Author's Note

Enjoy!

Perspective

The sessions went on.

Mesma hadn’t talked to Blueblood about his father since that day. She wanted him to open up, she knew she had to give him time. If this might be as sensitive as she thought, she knew he wouldn’t be forthcoming about it. He would be like an oyster- never opening his shell. She would have to pry it open, to retrieve the pearl of wisdom within, but she had to do it carefully lest she hurt him.

It was toward the end of the second week when she finally caught a break.

Since coming here and learning the rules- which he had followed to the letter since his spanking- he had been careful to use the bathroom before it ever began and lasted until it was over. However, that day, his Father had woken him up with a brisk shake and told him to accompany him immediately to the castle for a meeting. He only had time to comb his mane before he was shouted at to move. Not wanting to receive punishment, he had complied. He had sat through the meeting and it had transitioned almost seamlessly into his session with Mesma. He had been there maybe twenty minutes when the need to use the bathroom began screaming at him.

He had been sitting with Brownie on the floor when the need became overwhelming. He had frozen, tensed, gone completely rigid. The rule flashing before his mind that there was no training potty to go in now, and that were this to happen he would have to use his diaper. It was only years of training on how to show no emotion that kept his cheeks from burning pink at the thought.

Much as he wanted release, his father’s voice in his head screamed at him that this was not the way to behave.

Should you fail to perform this task to my standards, whatever it may be, you will be dealt with severely. A Prince bears his title at all times, and I expect you to act as such, lest you bring more shame upon our name than you already did the moment you were born.

There was no greater shame he could think of at this point in time than wetting himself. That might have been the fear and pain talking, because later on, he would be able to think of many others. It was taking every bit of his concentration to hold it in. Mesma, who had been making him a bottle at that time, had turned to check on him, and saw this. A part of her wanted to give him reassurance and comfort, tell him that it was okay, but some part of her knew that he had to do this on his own, and that she could comfort him after.

Finally though, he couldn’t take it anymore. A faint hiss could be heard by Mesma’s highly trained ears, and she glanced back just long enough to see his expression change from pained to shocked. She turned her back, trying to give him a sliver of privacy in what had to be a humiliating circumstance. The sound went on for a long while, before it finally stopped. Then, Mesma finally turned around.

Blueblood’s face had morphed a few times during those moments, unseen by Mesma. It had transitioned from shock to something inscrutable to horror. And in horror it had stayed. When Mesma had finally turned to face him, it made one more transformation into a mix of anger and shame. He was so angry with himself. He put a hoof to his head over and over again.

“Stupid, shameful, ugly mule!” He chided himself.

Mesma went over to him, quicker than he could blink. “Blueblood, honey, it’s okay. It’s fine.” She tried to soothe.

“What was I thinking?! So disgraceful!” He seemed to not hear her, caught in some world inside of his head.

She gripped his hoof, forcing it down so he could not hit himself again. “Enough!” It was not a shout, but it was loud enough to get him out of his head enough to look at her.

“Huh?” It wasn’t as much a question as it was a startled reply.

“Look at me, Bluey Bear. You are not shameful, disgusting, disgraceful, ugly, or any other adjective running through your head right now.”

“But-“ She put a hoof to his lips.

“No buts. You had an accident, and that’s all it is. Accidents are okay, and we clean them up and move on. They don’t stay forever, they don’t leave a permanent mark of shame on you, they just happen. They are a part of life in any capacity, and they are normal. No pony is perfect all of the time. And you are lovable, no matter what happens, no matter what mistakes you may make. Nothing and no pony can ever take that away. Do you understand?”

He looked at her, eyes wide in disbelief. “I… Really?”

“Yes. Absolutely.” She assured him. She offered him her hoof. “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up, and then we can talk some more.”

He nodded, suddenly aware of the cooling of his diaper. He got up from his seated position, grimacing at the sensation, and up to his hooves. His waddles were exaggerated by the now bulkier diaper, and he found it more difficult to walk. Nonetheless, he made it over to the changing table. Mesma helped him up, and he made a pinched face as he laid down and the diaper squished against him. Mesma paid it little mind, and instead set straight to work on changing him. She removed the diaper with expert precision, and Blueblood nearly shivered at the air touching him there. Mesma wiped him off thoroughly, and slid a new diaper beneath him. She powdered him carefully, lovingly, and with more tenderness than anyone had shown him in perhaps sixteen years, since before his Mother died. She taped up the diaper, and helped him off of the table, and led him to the rocking chair to be in her lap.

“Now,” Said Mesma, “Let’s talk about where you heard the words in your head.”