The BLTS Archive- The Ritual
by Psyche (psyche27@my-deja.com)

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They stood in the holodeck-generated forest clearing and stared at
each other.  "Lieutenant Worf, this is not necessary," Jean-Luc Picard
insisted, his chiseled jawline firm with resolve.

"I disagree, Captain," said Worf, trying to keep the impatience from
his voice.  "I failed you, sir.  You were under my protection, and I
allowed you to be captured by the enemy."

"It wasn't your fault.  You were injured yourself, hardly in a
position to oppose a squadron of Cardassians."

A careless flick of Worf's hand dismissed the captain's argument.  "I
failed in my duty to you.  The only way to regain my honor as a
Klingon warrior is to submit to the r'vish."

Picard sighed with exasperation.  "Very well.  Do what you feel you
must, Lieutenant.  But why is my presence required?  Can't you manage
this yourself, or perhaps have the computer create another Klingon to
assist you in the matter?"

Worf shook his head emphatically.  "It was you who were wronged by my
failure, Captain.  You must be the one to conduct the r'vish."

Knowing that his security chief would stubbornly sulk until he got his
own way, Picard finally gave in to him.  "Very well, Mister Worf.
What must I do?"

Worf's eyes gleamed with anticipation.  He would make certain the
captain did not regret his decision.  "First you must assume the
traditional costume while I prepare the implements you will require."

He handed Picard the tiny black loin cloth known as the bre'eef.

Picard's eyes widened as he took the flimsy garment.  "I'm to wear
this?  And nothing else?"

"It is required, as part of the ceremony," Worf informed him.

With yet another sigh, the captain began to remove his uniform.

Surreptitiously, as he laid out the instruments that would be used,
Worf watched his commanding officer undress.  He admired the strong
shoulders, broad chest, flat stomach, narrow hips, and small, tightly
muscled ass.  Worf could feel himself become aroused as the sight of
that trim, compact body.

When Picard had donned the snug, revealing bre'eef, he turned back to
face Worf.  His pale skin was flushed with embarrassment, giving it a
rosy glow which excited the Klingon even more.

"And what do you wear for this ritual, Lieutenant?" asked Picard.

"What I am to wear, you will place on me," said Worf, being
deliberately ambiguous.  He was afraid that if he told the captain too
much all at once, he still might refuse to participate.

Before Picard could question him further, Worf undid the closure on
his off-duty robe and let the garment fall to the deck.  He wore
nothing underneath it.

Watching closely, he saw the captain's flush deepen as he looked over
the magnificent Klingon body with its slightly tumescent, hard ridged
cock.

Picard was about to protest, so Worf quickly jumped into the
proceedings.  "Computer, begin the ritual chant.  Captain, we are
ready to start the r'vish."

A low, guttural, rhythmic chant throbbed around the two men as Worf
lifted the first of the implements they would need and offered it to
the captain.  "You must attach this to my chest," he announced.

Picard took it from him and stared in shock.  The device consisted of
two pincer-like clamps at either end of a heavy, half-meter long
chain.  The captain was clearly uncomfortable, but Worf watched with
growing excitement as he took a deep breath and seemed to resign
himself to carrying out the entire ritual, as he had promised.

Stepping up to face the larger man, Picard held the device in his left
hand, while with his right he reached up to pinch one of Worf's
nipples.  The Klingon inhaled sharply, relishing the exquisite
sensation.  The feel of Picard's fingers on his chest hardened his
nipples, and stiffened his cock as well.  He bit down on a groan of
pleasure.

The pleasure quickly turned to pain when the clamp was affixed to his
tender flesh.  A moment later, the pain faded under Picard's
ministrations to the other nipple.  Worf shuddered at the sensation,
chills racing up and down his spine.  The nipple tightened to a tiny
bullet, and Worf again suppressed a groan when Picard fastened the
second clamp.

Finished, Picard stood back, waiting for Worf to explain the next step
of the ceremony.  Worf studied his captain, wondering if the
proceedings were having any effect on the Human, but Picard's face was
entirely closed, revealing nothing.  His body was equally impassive.

Worf was determined to provoke a reaction, and he knew the next part
of the process would do it.  Watching closely, he handed Picard the
required implement he would need next.  The captain's eyes widened as
he realized the purpose of the device, but then he took a deep breath
and squared his strong shoulders before speaking.

"What is the cultural significance of these...instruments?" he asked,
with just a trace of hoarseness.

Worf reveled in watching that impeccable demeanor falter as he
explained.  He raised a hand to touch the chain strung across his
chest.  "This signifies that you now own me.  I submit my will to
you."

Indicating the leather harness that Picard held, he continued, "This
signifies that I submit my manhood, my honor, to you.  By placing it
on me, you accept my submission."

The captain sighed yet again, but stepped forward, just as Worf had
hoped he would.  Holding his breath, he watched and felt Picard reach
down to the Klingon's impressive scrotum.  Lifting the thick, ridged,
blood-red penis, he slipped the studded leather harness over its head
and slid it down the impressive length of the organ.  He buckled the
thicker of the two straps around the base of Worf's cock, encircling
the heavy balls, then fastened the second, thinner strap to the first
so that it separated the testicles.

Worf bit down on a sigh of pleasure as the captain's strong hands
manipulated his genitals.  When Picard prepared to step back,
apparently finished, the Klingon did not want the exquisite sensations
to end.

"Tighter," he barked, his voice harsh with arousal.  Startled, Picard
dutifully pulled the straps more snugly around the organ until cock
and balls were both iron hard and scarlet in color.

"Yes!" hissed Worf, so deeply aroused that only the harness kept him
from ejaculating.

The captain refused to meet Worf's eyes, but he was clearly affected
by the ritual.  "What now?" he mumbled, his voice nearly as rough as
the Klingon's.

Worf reached for the next implement, a variation of the traditional
cat- o'-nine tails.  Handle and thongs were much shorter than the
Terran version, allowing greater control to the wielder.

Picard accepted the instrument with obvious misgivings, but Worf gave
him no chance to object.  "You must begin at the shoulders and chest,
working downwards, as I chant the oath of submission and repentance."

He turned his back to the captain, then bent over in a posture of
humility, and shouted, "Begin now."  Then he commenced to chant.

With obvious reluctance, Picard hefted the whip and struck Worf
tentatively across the shoulders.

"Harder!" the lieutenant howled.  "You must indicate your intentions
or you desecrate the ritual."

Obediently, Picard wielded the implement with more vigor, his fervor
growing as Worf's chant became louder.  Sneaking a backward glance,
Worf noted that his captain's eyes now glittered, his lean, hard torso
glistened with sweat.  Soon he would be ready for the next stage of
the r'vish.

As instructed, Picard moved the whip slowly downward, wrapping it
around the Klingon's muscled ribs, then around the slender waist,
until he reached the hips and buttocks.  The blows grew harder still
as Worf began to buck and thrust with each lash.  He reveled in the
punishment, his arousal climbing higher with each stroke of the whip.
He could hear Picard panting audibly behind him, and the sound only
increased the Klingon's lust, causing the chant to grow louder,
faster.

Suddenly the blows stopped, and he heard the implement fall to the
deck.  Ready for this, Worf turned quickly to see Picard's chest
heaving, his whole body trembling.  Before the captain could question
him or protest, Worf dropped to his knees and tore the flimsy bre'eef
from Picard's body, then buried his face in the Human's groin.

Startled, Picard moved to take a step back, but Worf reached up to
grip the slim hips, holding him securely in place.  And when Worf took
the firm shaft completely into his mouth, Picard surrendered to the
sensual pleasure with a groan of consent.

Satisfied that the captain had no intention of trying to avoid him,
Worf realized it was no longer necessary to restrain him.  Releasing
the slender hips, Worf slid one hand forward and down to massage
Picard's firm, swelling testicles, while the other moved behind to
fondle one deliciously muscled buttock. Picard groaned once more, as
his own hands came to rest on either side of Worf's skull.

He urged the Klingon on, hips beginning to thrust with uncontrolled
passion.  The hand that had been fondling his ass cheek moved deeper
to massage the cleft between the tight buns.  Picard groaned again,
more loudly now, as a strong digit rubbed the rim of his anus, teasing
the puckered entrance.

Worf was in ecstasy.  Only the genital harness kept him from exploding
as he swallowed the elegant, rock-hard cock of this man who had earned
his deepest loyalty.  He felt Picard's balls draw up in preparation
for climax and knew it was the moment he had been waiting for.  He
drew away from the captain, removing his mouth and hands to leave
Picard desperate for completion.

"Worf!" he cried in anguish, and that single word was the sweetest of
music to the Klingon's ears.

"It is time to consummate the r'vish," Worf announced, dropping to
elbows and knees and offering his dark, eager asshole to the captain.

Any reservations Picard may have had were drowned out by the searing
urgency of his arousal.  He stooped to his knees, and after one
sensual caress of the firm Klingon ass, he spread the willing cheeks
and plunged his hungry cock deep inside.  Both men groaned in utter
delight at the sensations that flooded over them, but the urgency was
too great to allow the pleasure to be savored at leisure.

Picard began to thrust, grunting each time his hungry cock plunged
into Worf's tight rectum.  The lieutenant quickly picked up the rhythm
and rocked his hips back to meet each thrust.

All sense of decorum and self-control was lost as Picard was
overwhelmed by sexual demand.  With a final cry of release, he buried
his manhood fully within Worf's body as his climax erupted with
dizzying ecstasy.

His cries of completion drove Worf into a frenzy of lust.  The harness
had prevented his own ejaculation, but now he must convince the
captain to allow the ritual to be completed.  As Picard's senses
returned, but before he had resumed his mask of control, Worf reached
for the softening cock and began to stroke it once more.  He headed
off the captain's questions by explaining, "The final step of the
r'vish is for you to restore my manhood." Worf 's voice was a low
rumble.  "Without this, I am no longer in disgrace, but I am not fully
a warrior once more."

"What is this final step?" Picard asked warily.

"You must allow me to show you my strength as a man, just as you have
done to me."

Picard's eyes widened as he realized what Worf was saying.  He stared
down at the huge Klingon cock with its angry purple glans and hard
ridges of flesh.  "Are you sure that's the only way?" he asked.

Worf nodded.  "I will not harm you, Captain.  That would invalidate
the ritual."

Picard thought it over.  If he didn't allow this, his chief of
security would be less effective, less zealous in his duties.  On the
other hand, it had been a while since the captain had been in the
"bottom" position, and never with someone who served under him.  Well,
there was a first time for everything, he decided, as his cock jerked
upward in full arousal once more.

"Very well, Mister Worf.  Complete the ritual," he said.  "What should
I do?"

"Lie down, sir," Worf instructed.  "I will proceed.  All you must do
is remove the implements from my body when you are ready."

Lying flat on his back, legs straight and arms at his sides, Picard
watched carefully as Worf reached for his captain's cock and began to
stroke it gently but firmly with one hand.  The other hand went into
his own mouth where he thoroughly wet down his fingers.

Removing the hand from his mouth, he bent over Picard and began to
lick the stiff, blood-red cock, while at the same time he urged the
captain to bend his knees and spread his legs.  Then, as Worf sucked
the whole cock into his mouth, one of his fingers pushed past Picard's
anal sphincter and into his rectum.

Picard groaned at the sensation, and quickly his hips began to piston
as he thrust his cock more deeply into Worf's mouth.  The motion also
caused him to impale himself more deeply on the reaming digit.

Quickly the finger was joined by a second, and then a third, loosening
Picard's asshole as they massaged his prostate.

"Now!" Picard cried.  "Fuck me now!"  And he reached up to remove the
nipple clamps and tear off the cock ring. He lifted his legs into the
air, offering his eager asshole to the Klingon.

Taking a deep breath, Worf positioned his cock and pushed slowly and
firmly until he was buried deep in his captain's body.  Both men
grunted at the tightness, the fullness of the fit.

When he felt the captain relax and accept him, Worf braced his weight
on one hand and wrapped the other around Picard's erection.  He
stroked Picard to the same slow rhythm with which he began to fuck
him.

They groaned in unison, both pairs of hips moving as one, faster and
faster.

"Yes!" cried Picard, as the stroking of Worf's hand on his cock and
the Klingon's manhood against his prostate finally drove him over the
edge.

Worf's own eruption soon followed, and he groaned out the pleasure of
being hilt-deep in his captain's warm, tight body while his semen
spurted out with unrelenting ecstasy.  He collapsed as the wave of his
climax eased.  Rolling to one side so as not to rest his full weight
on Picard, he sneaked a quick look at his superior officer.  The
captain's face was totally relaxed and a tiny smile of contentment
played about his lips.

Suddenly, the smile and relaxation both disappeared, and Picard's
features settled into their usual, commanding demeanor.  Briskly he
climbed to his feet and reached for his clothing.  When he had
finished donning his uniform, he turned to Worf, carefully meeting his
eyes and avoiding the sight of the magnificently muscled body and
large manhood.

"The ritual was most...enlightening," said Picard.  "I trust there
will never be occasion to repeat it, Lieutenant."

"No, sir," barked Worf.

"Very well.  Carry on, Mister Worf." He marched to the holodeck's
entrance and out the door.

Worf relaxed once more, clasping his hands behind his head in utter
contentment.  The ritual had been thoroughly enjoyable, even better
than when he had performed it with Commander Riker.  It was just too
bad that the captain didn't seem willing to repeat the experience on a
regular basis.

He sighed.  There was still Doctor Crusher, after all.  Although she
hadn't been captured by the enemy, she had certainly suffered as a
result of the captain's ordeal.  It should be easy enough to convince
her to participate the next time he felt the need to undergo the
ritual.

Yes, Doctor Crusher would help him.  He was sure of it. And he began
to plan a few variations on the r'vish especially for auburn-haired
Human females.

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The End