“Now,” you finish, placing your right hoof against the fattest part of her left cheek, the top of her thigh. “Babs, next time Mommy tells you to come—” With a sound WHACK, you slap the hoof hard against the sitspot and Babs lets out a yelp of pain. Moving to the right, you smack her hard again. Back to the left, smack, the right, smack. Babs dances on the spot, wailing. “—you are going to come to her. Do I make myself clear? You don’t want Mommy to count to three again!”
“I’LL C-C-COOOMEEE!” she screeches, tears splashing into your lap as she gasps from the renewed swatting. “Maaamaaa-haaa-haaa!”
Finally, you’re finished. No longer warming her upper thighs, you let your daughter cry freely, tracing your hoof up and down her back while she leans limply against your left. Eventually, you draw her into your chest and wrap your arms tightly around her. She simply bawls and bawls, soaking your fur.
“Alright, alright, sweetheart…” you coo softly. “It’s all over, there’s nothing you have to worry about anymore.” You run a hoof through her mane. “Mommy’s not mad or upset with you any longer, I promise.”
“Mama, I’m sawwy, I’m sawwy…”
“That’s enough, Babs… you have nothing to be sorry for anymore.”
You continue to hold her for a little while longer, thankful that she is still able to accept your comforting embrace. Rocking her in your arms, you rub her blazing backside gently. Hearing Streamline’s chair pushed into the table, you glance back over to him, having momentarily forgotten he was even present. He gives you a warm, encouraging smile and your chest swells.
“You did good,” he says in a whisper as he nuzzles the side of your head.
“Of course I did!” you murmur in response, smiling back. “Think I don’t know my own babies?” You are, of course, talking about a mother’s instinct, and knowing how much your child can take before it becomes too much to bear.