The Master Of The Kollar

This is a sequel to "The Redhead in the Killer Kollar". It stands on its own, but makes a lot more sense if you have read that first. I don't normally write sequels, but several public and private messages indicated that many of you thought I left too many threads hanging in The Redhead. So, I decided to wrap a lot of them up in this story.

This is primarily an erotic bdsm detective story / murder mystery though it probably belongs best in reluctant or non-consent. It might be a bit heavy or extreme for some tastes, so be warned before you start. If The Redhead in the Killer Kollar was at your limits, this is beyond them. There is NO snuff stuff, but one FBI agent gets killed in a rather gruesome way early on in the story. I don't normally have deaths in my stories, so I want to be explicit about that in advance.

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WARNING! All of my writing is intended for adults over the age of 18 ONLY. Stories may contain strong or even extreme sexual content. All people and events depicted are fictional and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Actions, situations, and responses are fictional ONLY and should not be attempted in real life.

If you are under the age or 18 or do not understand the difference between fantasy and reality or if you reside in any state, province, nation, or tribal territory that prohibits the reading of acts depicted in these stories, please stop reading immediately and move to somewhere that exists in the twenty-first century.

Archiving and reposting of this story is permitted, but only if acknowledgment of copyright and statement of limitation of use is included with the article. This story is copyright (c) 2019 by The Technician.

Individual readers may archive and/or print single copies of this story for personal, non-commercial use. Production of multiple copies of this story on paper, disk, or other fixed format is expressly forbidden.

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Everyone gets a little nervous when the lights of a police cruiser go on behind them. So do I. But when it's after dark and I know that I haven't done anything illegal, I get more than a little nervous. In fact, my pucker string pulls all the way tight. It could be nothing... or it could be a setup.

A fake police car is the perfect trap that can be sprung almost anywhere dark and remote-- like the section of rural road I was now on. In compliance with the ridiculous concealed carry laws in this state, my Glock was secured in a gun safe hidden in the glove compartment. That requirement is in case I might accidentally drive past a school or playground or hospital or public park or whatever. It only takes a second to get my weapon out, but if I get it out and it is a real cop pulling me over, I risk being shot... or worse, I risk shooting a real police officer who panics and decides to go all Dirty Harry on me because he sees a gun.

If I don't get out my weapon and it isn't a real cop, I'm defenseless against attack... well, not defenseless. I have a an old-fashioned Maglite 3-cell flashlight that sits alongside the seat. It's legal in all 50 states as a flashlight and if I happen to swing it in panic when someone attacks me, then it is only an accident that it happens to have the force of a weighted club.

I decided that I would-- as usual-- wait him out. I never speak first when the law is involved. It gives too much away. Let them be the ones who tip their hand. If things went south in a hurry the window glass wouldn't be of any protection, but the six layers of Kevlar woven with steel and aluminum in the door panel would stop almost anything that came out of a holster. At least they haven't made it illegal to put lightweight armor in your car... yet.

I pulled over onto a wide spot on the side of the road, leaned slightly down into the car, and waited. Like I said, it was a pucker factor five situation.

What happened next surprised me. The cruiser pulled past me and parked in front with its lights still flashing. A black, unmarked SUV with concealed flashers pulled up about a car length behind me. I couldn't see what was happening back there, but the officer in front of me slowly got out of his car and held his hands up and out from his body with his palms toward me and his fingers spread. He then stood in the light from my headlights and turned slowly around, pausing only to make sure that I could see that his gun was strapped securely in his holster. After all of that, he walked over to my driver's side door and held his thumb and forefinger a short distance apart while at the same time indicating with his other hand that I should lower my window. I rolled it down about an inch and waited.

"Mister W," he said softly as he leaned in toward the car, "she said that I should approach you very carefully." He laughed and added, "In fact, she said I should approach you like you were me in a car being pulled over at night for no reason."

"I think I'm going to like you, Officer..." I said rolling my hand.

"Reynolds," he answered, "Bill Reynolds. And the woman who wants to talk to you is Lacy McGrath." He pointed back at the black SUV and said, "She says she's sorry about this farce, but this meeting has to be in secret. There's a mole in their task force."

He pointed again to the black SUV and then made a sweeping gesture with his hands like he was welcoming me into the best restaurant in town. I took a very deep breath and got out of my car. Lacy McGrath was the head of the FBI task force looking for the Master of the Kollar. As I walked back to the unmarked police car, the marked cruiser switched off its light bar and sped away. I walked all the way around the heavy SUV and came back up on the passenger side. The plates were civilian, but there was a small motor pool ID tag at the bottom of the rear tailgate indicating that it was a government vehicle. That reassured me a little... but not much. I tapped nervously on the heavily-tinted front window on the passenger side of the car. Nothing happened at first, then the back window rolled slowly down.

"Back here," a feminine voice said.

I was pretty sure that I recognized the voice as Lacy's, but to make sure I called out softly, "Marco..."

After a moment, the feminine voice answered, "Roni."

It was a joke between us dating from several years back when we had gotten finagled into a long stakeout / manhunt together out in the Arizona desert. What happened there and why I was helping the FBI track someone down is for another time, but a lot of things can happen when you spend almost a month with someone out in the middle of nowhere. One of the things I found out about Lacy-- other than the fact that she is perpetually horny-- is that she had never played Marco Polo as a child, but remarkably had an internet friend by the name of Marco Roni. We were walking through some gullies at night and I lost track of her. I softly called out, "Marco," and she answered "Roni." It was the first thing to pop into her mind and to me it sounded like she was completing macaroni. Luckily there was no one around to hear us laughing ourselves silly. After that, it was a fairly regular way of breaking the monotony.

I opened the door and got in. Her eyes said it all. They were wide and frantic as she said in a very soft voice, "We've got a mole in our taskforce." She took my hand and her voice almost cracked. "We've all been walking around with our backs to the wall the past couple of days scared to death that someone is going to slip one of those Kollars around our necks."

"That sounds a little extreme," I said flatly. She opened the computer in her lap and turned it so I could see the screen. There was a video queued up. Two naked people stirred groggily on the floor. Both were wearing Volkov Kollars.

"These are my lead agents," Lacy said flatly. Then even more flatly, she added, "... were." After a breath to collect herself, she explained, "Four days ago Agent Ramon Sanchez sent me a late evening text saying that he thought he was close to the Master of the Kollar. He said that by morning he would know for sure... or be dead. I got this video in an email the next day."

A voice on the video said, "I think Senior Agent McGrath would like to see you fuck Agent Carter in the ass."

"Agent Julia Carter was assigned as Ramon's partner for the task force," Lacy said flatly. "Except for the fact that she's an extreme loner, she's been a good agent."

Ramon's voice came over the speakers, "You and I both know that's never going to happen, so you might as well pull the string or whatever and get this over with." He then raised his right hand toward the camera and gave the all-American one-finger salute.

Julia's scream overwhelmed the small speakers on the computer as Ramon's body shuddered and dropped to the ground. "We got his head in a box two days later," Lacy said flatly. "It had been sent FedEx. The collar was still around what was left of his neck." She sighed deeply and said, "The security video shows that it was Agent Carter who shipped it."

The video had changed to a close up of Agent Carter's face frozen in terror. An electronically- altered voice said, "Since you no longer have a partner, Julia, I think you need to fuck yourself in the ass for us."

The camera switched over to an image of a rather large dildo stuck to the floor with a suction cup. Julia could then be seen being dragged into place by two masked men-- or perhaps women-- dressed in black. They forced her down on her knees and pushed her back so that the huge, tapered dildo was pressed between her asscheeks. Then the voice said, "I think you know what to do, Julia. And we want to see your ass touch the floor by the time you get to the tenth bounce."

You could hear her whimpering "No, no, please no," as she pushed down on the dildo. It had to be made of some sort of soft rubber because there was no way something that large could get into her ass without compressing. But that meant that it was expanding out again once it got past the anal sphincter and was painfully filling up her insides.

A soft, but altered voice was counting, "One... two... three..." as Julia rode the dildo, going down a little farther each time. At nine the voice said, "On the next one, your ass... or your head hits the floor."

With a tremendous grunt, Julia drove herself all the way down on the dildo and stopped. "Good girl," the voice said. "Now you have a choice. Ten more times all the way up and

ALL

the way back down, or you can get fucked ten times by our men."

There was an inaudible answer. The voice said loudly, "Speak up, Julia, Senior Agent McGrath can't hear you."

"Fuck me," Julia said. "Please fuck me."

"Ten times?"

"Yes," Julia answered with a sob. "Please fuck me ten times."

"The fucking is mainly crotch shots of her with various men and one woman with a strap-on," Lacy said, closing the computer, "I'll give you copies of the video so you can look at it later, but we weren't able to get anything of value off of it."

"I turned everything over to the FBI after I unlocked Loraine and Melinda from their Kollars," I said firmly, and then added, "I hear they have found a way to medically induce the needed orgasms even in a male. You've found and freed several dozen Kollar slaves that had been sold around the world. You seem to have all that you need to catch this person."

"We need you," Lacy said, the firmness of her voice matching mine.

"I'm not a law enforcement officer," I replied somewhat heatedly. "And many of my clients would be upset if I were working for the FBI."

"You wouldn't be working for the FBI," a familiar, deep voice said the from front seat. The driver turned so that I could see his face. It was Master Tyrone, the current Chief Master on the Inner Circle of The Society. "You would be working for us," he said firmly.

"And for us," Lacy said pulling back her blouse and shining a UV light on her breast. The five pillars of The Mansion Club shone brightly in the darkened car. "I am not Chief Master," she said, "but I am on the international board of Masters and Mistresses and represent them in this. The Master of the Kollar is a threat to our entire community, and not only because of what he might do to our members. Law enforcement is starting to look at all of us in the community as though we were this evil villain or were somehow concealing him in our midst."

"He doesn't need our help with concealment," Master Tyrone continued from the front seat. "Up to this point, he has been able to hide from every state, national, and international group trying to track him down... including us."

Lacy looked up at me and said softly, "We need someone as devious and twisted as he is to ferret him out."

I sat in silence for a moment and then said slowly, "I'm not sure I take that as a compliment."

"I didn't mean it like it sounded," Lacy almost sputtered. "That's just the way it came out."

"Marco," I said softly.

"Roni," she answered. Her face was flushed red.

"Who do I bill?" I asked flatly.

Both Lacy and Tyrone laughed and said in unison, "The FBI, of course." Master Tyrone then said, "But the Society will cover any expenses above and beyond what the government will pay."

"We need to know who the Master of the Kollar is," Lacy said. "Once we know who he is, we-- the FBI... or Interpol... or, if necessary, private contractors, can take him down. And once we take him down, we can hopefully find and release the rest of the Kollar slaves." Her voice went very quiet as she added, "... including Agent Carter."

"Where's the Kollar you just received?" I asked.

"Currently in the evidence locker," she replied. "Our techs looked it over, but they can't get anything from it. There are no biologicals except for Agent Sanchez' blood and it looks exactly like the other two Kollars you unlocked."

"It's different," I said, trying to keep the anger out of my voice. "The person behind this is an egomaniac." I gave her a tight smile and said, "I know, it takes one to know one. But in any case he-- or she-- wouldn't give you another Kollar unless it was new and improved... sort of a way of shoving it in your face that they were at least a couple steps ahead of you."

"Our profilers say the Master of the Kollar is probably a white male in his mid-thirties," Lacy said softly.

"Don't get me started on that, Lacy," I said, letting my anger show. "Your profilers told us we were looking for a young, anglo when we were camping out in the desert. Those two old banditos nearly got the drop on us because you didn't suspect them."

"But you did," she replied. "You suspect everyone."

"It's kept me alive this long," I said. "A special courier will stop by to pick up the collar sometime tomorrow. I will let you know what Boris and Natasha figure out."

I handed her a burner cellphone and said, "Contact me on this or not at all. If you contact me on anything else I will assume you are compromised. Is that understood?"

She nodded her head as she accepted the phone and I let myself out of the car.

***

As soon as I got home I contacted Boris and let him know what was going on. His short reply was "Expected this. Will pick up." I left the details to him. I also contacted three very trusted men who had worked with me before to help me move some equipment I would need. I told them to stand by for now, but would probably need them within the next few days..

The next day I parked a couple blocks from Lacy's office building and walked around the neighborhood. People who saw me might have thought that I had lost something because I was walking with my head down, carefully scanning the pavement as I walked. I found what I was looking for in the alleyway behind the building.

I approached the man in the alley who was leaning back against the building smoking a cigarette and said brusquely, "You bypassed security to get out here and back in, and you did that just to satisfy your nicotine addiction."

He looked up at me with surprise and then anger. His hand moved reflexively toward what was undoubtedly a shoulder holster. "I could get your ass fired," I said firmly, "or you can answer a question for me and I will forget all about this."

I held up a business card. It was blank except for a large embossed W printed in black on one side. "Take this to Senior Agent Lacy McGrath and ask her one question, 'Can I trust this man?' then come back here."

He stood looking at me for a moment and then dropped the cigarette to the ground and crushed it with his foot. Saying nothing, he took the card from my hand, turned, and walked a few steps toward a solid, gray, double door in the back wall of the office building. About five minutes later, he returned and stood in front of me.

"What did she say?" I asked.

"With my life... and hers," he answered firmly, looking me carefully up and down. "What do you need to know?"

"I need to know exactly how you get in and out of what is supposed to be an ultra-secure federal building without going through security," I said, "and how long you have been doing it."

It was laughingly simple. There were no regular doors or windows on the back side of the lower two floors so no security cameras faced in that direction. The block-long building was L-shaped, so the alley behind it was effectively off-set from both ends to go around the building. A security camera pointed down the alley from each end, but nothing covered the sidestep in the middle. And in the middle of that sidestep was an access door to the boiler room. There was supposed to be an alarm which sounded if the panic bar was pressed, but there was a "service switch" above the opening so the door could be opened to load or unload supplies for the boiler room. Even worse, if you opened the door with a key from the outside, it didn't trigger any alarms or notifications at all on the main security desk.

"Day after tomorrow," I said, "you are going to go back to your boss and report a serious security deficiency in this building." I smiled and added, "You might even get a commendation in your file for your due diligence."

"Thank you..." he stuttered.

"That's my name on the card," I said. "I'm known as W. What's your name?"

"Harold Simmons," he said as he automatically handed me his card. "Special Agent Harold Simmons," he added straightening up to his full height.

"We may work together again," I said. As I turned to walk away, I called back over my shoulder, "And you need to find a new place to smoke your cigarettes."

"I think I just quit," he answered as he stepped back into the building through the boiler room door.

***

The next morning a small van pulled up to the door in the alleyway. The large magnetic signs on the side of the van said, "AAA Boiler and HVAC Service." All the rental agencies have vans available for the day, week, or month. Magnetic signs are cheap and easy to get on short notice.

It only took a moment to unlock the door and start bringing equipment into the boiler room. Shortly before noon, I called Lacy on the burner phone.

"As soon as we hang up," I said, "you are going to announce a security sweep of the building. All personnel are to leave through the security stations. Tell them that security will search them on the way out and then sweep the building for contraband."

"O... K," she answered. It was obvious she wasn't sure what I was up to, but a few moments later I could hear her voice over the PA speakers in the building announcing the security sweep. It was shortly afterwards that I heard the soft squeaking of the internal door to the boiler room being opened. That's the problem with heavy fire-retardant doors, they almost always squeak.

From the sound of the footsteps, it was a woman walking rapidly through the boiler room. I waited for her to get to the middle of the room and then stepped out of the shadows. She gasped in surprise and I said flatly, "It must be very difficult to get in and out of a high-security building daily with a metal collar around your neck."