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"https://nl1.ib.metapix.net/thumbnails/huge/4268/4268855_PaddlePaw_debug.jpg", "submission_right_thumbnail_url_large": "https://nl1.ib.metapix.net/thumbnails/large/4268/4268855_PaddlePaw_debug.jpg", "submission_right_thumbnail_url_medium": "https://nl1.ib.metapix.net/thumbnails/medium/4268/4268855_PaddlePaw_debug.jpg", "submission_right_thumb_huge_x": "300", "submission_right_thumb_huge_y": "300", "submission_right_thumb_large_x": "200", "submission_right_thumb_large_y": "200", "submission_right_thumb_medium_x": "120", "submission_right_thumb_medium_y": "120" } ], "description": "", "description_bbcode_parsed": "", "writing": "As soon as he saw his father, Rex couldn't help himself. He gulped. Dad wasn't one to lash them until they bled or anything – he never even left any welts if he could help it – but that didn't mean the strip of leather in his hand didn't hurt. It stung like the devil, actually, pants or no pants, big boy or little, and Rex was very familiar with its power. He'd only felt it nine times in his life so far, with twice on the bare, but all of these encounters had taken place within the last ten weeks, and Rex had yet to forget a single one. He was not looking forward to experiencing its bite again.\n\nUnfortunately for him, he didn't have a choice.\n\nWhen Malcolm Barrett crossed the room, stood in front of him, then hauled him to his feet, Rex found his resistance quashed on the spot. His dad wasn't willing to waste time today letting him pout or drag his feet, and the second he propped up a leg, then ordered his son over, he expected Reckless to obey. That his boy wasn't psychologically ready to take another licking obviously didn't interest him in the least, and when the teenager spat a refusal to do as he was told, his dad simply picked him and forced him over his leg anyway.\n\nAs soon as his punishment began, Rex prayed that he would faint. Even through his thick and brand new cargo shorts, Dad's belt was searing the skin on his backside, dissolving his will almost instantly and compelling him to kick. Keeping his arms folded before him like some stubborn toddler was also an impossibility. He needed at least one of them free, so he could throw one back to protect his overheated butt, and the knowledge that such a move wouldn't work was completely irrelevant. When the inevitable occurred, and Rex felt his sweaty palm pinned against his side, he squirmed and kicked harder until the first sob escaped.\n\n\"D-dad!\"\n\n\"P-please, Dad! I'm s-sorry!\"\n\n\"Daaaaad! Dad, p-p-please!\"\n\nAnother twenty licks of the belt and Rex's articulation was a thing of the past. It wasn't that he'd given up trying to form words, it was just that the few he managed to stutter were too garbled to be understood.\n\nFor the last minute of his punishment, Malcolm dropped the belt and continued with his hand, knowing full well that his third son hated getting spanked this way. Rex had complained repeatedly that he was too old and too big to be walloped like his little brother, Kurt, but Malcolm didn't agree. Sixteen or not, Rex was still his little boy – even more so since Malcolm had finally admitted aloud how much of this son's life he'd missed. He owed Rex for a lot more things than any father ever should, and he was going to pay down that debt whenever and however he could. With that in mind, Malcolm delivered a final flurry of swats, then set his son on his feet, immediately pulling the sobbing teenager close.\n\nAs Rex turned to him without hesitation, buried his wet face into his father's upper chest, and held on tight, Malcolm was sad, yet grateful. Rex ducked him often lately, and getting the boy to stand still long enough for even a pat on the back was practically a cause for fireworks. That he was willing to accept a lengthy hug now, under these circumstances, was bitter-sweet to say the least, and Malcolm was loath to break the spell.\n\nHe didn't speak as he hugged his son. He rested his chin against the side of Rex's head and clung to the boy for all he was worth while he rocked him, relishing this moment. He didn't want to let go and was oblivious to the residual sting in his palm, or to the discarded belt at his feet. This was the first time in days that his second youngest had let him get near and the only hug he'd been allowed to give him since the last time he'd put a hurt on Rex's behind. God help him, he wished he knew what was going on.\n\nTo say Malcolm Barrett was deeply confused didn't even begin to cover his state of mind.\n\nTen weeks before, after the whipping he'd given Reckless for freeboarding like a maniac down Lakeshore Boulevard, he'd thought he'd finally cracked through the kid's reserve. Rex had clung to him and started calling him \"dad\" again, and even though the walls had gone back up almost immediately, a half hour later, they'd seemed to crumble again with Rex seeking him out to watch a movie. They hadn't talked much, but for the first time in forever, their relationship looked like it was turning a solid corner. Rex had been a little stiff initially, but by midnight, he'd allowed himself to fall asleep just like his brothers would, with his head cradled in Malcolm's lap. The next day things had picked up even more. Rex hadn't rebuffed his father once, and by bedtime, they'd exchanged more father-son hugs in fifteen hours than they had since Rex had entered the second grade.\n\nTwo days later, the \"honeymoon\" was over, and worse still, Rex was acting like it never happened. For some unknown reason, he'd rebuilt his walls almost as high as before, and since then, rough seas was the only way to describe their relationship. For every step forward with this third son of his, it seemed like they were taking six steps back. If Rex smiled one day, he usually frowned the next three, and for every hug he accepted from his father, there was always a dozen he would dodge. The only affection he consistently accepted from his dad would come on the heels of a spanking, and there was no way in the world Malcolm Barrett was willing to settle for that. Somehow this emotional roller-coaster Rex was on was going to have to stop...but when was definitely the question.\n\nWaiting until the teen's grip had slackened a bit, Malcolm decided now was as good a time as any. Reckless wasn't opening up much to anyone lately, but sometimes, when his backside was still smouldering and his father's arms were snug around him, he'd let something slip. Hoping against hope that Rex would share a bit more of his heart today, Malcolm kissed the top of his head, then pulled him down beside him so they were both sitting on the bed. He kept an arm around his son to maintain a physical link between them, but to his dismay, the sixteen-year-old read his intentions and broke it before lying down and turning his back. As Rex settled himself on his side, hugging an extra pillow to his chest, he pretty much dismissed his father.\n\n\"Forget it, Dad. I don't wanna talk.\"\n\nRex had seen right through him, so the chances of a meaningful chat between them now were probably nil, but Malcolm wasn't quite ready to throw in the towel. He leaned over to get a good look at the handsome, yet stubborn, face below him and persisted.\n\n\"Kiddo, no matter how many times you push me away, I'm going to keep coming back to pester you, you know.\"\n\nRex's eyes flitted briefly in his direction, but that was all.\n\n\"I thought we were making headway, you and me? What happened?\"\n\nMalcolm studied his son's expression carefully, trying to intuit was Rex was thinking, but the boy wasn't giving much away. The way his teenaged jaws were pulsating could mean anything.\n\n\"Talk to me, Rex. I want us to be close. I love y —\"\n\nCheeks flushed with ill temper, Rex flipped over to glare at his father.\n\n\"DAD! I already said I don't wanna talk to you! I messed up Dalton's car and you spanked me for it! It's over, okay?! Just leave me alone!!\"\n\nRex flipped back over and scooted across the mattress as far as he could without toppling over the edge. One more move by his father to bridge the sudden gap and Reckless would take refuge on the floor if he had to. Of that, Malcolm had no doubts. Frustrated at why he just couldn't seem to reach this son of his when the boy clearly needed him, Malcolm clenched his fists as he stood up slowly.\n\n\"I'll be downstairs, kiddo. You come see me anytime you're ready.\"\n\nAs soon as his bedroom door shut behind him, Rex strained his ears and listened, half of him relieved that his dad had finally gone, the other half resentful the man hadn't stayed. He wasn't sure which emotion would rule, but he definitely knew one thing: he felt like shit. From the quiet words his dad just spoke, it was obvious his feelings had been hurt, but Rex couldn't just run after him and apologize. He wanted to – in all honesty, there were a lot of things he wanted to do that involved his dad – but something was holding him back, and he barely understood it himself, so how the hell was he supposed to explain it to his father?\n\nFor the moment, Rex didn't want to think about it. The only thing that interested him now was the state of his backside, the coloring of which a bullfighter would probably love. From the heat radiating back there, he knew it was a deep shade of red and would more than likely stay that way until morning. Still, he had to look.\n\nWincing as he rolled in bed then swung his feet over the side, Rex barely noticed his father's belt still lying on the floor. He stepped around it without giving it more than a passing glance, then headed for the closet mirror while he rubbed. As he walked, he thought about his youngest brother. The last six times Rex had gotten spanked, eleven-year-old Kurt had been right there afterwards, poking his nosy little head through the doorway, but he wasn't around today and for that, Rex was grateful. Hissing the air through his teeth, the teen pushed his shorts and boxers down to his knees, then craned his neck to check out the damage.\n\nShit.\n\nHow Malcolm Barrett could strap his sons' behinds so thoroughly when their pants weren't even down, Rex had no idea. He twisted and turned with his back to the mirror, looking for a spot that was even a little paler than the others, and couldn't find a thing until he parted his cheeks. Even there the skin wasn't totally unblemished. Two pockets on either side, a half inch from the top, were nearly as red as the rest of his bum – though how that was possible Rex truly wondered. Even with the way his legs had been scissoring, there hadn't been that many opportunities for Dad to try and whack him on the asshole, so how the hell did the head of the family manage it? Rex couldn't figure it out.\n\nTurning away from the mirror in disgust, Reckless pulled his shorts back up, then returned to his bed to lie down. One thing he'd learned from watching his brothers' punishments over the years was how useful a nap could be when a guy's butt felt this sore. As Rex stretched out on top of his covers and snuck a few more rubs, he hoped he wouldn't have another nightmare.\n\nThe dreams of abandonment were back, and he didn't have a clue how to talk to his dad about them.\n", "writing_bbcode_parsed": "As soon as he saw his father, Rex couldn't help himself. He gulped. Dad wasn't one to lash them until they bled or anything – he never even left any welts if he could help it – but that didn't mean the strip of leather in his hand didn't hurt. It stung like the devil, actually, pants or no pants, big boy or little, and Rex was very familiar with its power. He'd only felt it nine times in his life so far, with twice on the bare, but all of these encounters had taken place within the last ten weeks, and Rex had yet to forget a single one. He was not looking forward to experiencing its bite again.

Unfortunately for him, he didn't have a choice.

When Malcolm Barrett crossed the room, stood in front of him, then hauled him to his feet, Rex found his resistance quashed on the spot. His dad wasn't willing to waste time today letting him pout or drag his feet, and the second he propped up a leg, then ordered his son over, he expected Reckless to obey. That his boy wasn't psychologically ready to take another licking obviously didn't interest him in the least, and when the teenager spat a refusal to do as he was told, his dad simply picked him and forced him over his leg anyway.

As soon as his punishment began, Rex prayed that he would faint. Even through his thick and brand new cargo shorts, Dad's belt was searing the skin on his backside, dissolving his will almost instantly and compelling him to kick. Keeping his arms folded before him like some stubborn toddler was also an impossibility. He needed at least one of them free, so he could throw one back to protect his overheated butt, and the knowledge that such a move wouldn't work was completely irrelevant. When the inevitable occurred, and Rex felt his sweaty palm pinned against his side, he squirmed and kicked harder until the first sob escaped.

"D-dad!"

"P-please, Dad! I'm s-sorry!"

"Daaaaad! Dad, p-p-please!"

Another twenty licks of the belt and Rex's articulation was a thing of the past. It wasn't that he'd given up trying to form words, it was just that the few he managed to stutter were too garbled to be understood.

For the last minute of his punishment, Malcolm dropped the belt and continued with his hand, knowing full well that his third son hated getting spanked this way. Rex had complained repeatedly that he was too old and too big to be walloped like his little brother, Kurt, but Malcolm didn't agree. Sixteen or not, Rex was still his little boy – even more so since Malcolm had finally admitted aloud how much of this son's life he'd missed. He owed Rex for a lot more things than any father ever should, and he was going to pay down that debt whenever and however he could. With that in mind, Malcolm delivered a final flurry of swats, then set his son on his feet, immediately pulling the sobbing teenager close.

As Rex turned to him without hesitation, buried his wet face into his father's upper chest, and held on tight, Malcolm was sad, yet grateful. Rex ducked him often lately, and getting the boy to stand still long enough for even a pat on the back was practically a cause for fireworks. That he was willing to accept a lengthy hug now, under these circumstances, was bitter-sweet to say the least, and Malcolm was loath to break the spell.

He didn't speak as he hugged his son. He rested his chin against the side of Rex's head and clung to the boy for all he was worth while he rocked him, relishing this moment. He didn't want to let go and was oblivious to the residual sting in his palm, or to the discarded belt at his feet. This was the first time in days that his second youngest had let him get near and the only hug he'd been allowed to give him since the last time he'd put a hurt on Rex's behind. God help him, he wished he knew what was going on.

To say Malcolm Barrett was deeply confused didn't even begin to cover his state of mind.

Ten weeks before, after the whipping he'd given Reckless for freeboarding like a maniac down Lakeshore Boulevard, he'd thought he'd finally cracked through the kid's reserve. Rex had clung to him and started calling him "dad" again, and even though the walls had gone back up almost immediately, a half hour later, they'd seemed to crumble again with Rex seeking him out to watch a movie. They hadn't talked much, but for the first time in forever, their relationship looked like it was turning a solid corner. Rex had been a little stiff initially, but by midnight, he'd allowed himself to fall asleep just like his brothers would, with his head cradled in Malcolm's lap. The next day things had picked up even more. Rex hadn't rebuffed his father once, and by bedtime, they'd exchanged more father-son hugs in fifteen hours than they had since Rex had entered the second grade.

Two days later, the "honeymoon" was over, and worse still, Rex was acting like it never happened. For some unknown reason, he'd rebuilt his walls almost as high as before, and since then, rough seas was the only way to describe their relationship. For every step forward with this third son of his, it seemed like they were taking six steps back. If Rex smiled one day, he usually frowned the next three, and for every hug he accepted from his father, there was always a dozen he would dodge. The only affection he consistently accepted from his dad would come on the heels of a spanking, and there was no way in the world Malcolm Barrett was willing to settle for that. Somehow this emotional roller-coaster Rex was on was going to have to stop...but when was definitely the question.

Waiting until the teen's grip had slackened a bit, Malcolm decided now was as good a time as any. Reckless wasn't opening up much to anyone lately, but sometimes, when his backside was still smouldering and his father's arms were snug around him, he'd let something slip. Hoping against hope that Rex would share a bit more of his heart today, Malcolm kissed the top of his head, then pulled him down beside him so they were both sitting on the bed. He kept an arm around his son to maintain a physical link between them, but to his dismay, the sixteen-year-old read his intentions and broke it before lying down and turning his back. As Rex settled himself on his side, hugging an extra pillow to his chest, he pretty much dismissed his father.

"Forget it, Dad. I don't wanna talk."

Rex had seen right through him, so the chances of a meaningful chat between them now were probably nil, but Malcolm wasn't quite ready to throw in the towel. He leaned over to get a good look at the handsome, yet stubborn, face below him and persisted.

"Kiddo, no matter how many times you push me away, I'm going to keep coming back to pester you, you know."

Rex's eyes flitted briefly in his direction, but that was all.

"I thought we were making headway, you and me? What happened?"

Malcolm studied his son's expression carefully, trying to intuit was Rex was thinking, but the boy wasn't giving much away. The way his teenaged jaws were pulsating could mean anything.

"Talk to me, Rex. I want us to be close. I love y —"

Cheeks flushed with ill temper, Rex flipped over to glare at his father.

"DAD! I already said I don't wanna talk to you! I messed up Dalton's car and you spanked me for it! It's over, okay?! Just leave me alone!!"

Rex flipped back over and scooted across the mattress as far as he could without toppling over the edge. One more move by his father to bridge the sudden gap and Reckless would take refuge on the floor if he had to. Of that, Malcolm had no doubts. Frustrated at why he just couldn't seem to reach this son of his when the boy clearly needed him, Malcolm clenched his fists as he stood up slowly.

"I'll be downstairs, kiddo. You come see me anytime you're ready."

As soon as his bedroom door shut behind him, Rex strained his ears and listened, half of him relieved that his dad had finally gone, the other half resentful the man hadn't stayed. He wasn't sure which emotion would rule, but he definitely knew one thing: he felt like shit. From the quiet words his dad just spoke, it was obvious his feelings had been hurt, but Rex couldn't just run after him and apologize. He wanted to – in all honesty, there were a lot of things he wanted to do that involved his dad – but something was holding him back, and he barely understood it himself, so how the hell was he supposed to explain it to his father?

For the moment, Rex didn't want to think about it. The only thing that interested him now was the state of his backside, the coloring of which a bullfighter would probably love. From the heat radiating back there, he knew it was a deep shade of red and would more than likely stay that way until morning. Still, he had to look.

Wincing as he rolled in bed then swung his feet over the side, Rex barely noticed his father's belt still lying on the floor. He stepped around it without giving it more than a passing glance, then headed for the closet mirror while he rubbed. As he walked, he thought about his youngest brother. The last six times Rex had gotten spanked, eleven-year-old Kurt had been right there afterwards, poking his nosy little head through the doorway, but he wasn't around today and for that, Rex was grateful. Hissing the air through his teeth, the teen pushed his shorts and boxers down to his knees, then craned his neck to check out the damage.

Shit.

How Malcolm Barrett could strap his sons' behinds so thoroughly when their pants weren't even down, Rex had no idea. He twisted and turned with his back to the mirror, looking for a spot that was even a little paler than the others, and couldn't find a thing until he parted his cheeks. Even there the skin wasn't totally unblemished. Two pockets on either side, a half inch from the top, were nearly as red as the rest of his bum – though how that was possible Rex truly wondered. Even with the way his legs had been scissoring, there hadn't been that many opportunities for Dad to try and whack him on the asshole, so how the hell did the head of the family manage it? Rex couldn't figure it out.

Turning away from the mirror in disgust, Reckless pulled his shorts back up, then returned to his bed to lie down. One thing he'd learned from watching his brothers' punishments over the years was how useful a nap could be when a guy's butt felt this sore. As Rex stretched out on top of his covers and snuck a few more rubs, he hoped he wouldn't have another nightmare.

The dreams of abandonment were back, and he didn't have a clue how to talk to his dad about them.
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