Chapter 7
Erik was notably subdued after narrowly escaping punishment. It took quite a while for the panic to drain from his body and his breathing to even out. Now properly chastened, he sat through the rest of their council meeting without shifting or fidgeting, angry and sullen, keeping his lips firmly pressed together in a tight line.
The rest of the council members certainly noticed Erik's change in attitude. Nobody remarked upon it, but the knowing glances were bad enough. Hot, bitter shame curled in the pit of Erik's stomach. He pointedly avoided making eye contact with any of them or with T'Challa himself, choosing to fixate his glare on the clock on the far wall instead.
The seconds ticked by with agonising slowness. Erik normally considered himself a patient man - he had toiled for ten long years to put his original plan into action, but this long, tortuous wait, this counting down of the seconds, was a punishment all on its own. A large part of him desperately wanted this interminably long meeting to just be over as soon as possible, so that T'Challa could discipline him and get it over with. He hadn't noticed it until now, but thinking back, T'Challa had never made him wait for a punishment before. Discipline had always been immediate and inevitable, but with the saving grace that it had always been over swiftly. T'Challa never dragged things out. Being made to wait for it was an entirely new experience, one which Erik was now learning that he absolutely loathed.
Erik gritted his teeth, his thoughts preoccupied with wild imaginings of just what exactly T'Challa was going to do later. It wasn't that he was afraid of what would happen, exactly. Knowing T'Challa, it was unlikely to be anything more severe than a spanking. It would hurt briefly, and then it would be over. But worse than the pain was the humiliation of it all - being punished for his misbehaviour with the knowledge and approval of those fucking busybodies on the council; being overpowered by T'Challa and made to submit, made to take it.
And the very worst thing of all was how much he was going to like it.
Fuck his traitorous omega body. Erik squirmed miserably in his seat, his face heating up at that thought.
T'Challa flicked his gaze over in Erik’s direction, and Erik froze.
This meeting couldn't end fast enough.
Erik heaved a quiet sigh of relief as the door to their room shut behind them. He wasn’t looking forward to what would happen next, but at least that miserable wait was over.
Apparently he hadn’t been quiet enough, because T'Challa's eyes glinted with amusement, even though he still wore a stern expression on his face.
“Get on the bed,” T’Challa said.
Erik bristled at the command. Intellectually, he knew that complying would save him some hurt, but even at this stage, he was not going to just bend over and take it. His pride wouldn’t allow that to happen.
But when Erik looked over at the bed, he saw a large package sitting near the edge of the mattress - a giant box sleekly wrapped in black wrapping paper, which gleamed with a silvery sheen when the light hit it at the right angle.
Erik blinked, momentarily distracted from his predicament. "What's that?"
“Ah? It seems our delivery arrived just in time,” T’Challa said, smiling slightly. The dark pleasure in T‘Challa’s voice sent a frisson up Erik’s spine, and he barely managed to suppress a shiver as T’Challa walked past him and picked up the package.
T'Challa worked at the ribbon ties with deft fingers, patiently working out the knot. But even before he opened the lid of the package, Erik already knew what it was going to contain. Of course - the omega sex toys that T'Challa had been shopping for earlier in the morning. Erik hadn't expected them to be delivered so soon, but he ought to have known that the king of Wakanda could afford same-day delivery.
To Erik's surprise, T'Challa didn't unpack his new purchases. After glancing inside the box, he simply shut the lid again, then set the box of toys aside before turning back to face Erik.
Erik winced. He knew what was coming. He had been dreading this all afternoon.
"Sit down," T'Challa repeated. "And look at me."
Sullenly, Erik complied this time. At least the wait was now over, he thought. He tensed his muscles, bracing himself in anticipation of a fight. Even though he already knew he was going to lose, he was determined to give as good as he got before T’Challa bent him over and laid into his ass.
But T’Challa surprised him yet again. He sat down on the bed as well, at a comfortable distance away from Erik.
Erik blinked.
“I think we should talk first,” T’Challa said.
Erik groaned aloud, all the pent-up stress and frustration of the entire day leaving him in a furious exhale of breath. “Bast, can you just skip the fucking lecture? Just - just get to it.”
“That’s not what I meant,” T’Challa said. “This isn’t going to be a lecture. I did mean that we should talk.Earlier, in the hallway - ”
Erik broke eye contact, his cheeks beginning to heat up. The reminder of how narrowly he’d escaped being punished in public - no. That hadn’t been an escape. T’Challa had taken mercy on him, after he had begged T’Challa to stop. Erik squirmed miserably. All he wanted was to push the memory of his complete humiliation, but T’Challa just had to bring it up for Bast knew what reason.
“It’s all right,” T’Challa continued, in a surprisingly gentle tone of voice. “You can set your mind at ease. It’s not going to happen again.”
Whatever Erik had been expecting him to say, it wasn’t that. He just barely managed to keep his jaw from dropping.
T’Challa continued, “I understand your aversion to being disciplined in public, and I won’t threaten you with that again.”
As Erik was still processing that, T’Challa shifted, moving closer to him. Erik inhaled sharply, but T’Challa stopped when he was just less than a metre away. The distance between them lingered, charged with tension.
“Oh - okay,” Erik muttered, confused and more than a little taken aback. It was inconceivable that the alpha wouldn’t seize on any means necessary, exploit any of his weaknesses in order to bring him to heel. It was what Erik would have done, had he been the alpha and T'Challa the omega. Now that T'Challa knew one of his deepest fears, why would he so readily give up this weapon in his arsenal?
“But,”T’Challa said.
Erik groaned again. Of course he should have known that there would be a caveat.
"But that doesn't mean you won't be punished," T'Challa said. "I warned you earlier there would be consequences." The word hung in the air, dark and ominous. Erik scowled down at the floor.
"I‘ve given you quite a bit more leeway than a lot of other alphas would give their omegas. In private. But your behaviour in public will have repercussions on both of us. I've shielded you from the worst of it so far, but you should know that it was an uphill battle to convince the council to allow me to be your guardian. There are many forces, many factions at work in the Wakandan court, and you made a lot of powerful enemies during your reign as king, enemies who would be very happy to see you executed. Not exiled - executed. One of the conditions of your release into my guardianship was that I demonstrate my capability to keep you in line.
“I don’t intend to keep you sequestered in the royal quarters. You should be free to move about as you wish, but know that each time you challenge me in public, you chip away at my authority - and your own chances of living a free and happy life in Wakanda.”
Erik had rarely seen T’Challa look quite so serious before. He was on the verge of an angry outburst, but for some reason, the look in T’Challa’s eyes made him wisely decide to keep his mouth shut.
T’Challa’s voice softened. “Think about it. If the rest of the court truly believes that you are beyond alpha control, what do you think they will do to you? Even my protection can only go so far.”
Erik remained quiet, absorbing this disconcerting revelation. He hadn’t realised just how precarious T’Challa’s position in court was. But come to think of it, a lot of the councillors had been surprisingly eager to follow Erik in the beginning. There must have been simmering discontent in the ranks for quite a while, even before he had arrived.
“You can speak your mind,” T’Challa prompted.
“This is -” Erik stopped, then began again, struggling to keep the anger and bitterness out of his voice. “It’s hard for me.”
He could read between the lines of what T’Challa was saying. T’Challa was putting it gently, but this was him laying down the law. Erik was basically T’Challa’s bitch in the eyes of Wakanda, and if he stepped out of line again in public, he would pay. His life and freedom were on the line, and T'Challa wasn't going to take risks with that.
“It’ll get easier, in time,” T’Challa said gently. "I will try to manage the council’s demands and get them to adjust their expectations accordingly. Besides, it’s quite normal for an omega to test the boundaries when still settling in with a new alpha, to learn how much defiance will be tolerated and where to draw the line. Some allowances will be made if they believe you were acting in your nature. And like I said, you don’t have to come for the council meetings if you don’t want to. Dealing with them is my job, not yours.”
Erik shrugged, noncommittal.
"Good," T’Challa said.
Then he leaned forward and wrapped Erik in an embrace - his arms around Erik's shoulders, his warm, large palm patting Erik gently on the back.
"Hey!" Erik protested. He struggled against the hug, his face burning. But the next moment, T'Challa had already let go.
Erik breathed in deeply, trying to gather his composure again and to convince himself that he had not liked that one bit. No, he hadn't liked having the alpha's strong arms around him at all. He shoved the niggling feeling of disappointment to the back of his mind.
T'Challa stood up and walked towards the package of toys that he had set aside earlier. “One more thing left.”
Erik's heart sank. The punishment. Right.
"T'Challa…" he complained. He was aware that he was being whiny, but that was the least of his worries right now. “Seriously?”
"Stand up and bend over the side of the bed," T'Challa said.
Erik knew he wasn't getting out of this when T'Challa took out a paddle from the package. It was made of black leather, flat and rounded at the business end in the shape of a ping-pong paddle. And it looked to be at least twice as broad as T'Challa's palm. At the sight of it, Erik’s mouth went dry.
"I'll go easier on you if you cooperate," T'Challa said. "Now bend over."
He smacked the paddle casually against his palm. The sound of leather cracking against skin made Erik flinch despite himself.
Furious at his momentary slip in control, Erik bared his teeth and scowled. "No!"
"The hard way, then."
Three strides, and T’Challa was next to Erik before Erik even had time to blink, thanks to the unfair advantage of the heart-shaped herb. This time there wasn’t even a scuffle. T’Challa took hold of him by the shoulder and easily manhandled a struggling Erik, spinning him about and then bending him over the bed.
T'Challa's grip on Erik’s shoulder tightened, forcing his torso to lower and his back to arch so that his ass was sticking out. The pad of his thumb brushed against the sensitive skin over Erik’s bonding gland, and Erik whined, his knees going weak.
He tightened his fingers into the sheets, but barely struggled as T’Challa slid a pillow under Erik’s hips, keeping them raised. The position was humiliating but not uncomfortable, and the similarity to the traditional mounting position - bent over with his back arched to show off his ass, presenting for his alpha - had his body reacting on instinct, stimulating the production of slick and omega hormones. Erik whimpered.
Why fight back? Erik thought dizzily, drunk on the scent of alpha dominance pheromones saturating the air. T’Challa was going to win anyway. Make him submit. Better to go along with it. His skin tingled with anticipation goosebumps raising along the surface of his arms, his thighs, his ass. When T'Challa drew the hem of his thin silk robe up over the curves of his ass, Erik squirmed, feeling horribly exposed, embarrassed but oh so achingly wet.
He didn't try to get away even when T'Challa removed his hand from Erik's shoulder. Erik remained still, even arching his back a bit more as T'Challa began to squeeze and knead at the exposed cheeks of his ass.
"Warming up," T'Challa said by way of explanation. A light slap followed that pronouncement, and Erik's mouth fell open in a low moan as tingling heat suffused his skin, a light pleasurable sting that had him pushing out his ass for more. "You'll need it before the paddle. It's going to hurt."
This was followed by one more slap, to Erik’s other ass cheek this time. Erik’s breath hitched. He had never been paddled before, but he had a distinct impression that it was going to be a lot more painful than being spanked with T’Challa’s hand.
Another squeeze, another flurry of light smacks on the meatiest part of his ass, another round of rubbing and stroking. Erik’s lips parted in a moan. Drool was pooling in the inside of his mouth, and his thoughts felt like they were turning to mush. All the neurons in his mind were concentrated on the incredible sensations in his ass.
“Alpha.” The word came out soft and slurred, so breathy that Erik almost couldn’t recognise his own voice. “Alpha, please - I want -”
Erik wasn’t even sure what it was that he was begging for. It was somewhat of a cold shock when T’Challa’s warm hands left him. Before Erik could stop himself, he let out a needy whine, one which was abruptly cut off as T’Challa tapped the broad, flat surface of the paddle against the curve of his buttocks.
Against the incredible sensation of T'Challa's warm hands on his ass, the paddle felt cold and unforgiving. Unpleasant. It was large enough to cover most of his ass cheek, just the right size to tenderize and punish him. Erik's heart rate spiked.
He braced himself, almost breathless with anxiety and lust, as T'Challa drew the paddle back.
The next moment, the paddle came down on Erik's ass hard, a clap of leather against bare skin that cracked loudly through the air. His ass cheeks wobbled from the force of the impact, and Erik gasped out loud at the sudden stinging pain and heat radiating through his ass, a hot, throbbing ache that was so much more intense than the pleasant warmth from earlier.
Shocked out of the fog of lust clouding his mind, Erik cursed loudly. "Ow! Fuck!"
His fingers twisted, and he clenched his ass in a futile effort at blocking out the pain. When he made an aborted movement to twist about and reach back to cover his backside, T’Challa’s palm came down forcefully on the small of his lower back, keeping him trapped in position.
“Stop squirming," T'Challa warned him. "And don’t clench. If you keep your cheeks taut, you're going to bruise."
"Ah! Fuck!"
Erik swore again as he was spanked hard, low on his ass this time right across his sit spots. The force of the swat lifted him up onto his toes. Fuck! T’Challa really was serious about this. Erik didn’t dare to disobey T’Challa, not when he was in such a vulnerable position, but it took every ounce of his self-control to force himself to relax instead of instinctively tense up.
The next swat of the paddle was no less unforgiving than the ones before it, but keeping his ass relaxed and pliant seemed to intensify the sting of it at least twofold. When Erik wasn't clenching, his ass cheeks bounced in a most humiliating manner under the impact of the paddle, and it almost felt as if he were offering himself up to be punished. He bucked his hips forward into the pillow on a futile effort to escape the next swat, but the next stinging blow of the paddle landed with unerring accuracy against his exposed and defenceless ass. Left, right, left, right, the blows fell, as rhythmic as an army march even while Erik yelped, twisting and squirming in a futile effort to get away from the relentless blows of the paddle.
But even as the sting in his ass built, desire unfurled within him, a hot pulse in his cock that throbbed in tandem with the throbbing pain in his ass. Pain melted to pleasure until he couldn't even tell which was which. The scent of slick and desperation filled the air, along with the sound of Erik's ragged breaths as T'Challa tore his ass up, giving him the hardest spanking of his life.
Erik was panting hard and on the verge of tears when the spanking finally ceased. He whimpered, still dazed from the intensity of the paddling, just barely managing to choke down a sob. How many swats had that been? More than ten, definitely. Probably less than thirty. His entire ass felt swollen. He wondered how it must look now - reddened, or dark with bruises?
The paddle remained still against his ass for several heartbeats, the original cold leather surface of it now almost as blazingly warm as his ass. Then T’Challa began to stroke his sore skin with it, rubbing in gentle circles over the most tender spots, tapping lightly where he seemed to be the most bruised. The soft leather of the paddle caressed him gently, that instrument of torture now transformed into one of pleasure. Erik’s knees shook. If he hadn’t already been bent over a surface, he wasn’t sure he could have held himself upright. He reached beneath himself, desperate to get some friction against his cock, but T’Challa pinned his wrist to the bed, preventing him from touching himself.
“’Challa,” Erik begged, spreading his legs and lifting his hips invitingly. All he knew was that if he didn’t get his alpha in him right now, he’d die. “T’Challa, please -”
When T’Challa sank his fingers into Erik’s slick, clenching hole a moment later, Erik came so hard that he saw stars.