Ricochet (8 page)

myself."

Matt sat there, staring at her.

"I've got a new secretary - a very pleasing

young

submissive

called

Eleanor,"

Emily

continued. "She seems much more eager to please

than you are, and she doesn't throw any of these

silly dramatic tantrums that seem to be endemic to

submissives in your line of work - and dominants

too, if Richard O'Shea's appalling behavior is

anything to go by."

Emily reached into her bag, got out a

hairbrush, and began smoothing it through her

damp hair.

"You have a new secretary?" Matt repeated

blankly.

"Yes. She's charming. Now, of course, I have

not made any advances to her, because you and I

have an arrangement; but I feel that after tonight,

we should end that arrangement, so I will be free

to take a new submissive. Eleanor fits the bill

nicely. There is the complication of the fact we

work

together,

but

we'll

negotiate

some

appropriate boundaries in advance. It's the

sensible thing to do."

"Yes. Sensible," Matt repeated.

"I wanted to give you one last try but clearly

it's not working," Emily told him. "You're a

satisfactory sub, don't get me wrong, but I feel I

deserve someone who is more than merely

'satisfactory'."

"You're dumping me?" Matt lay back down on

the bed. He felt he should argue with her, or beg

for her to stay, but found he had absolutely nothing

to say.

"No." Emily looked surprised. "I'm simply

ending our arrangement. I think it's run its natural

course. Thank you very much for giving me your

submission for the past few months. Goodbye,

Matthew."

She got up, picked up her bag, and turned to

go. Matt felt his temper rise. "I didn't," he snapped.

"Excuse me?" She paused by the door, one

eyebrow raised.

"My submission - you never had it. I went

through the motions but you never made me feel

anything. With you, it was all orders - 'do that,

come here, smile, eat what I say, be what I want'.

Everything was about rules and it was totally

soulless, sterile and boring!"

Emily's face remained a calm mask - Matt

wondered if anything could ever penetrate her

utterly rigid worldview. "I'm afraid you're

addicted to dramatics, Matthew, and this kind of

outburst is a case in point. I clearly made the right

decision - we're utterly incompatible. Goodbye."

She left, closing the door with a controlled

click, and Matt resented even that. Couldn't she

have slammed it shut on her way out? At least that

was the kind of explosive finish that would have

shown their relationship had meant something to

her.

Matt sank back down on the bed, counting the

cars passing by again and wondering which one

was hers. He was sure he should feel something,

but he didn't.

He didn't feel anything at all.

It had been a bad day, and Rick was only too

happy to swing his leg over the saddle of his

beloved Harley, pull on his shades, and head out

for the open road. Usually he'd go home, take a

shower, get changed, and then head out to a bar or

party somewhere, hoping to find a sub for the

night.

Now, with Petra's embargo on clubbing fresh

in his mind, he decided to head for the hills

instead. He often did this, usually at the weekend

or during hiatus. He'd take off alone to ride deep

into the heart of the hillside, loving the feel of the

bike purring between his legs and the sense of

calm that he got from being out on the open road,

without the paraphernalia of his everyday life

around him.

Rick knew he gave every appearance of being

an extrovert, but there was a tiny piece of his soul

that recharged by heading out alone, just him and

his bike. It restored something to him, a sense of

peace and contentment that he couldn't find any

place else except, maybe, when he was taking

pleasure in a sub's body.

He rode up to his special place, a rocky

outcrop with an amazing view, that he'd found as a

kid. This place had been his sanctuary then, his

refuge when times were tough, and the place he'd

come to when he needed to escape. As a kid, he'd

always dreamed of one day bringing someone he

loved here and sharing it with them, but as an adult

he knew that was a stupid dream, and he'd learned

to enjoy it by himself, relishing the sense of peace

it always gave him.

He felt it doing its job and restoring his soul

in some indefinable way, soothing and calming him

after a stressful day.

When he felt better, he swung his leg over the

bike and rode back down, going as fast as he

could, zoning out and feeling himself merge with

the bike, loving the sense of power it gave him.

He was so lost in the sensation that he didn't

initially hear the sirens. The first he realized he

might be in trouble was when the police car

overtook him, flashing its lights, indicating that he

pull over.

He braked into the side of the road, and two

police officers got out of their car and came

towards him. Rick took off his helmet, grimacing.

"Do you know how fast you were going, sir?"

one of the police officers asked politely. Rick

glanced at her nametag and flashed her a charming

smile.

"To be honest, Officer Cahill, I might have

lost track a little back there," he admitted. Neither

of them was wearing a collar, and Rick realized

from the vibe he was getting off them, that they

were both doms. He suspected he wouldn't be able

to melt them with one of his big smiles and the

promise of a day on the
Collar Crime
set if they'd

be so kind as to overlook his transgression.

"Don't I know you?" the other officer asked

suspiciously.

Rick knew this could go one of two ways:

either they'd be happy to let him off with a fine and

an autograph, or they'd want to make an example of

him to prove that big TV stars didn't get away with

anything on their patch. That usually meant a worse

punishment than regular folks got, out of some

inverted sense of justice.

"I don't think so," he said cautiously.

"Yeah, you're on that show about collars -

you play that screw-up sub."

"Are you fans of the show?" Rick asked

hopefully, squinting at the guy's name tag.

"Nah - my sub loves it, but it drives me nuts. I

like the boss guy, but you ruin it for me. Always

goofing off - and you're supposed to be in law

enforcement. It makes real LEOs look stupid, and I

hate that." He scowled.

Ouch. That hurt. Rick plastered his most

charming smile to his face, regardless. "It's just a

show - we have to make it entertaining, Officer

Dale. The job you guys do is so important - we

don't want to trivialize that. Honest."

"So, you're some hot shot TV star, are you?"

Cahill gave him a sour look. "That doesn't mean

you own the roads. We have laws around here, and

you don't get to break them just because you're on

TV."

"Sorry, it's been a difficult day, and I guess I

zoned out. It won't happen again, officers," Rick

said, trying to look as harmless as possible.

"License and registration." Cahill snapped

her fingers, and Rick fumbled in his wallet. He

handed them over with a wince and watched as she

ran his details through her handheld database. Her

expression darkened. "Hmm, it looks like you

make a habit of this, sir. I think we'll have to take

you down to the Justice Hall."

"What? No… c'mon - nobody got hurt, and I

wasn't going that fast!" Rick had visited the Justice

Halls enough to know what would happen when he

got there.

"State policy - this is your third offence in a

year, and the mayor is on a big drive to improve

road safety right now."

"Look, I'm sorry - but is this really necessary?

You look like reasonable people, and if you ever

wanted to come and visit the set and meet Daniel

Mayfield then I'd be happy to introduce you."

Officer Cahill's eyes narrowed. "Are you

trying to bribe us, sir?"

"No, I'm just saying we don't need to make a

big deal out of this, do we?" Rick spread his arms

helplessly.

"Just because you're an actor in some big TV

show, doesn't mean the rules don't apply to you."

"I'm not…" Rick paused, and then nodded.

Clearly the day wasn't going to go his way, and he

was only making it worse for himself; it was better

to get it over with. "I respect the work you do,

officers, and I'm sorry for screwing up. Here." He

handed the bike's keys over to Cahill, and allowed

Officer Dale to walk him over to the police car.

The Justice Hall was a big building adjacent

to the courthouse. It dealt with simple cases,

clearing them through on the spot rather than

clogging up the court system.

He was processed and then put before the

duty judge almost immediately. He pleaded guilty

and wasn't surprised to get the statutory minimum

of six strokes with the strap.

"Sentence can be carried out at any time in the

next two weeks; just report back to receive your

penalty. Here." The judge handed back his papers

with the sentence written on them. "Do you have a

dom who'll want to take the punishment for you? If

so, it'll mean filling in another form."

"No dom," Rick said politely. "I'll be taking it

myself. Can we do it now?"

She arched a surprised eyebrow, and he

guessed most people at least gave themselves a

few days to prepare, but he had a very specific

reason for wanting to get it over and done with. He

had no doubt that the cops, or someone in the

bustling Justice Hall, would leak the details of his

misdemeanor to the press, so when he came back

in to take his punishment the place would be

packed with observers wanting to see the big TV

star get taken down a peg or two. This way he

could get it over and done with before the press

got wind of it.

"Sure," the judge said. "Discipline room is

down the hallway, on the left."

Rick already knew the way. It might have

been awhile since his last visit, but the place

hadn't changed. It still had the same old beige

walls and scratched wooden flooring. The poorly

maintained air conditioning made it stiflingly hot,

and there was a general atmosphere of nerves and

apprehension.

Rick sat down on the bench to wait his turn.

Punishments were public - people had the right to

see justice being done, but usually only the victim

of a crime and their family showed up. There were

always a few weirdos who just enjoyed watching

people being punished but Rick didn't know why

because there was nothing interesting or erotic

about state discipline. It was a fact of everyday

life and not one that attracted a great deal of

interest unless it was a special case.

Over in the center of the room, the state

punishment officer looked completely bored as he

accepted the chit the miscreant at the front of the

queue gave him. There was the usual rigmarole of

rights being read, and then the wrongdoer was

pointed in the direction of the punishment bench.

The dull thudding sounds of a swift strapping

followed and then it was over.

This particular wrongdoer stood up, pulled

up his pants, and left the room without looking

back. Justice might be painful but at least it was

soon over, and Rick wasn't afraid of it. He wasn't

a first timer - far from it - but he felt sorry for the

woman sobbing nervously beside him who had

probably never been here in her life.

"Hey - it's okay, it'll be over quickly." Rick

fished around in his pants pocket, found a tissue,

and handed it to her. She took it gratefully, looking

up at him with a sad smile - and then her eyes