TNG - Riker/Worf
As the holodeck assembled intricate patterns of light into the resemblance of a ritualized, torch-lit cavern, Commander Riker had to wonder what he'd gotten himself into.
"I'm of course honored by the request Worf, but I have to ask... why me?"
He watched his subordinate clench his jaw and shift in place. "With all due respect, sir, you are the most... masculine other male on the ship."
Riker wasn't sure whether the warm glow of pride he felt was warranted or not. Looking down at his chief tactical officer, he decided to err on 'not'.
Lieutenant Worf was fully naked and bent over at the waist, the entirety of his vaunted Klingon brawn on display. It wasn't Commander Riker's first time seeing a naked Klingon—he'd once served aboard a Klingon Bird-of-Prey for a short time, and still had nightmares about the locker rooms—but it was certainly his first time seeing Worf in such a state of undress.
He couldn't help but be impressed as he looked him over. Worf had a true warrior’s body, muscular and strong, no doubt borne from hundreds of hours logged in close-quarter combat simulations. His ass especially looked formidable; round, dark-skinned, and dense with muscle. It was upturned and facing him, bathed in the warm glow of torch light. And from what Riker could glimpse dangling between his legs, well—if he were the type to compare, Worf's heavy manhood might nearly put his own to shame.
He wasn't there to admire though. He sighed as he hefted the heavy paddle in his hand.
"Didn't you already undergo a ritual of pain like this once? I seem to recall something about Geordi, O'Brien, and Data all poking you with pain sticks..."
"My Rite of Ascension, yes. That was to complete my journey as a warrior. This is the Rite of Sa'hut 'oy," Worf pronounced the Klingon word flawlessly. "It is a test of my will and resolve. Completely different."
Riker nodded, deciding not to comment on how Klingons had multiple rituals that all seemed to revolve around inflicting pain on each other. A masochistic species if he'd ever encountered one.
"And you really need me to, er...?"
"Please, Commander." As he watched, Worf's beefy buttocks gave a slight clench of discomfiture before relaxing again. "It is not an... easy request for me to make."
Riker sighed. He knew how difficult it was for Klingons to willingly appear vulnerable in front of others, especially other males. And right now, Worf looked about as vulnerable as a male could get without any extra toys involved. He hefted the paddle again. "Alright, how many swats do I give you?"
Worf shifted and braced himself. "As many as you deem necessary. In this ritual, you are taking the honorary role of an elder brother in the House of Mogh. You must strike me without mercy until I am in tears and begging for the pain to end. Do NOT stop under any other circumstances. It must go on until I break completely. Only then may I begin my sacred journey to the next level."
Commander Riker bit his lip. From the sounds of it, they'd be there all day. And what exactly would the next level be? Whips? Chains? Hopefully Troi would understand his late arrival to their dinner date.
But seeing nothing else for it, he drew the paddle back and let fly with the first lick. It landed with a hard THWACK! across Worf's meaty rear, as well as a sizzle of energy. Worf gave a deep grunt, and Riker could see the knuckles on his knees whiten as he braced himself for the next one. Similar to a Klingon pain stick, the ritual paddle delivered a jolt of agony straight to the central nervous system of whoever was spanked by it. That was in addition to the standard, every day sting of a good smack, of course. Riker was just glad he wasn't the one on the receiving end.
“How was that?”
“Good, but you must go harder, Commander. Treat me as a whelp who has fled the field of battle. Or perhaps…” Worf considered, “a recalcitrant cadet who refuses to follow your commands.”
Well, a few images did spring to Riker’s mind at that. He raised the paddle again, and this time really let Worf have it.
THWAAACK!!
“Argh!” He watched his tactical officer’s buttocks tighten and clench under the burn. Already the flesh was turning red under the punishment.
“B-better! Now truly put your fury into it. Teach me a lesson I will never forget!”
Riker shook his head. It was clear Lieutenant Worf would not be satisfied until he could no longer sit at his console. Not that tactical had a chair assigned to it anyway. But if that was what was required, then that’s what Riker would do.
THWAAAAAAAAAAACK!!
And Worf howled as his ass was turned a dark, meaty red, which it would remain for the next several weeks.
Just one of the many prices he gladly paid for his warrior’s honor.