"It’s nothing as trite as a bucket list.  When you reach a certain age you start thinking about the future, regrets if any, things you would have to leave in a problematic state if you suddenly passed.  I do not have much time left.
 
Twenty five years ago I did something incredibly foolish.  It was impulsive, non-violent, sexually-motivated, selfish.  It inconvenienced a woman, violated her space, and I regretted it almost immediately.  And for the next twenty-five years.  I’ve tried getting the guilt monkey off my back, donating money to women’s shelters, specific charities that would align with the offence, and other forms of penitence.  Certainly I have never re-offended, nor is recidivism in the cards going forward. 
 
It was time for closure.  After a search for the 'right' therapist, and I use the word wisely, I asked Madame Rax to help me.  After consultation, she developed a meticulous and methodical approach – punishment, surveillance, supervision, control and at the end – absolution.  The level of her preparations was impressive to say the least.  This was not a 'session,' not a 'scene.'  It was not 'play.'  This was my open heart bleeding while she added to the pain, but in ways that left me feeling safe, supported and nurtured.
 
My mother died; I did not cry.  My father died; no tears.  But believe me, salty tears of remorse ran down my cheeks for Madame Rax to see when she broke me down, de-stabilized me, shocked me.  
 
And then, after two days of rigorous penance, the details of which can remain private, I heard her say, and I watched through the webcam as she said, 'Offender, you are forgiven.'
 
It was cathartic.  Transformative.  Disruptive.  Cleansing.  Madame Rax has offered an ongoing disciplinary rapport in which I can be kept calm,  achieve my life objectives, and make better decisions.  I am grateful to her for her support; it means the world to me."

There are abundant times in which My chosen path is very rewarding to Me, and this was definitely one of those times. Over the course of several days, My slave (to whom I will now refer as "boy") and I built a journey that ended in a poignant breakdown, catharsis, breakthrough, and subsequent reassembly into a greater awareness and acceptance of boy's self. 

It was quite a bit of work, on both ends. First, boy came to Me, begging to try to do something about a heavy and awful thing he was unable to forget or overcome, emotionally. It was his own fault, but most of the problems people face for a very long time, are. As he said in the above reflective writing, he had carried guilt, sadness, and a lack of closure for 25 years. Starting a new job, it was time. 

The grimy details: boy would go to a horse farm which offered riding lessons to women of beginner status. Observing women wearing rubber rain boots to ride the horses (since they weren't experts they wore cheap, fairly disposable boots rather than serious equestrian riding boots) in a parking lot, he would masturbate. Rainboots were, and still are, his fetish. One day, perhaps out of desensitization, he went a step further: he saw a woman who left the boots in her car - and stole them. He proceeded to masturbate, then discarded the boots in a ditch along a country road. This scene could have culminated in an arrest, possible imprisonment, job loss, and would have undoubtedly impacted his status in life. Irreparable.

But it didn't. Likely the girl forgot them, and didn't think twice about it. But I constructed a roleplay scenario where I was the girl, and I was increasingly devastated as years went by. I brought up My family history of mental illness, told him I questioned My sanity, and had to go through years of therapy. I had trouble trusting people. I felt violated and helpless. It was truly a worst-case scenario for the victim.

Now I was out for blood, and I wasn't going to stop punishing him until My thirst for revenge was quenched. I ran him through a verbal shredder. So much so, that he was rather shaken up. He was entirely destabilized by the interaction with this "woman." I received some unintended benefits as well: I was able to step into the shoes of a person who felt slighted, and mustered My internal power to vilify the person by whom I was wronged. I was able to solidify my knowledge that even if I reach a situation where I feel (at one time) powerless, I can still become a powerhouse and find My way back to Dominance. Since adulthood, I have not felt powerless against someone. And I doubt I ever will. 

A list of needed items was prepared via email, and the slave gathered the items. A pair of extremely soiled rainboots, oil (to adhere to debris), bags of rice, a drop cloth, writing implements, paper, and a few other things. The punishments began...

Methodically cleaning each boot to immaculate specifications with his tongue, kneeling on rice while I counted as he chanted various apologies and confessions, applying a strap to his hands, surveillance, paying penitence. The goal was a breakdown - and it was achieved. Crying, catharsis. At last, after hours of this, the slave was forgiven. The weight was lifted off, and the sadistic and brutal punishing Madame became a supportive coach through the reaching of subspace and the resulting apologetic and broken state the slave entered. At last there was reprieve, coupled with acceptance. A beautiful bond was established. And with that, there was a change - a lightness and metamorphic state. In My book, and in his... a win.

The total cost of this session was approximately $1,000. And it was far less expensive than the emotional cost the slave had endured for this quarter century, coupled with over $1,000 he'd contributed to charity along the way out of guilt and a sense of helplessness. Countless sessions with a vanilla therapist would have been far more costly, and far less BDSM-oriented. I was the best option, I accepted the challenge, and now a slave's life is going to be far better from this point forward.