I don't understand my wife.  She's a housewife and seems to be proud of that fact.  When we decided to have kids, she felt it would be in their best interests if she stayed home to raise them.  I didn't have any problem with that and I think it's worked out great and the kids have benefitted greatly from having their mom available to nurture and supervise their upbringing.  It's also been nice to have meals ready when I get home and I also don't have to waste my weekends cleaning the house like I did when we both worked.  But with that decision, she gave up earning a paycheck and I've been the breadwinner since that time.

Now, don't get me wrong.  I let her have access to the bank account and savings account.  I've even given her several credit cards to facilitate day‑to‑day purchases and I normally don't complain when paying the credit card statements.  However, since I bring home the cash, I think I should be consulted whenever she's considering making a major purchase.

That's why I got upset the other day when she purchased a new car without my approval.  We got into a little bit of a disagreement about that and someplace in the discussion I said something like, `But you're only a housewife.' Now I didn't mean anything derogatory about that.  I just meant that I had the job and I brought home the money that we live on.  A housewife doesn't have a real job and earn a paycheck, so if she was planning on spending more than some minimal amount of money, then I should be consulted to make sure that I feel it's an appropriate expenditure.

I don't understand why, but she felt that she had the right to buy the car without checking with me first.  Now, if she had said the transmission was going out or the brakes were failing, I could have decided if the car just needed fixing or needed to be replaced.  I mean a car's a lot of money and as head of the house, she should have made sure that I agreed with her decision before spending my money.

Anyway, she gets all pissed off and starts ranting and raving about being an adult, capable of making decisions, being a housewife is a job, doesn't need to check with me when she buys things, doesn't ask me to get her approval when I buy things (yeah, right) and a bunch of other things that I don't remember.  I wasn't in the mood to debate these issues, so I just said, "Why don't we talk about this later, when you've calmed down." and walked off.  I don't know, maybe it was her time of the month or something, but she was still mad at dinner so we both had a quiet evening.

That night as we were getting ready to go to bed, she felt it was necessary to rehash my prior comment.  I gave her a chance to state her side (I don't really remember what she said) and then tried to explain the `facts' to her.  Obviously, she was not listening to me, because when I finished all she said was, "I'm still hopping mad at you for what you said, so I'm going down to the couch."

Perhaps I should explain.  When we first got married, my wife requested that we never go to bed mad at one another.  If we hadn't worked out the problem before bedtime, then we'd adjourn to the couch and if possible, try to resolve the problem that night.  If we couldn't solve the problem that night, we'd be back at the couch the next night, etc. until we came to a resolution.  However, if one person admitted that she was wrong, then the other party could punish the person who admitted fault.  We'd only done this twice before and both times my wife finally admitted that she was wrong.  My punishments consisted of some extra sexual activity and both incidents were quickly forgotten.

When I got down to the couch, I could tell that this could be a long evening.  I still didn't understand why she was making such a big deal out of this and besides, I was getting horny.  I waited a while and hoped that she would come to her senses.  When she didn't, I decided that the bed would be a lot more comfortable for sleeping (and other things) than that stupid couch so I said, "I'm sorry, honey.  I guess you were right.  Now, can't we go upstairs."

My wife looked a little shocked, but picked up her pillow and headed upstairs.  When we got to the bedroom, she placed her pillow on the bed and sat down on the edge, "Since you admitted you were wrong, I'm going to punish you now.  Stand over here, next to me."

I was a bit hesitant, but since I had consented to our agreement, I complied and walked over to her side.  My hesitation apparently was unjustified as she slid my pajama bottoms down and started to rub my bottom.  Her gentle stimulations of my backside aroused another part of my anatomy on the front.  Seeing my male reaction, my wife encircled my elevating manhood and gently started to stroke it.

As her foreplay continued, I felt I should convey my appreciation for her stimulating punishment and uttered, "Honey, you can punish me anytime you want." as I fantasized about the upcoming main event.

"I appreciate the offer sweetheart and I'll be sure to remind you of that statement in the future." my wife replied.  As she spoke, her grasp became firmer and instead of continuing her stroking, she used my erection to pull me towards her.  She continued to urge my body forward even as her legs blocked any further progress of my feet and I ended up lying across her thighs with my upper body being supported by the bed.  Now, my wife and I have experimented with various positions, but this one seemed quite unusual.  Although the `parts' were in close proximity, having our bodies at a perpendicular angle appeared strange.  It was almost like I was going to get a... Hey, wait a minute!

WHAP!  Unfortunately, my suspicions were confirmed as my wife's hand came crashing down on my exposed backside.

"Damnit," I protested.  "What the hell's going on?"

"You're getting punished, honey," my wife responded.  "I've decided that you need a good spanking to make up for all those things you've said recently."

"That's not fair," I countered.  "I didn't spank you when you admitted that you were wrong."

"Ah, my dear husband," replied my wife.  "But you could have.  You just chose something that you wanted instead.  Well, I'm choosing a spanking and that's exactly what you're going to get." To emphasize her point, she landed a quick flurry of six or seven spanks to my tingling bottom.

"Honey, please.  Can't we talk about this?" I pleaded.

"We've already talked about it, sweetie," was her response.  "That's part of the problem.  You talked, but you never listened.  You don't have any idea as to what you admitted you were wrong about, do you?"

Assuming that was a rhetorical question, I decided in my own wisdom not to respond.  That apparently was an incorrect assumption, as her hand descended rapidly several more times before she inquired again, "I said, do you?"

To prevent further physical incentives for a verbal reply, I quickly stated, "Uh, because I called you a housewife?"

I guess that must have been the wrong answer and another flurry of palm meeting flesh prevailed before she continued, "Wrong!  I'm proud to be a housewife.  I love being a housewife.  I'm good at being a housewife.  I work my ass off at being a housewife." What I didn't understand was, if she was so concerned about working `her ass off', why was it that `my ass' was getting the brunt of attention right now as she continued to rain a multitude of spanks on my now pinkening derriere.

Pausing for a second, she stated, "I'm going to explain to you one more time why you upset me so much.  But, to keep your attention, I'm going to emphasize my points on your butt.  If I ask you a question, you'd better respond quickly or I'll tenderize your cheeks until you do.  Is that clear?"

"Yes." I hoped it was a sufficient response.

She then proceeded to point out various comments pertaining to being a housewife ‑ all the things she did, the amount of time it took to do all those things, how I didn't have to do those chores that she did, the amount of money she saved us by doing those things, yadda, yadda, yadda.  As promised, she accented each of those comments with a series of impacts on my bottom.  The accumulation of those blows was starting to have a painful effect on my posterior and I finally expressed my displeasure with, "Okay, this isn't funny anymore.  My butt's hurting and I want you to stop, right now."

As emotional as her prior dialogue had been, I was surprised at her calm response, "It's not supposed to be funny, dear.  If you don't understand just how serious I am, you are obviously not getting the point.  I have no intention of stopping right now, but I am not going to force this spanking on you.  You can get up right now and your punishment will be over.  However, if you do, our marriage will never be the same.  Your refusal to submit to whatever punishment I deem appropriate will mean that you broke your word to me and I will also interpret that to mean that you have absolutely no respect for me or what I do.  If you do decide to accept the rest of your punishment, I can guarantee you that when I'm done your butt will be so sore that you'll have to sleep on your stomach tonight.  So you decide ‑ Get up and put a barrier between us forever, or tell me right now that you want me to finish your spanking."

Oh shit, this had gotten way out of hand.  Even though my rear was getting pretty sore, I didn't want to lose my wife.  I've never heard her so determined before.  Perhaps, I should have paid a little more attention to her explanations.  I had a feeling if I agreed to her continued punishment that I would certainly regret my prior `deafness'.  Fear, humiliation and concern were now starting to overshadow the bravado and cockiness that had recently been my staple.  I knew the right decision, but was only willing to whisper it.

"You can finish the spanking."

With my acceptance, she finished, "Good, I'm done talking now.  The rest of my explanation will be between my hand and your rump.  Just to be assured that you will stay in place over my lap, give me your hand."

Resigning myself to my fate, I acquiesced and put my hand behind my back.  She grabbed my wrist and twisted my arm back up toward my head.  Then to assure that I remained substantially immobile, she placed her leg over my legs, effectively trapping my lower torso between her thighs. 

With her preparations complete, she started to rain spank after spank on my unprotected hindquarters.  Time after time her hand impacted flesh and waves of pain impulses surged through my body.  I tried to accept her discipline without providing her verbal indications of that pain.  However, it wasn't long before I was gritting my teeth and wincing my face in an attempt to suppress those utterances.  Finally, I could stand it no longer.  "Honey, please.  I'm sorry.  I'm really sorry," came pouring forth.

That must have been too little, too late as she continued to pummel my backside with the flat of her hand.  I'm sure you could have fried an egg on my bottom, it felt that hot.  It surely was bruised, yet she did not appear to be deterred from completing her task.  As she continued her assault, my body gave in to the stimulus and started bucking and thrashing, trying in vain to evade those blows.  Repentance was replaced with cries for mercy and forgiveness.  Finally, I could take no more and just slumped into her lap and started sobbing like a baby.

The tears must have been what my wife was waiting for as she discontinued her attack almost immediately.  She allowed me to vent my emotions as I continued to lie across her lap and she gently massaged my inflamed buttocks.

We spent the next three hours talking.  She did most of the talking and I actually did listen.  As I drifted off to sleep, I had gained a new respect for my wife, her `job' and the contribution she makes (and had always made) to our family.

And yes, I did sleep on my stomach that night.