Honor Thy Mother Part 2

Sorry for the delay in posting the second part of this.  We took some vacation time and then it took a while to catch up on everything.

Anyway read Part 1 if you forgot where I left off.

So I stood there with the thoughts of how my mother had spanked me at 12 flooding through my memory while my wife admonished me for yelling at my mother and throwing her out of the house.  Since this was not my first spanking from my wife, I knew she was planning to spank me at that time.  A part of me wanted to beg her not to spank me, but every time the thought of begging for a reprieve came into my head so did the memory of me standing before my mother begging when I was 12 and the pain of that memory prevented me from making a similar plea to my wife.

She turned and left me standing there in the living room and I knew she was going for the hairbrush and my heart began to pound in my head.  I was conflicted as the thoughts of both my mother and my wife played out in my mind, memories of my childhood and the feeling of absolute obedience a child must give to his mother mixing with the reluctant submital to my wife.

She returned with the hairbrush and I began trembling with fear the moment I saw it.  She stood before me with a look of disappointment on her face.

Again she reminded me, "If you were 12 and spoke to your mother that way you would of had your bottom bared and spanked by her."

She paused letting the words sink in, again the memory of humiliating spanking I received at 12 haunting my thoughts confusing the past with the present.  At 12, I was a child I was dependent on my mother and she had the responsibility to insure that I was raised in a safe and healthy environment, but she also had the responsibility to insure I became a respectful and moral member of society.  While spanking may be a controversial method of discipline today, it was certainly an expected method of discipline when I was 12.  My mother was neither cruel or inhumane, she simply saw this as her duty.  She could not allow how 12 year old son to get away with feeling he could address his mother in that manner and no begging or pleading was going to save me from her doing her duty.

I stared at my wife as she reminded me of those events so long ago, yet feeling like they just happened.  I was not a 12 year old boy anymore and she was not my mother.  Even my mother had to yield her authority as I was no longer a child but a man.  Good, bad or indifferent, her task was completed and all she could do was sit back and hope that she was successful in making me a good and honorable man.  My spanking days should be over, but as I stared at my wife, I realized that any flaw in my character that my mother had failed to correct my wife was now going to take on.

She continued, "I am so embarrassed by what you did."

She was embarrassed?  Who is the one who is about to be spanked like a 12 year old?  Why is she embarrassed, I thought.

"I can't believe anyone would treat their mother that way.  Right or wrong, she is still your mother and no matter what she says or does, she deserves your total respect."

Deep down she was right of course.  I am sure we could have found a better way to address our disagreement, but my mother can be so pushy and thought it would be best if I just laid down the law and established that I was no longer a child and she should show me the respect I deserved.  I was an adult after all.  Then how come I didn't feel like an adult at that moment?

"Anyway," my wife spoke interrupting my thoughts, "since you act like a 12 year old, you will be treated like a 12 year old.  Pull down your pants."

The words shocked me, even though I knew they were coming.  There should have been no surprise, but hearing the words sent a shiver through my body anyway.  I looked down ashamed at myself.  Ashamed for the way I treated my mother, ashamed for allowing my wife to treat me like this, ashamed for not being a man and as I reached for the buttons on my jeans ashamed that I was once again going to pull my pants down and let me wife spank me like I was still a 12 year old boy.  I slowly slid the jeans down to my knees trying to push the thoughts of my childhood spanking out of my head I was becoming uncomfortable with the comparison of my present situation with the past.

"Underpants too."  she added when she saw I was standing their with my briefs still on.

Again I slowly lowered my briefs to join my jeans.  I looked down at my pathetic looking penis all shriveled up with fear and embarrassment and in some ways was it helped to push the childhood memories from my mind.  At last a reminder that I was indeed a man.  My penis may have been small, but the surrounding manly  pubic hair was a stark contrast to the hairless little boy of my memories.  I concentrated on how I looked to help keep me focused on the present, as embarrassing as that was.

My wife sat down on the couch then order me, "Over my knee"

I complied focusing on her voice, her look, her smell as I continued to concentrate on my body and reassure myself I was a man.  In spite of how this may look and feel, I kept telling myself, I am not a boy going over my mother's knee I am a man going over my wife's.  Yes I am being spanked, but I am being spanked by my wife.  Only men have wives, so therefore I am a man.

I kept repeating this mantra the whole time I was being spanked and while I felt every blow that landed on my backside, I did manage to keep my emotions in control and even though my bottom was really stinging by the time she was done, I did manage to stop myself from crying and the watery eyes were more a result from squeezing my eyes then they were from an emotional buildup.

My wife allowed me to get up and get dressed.  The next morning I apologized to my mother and invited her back over for dinner the following weekend.   Dinner was pleasant and I again apologized to my mother and she apologized to me for being so pushy.  All in all, it ended well for everyone.

The only thing.  At one point during dinner when we were all apologizing to each other, my wife looked at my mother and said, "You have a good man in you son Mrs. XXXX.  You must have done a good job of raising him when he was a little boy."

My mother looked at me and smiled.  I wonder if she could see me blushing?