A Hard Apology

My wife and I had been together, through some crazy and turbulent times, for almost thirty years. There were times that we were lovers and best friends, but too often we were each other's worst enemy. Our passion for each other burned incredibly hotly, but then that meant that when we crossed the line of anger into hurting one another, it was nuclear in intensity far too often.

But we forged through, never truly happy, but never truly miserable. Always in the middle with brief peaks and valleys, up and down.

I confess that while my wife's single greatest hurts weren't caused by me, the incredibly long list below the top handful were all mine. It was baggage she could never put away and it left scars that wouldn't heal on their own.

So for our thirtieth anniversary I offered her my apology in the most tangible way I could think of. I offered her a one time opportunity to visit on me all of the pain I had caused her through so many years. We had come to engage in erotic spankings and she had shown me at times that she was withholding a real aggression. I enjoyed the pain and release of the whippings in that context, but I knew her real need to release would never come through sex play.

So one weekend night, a few days after our thirtieth, I made her an offer. She didn't refuse, and it has made all of the difference.

When she came to bed, she found me naked, wearing my collar, kneeling on the floor in my welcome position. She said she wasn't sure she was in the mood to play.

I looked up to her and asked her to sit at the end of the bed. I knelt at her feet and told her that our anniversary had caused me to think about all of the years, all of the good times, but also all of the hurt and suffering I had caused her. From simple insensitivity and callousness, to malicious suffering for some offense that raised my ire. I told her that I was sorry, that I could never be perfect and I can never take those things back, but that I wanted to try and free her from them. That I wanted to give us a fresh start by giving her the opportunity to rebalance the scales and free her from whatever pain burdened her. I tild her that I would even atone for what others had done.

She asked me how I planned to do this thing and I said that I would give myself to her and let her strike back at me with impunity until the fire burned out and the pain was gone. I would submit to her completely, that she could tie me, gag me, and there would be no safewords. I would accept my punishment and whatever others deserved to free her. That whatever it took to purge her soul of all of this darkness, up to and including taking my life, I would submit. The only caveat being that when it was over, she had to be empty, to forgive everyone, and to start over, especially with me.

At first she protested. So many sins were not mine, but I told her it didn't matter and she needed to be rid of all of the poison. She confessed that she had always truly wanted to get even with me, but she feared I would be injured or die. I told her I was prepared to suffer both for her... That I would leave a statement taking responsibility for whatever outcome occurred. That I understood and accepted what injuries I would suffer would be with me for a potentially long time, but to detoxify her soul and begin our next era together back at zero was worth it to me. We both cried as we said and heard these things.

When i was more composed, she picked up her phone, turned on the camera, and I began to speak. I introduced myself completely, as if testifying in a court of law. I stated that the actions of my wife were at my request and with my full willingness and cooperation, that I was under no duress or coercion, and that I fully accepted and welcomed anything and all outcomes of our private marital activity on this date and time. I stated that I would not now or ever press charges or participate in any prosecution, nor allow my body or any of my property to be held against her in any way. As I spoke, tears slowly rolled down her face, while I felt a peaceful calm coming over me.

Then she quietly got up and gestured for me to get into position on the bed. Earlier I had covered it in a plastic cover with a thick comforter over top. She pulled the ropes from the bottom drawer of the dresser as I piled pillows in the middle of the bed. This position would be the most secure, I would have nowhere to run and no way to hide. She handed me my ball gag and I said my last piece: "Now I want you to remember everything I've ever done to you, every awful thing I ever said to you. I want you to bring back all the evil and pain from others. I want you to let it all out, to give it all to me, and to detoxify your soul of these old poisons. I love you, but we can't move forward until this is gone. You can't heal and I won't have been released without this punishment. But when it's over, it has to be over. Yes?"

She quietly whispered, "Yes."

I quickly put on the ball gag and took my place over the pile of pillows. And so she began to tie me, the ropes seizing my skin at all points and the knots tighter and ropes more taut than ever before. There would be no escape, no thrashing, no movement. My hands were over my head, which was down on the bed. My ass, elevated, and the whole backside of my body exposed. My feet hung off the bottom of the bed.

I could turn my head, which let me see her bringing out her tools. Leather belts, floggers, canes of various thicknesses, her riding crop, and a wooden baseball bat. For a moment I felt panic, but reminded myself that I would rather die than live without releasing all of the ugliness from between us. There was no turning back and if I was to die, so be it.

For a brief time she went into her closet and then into the other room to change. She came back in her black leggings and a black sports bra. Her hair was pulled back in a band. Her whole demeanor was that of anger, almost predatory, and I saw flickers of hate in her eyes. She was using this time to pile all of the fuel onto the fire and stoke the flames. This is what I had hoped for, what I had wanted, what she needed.

She stepped nearest to my head and said: "You say you want to pay for the things that you and others have done to hurt me? Fine. I can't hurt them back now, but you've offered yourself up in their place. I don't think they deserve that, but for thirty years of my tears and all you've done to hurt me, I've dreamed of beating you, killing you, evening the score. Now I'm going to do it. This is going to hurt, alot. Are you still sure you are willing to accept this?"

I nodded slowly, solemnly, my intent for there to be no mistaking my commitment.

"OK, when it's over, it'll be over. But there's miles to go in between. There are no safewords now."

At that she stepped back and struck my ass with her bare hand. I know it left a white mark in the shape of her hand, we had begun.

Several barehanded, cupped hand slaps followed on my ass. I could hear her crying rise up, her rage manifest in grunts and groans. Her hands closed to fists and she punched me over and over. On my back, on my hips, in my legs, and over my buttocks. It hurt, but not enough to make me cry out. Then she moved to near my head, screamed names at me that I had hurled at her, and smacked and punched my face. It was only a few times and she became winded and had to gather herself for a moment.

When she was more composed, she began spanking my ass with the backside of her big hair brush. I recognized both the sound and the feeling, she covered my ass and turned it a warm, even shade of red. She told me that one thing she learned from our spankings was that warming up my ass meant I could take more and she had plenty to give.

Next came the flogger, a big heavy thud at each swing. Over my shoulders and back, across my ass and thighs. It was heavy for her, but she wielded it powered by so much hate and anger. I accepted the blows, some so heavy they shook me. But I didn't cry out, which I think made her angrier, so she brought an underhanded blow up between my legs, the tails hitting my cock and balls. My body went rigid as it could in the bonds and I screamed behind the ball gag. More blows landed, as she told me she was punishing my manhood for making me so unsympathetic.

Once breathless, she put the flogger away, gathered herself, and went to get a drink. I knelt there, feeling pain, but gathered myself back to being calm. I could feel some bruising and welts beginning in parts of my body. But I re-centered myself and waited for her to begin again.

Several minutes later she was back and I could hear that she had gathered herself, too. Her breathing was deep and heated, controlled, but angry. She picked up the one belt, about an inch-and-a-half wide, and folded it in half. She reared back, and brought a hard stroke across my ass that sent lightning bolts up my spine. She talked about other women, about comments I had made about them but she never heard me make about her. Then as she took whole strokes, she spat the names of women at me, women she thought I had crushes on, women she feared (wrongly) that I had cheated with, many names and many strokes. I could feel the welts rising. I thrashed against my bonds in agony, but with little result.

At her next break she leaned over me and hissed in my ear, "There are no other women in this world that you should ever want, that you should ever speak of that way. You gave yourself to me and only me! You wear my ring and you wear my collar. Now you wear my stripes!"

Next came the riding crop. I could tell by the feel of the slapper, which she always wrapped around my ass and thighs just a little bit. It combined the strike of a cane with the flick of a whip. Her blows landed on my ass and thighs, she would strike one leg at a time for awhile, allowing the slapper to hit my balls. This created a lot of stingy pain and I started to cry. I pulled it back as much as i could, I didn't want her slowed, but it was becoming overwhelming and my emotions were starting to release.

As she beat me with the crop, she talked about things I fell short on. Some were sexual, like cumming before her. Others were what she considered disrespectful, like hanging up the phone on her in arguments and not changing enough dirty diapers. These were a truckload of little sins, all stinging, all leaving slight marks, but there were so many!

After what seemed like a hundred or more blows she stopped again. She put the crop down and she left the room. I don't know where she went, but I could hear her sobbing elsewhere in the house. After awhile, the sobbing stopped and it was quiet for many minutes.

When she came back, she was different. She still burned, but the flame was much tighter and more focused. She picked up the first rattan cane and rolled it in her hand as she told me who's sins I would pay for now. As she raged at him, she brought perhaps the most wicked blows yet. He had raped her when she was in college and I had always hated him for it. It was a thing she could never get past and something I think I paid for slowly almost every day. She beat me so hard in his name that I think I passed out, though I may have just slipped away inside my brain to cope with the pain. When I stopped moving and reacting, she came to my head, grabbed my hair, and looked into my eyes. I blinked at her to focus and then locked in. Her anger wasn't mitigated by her concern.

She went back and hit me for her pedophile uncle that used to make her sit on his lap. There were others and I received measures for each. As she started to wind back up, she turned to her mother, who hated and resented her. Who had never been a mother to her because of her petty jealousy. These blows came hard and fast, breaking one cane. With the second cane she split the bruised skin on my ass and as I felt the blood seep, I passed out. I only remember blackness. Then I remember coming back to smelling salts and pain.

At this point I realized that I was no longer tied. My head was in her naked lap and I was being cradled by her. She was weeping softly. I looked up at her, questioningly, my jaw too sore to speak from biting into the gag.

She said, "Its done. Its over. I have nothing left. You took it all from me. And as I took all of this out on you, and as I punished you for everything you ever did wrong or I thought you did wrong to me, I realized something.

I realized what a colossal act of love and sacrifice it was for you to receive this. I realized how much you must love me to even volunteer for this, much less submit to it.

I didn't get to the ball bat. When I started, I was really toying with killing you or breaking bones to leave a permanent lesson. But then I realized that I was the one receiving the lesson. And that all I could do was destroy the only person in the world that was willing to do whatever it took to love me and take away my pain.

I tried to raise my head and speak, but she stopped me by bending over and kissing me deeply, like she'd never done before. Then she laid me down and got up to get something... And came back with healing lotion that she began rubbing into my bruised and bleeding skin. And with each stroke she said the name of someone we loved together, she talked of the things that we shared that were so much more powerful than the things she hated. She talked of our good times together, of our children and what we shared, and of how she now had a huge empty place to fill with thirty more years of love and memories.

We both wept softly and we healed.