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We met each other again.
It had been years since I had last seen her. In fact, it had been so long that I had even forgotten how much I had relied on her for channeling the uncontrollable urges that live within me into short sessions of planned and prepared for eruptions. I had forgotten how much I… how much I missed her when she was gone. How I struggled without her, and her strength. But the moment I laid eyes on her a few weeks ago, we both knew it was inevitable we’d be together once more and give in to our unhealthy desires to such an extent that this time we wouldn’t be able to restrain ourselves in time.
Give her back to me.
It was that very same day, in fact, that I had convinced the man that had taken her from me so long ago to give her back to me. I had not even given it any thought or wondered if it was what she wanted. It didn’t matter anymore in any case. I had claimed her as my own and taken her to the small room in which I indulge my urges. Since that day I had given her away I had tried to find another like her to replace her, another who would be more beautiful than her but equally able to not only endure the beatings but make it seem as though she needs it.
As If I had never stopped beating her
When we entered the room, safely away from prying eyes no longer in fear of what happened in that room being discovered by those who could not understand, we quickly prepared ourselves without the need for words, as smoothly and practiced as we had so many time before. Minutes later, tentative and anxious, but still more satisfying than it had felt when I’d done so with any other, I gave her the first hits. Taps is maybe a better word, almost gently in force and conviction. As if afraid she would have lessened in her capacity to stoically receive that which I unleashed after such a long time apart.
A passion re-awakened.
The first hits seemed to land silently, but nevertheless gave me a feeling I had not known I had missed for so long. Her response to being hit, as it had always done before, was brave and defiant, and awakened the dark desire inside that had become dull during our time apart. I began to hit her harder and harder than, the impacts of my blows making more sound the more force I put behind them. Those sounds, as much as the complete and utter lack of reaction from her, completely rigid, body, urged me more and more to hit her harder. It was as if she taunted me to do man up and show her if I was a man or a boy pretending to be one.
Wanting to hit harder every time I hit her.
Soon my blows were almost a blur and I was hitting her as hard and fast as my muscles we capable of. As rigid as ever, more like a plank than anything else, not even moving a millimeter or looking me in the eye she took every single hit I doled out no matter how hard or soft the blow was. In fact, in my mind, It was as if she was calling out to me to hit her harder and hit her faster! And I did!
Was it wrong to hit her?
After that first time, many more sessions followed. Sometimes I wondered if it was wrong of me to go on time after time beating her so hard I sometimes thought I’d gone too far and had damaged her beyond recovery. But I always found a way to come to the conclusion that it wasn’t. I owned her, so she was mine to do with as I saw fit. So what if I beat her harder than anyone I knew who was beating theirs as well? Other times I came to the conclusion that because she never gave any sign to the contrary she was made for such things. And, as I said before, I often felt she was asking for it.
I inevitably hit her too hard in the end.
For another year I almost daily sated my desire on her, sometimes for hours, sometimes several times in a day. But one day that which in the back of my mind I knew would happen did happen. During a particularly passionate, emotional session I hit her harder than I had ever hit her before. I heard a snap while one of my fingers started tingling with the force of the impact. And when I hit her one more time after that, I just knew it was over. She was gone, I had killed her.
I disposed of her in a box and bought a replacement
Sad I went to my cupboard and pulled out a box, removed the shackles that had connected her to the PC, and put her in the box. Then I went to the bin and dumped her in there. Her replacement waited in the cupboard and I took her out and shackled her to the USB port. With the very first hit, I knew the replacement would never be able to take what her predecessor had been able to. It was time to start typing less with my emotions and more with care and thoughtfulness. I couldn’t afford to replace my keyboards at that rate. And the new one was a mechanical one, expensive, that I had to try and keep from breaking. But to this day I sometimes miss that little old keyboard that almost invited the user to hit the keys as hard as possible.
Here she is, when she was new.
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