Ricochet (2 page)

trailed his index finger down the sub's tanned back.

"Maybe you secretly have the hots for each

other?"

"Boy, you do ask a lot of questions. It's like

being interviewed by
TeeVee
or something. Now,

it seems to me there's too much talking and not

enough action going on in this room." Rick reached

down and squeezed the young man's ass. "I think

someone is due an O'Shea special spanking."

"Really? Why?" The sub grinned naughtily.

"Have I been bad?"

"Oh yeah, baby, you've been bad." Rick sat

up and patted his knee. "You've been really bad.

Now, come here."

He reached out, hauled the sub over his

knees, and spent a few moments just savoring the

view. He adored giving spankings - nothing too

hard or painful, just a slow building up of warmth

and sensation in a sub's ass. He loved watching

buttocks wobble under his fingers, leaving a faint

imprint of his hand that quickly faded, to be

replaced, just as quickly, by another. He enjoyed

how the skin felt, warming under his hand, and the

pleasure of turning pale flesh into a rosy blush and

then a deep pink in hue. He started every morning

by handing out a spanking if he could, whenever he

had a willing sub in his bed.

This sub was definitely willing. He arched

his back and squealed excitedly as Rick slapped

his ass, and Rick grinned and wrapped his arm

tightly around the sub, holding him close; this was

going to be good.

He spanked him for a good ten minutes, taking

his time, warming him up slowly and then building

to a crescendo that had the young man panting with

pleasure.

"Oh man, that's good. You're turning me on

so much. I'm gonna have to fuck you hard after

this," Rick said happily as he went about his work.

"A beautiful hot ass like this should never be

wasted."

The sub's squirming confirmed he was of the

same opinion, and Rick delivered a few more

swats and then couldn't ignore his hard cock any

more - he needed to get in this sub and fuck him

through the mattress again.

"You ready to go again, baby?" he asked,

pulling the young man up and untying the scarf from

around his wrists, so he could position him on his

hands and knees. "Quickly, 'cause I need to get to

work."

"What time is it?" The sub glanced around the

room for a clock.

Rick's bedroom was painted a shiny white,

the doors and cupboards a sleek black, the drapes

and carpet were a deep scarlet, and the bed sheets

were made of a sensuous red satin because he

liked how that felt against his skin. The bed was an

expensive Delallio, the ornate headboard a

swirling pattern of metal curlicues to which Rick

could attach handcuffs or rope to keep subs in

place while he fucked them.

The one thing Rick didn't keep in his bedroom

was a clock - when subs entered here, he wanted it

to be a timeless zone where they could relax and

forget about everything except surrendering to the

Richard O'Shea sexperience.

"Oh shit." Rick glanced at his watch and sat

bolt upright. "Shit, shit, shit! I'm late! Sorry, babe

- another time. I gotta run!"

He wasn't just late - he was so late that

filming had probably already started. He should

have been at work ten minutes ago.

He slid off the bed and ran into the bathroom,

took a hasty shower, and then ran back into the

bedroom and grabbed the nearest clothes to hand -

the leather pants and plain black shirt that he'd

worn clubbing last night. The sub in his bed was

lying on his back, elbows propped up, looking

startled by all the frenetic activity.

"I'm sorry, baby… so sorry… oh damn it -

you look so hot like that too, all tousled! Wish I

had time to fuck you again!" Rick leaned over and

kissed him on the lips and then drew back

regretfully.

He ran for the door and then glanced back to

see that the sub had turned over and was lying on

his front again, his beautiful blushing ass on full

display.

"Oh hell! I'm already late - what's another ten

minutes? I can't leave that lush ass un-fucked!"

Rick turned back, unzipping as he went, and

got out his semi-erect cock. He didn't undress; he

just slapped some more lube on his cock, pulled

the sub up onto his haunches, and thrust straight

into that waiting hole. He loved how the sub's

warm ass cheeks felt against his balls as he

hammered into him and the way the young man

threw back his head and shrieked in pleasure as

Rick fucked him through the mattress.

Rick came with a shout and then quickly

pulled out, grabbed a handful of the sub's thick,

dark hair, and pulled his head back. He delivered

a loud kiss to the sub's mouth, then released him

and ran for the door again, tucking his cock back

into his pants and zipping up as he went.

"Help yourself to breakfast, if there's anything

in the fridge," he called. "And let yourself out!"

"You're leaving me here alone?" the sub

asked, in a surprised tone.

"Sure - why not?" Rick grinned over his

shoulder.

"Because I could steal all your stuff!"

Rick paused, his shoulders tensing. He turned,

with a shrug. "You could, yeah. You gonna do that,

sweetheart?"

The young man frowned. "No, but it's kind of

weird you leaving me in your place alone, a big

TV star like you…"

"Well, my housekeeper will be here in about

ten minutes, so if you're gonna clean me out, be

sure to do it before he gets here." Rick gave a

cheery wave and continued on his way.

"Wait! When will I see you again?" the young

man asked.

Rick grimaced. "Oh soon! Real soon. I'll call

you!"

"You don't have my number."

"I'll find it. I'll look you up!" Rick grabbed

the door handle.

"You don't even know my last name."

Rick hesitated and then turned around again.

"You're right… what is it?"

"Newman."

"Right… Newman… uh…" Rick made a face.

"You don't remember my first name, do you?"

the young man accused. "It's Greg. Greg Newman.

You should remember my name, Rick. Makes me

feel kinda cheap and dirty after what we did last

night."

Rick sighed. He walked back to the bed, sat

down next to the sub, and ran a gentle hand over

the young man's cheek. "Greg, you were great, but

don't go expecting anything," he said softly. "I don't

do relationships, and I don't do reruns except on

TV. I showed you a great time last night, didn't I?

And this morning too - yes? Let's leave it there."

He pressed a kiss to Greg's dark, curly hair and got

up. "You can keep the play collar," he said. "As a

memento of your night with Richard O'Shea.

Something to tell your kids about one day, huh?"

He ignored the flash of outrage in Greg's eyes

as he ran to the door again. He just managed to

duck in time as something flew over his head and

hit the wall, before sliding to the floor; it was the

gaudy play collar he'd put on Greg's neck last

night.

"You can keep your fucking collar, asshole!"

Greg yelled.

Rick winced; not his best exit ever, he

thought, as he wrenched open the door and fled

towards his garage - but not his worst, either. One

sub had daubed "shithead loser!" all over his

bedroom walls in bright pink lipstick, while

another had helped herself to the contents of his toy

chest before leaving. It had taken him years to

build up that toy chest and it contained some of his

favorite play equipment. He'd been sad for nearly

half an hour before he realized it was a good

excuse to go shopping, and then he'd spent one of

the best days of his life flashing his credit card

around some of the most exclusive toy boutiques in

LA, rebuilding his collection. Every cloud had a

silver lining, and if anyone was going to find that

lining it was Rick.

He ran down the stairs to his garage, threw

one long leg over his shining black Harley, revved

the engine, and sped off towards the studio.

Matthew Lake stared at Daniel Mayfield, and

Daniel stared back, tapping one finger lightly on

his script as they waited.

"Where the hell is he?" Matt hissed. "I

wouldn't mind, but this is the third time this

month!"

"You've kept count?" Daniel raised an

eyebrow, and Matt bit on his lip, flushing.

"I count everything. I can't help myself. I also

know how many times it's rained this month and

how many times you've tapped your finger on that

script," he confessed.

"It can't be easy being locked up inside your

brain." Daniel glanced at Petra, the show runner,

who was standing to one side with a look of

thunder on her face, bashing her finger repeatedly

onto the keypad of her cell phone. "Wherever he

is, I have a feeling Petra will have something to

say to him when she finally gets him to answer his

phone," Daniel murmured.

"Poor Rick." Matt felt a surge of genuine

sympathy for his co-star. Rick was the most

infuriating actor he'd ever worked with, but he also

had the ability to lift a set just by setting foot on it.

His huge personality brightened every room he

was in, and he made the long hours and hard work

fun, even on the days when they really weren't.

A second later there was the usual loud

clattering sounds and change in energy that

signaled Rick had arrived, and he strode onto the

set, still in his own clothes, waving his arms

around apologetically.

"I'm so sorry everyone!" he yelled. "Domestic

emergency!"

"You mean you overslept?" Daniel asked

smoothly.

"More likely a sub slept over," Matt muttered,

and Daniel stifled a laugh.

"I'm here now! I'm ready," Rick announced to

the room at large. The cast and crew loved him,

for all his wayward ways and truly abysmal

timekeeping, so Matt could sense that Rick was

instantly forgiven - but not by Petra.

"It's the third time this month, Rick," she

scolded.

"Who's counting?" Rick spread his arms

wide. "Well, except Matty of course, but he counts

everything." He shot a grin in Matt's direction.

"I'm counting!" Petra snapped.

"Three times in a month isn't that many."

"It's only the ninth today!"

"Ah. Okay. Sorry." Only Rick could somehow

manage to look naughty, contrite and utterly

adorable all at the same time. He was like a big,

overgrown puppy.

"I want to see you in my office after this

scene's done," Petra said grumpily. "And you're

not ready; go and change your clothes, get your ass

into make-up, and put your damn collar on!" She

turned and stomped off, and Rick grimaced

broadly at her retreating back.

"I'm in trouble," he lamented to the room,

with theatrical mournfulness.

"Yes, you are. Now go and get ready.

Filming's been held up for long enough because of

you," Daniel said tersely. Although he was the lead

actor on the show he rarely threw his weight

around, so if he handed out a reprimand it really

stung.

Rick certainly got the message, and he hurried

off to his trailer to get changed without the usual

theatrics, much to Matt's relief.

Matt paced around the set, going over his

lines repeatedly in his head while he waited,

hating the delay as it gave him too much time to

fret about his performance in the upcoming scene.

They were on the set of the gleaming silver and

black command center that was the
Collar Crime

HQ, crammed full of high-tech computer screens

and gadgets - although it looked a lot more

impressive on TV than it did in real life.

He was relieved when Rick returned a short

while later, dressed in character as Agent Tanner,

with a plain black collar fastened around his neck.

He was six feet four of such ludicrous good looks