His eyes still watering and nose running, Sprout slowly made his way over to the changing table. He consciously avoided dawdling too much, not wanting to draw his mother's ire again immediately after the swift wrath that his flanks had just suffered, and were still tingling from. As he slowly ascended the small set of wooden steps in the corner of the table, taking one last look at the stacks of diapers on the shelves, he wondered how quickly his mom had put this together. Being the owner of the largest factory in town, it wouldn't surprise him if this furniture had been built in a day. His hooves touched the soft plastic padding, and he laid down on his stomach.

"On your back, Sprout," Phyllis told him, and he rolled over, wincing as his tail brushed against his sore hindquarters. He watched as his mom pulled one of the diapers from the shelves below. When she unfolded it, his eyes widened as he saw just how big it was, and realized that it would have no problem at all fitting him.

"Backside up, please," Phyllis said, and he used his forelegs to lift his bum off of the bad as she fiddled with the back half of the diaper, and slid it underneath, and got the top set of tapes fastened around his dock. "Alright, thank you, you can set yourself down now."

Sprout did so, and was relieved that the soft padding of the disposable garment didn't bother his reddened flanks as much as the plastic had.

"Bear with me, I haven't done this in fifteen, sixteen years," Phyllis said as she grabbed the large bottle of foal powder, twisting the cap open.

"So I have to use these...?" Sprout asked worriedly, pretty sure he already knew the answer, but felt he had to hear it straight from his mom's lips.

"Yes, why wouldn't you? These were pricey, and they aren't just for show. I hope the reality of your situation hits home soon, sugar cube. You are now a foal in every way but size, until I deem otherwise."

Sprout brought his front hooves up and covered his eyes as his mother sprinkled foal powder over his groin, and he felt himself unsheathe a little. Luckily, it also helped in cool down his flanks. With that done, she closed the bottle and set it to the side, and brought the front of the diaper up between his legs.

"You'd best try to start setting your modesty aside. This will be quite the common position for you for the next several months," his mom warned him as she got the front of the diaper smoothed against his stomach, then brought the back wings up, and fastened the pair of tapes tightly on each side. Dread set into Sprout's mind when he heard his mom say 'months.'

"There. Now, you stay here and get used to it while I go get dinner ready," Phyllis told her son, watching as he sat up and climbed off of the changing table. She slid the key into the lock, opened the door, and stepped out into the hallway before shutting the door and promptly locking it again, leaving Sprout standing in the middle of his bedroom, trying his best to get used to the crinkling bulk between his hind legs. Admittedly, the way it kept his tail up and away from his sore flanks was a bit of a relief, but the thought of inevitably using them for their intended purpose was not a pleasant one. He glanced back at it, noticing the very foalish pattern of alphabet blocks, bottles, and rattles dotting the plastic surface.

He also took this time to continue to take in what had been done to his room. A large foam play mat was now in the back left corner of the room, surrounded by playpen gating. A rocking chair was next to the crib, and next to that was the stool and paddle.

He heard the deadbolt on the door unlatch, and his mom stepped in, carrying a foal bottle filled with a white fluid. It looked far larger than for an actual foal.

Was that what she had meant by 'dinner'?

She locked the door again, and walked across the room, passed him, and sat in the rocking chair.

"Alright, sugar cube. Dinnertime," Phyllis said, gently shaking the bottle of formula, pulling him up into her lap, laying him on his back, and moved the bottle's nipple to his lips.

"What? Out of that? Mommy, I can feed myself," Sprout objected.

"Foals don't feed themselves, Sprout," his mother answered, but his only response was to move his lips away in stubborn defiance.

Phyllis glanced over to the stool and paddle, but quickly thought of another, potentially more effective solution. She set him down, guided him over to the open crib, and set him down on the mattress. She walked over to the changing table and picked an item up off the shelf and turned back towards him, and he saw she had picked up a strap of some kind.

As she came to stand in front of him, he saw that it was a pacifier, and once it had been shoved into his mouth, he knew that it, like everything else in this room, had been sized up to fit him, and the rubber nipple filled more than half of the open space in his mouth. Not quite done, she took the straps on either side, and brought them around to the back of his head, and he felt her tightly and securely fasten and latch it around his head.

"There we go," she said, lifting his backside up into the crib entirely, before raising the gate, then reaching overhead and bringing the top rails down, and latched it shut, enclosing her son entirely in the crib. "If you're not hungry then you're not hungry. Maybe you will be after a good, long night's rest."

She pointed to a baby monitor on a small table next to the crib.

"This is for emergencies only. I expect you to be quiet otherwise. If you're thinking about getting my attention for anything that is not an emergency, I'd like you to think about what I said about not being able to sit for a week," Phyllis warned, motioning to the stool and the wooden paddle leaning up against it.

"See you in the morning, sugar cube," Phyllis finished, picking the bottle back up and turning towards the door. Unlocking and opening the door, she flipped the light off, leaving a small nightlight across from the crib as the sole source of illumination in the room. With that, she stepped out into the hallway, closed the door, and promptly locking it, leaving the padded and crib-bound Sprout alone in the near dark. There wasn't a clock to be seen in here; she had removed that as well; and while he wasn't absolutely certain of how much time had passed since coming home, he was pretty sure it wasn't even eight o'clock yet.

How was he going to be able to endure months of this?

Phyllis went downstairs to the kitchen, put the bottle of formula in the fridge, and walked over to her phone, seeing that she had missed a phone call from Sheriff Hitch about two minutes ago. Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly, she picked her phone up and tapped the Call Back button, putting it down on the counter and putting it on speaker.

The phone gave a ringing tone one and a half times before the pony on the other end picked up.

"Hey there Phyllis. So... How did it go?" Hitch Trailblazer asked.

"Oh, just about how I expected it to go. He resisted, so I had to take care of that, and he continued to be stubborn about being given a bottle of formula, so he's in bed right now without dinner. I'm sure he'll be more receptive to being fed in the morning when his belly is pushing up against his backbone," Phyllis said, ducking under the counter to grab a bottle of red wine from her rack and poured herself a small glass.

"Well, I don't want it to sound like I'm trying to deviate you from this path, because you have clearly made up your mind that this is the way for both of you to correct your mistakes, but I thought I'd cover some of the concerns that have come to my mind tonight," Hitch told her as she sipped at her glass.

"I'm all ears, Sheriff," Phyllis answered.

"One, I know you're not due back to Canterlogic until Monday, so the two of you have got a weekend to get the basics sorted out, but you will have to return to work after that. Do you trust him alone, or have you thought about a foalsitter who could understand and appreciate this type of approach?" Hitch asked her.

"Certainly something to think about. Next?"

"Whether this is an effective treatment or not remains to be seen, but have you considered what could potentially happen in the aftermath? If this punishment works, his mind may start to latch on and begin to like it. I hope you've considered that; the ease of obtaining some of those items in his room has hopefully tipped you off to the fact that this is a fetish for some ponies."

"I was aware of that, especially with the furniture blueprints. If it turns him around as a pony and helps me correct my mistakes as a parent, I'll deal with that if and when it happens," Phyllis answered.

"Alright, and lastly, I just hope you weren't planning on any outing in public, at least against his will. This kind of rehabilitation behind closed doors is one thing, but exhibitionism when he doesn't want it could do irreparable harm. That's also why I mentioned finding foalsitters who would be open to this; they need to be ponies who would treat him completely normal in the outside world when this is all said and done."

"Noted, Sheriff, and thank you. I'm happy to know that I'm not the only one who has his best interests at heart."

"He's a good pony, Phyllis, if a bit misguided. I for one hope this works. Have a good night," Hitch told her.

"You as well, Hitch. Good night."

With that, Phyllis disconnected the call, and began to ponder how tomorrow morning would go...

Author's Note

Well, not a whole lot of feedback on this story just yet, but what is there is certainly enthusiastic, and there's been no shortage of tracking and favorite alerts on it, so I know it's getting hits.

I honestly don't have any long term plans for this story yet, so if any of you fine readers have any ideas, suggestions, or just things you'd like to potentially see happen in this story, please let me know in the comments.

As always, thank you for reading!

-Miles