The Redhead In The Killer Kollar

In order to save the life of the messenger, W is forced to hold a demonstration party for his new Orgasmatron Ultra.

This is a techo-nerd BDSM adventure/mystery. There is a non-consensual Master-Slave relationship, and consensual participation in the demonstration of the Orgasmatron Ultra which does what its name implies, takes women to orgasm multiple times.

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

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.

= = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = =

* * * * * * * * * * * *

It was a little late for company to be arriving, especially on a Tuesday night, but since I'm the only house on this road, they had to be coming here. Well, actually, they could just be some punk-assed kids looking for a place to drink and have sex, but there are signs that say "Private Road" and "No Trespassing" at the entrance and then about every hundred yards the entire two miles back to the house where a final reminder says politely, "You are on PRIVATE Property."

Then, just to keep my lawyers happy, there is another sign which they dictated. It says, "By coming onto this private property, you cede to the owner the right to record video and audio of your actions. This video is for security and legal purposes only and will not be shared unless directed to do so by the proper authorities." That sign is in pretty small print, but since there is an icon of a camera on one side of it and a microphone on the other, I think everyone gets the point.

If it is just someone who has decided to ignore the signs and try to park under the trees at the end of the road past the front of the house, I very politely ask them to leave. Generally once I have explained things to them they never come back.

Despite what they may have told their friends- or in two or three cases, the police- I have never shown a weapon or threatened them in any way- the security videos prove that. But using my key fob to activate six different laser-guided automatic tracking systems seems to leave a permanent impression on their psyche. There is something about six red dots suddenly appearing right over your heart that gets your attention.

It would be a lot easier if I could put a gate just off the highway but the state won't let me do that even though I own all the land on either side of the road. This used to be some sort of government-owned retreat center and the road was deeded over to the state. I offered to buy it back since I already do all maintenance on it anyway, but the folks at the Department of Transportation don't think that way. They didn't have any objection to me putting cameras and detection devices alongside the road, or if they did, they couldn't do anything about it because their right of way ends two feet off the pavement.

My alarms chimed as soon as the vehicle started down the road. Video recording started when motion was detected at one-half mile. Video screens came to life in my office, living room, and several other places throughout the house a quarter mile later. The screens were four-way splits showing normal feed, night vision, infra-red, and a sound-echo radar view of my own design. There were two people in the car, one in front, the other in the back. The person at the wheel was wearing a latex mask of some sort to disguise his- or her- face. The thermal image which bled through the mask was stored for later comparison in facial recognition. Doing facial recognition on thermal patterns is a bit more process-time intensive, so it can't be done in real time. I shifted my scrutiny to the person in the back. She was naked except for what appeared to be a metal collar around her neck. From her heat patterns, she was either very cold or very afraid. I was betting on both.

I put my defenses on standby and pulled my holster with my Glock 21 over my shoulders. The shoulder holster holds the weight relatively reasonably, but that giant cannon is primarily for show... or stopping automobiles. It also draws people's attention away from the twin Glock 42s held in place on the back of my belt. Their thirty-eight bullet doesn't pack the punch of the 21's forty-five, but they are more accurate and less likely to cause collateral damage- especially when loaded with disintegrating 'Sky Marshall Rounds'. A lightweight jacket covered everything as I stood just inside the front door watching the vehicle approach. Nothing would show unless... or until... I needed it.

I debated actually using the visible targeting lasers to let the driver know that he was covered, but it wasn't necessary. He slowed almost to a stop and the naked female in the back seat launched herself out the door. As she did, for just an instant, there was a flash of another heat signature from the back seat. Evidently she had not been alone... and whoever was with her was using thermal cloaking of some sort that flashed open when they pushed the naked girl out of the car.

The girl- a deep bronze redhead who looked to be in her early twenties- rolled on the grass alongside the sidewalk that came up to the house. As soon as she skidded to a stop, she staggered to her feet and began walking toward my door. There wasn't any reason to continue playing cat and mouse so I pressed a button on my watch and said, "Intruder lights."

It was as if it had become daylight outside as hundreds of LED spotlights sprang to life around the house, in the yard, and all along the road. All of the spotlights pointed away from the house so any intruder would be blinded while I had a very clear view of them. The redhead lifted her hand to shield her eyes from the sudden glare. The driver of the car, already half-way back to the highway, floored it and roared off into the night.

The girl, who was obviously trembling with fright, stopped in front of the door. "W," she said plaintively, "I have a message for you."

After double-checking that no one was lurking in the bushes and that there were no drones flying overhead, I opened the door and said, "Come inside, Loraine."

Loraine was a free-lance journalist that had crossed paths with me a couple of times in the past. I had often wondered, with that deep, flaming color, if she was a natural redhead, but I no longer had to speculate. The flaming triangle in her crotch was at least as intense as the red on her head. I motioned for her to step inside, but she remained almost at attention on the small concrete stoop outside my front door.

"I can't," she finally blurted out, obviously terrified to move forward. "If he loses the signal the collar will activate. It has a built-in knifewire garrote system that will cut my head off. He made me watch as he tested it on a dog." She began repeating, almost mechanically, "I can't come in... I can't come in... I can't come in..."

At that point the collar beeped three times and her eyes went wide. "No," she moaned, almost shouting at the sky. "Not now!"

The collar triple beeped again and she dropped down onto her back and began furiously masturbating herself. It was obvious that she wasn't trying for enjoyment, but rather was hurrying to force herself to orgasm. "Go, go, go, go," she kept muttering to herself until suddenly she shuddered slightly and gave a small moan.

After a few moments, she stood back up, hung her head in shame, and said very softly, "The collar demands at least four orgasms a day. If I don't do it, it will activate."

"Can your Master hear me?" I asked.

She nodded her head.

"And see me?"

She nodded her head again.

"If I give him the name and password for my wifi can the collar work through that?"

She looked back at me with wide, puzzled eyes, but the collar gave a soft beep. "That's a 'yes,'" she said softly.

"Connect to 'Partyguest,'" I said harshly. "That's one word, capital P. The password is 007W." I paused and then said more slowly, "That's the numbers zero, zero, seven, then d-o-u-b-l-e-U, all lower case except the U.

"I was told you have an interesting sense of humor," the collar said. The voice was high-pitched and tinny, but understandable.

"Glad you appreciate my attempts at humor," I replied.

The collar beeped again and then said in a mechanical voice, "Connected to 'Partyguest.'"

"Is it safe for her to come in?" I asked.

The collar beeped and Loraine said, "That's a 'yes.'"

"Can I get her a robe?"

The collar beeped twice and Loraine said, almost tearfully, "That's a 'no.' I have to remain naked at all times."

I again signaled for her to come in and she very timidly stepped through the door. I didn't blame her. If I had a guillotine locked around my neck, I would be more than a tad cautious myself.

Once we were inside, I motioned for her to be seated in one of my leather recliners in the living room. "I figured the leather would be the most comfortable considering," I said as I took a seat on the couch.

In response Loraine gave me a weak smile and sat down. Then I asked, "What is the message?"

"You will receive a list of five people that you are to invite to a special party this coming Saturday night," she answered flatly.

"How?" I asked.

When she just stared at me blankly, I expanded my question. "How will I receive the list?" I said, trying very hard not to sound angry or frustrated.

"The names will be in a text to your private number." she answered. "Detailed instructions will be in an email to your Fibonacci account." She squinted and lowered her eyebrows. "I don't know what that means," she said.

"I do," I answered. "I have a phone number that almost nobody knows. And I have a special numbered email account that I don't give out to anybody. It is a Fibonacci sequence that begins with 9. All I have to remember is the first number and the rest is easy. It is 9,9,18,9,17,8,15,6,11 at... well, that's not important. What's important is it is a special account that is known by

VERY

few people. Whoever is pulling the strings is going out of their way to show that they know more about me than they should."

The collar beeped to indicate that it- or whoever was controlling it- was still listening.

I took a deep breath to calm myself and then asked, "Can you talk about your captivity?"

Her collar gave a single beep and she slumped in the chair. "I screwed up," she said, "I was going to get a big scoop on a human trafficking scheme that was trolling for victims in BDSM clubs. I had figured out that the girls- or guys- were tricked into thinking that they had lost some sort of bet or contest and were going to be a slave for a weekend."

She shifted around on the recliner before continuing. "According to their friends, most of them were kind of looking forward to it. ... But it isn't just a weekend," she said angrily. "They are never seen again."

"And you thought you could troll the troll?" I said firmly.

It wasn't really a question, but she answered me anyway. "I keep trying to decide if I am that stupid or that submissive," she said quickly. "All of the victims were more or less submissive. They knew they had a weakness, but they weren't weak enough to submit to a Master or Mistress. So, they had no protection."

"Subs aren't necessarily weak," I said. "Many choose to give someone power over them, but they are not weak. They are often the more powerful one in a D/s relationship even though the Dominant seems to be in charge."

"Maybe I should have come to you," she said. "You know more about all this." She sort of shrugged and said, "Besides, you are already part of the BDSM scene in the area."

"And nationwide," I said, "but you didn't come to me and now you are an unwilling victim of someone who can kill you with the push of a button."

That caused her to shiver slightly in fright. She remained silent for several minutes. Then she said softly, "I don't know who my Master is, but he owns me. After they captured me, he showed me how the collar works and made me get down on my knees and submit to him."

"So you've seen him?" I asked.

"Just a couple of henchmen... and they wore masks," she replied, "I was kneeling in front of a video camera."

"It looks like I need to check my private telephone for a text," I said slowly, "and my supposedly hidden email account for additional instructions." I waited for her to acknowledge that she had heard what I had said and then asked, "Do you need food... or water... or something else to drink?"

She shook her head no.

"Do you need to rest?" I asked.

When she nodded her head yes, I led her to a bedroom that was just off the kitchen. "You are safe in here," I said as I opened the door for her. "And you can come into the kitchen if you need anything to eat or drink." I adjusted the thermostat for her and said, "This room also has its own heater, so I can make it just a little bit warmer for you so you can sleep above the sheets."

She smiled at my use of a very out-of-date slang for someone who slept in the nude, but she also said "Thank you, I've been cold for two weeks."

I didn't tell her that the room was also a saferoom and was entirely cut off from the rest of the house. Nor did I tell her that I could monitor- and record- everything she did in that room. In just a few moments she was fast asleep. From her thermal signature, I knew she wasn't just faking sleep. She was out.

Once I knew that she- and the collar- couldn't see or hear what I was doing, I sat down at the computer in my bedroom. My bedroom can also be used as a saferoom, but it is equipped with additional concealed armor and armament, the permits for which cost a significant amount in official and unofficial fees. The computer in my office-bedroom is also connected to several concealed antennas on the roof of my house which give me a direct connection to the internet backbone.

I messaged a couple of associates who had gray hat hacker skills. Some of the work they did for me and for others would be considered black hat hacking by the authorities, but they were doing it for good purposes- such as helping catch child pornographers and human traffickers. I have nothing against men or women who want to sell their sexual services or people who want to live out even the most extreme BDSM lifestyles, but pimps are pimps and anything non-consensual is forced slavery, pure and simple.

Boris and Natasha answered almost immediately. I don't know their real names and I really don't want to know them. But they are evidently either

Rocky and Bullwinkle

fans or they have seen the movie

True Lies

way too many times. I described what was happening and they answered, "On it. Priority Alpha." Their responses are almost always short and cryptic. I pushed them about this once and they answered, "Big Brother searches for word usage. We starve that algorithm."

There wasn't anything else I could do until they reported back, so I grabbed my "special" phone off its charger and read the text. The list was five very important Masters and Mistresses who had purchased equipment from me over the past several years. I don't know if the person controlling the collar knew that or was just gathering three Masters- including me- and three Mistresses together at the same party.

Checking my numbered email account gave me a set of instructions. The party was to be this coming Saturday night starting at eight pm and was to be at my house. The last line of the instructions really irritated me. It said, "I trust you can come up with some fabulous pretense to get all of them to attend."

Pretense means lying. I never lie to my clients. I might not tell them the complete truth, but I have never outright lied to them. Using my now compromised special phone, I sent an individual text to everyone on the list at the phone numbers provided in the text to me. It was a simple text that said, "If you want an opportunity to see a demonstration of my new Orgasmatron Ultra please come to a special viewing dinner at my house this Saturday night at 8:00 pm. Please reply your answer to this text within 24 hours."

I had planned to unveil my Orgasmatron Ultra at an upcoming national BDSM munch, but previewing for select Masters and Mistresses was not an unexpected thing for me to do. Within thirty minutes I had acceptance texts from all five people. Now all I- and Loraine- had to do was wait.

***

Loraine spent most of her time in her bedroom, except for those times when she would suddenly run out to wherever I was and throw herself on the ground in order to masturbate herself to one of the collar's mandatory four orgasms. "He now demands I do it in front of you," she said tearfully after the first time.

On Thursday afternoon, I was sitting on the back deck when she ran out of the house and jumped down to the grass before sliding onto her back and rubbing furiously at her crotch. When she was finished, she lay on the grass panting. She tried several times to look up at me, but each time turned her head away in shame.

"Would it be easier for you if you just got it all over with for the day at the same time?" I asked.

"It might allow me," she said, "but I don't know that I could physically do it. It's hard enough getting the last one for the day done, let alone four at the same time."

"Just a suggestion," I said. "I'm not trying to tell you what to do or how to feel."

She stood up and said, "Thanks. I already know I'm an idiot. And as far as how I feel, I feel scared to death. I know he's going to kill me, I just don't know when."

"Hopefully, we will both know more after Saturday night," I said. "I am going to need a volunteer to help demonstrate my Orgasmatron," I said slowly. "Would you be willing? It might put a couple of O's up on your scoreboard for the day."

"What have I got to lose?" she said, and then answered her own question, "That's right... my head."

"I don't make false promises," I said, "but I do promise that I will do my best to get you out of this alive."

She gave me that very weak smile that was now appearing a little more often and said, "I will tell him that I will do all four for him at once in front of everyone at your party." Her hand came up to her throat and rested on the collar as she continued, "That will be terribly embarrassing for me. I think he will enjoy it."

Her collar gave a single beep and she clenched her fists in anger. Then she took a couple of short, deep breaths and walked back into the house.

I made chili for us for supper that night and afterwards we sat in the kitchen and talked until late in the evening. It was a bit awkward for both of us because we knew that a third party- the Master of the collar- was listening to every word we said.

After she was once again sealed in her bedroom for the night, I went back to my computer to check with Boris and Natasha. "Bad news," they had replied. "Volkov Kollar."