Ricochet Chapter Three


Rick loped into Petra’s office, still eating his cookie. Petra was a plump, attractive black woman, several inches shorter than him but tough as nails and easily able to out-top pretty much any other dom in the room. She glared at him and didn’t offer him a seat; this didn’t bode well.


“Rick, you’re a screw-up,” she told him bluntly.


“Aw, I’m not that bad. So I like a little fun – who doesn’t?” Rick flashed her his most disarming smile.


“Look, I’ve been in the industry for years, Rick, and I’ve seen actors as big and hot as you are right now disappear without a trace. Too much partying, too many drugs, too much alcohol…”


“I don’t take drugs,” Rick said, wounded. “And I don’t drink that much, because…” He made a wilting motion with his hand in the direction of his groin. “Now, I’ll admit I like partying – I like getting attention from all the pretty subs – but can you blame me? Before I was famous, I used to have to work a lot harder to sweet-talk subs into my bed, but now they practically fight for that pleasure. How can I resist? They’re so cute and willing. All they want is for me to run my hands over their sexy bodies, and I’m only human. You’re a dom, Petra – you must understand.”


“Maybe you have a sex addiction,” she mused.


“Because I like subs? Show me a dom who doesn’t like subs.”


“There’s a difference between liking them and consuming them. You party like it’s going out of style, Rick, and I bet you never go home alone.”


“Well, where’s the fun in that?” Rick winked. “So what if I sleep with a lot of subs? I get my yearly STD vaccination. I’m not hurting anyone.”


“Whatever. It’s your life.” Petra shrugged. “But you don’t fuck up my show. I’ve soft-pedaled with you so far, Rick, because you’re one of the main reasons this show hit so big, but nobody’s indispensable.”


“You’re not going to fire me, are you?” Rick asked, genuinely shaken.


Petra shook her head. “No, but I am going to come down on you like a ton of bricks every time you screw up, so I strongly suggest you don’t go out clubbing any more during filming. You can party on hiatus.”


“That’s only two months of the year!”


“Then you’d better make the most of them.” Petra gave a sweet smile. “In addition…”


“There’s more?” Rick asked, aghast.


“Yup.” Petra fixed him with a stern look. “You’re not to be late, by so much as one second, for the rest of the season. If you are, you’ll go straight to the discipline room and take licks. Hell, I’ll march you there myself.”


“Aw, Petra.” Rick crossed his arms over his chest and gave her a sulky little frown. She ignored him.


“I’ve been reviewing your contract.” Petra waved her hand at a file on her desk. “I note that there’s no get-out clause from corporal punishment.” Some stars had those written into their contracts but not many, as those stars were generally judged to be difficult, thinking themselves bigger and better than everyone else. All the same, it was rare for a show to physically punish one of its stars; they were usually too busy trying to keep them happy. “So, we’re going to make a start on addressing your tardiness problem right now,” Petra told him firmly. “You’ll report to the discipline room at 1pm for six with the strap.”


“What?” Rick stared at her.


“Six this time – so you know I mean business. Next time you’re late it’ll be seven, then eight, and so on. No upper limit.” She smiled at him sweetly. “I’ll reset the numbers at the end of each season, so you’ll start out next season at six again.”




She sighed. “Rick, honey, you’re a nice guy. Everyone loves you like crazy, me included, but I figure that you need treating like I treat my subs: you screw up – you get punished. If it saves you from self-destructing, and your career from going down the pan, then I’m happy, even if you don’t thank me for it. Like I said, Rick, I’ve seen it happen before.”


“You’re a mean, mean woman, Petra.” Rick stuck out his lower lip in a pout.


Petra rolled her eyes. “And you’re one of the good guys. I’m doing this out of love. You’re worth saving, Rick.” She stood up, grinning at him.


“Hah! Love!”


“Yes, honey. Love.” She patted the side of his cheek and then went and opened the door. “Out – get back to work. And report to the discipline room at 1pm sharp.”


“Yes, Chief,” Rick grumbled, ambling towards the door. He was still dressed in his character’s clothes, and he felt entirely in character as Agent Alex Tanner after a chewing out by Chief Christie.


Petra snorted. “Oh, trust me, Rick – Chief Christie is a pussycat compared to me. You screw up, and I will punish your ass until you get back in line.”


“Ah well. You win some, you lose some.” Rick grinned at her cheerfully as he left the room.


The thought of official discipline didn’t bother him; he’d experienced it plenty of times in his life and while he didn’t like it, he could handle it. The lack of partying bothered him more. What the hell was he going to do with himself for the next four months if he couldn’t go out clubbing?


An idea occurred to him, and he took a detour to find the craft services manager, Gloria. This whole discipline thing might suck, but if anyone knew how to make the best of a bad time it was Rick, and Gloria was just the person to help.


“Hey, people!” he announced when he returned to the set, jumping onto Agent Tanner’s desk so everyone could hear. “It’s party time! Our beloved leader, Lady Petra, says this cute little tush has to take some punishment at 1pm.” He patted his ass theatrically. “So, you’re all invited.” He flashed a broad grin around the room. “The popcorn and Cokes are on me.”


The room exploded in a buzz of gossip, and Rick laughed. He figured it was better to let everyone know about his imminent punishment and give them all some fun at his expense, rather than getting embarrassed about it and skulking around, hoping that nobody would find out.


“About time. Someone should have taken a paddle to your tardy ass years ago,” one of the crew called out, and Rick mock-spanked his own ass in response.


There was a general mood of amusement in the room. Someone would probably sell the story about Rick O’Shea taking a workplace spanking to the Daily Investigator, but Rick didn’t care. There was no point trying to control this kind of story – it always got out. He didn’t think it did his reputation as a hell-raiser any harm anyway.


He jumped down off the desk and was engulfed by a crowd wanting all the juicy details about what Petra had said to him. He spent the rest of the break laughing about it until it was time to shoot the next scene. Then the crowd around him dispersed… except for one person.


Matt stood before him, looking genuinely shaken. “Rick… I’m so sorry. I can’t believe Petra did that.”


“Oh, hey.” Rick flicked a strand of blond hair off the kid’s face. “It’s fine.”


“But… I mean… did she give you any warning?”


“I think she might have mentioned it last time I was late.” Rick shrugged. “I wasn’t really listening.”


Matt let out an exasperated sigh. “Damn it, Rick, you’re so stupid.”


“I know. I can’t help it.” Rick spread his arms wide in a gesture of helplessness. “Hey, Matty, it’s okay. Don’t worry about it.”


“About what I said earlier, about you deserving it – you know I didn’t mean that,” Matt blurted. “I was just nervous about the scene and all that waiting around didn’t help, and I took it out on you. I’m sorry.”


“It’s okay, sweetheart – I know that.” Rick gave Matt a fond smile. Underneath the OCD and the weird counting fetish, the kid had a good heart. He was a cutie as well – twenty-five years old, about five ten in height, with a strong, slender body that he kept toned by doing vigorous bouts of yoga. He had a mop of unruly blond hair and the sweetest pair of blue eyes Rick had ever seen. No wonder he was able to bring a special kind of innocence to his portrayal of Agent Ben Harris; there was something of the little boy lost about Matt, just as there was about the character he played. “You take things way too seriously, Matty. Life’s too short and none of this shit really matters.”


“Yes, it does,” Matt protested. “It’s your career, Rick. There are some things you should take seriously.”


“Lighten up, kid.” Rick patted Matt’s arm. “Now, what are we shooting next?” he called out, glancing around. “And if it’s a scene where I have to bend over the chief’s desk for punishment, then I’m going home.”


Everyone laughed, and Rick soaked it up. He was on fire for the next few hours, laughing and joking around between takes, keeping the cast and crew entertained while hitting it out of the ballpark during scenes. He loved feeling like this – although it was a shame it took an imminent punishment to spike his adrenaline so effectively.


At 12:50 he rounded everyone up and led them over to the discipline room, feeling like the pied piper – he had most of the cast and crew behind him, laughing and joking as they went. Petra was waiting by the door, a sour look on her face.


“Leading a revolt against your sentence, Rick?” she asked, glancing over his shoulder at the crowd he’d brought with him.


“No way! These guys are here to watch the fun,” Rick replied. Gloria was standing outside the discipline room with a table full of sodas and popcorn. “Help yourselves, guys,” Rick yelled, waving at the table. “Let the entertainment begin!” he added, running into the discipline room like it was his favorite place on earth.


The room wasn’t used very often, so it smelled musty, but the studio disciplinarian was ready and waiting. He came over, hand outstretched.


“I’m Miles Green, and I’m going to be performing your discipline today. I’m a great fan of yours. Oh, man! I can’t believe I’m gonna be spanking Richard O’Shea!”


“Hah! Enjoy it, my friend. Half the country would love to be in your place – well, fans of the show anyhow. They can’t get enough of Alex Tanner taking a good spanking.”


“You’re not Alex Tanner, though,” Petra told him, coming over. “You’re an actor, not a federal agent, Rick.”


He laughed and put an arm around her shoulders, pulling her in for a hug. “Aw, c’mon, Petra, it’s gonna be fun. Don’t spoil the show. We’ve gotta keep the mob entertained, or they might turn ugly.” He jerked his head in the direction of the viewing gallery, which was now full to bursting point.


Petra rolled her eyes at his obvious over-dramatization. “Just remember, unlike on the show, your ass does actually get tanned in here. We don’t cut away, and you don’t get to act the reaction shot. Although it might improve your acting to actually experience it once in a while,” she commented darkly.


“Aw – are you saying my acting sucks?” Rick pouted.


“No, I’m saying that you’re playing one of TV’s most famous subs – but you’re a dom. It won’t do you any harm to take a spanking every now and then – it might help you get in character.” She went to take her place in the viewing gallery.


“I much prefer giving them,” Rick called after her.


“Ready?” Green asked, pointing at the spanking bench.


“I’m ready. You guys ready?” Rick yelled to the audience.


“Ready, Rick!” came back the howled reply. People were laughing, chomping on their popcorn, and generally enjoying themselves, and that made Rick happy.


He walked over to the punishment bench with Green beside him.


“So, I have to read you your rights and stuff,” Green said, opening a file and drawing out a laminate.


“Save it – I know the drill. I’ve been here before.” Too many times, but there was no reason for anyone else to know that. If Petra thought six with the strap was going to have any effect, she really had no idea. He’d taken worse – far worse.


“Here goes, people. The great Richard O’Shea ass gets an airing. Savor the moment.” Rick announced, as he slowly pulled his belt out of his jeans, sashaying from side to side like he was doing a striptease. His co-workers all whistled and catcalled, and he took a bow and threw his belt onto the floor.


“Uh… we don’t usually do it this way,” Green murmured to him. “Just… uh… well, pants down and over the punishment bench please, Mr. O’Shea.”


“Aw! You’re taking all the fun out of it.” Rick allowed himself to be nudged over to the bench, and he took down his pants and boxers and leaned forward. It might have been a while, but it was an old, familiar position – he knew what to do.


The punishment bench was designed to hide the miscreant’s private parts from the watching crowd – all they could see from their position was his face – and that was easily visible so that people could see justice being done, etched in his reaction. Some people screamed when they were punished – and Rick decided to do just that.


When the first stroke fell he gave a theatrical yelp, which caused the crowd to laugh. He let the laugh warm him – being a clown had always been his refuge whenever he was under fire.


His ass felt hot just from the one stroke, but he could handle it. He stuck his ass out even more, winking broadly at the crowd, and screamed loudly at the next stroke. He yelped and hollered his way through the next four, making a huge fuss about each one, while winking and grinning at the audience the entire time.


When his sixth had been delivered he stood up, pulled up his pants, and came forward to take a bow, amid the sound of riotous applause.


“My dear co-workers, I apologize for my many faults and defects, and most particularly my crappy timekeeping,” Rick told them. “I trust you feel I have been duly and adequately chastised – and that you will find it in your hearts to forgive me.”


Another round of applause assured him that his audience agreed on both counts – and, more importantly, that they still loved him.


They started to file out, and he retrieved his belt from the floor as he watched them go. Daniel came over and gave him the kind of shrewd, knowing look that Chief Christie was always giving Alex Tanner. Rick found himself squirming as much under that steady gaze as Tanner always did.


“One of your more embellished performances,” Daniel murmured.


“Well, over-acting always was my forte,” Rick replied, trying to deflect the intensity of that steady gaze. He glanced down at his belt as his fingers fumbled while threading it through his jeans.


“Oh, I think you’re a much better actor than you give yourself credit for,” Daniel said gently.


Rick glanced up at him sharply, and Daniel reached out, squeezed his arm briefly, and then he left. Rick stared after him, feeling antsy after the punishment, although he had no idea why. His ass was hot and sore, but that wasn’t the problem. He could handle that, but the weird emotions he was experiencing weren’t so easy to handle. He wasn’t sure what to do with himself, so he wandered over to Matt’s trailer and knocked on the door.


“You weren’t there,” Rick said, brushing past Matt when he opened the door, and going inside.




Rick turned to see Matt shrugging. “Why? There was popcorn and soda. It was fun.”


“Not for me. Honestly, Rick, why do you get yourself into these scrapes? It’s all so avoidable. Sometimes, I swear you go out of your way to cause havoc. Why can’t you just…?”


“Be more like you?” Rick raised an eyebrow. “Counting every bird in the sky, every cookie on the table, every time someone sneezes? Always obeying the law to the letter, never getting into trouble, and never once allowing yourself to let your hair down and have a good time?”


“Oh, for fuck’s sake! I just like things to be in their proper place and organized. It’s simpler that way. Anyway, why the hell do you care if I was there or not?”


“I don’t, I just wondered, that’s all. I thought you might still be mad at me for being late today.”


Rick poked at the fruit in the bowl on Matt’s coffee table thoughtfully, like he was seriously considering eating it.


“Leave it alone.” Matt slapped his hand away. “Everyone knows you haven’t eaten anything healthy since about 1973.”


“Just how old do you think I am?” Rick asked, pouting.


“You’re thirty-two. Your birthday is on November 5 when you’ll be thirty-three,” Matt told him automatically. “It’s numbers.” He shrugged apologetically. “I can’t help myself. They stick in my brain.”


“You’re weird, Matty.” Rick stared at him, his head on one side. “But as long as you’re not still mad at me, I don’t care.”


“I’m not still mad at you.” Matt sighed. “I just don’t like the thought of you taking licks in public. It’s demeaning.”


“Nah. It’s fine. I’m a dom – I can handle it.”


“Well, sometimes I’ve wondered,” Matt said thoughtfully.


“If I can handle it? Of course I can. I once -“


“Wondered if you’re actually a dom. You do play Alex Tanner very convincingly.”


Rick looked up and then burst out laughing. “Oh, Matt. Matty Matt Mattser. I’ve known I was a dom since I was about thirteen years old. But hey, if you ever want me to top you just say the word, and I’ll prove it.” He gave Matt a lascivious wink.


“No, thank you,” Matt replied primly. “I prefer my doms a little more…”


“Boring? Talking of which, how is that accountant you’re dating? Emmy, Emma, Ermentrude… whatever her name is.”


“It’s Emily, and she’s fine. It’s great. Wonderful. And… uh… the sex is good.” Matt thrust his chin out defensively as he said that.


“Oh, I’m sure the sex is very sensible, well-organized and controlled.” Rick grinned.


“Contrary to popular belief, it isn’t actually necessary for sparks to fly in order to have good sex,” Matt replied tartly. “Emily and I share common values and attitudes and are very well suited.”


“Of course you are. Her job is counting things and your hobby is counting things; it’s a match made in heaven.”


“I’ve certainly kept count of how many stupid things you’ve done since I met you,” Matt retorted.


“Really?” Rick winked. “How many?”


“Sixty-two – if you count every single instance of lateness as coming under the general umbrella of ‘late’. If you count each one individually, then it’s 109.”


“Wow. Can you list them all, as well?”


“I can, starting with the day we first met, when you showed up on your Harley making a loud fanfare and parked it in the showrunner’s parking space.”


“Hmm… you know, I can count, too. For example, I can count every single orgasm I’ve given to every single sub I’ve ever topped. D’you want to hear about those?”


Matt flushed. “No.”


Rick laughed; teasing Matt was always so much fun.


“Oh, you’re infuriating. I can’t believe I ever felt sorry for you having to take public discipline,” Matt said irritably. “Did it hurt, by the way?”


“Nah. Well… yeah. But I deserved it. The worst part was that Petra ‘strongly suggested’ I shouldn’t go out clubbing again until hiatus.”


“But that’s four months away.”


“I know! That’s what I said.” Rick shook his head mournfully. “She didn’t care.”


“Is she allowed to do that? I mean, you can do what you like in your personal time, can’t you?”


“Well, like I said, it was more a suggestion than an order, but as she has the power to fire me I guess I’ll just have to do what she says.” Rick shrugged.


“Hah! Four months without clubbing? I bet you don’t last more than a week.”


“A whole week?” Rick grinned. “Wow – you’ve got a higher opinion of me than I thought. I don’t think I’ll make it through the weekend.”


“If you get yourself fired, I’ll never forgive you,” Matt said plaintively, sitting down on the couch, next to the fruit bowl.


“Aw – this means you do actually like me after all.” Rick gave Matt a cat-got-the-cream smile. “I knew you did really, even though you call me names, and throw things at me, and stuff.”


“I do not like you! I’m just thinking about all the fuss the press will make if you go and get yourself fired. They’ll hang around my house for weeks, looking for a quote.”


“Nah – I think it’s because you like me.” Rick flashed Matt his most infuriating grin and strode towards the trailer door.


He managed to duck, just in time, as a well-aimed apple almost hit the back of his head.


Really – subs throwing things at him twice in one day? Rick chuckled to himself as he left the trailer: he must be doing something right.




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