Sprout's Second Chance

"What do you mean, 'extended leave'? Are you firing me?" Spout asked incredulously as he stood in front of the desk of his immediate superior.

Well, make that only superior. Hitch Trailblazer wasn't sure why his deputy thought this was coming out of left field. Not after the ten-minute rampage he had just gone on two nights ago.

"Sprout, there's enough evidence against you to put you behind bars, do you get that? Do you realize that there is actually more than one pony in town making an effort to see that what you did isn't the start of a criminal record for you?"

Sprout didn't have an immediate answer to that, as he thought that once everything had calmed down, it would all be water under the bridge, but even his mom had given him the cold shoulder when he had asked if he had been a good sheriff.

"So what am I supposed to do now?" Sprout asked.

"You are officially remanded into your mother's custody. You are to go home, right now, and speak with her. I will be checking with her shortly, and if you're not home in a timely manner, I will put out a warrant for your arrest, and you'll spend the night in that cell instead of your room. Do I make myself clear? This is house arrest. Go. Now." Hitch told him, in no uncertain terms, pointing a hoof at the front door.

Sprout gave a frustrated grunt, but figuring Hitch was serious, turned to the front door and left in a huff.

Letting out a sigh, Hitch opened up the candy dish on his desk and took out a piece of Maretime Bay's saltwater taffy, popping it into his mouth before returning to the paperwork on his desk, looking forward to getting home.

'Hope you know what you're doing, Phyllis.'

Sprout walked down the main avenue of Maretime Bay, passing the main entry way to CanterLogic, seeing the factory lights a bit dimmer for the third shift. He kept his pace steady, not dawdling, because he had a feeling Hitch was serious about getting home in a timely manner being his only reprieve from legal consequences of his brief rampage that ended in the partial collapse of the Maretime Bay lighthouse.

Preferring to be close to the factory in case of emergencies, Phyllis Cloverleaf lived less than a block away from the factory property proper, in a modest two-story dwelling. He trotted up the front walk, took a deep breath, and opened the front door, wiping his hooves on the doormat before stepping inside.

"Mommy, I'm home," Sprout announced. He walked into the living room, where he saw his mother sitting in the rocking chair.

"There you are. Another ten minutes and I would have called Sheriff Hitch to see if you were held up at all." Phyllis told him.

"So I guess you know what's going on?" Sprout asked.

"'Know what's going on? Sugar cube, I suggested what's going on."

"What do you mean? You asked to put me on leave?" Sprout asked.

"Before we continue, let's get you up to your room. Go," Phyllis told him, getting up from the rocking chair.

His curiosity for more answers piqued, Sprout turned back into the hallway and went up the stairs, his mom right behind him. He opened the door, and found himself gently pushed the rest of the way in before he was able to clearly take in what had happened to his bedroom. Phyllis stepped in, closed the door, and locked it with a key.

Sprout's eyes widened as his breath was taken away.

His bed and desk were gone. In their place was a crib that was clearly sized for somepony much bigger than a foal, that looked like it closed at the top as well, and a changing table right next to it, again upsized considerably. On the shelves below the padded top of the table were stacks and stacks of disposable diapers.

His bedroom had been effectively transformed into an adult nursery. As he turned to face his mom, only then did he notice the newly installed deadbolt on his bedroom door, reversed so there was no way to unlock it from the inside without a key.

"Mommy, what's going on? What is this?"

"This was my suggested alternative. I'll explain everything when I've got you nice and padded up. Climb up on that changing table."

Sprout was beside himself.

"What? Are you kidding me? I'm not a foal, mommy, I'm not going to—"

"Sprouticus Cloverleaf, this is hardly up for discussion," Phyllis snapped, which sent a shiver down Sprout's spine, unable to remember the last time his mother snapped at him like that. "I have paid for all the pending repairs to the lighthouse, and I've arranged for you to have an extended leave from the precinct, because I have assured them that you would return to work a new pony, if they would forego pressing charges. I realized that this is not solely your fault; it's mine too. I didn't reign you in when you riled up the town. I let you build that monstrosity in the factory. Somewhere along the line, I went wrong with you, sweetheart. So guess what? You and I are starting over. You are going to return to foalhood, and earn your privileges back gradually with good behavior. Am I understood? We can do this the easy way or the hard way. Now get up on that table."

Sprout felt another shiver go down his spine as he glanced over at the changing table, with the dozens of adult-sized diapers packed into the shelves.

"Mommy, this is nuts!"

Phyllis' expression went to something akin to disappointment as she let out a soft sigh.

"The hard way it is, then," She said, stepping forward and taking her son by the hoof, guiding him forcefully over a stool next to the crib. She sat down on the stool, and he was pulled over her lap with strength that he never realized she had. Holding him down and pinning his tail against his back with one hoof, he saw her grab a wooden paddle that had been leaning against the wall, drilled with a dozen holes.

"Mommy, what are—"

WHAP!

The paddle came down on his flanks with an earsplitting crack, and Sprout let out a sharp gasp as the pain registered in his brain.

"Ah!" He cried out.

WHAP!

The breath he had drawn in was immediately and forcefully exhaled as the second blow landed.

WHAP! WHAP! WHAP!

The cadence of smacks from the wooden paddle came evenly and steadily as the young stallion proceeded to squirm and thrash in his mother's lap to no avail, as her grip on his midsection was firm. Ten swats in, he did the only thing he could to ease the pain, and that was to start whimpering, and as he quickly lost count, that turned to full on crying.

Phyllis completely ignored her son's pleading and begging for her to stop. After a solid thirty seconds of steady spanking, finally, the strikes came to a halt, and Sprout caught his breath as tears flowed down his cheeks and his nose started to run.

"Now, have you had enough of the hard way, or should we continue, and I'll see to it that you can't sit for a week?"

His flanks screaming for mercy as they burned, he sniffled and nodded as he still took in deep breaths.

"Okay... Okay, mommy," Sprout whimpered. She released him from her lap, setting the paddle down, and he slid down to the floor on his hooves. Without a word, she pointed back to the changing table. He turned, and glanced to the bedroom door for a moment, almost certain that she had locked it, and wasn't willing to go another round over her lap. Sniffling, he slowly started to make his way over to the changing table, trying his best to mentally prepare himself for whatever his mom had in mind...