps enclosed my ankles and the hydraulics pumped up the rubber padding, there was no escape for me. The Dalek first turned my arms forward again, then he pulled them spread upwards, handed them over to the handcuffs, seconds later I stood defenseless, and spread wide in the rack. Another cuff was put around my waist, took the pull from my hands, held me tight, two more arms fixed my head. I was completely immobilized. Instantly, the music stopped. Only now did I realize that every action of restraint, every movement that had been forced upon me, had been in rhythm with the music. The whole scene had flowed so smoothly that it must have seemed like a ballet dance. To the side of my field of vision a clock was superimposed, the display showed 240. Then the countdown began, another music started, during which I became an instrument. I became part of a total work of art.

How can I describe what was happening to me? 'I was whipped', is far too lame a description for the countless blows that hit me all over my body. With different strength and in different speed, they hit me. Sometimes in mole, sometimes in major, they came in staccato and elicited sounds from me from shrill, sharp screams, to muffled roars. Again and again the stage turned, always showing the spectators the side that was being whipped. The blows danced on me, playing with my nerves - and I got an orgasm just from the blows. After switching from flogger to paddle to whip to cane, I had to surrender breathlessly.

The counter stood at 153 after I shouted "YELLOW!" and my vision brightened again.

The faces of those spectators I could make out through the windows had changed their expressions for the most part. Excitement had increased, but also curiosity. I no longer saw indifference, but dark passions. Indeed, some were fucking, or getting a blowjob. Whips seemed to be used there as well.

The rack lifted me higher in the air, I was stretched more, my arms and legs, which I had just bent very weakly, straightened again. The pulling pain went through my whole body. Clamps found their place on me. 2, 4, 6, 8, always in pairs, mechanically, quickly, pitilessly and brutally applied, they began on the inside of my thighs, stretched along my folds to my lower abdomen, then slightly sideways to my breasts, formed a halo around my nipples, continued over my shoulders along my upper arms to the crooks of my arms, back on my lower sides, down my back, over my buttocks to the front, to my labia. Bravely, I had endured this ordeal by the metal clamps, even on my labia. Two more than crested my nipples. I pulled the pain inward, sending it downward, directing it to my pleasure center, taking away its sharpness. At that moment, a pain ran through me that I couldn't redirect, because it was already springing from my center, radiating through my entire belly, leaving me breathless. The Dalek had put a clamp on my clit. Another 125 minutes.

I was trembling, sweat running from my body, with iron tension I tried to suppress the scream. 'Five fucking minutes, - just hold on for five fucking minutes.' My fingers and toes cramped. I couldn't see anything through the tears. Then it broke through, the scream. I screamed, screamed louder than I had ever screamed in my life, roared the pain out of me and hurled it at my tormentors. My muscles continued to cramp in futile attempts to tear myself free. The counter read 120 minutes remaining.

Feeling of triumph flowed through me: 'I'll beat them, they won't break me, I'm strong, I can do one more, and one more, just hold on for one more minute!'

... 115, ... 110, ... 115, ... 102 minutes.

Almost all the clamps were torn off me one after the other with one quick pull, they had been connected with a thin tendon, the tearing pain almost made me faint, again I cried out so loudly I was afraid I would tear my vocal cords. I focused, bundling the pain into pleasure, coming close to another orgasm.

"HAL, IS THAT ALL YOU GOT?"

100 minutes.

The Dalek pulled on the clit clamp.

"G E L B!"

The clamp was carefully opened, and the pain took new paths. I let it run, along with my pleasure juice and an orgasm that lasted minutes.

A blindfold was put on me, earplugs found their way into my ear canals, blocking out all sound. I was reduced entirely to feeling.

Electricity ran through me. Shocks, all over my body. My nipples received the first, violent, indescribably stinging, alternating with vibrating and billowing in shock waves. Then Hal sent the strokes through my labia and clitoris, always at intervals of an estimated 60 seconds. Just when I had come up for air after my scream, the next one came. After uncounted strokes to my clit, I gave up.