Mister LeClerc came home earlier than scheduled to his apartment in the housing complex. As he walked down the sidewalk toward his building, he saw his son Alexandre and several of his friends. They were riding their bikes - on the road. His jaw tightened. Alex knew he was strictly forbidden to take his bike out of the parking lot. The highway exit ramp was not a hundred feet away and people came zooming off it at high speed all the time. He hurried his step.
Alexandre was there by the door to the building with his friends by the time he walked up. He was surprised to see his father. "Hi, Dad!" he piped. Alex was seven and a half years old and small for his age.
Mr. LeClerc glared at his son. "I saw you on the road with your bike! What did I tell you, eh?" He had been raised in France and still had a noticeable accent.
"I wasn't on the road!" he replied.
"Right. Then I'm blind. Don't try to fool me, young man! You deserve a good spanking!"
"But Dad!" Alexandre's friends began to smirk and laugh.
"Put away your bike and come upstairs at once! I'll show you a thing or two!"
As he went through into the building he could hear Alex's friends jeering. "Alex is going to get a whipping! Hey, Mr. LeClerc, whip him good! Ha ha ha!"
Good idea, he thought. The idea of Alex being killed by a car in front of their very building gave him the shakes. He would teach him once and for all to keep off the road.
A few minutes later Alex came through the door. "Dad," he cried, "It's not fair! I wasn't really on the road, not much! Just a little! Everybody was!"
"But I'm not everybody's father, I'm yours. Otherwise I'd give everybody what I'm going to give you. Go to your room!"
Still protesting, Alex disappeared into his room. He rummaged through a drawer in the kitchen and came out with the martinet. He hadn't ever used it on Alex, only on the dog. It was an implement he had purchased in his native France. It consisted of a wooden handle with eight or ten leather straps hanging from the end, each about a half-inch in diameter and nine or ten inches long. Judging from the dog's reaction, it stung like hell. Alex was not going to get away lightly.
He went into his son's room and Alex blanched at the sight of the martinet.
"Dad! You're not really going to hit me with that!"
"I'm afraid so, young man. You disobeyed me and you're going to take your punishment."
"But Dad, that'll hurt! Please, not with that!"
"That's right, it's going to hurt! That's the idea! Your bottom is going to hurt, young man, and I hope it will teach you a lesson! Now take off your pants! And your underpants! Hurry!"
He folded his arms and watched as Alex stripped from the waist down. He felt pity for him, but he knew he had to protect him. If he wouldn't stay off the road when he was told, he would have to stay off the road from fear of punishment. As much as he loved his son and hated to hurt him, this was one beating he was not going to hold off on.
When Alex had taken his underpants off and stood before his father, his lip quivering, Mr. LeClerc sat on the bed and lay him across his lap. Alex howled at the first stroke, then settled into loud bawling and shouts as the whipping continued. He squirmed continuously but his father held him down with one hand and whipped him with the other. Mr. LeClerc worked himself into a rage because he knew he couldn't continue otherwise. The martinet made a hissing sound through the air and a popping crack when it hit Alex's soft behind. Soon his buttocks were a dusky red. Tears came to Mr. LeClerc's eyes as he realized the fierce pain he was causing. He kept up the beating, but finally he could take no more and threw down the martinet. Alex got up off his lap, sobbing. Mr. LeClerc took him in his arms and comforted him. Alex wept against his chest. He hugged his father tight and promised never to ride his bike on the road again.