The caning was harsh, but precisely controlled. The Headmaster delivered the third stroke and stood back, breathing heavily.
Jon, kneeling over the punishment stool with shirt pulled up and both shorts and pants down by his ankles, sobbed tearfully. The boy's bottom was a fiery red, with three harsh red/blue weals across it.
"Well, Jon?" he asked. "I know Kevin was responsible. I just want you to admit it."
Jon could say nothing. He continued to cry, his small, 12 year old body shaking slightly with the sobs.
The Headmaster sighed. "This ridiculous code of schoolboy honour no doubt," he said, mopping his brow with his handkerchief. "If you refuse to co-operate, I will have to assume you accept full responsibility yourself. That will mean another three strokes from the cane."
Jon tried to stifle his sobs, but did not say anything. The cool air of the Headmaster's study against his naked buttocks was his only relief from the fierce, burning pain.
The Headmaster stepped forward again, and sighed. "Very well," he said with a resigned tone.
The next three blows were even more painful than the first three, and by the end, Jon was crying with deep, heaving sobs that wracked his body. The Headmaster stood back, and examined the marks that his punishment had inflicted, regaining his composure after the exertion of applying the caning. "I hope it's worth it, Jon," he said quietly to himself.
The school nurse was standing impassively against the wall, watching the proceedings with a casual indifference. The Headmaster glanced at the nurse, and motioned at Jon. "Make sure he's alright, then take him back to his dormitory," he said gently.
With a brisk, professional air, the nurse helped Jon readjust his shorts & underwear, tucked in his shirt and led him out.
Back in his dormitory, Jon lay face down on his narrow uncomfortable bed, and buried his face in the pillow to hide a fresh flow of tears. The other boys in the room gathered around in hushed expectation. Jon knew exactly what they were waiting to see. He pulled his shirt up awkwardly, then pulled down his shorts, exposing his underpants. He then hooked his thumbs into the waistband and pulled the thin garment down to the top of his thighs, grimacing in pain. As one, the other boys drew in their breath at the neat set of fresh, angry red marks that lined his pale buttocks. Six parallel lines, with only a hairline gap between each, seemingly etched into his flesh.
"There," he said in a strangely flat voice, "satisfied?" Kevin knelt down by the bed, and put his arm around Jon' shoulders, to give him a hug. There would be no more teasing, no more spiteful practical jokes. At last, Jon had been accepted by the rest of the boys. He had finally earned his stripes.