Page 19 of Choke

His question irritated me, grated on me. Atlas knew why. Even though these women wanted to be here, they were surrounded by men who harmed them. I kept them in line. I was the monster holding the evil men at bay. “You know why. If I’m not here, most of them wouldn’t survive.”

“If you keep doing this, you won’t survive.”

“I don’t matter,” I whispered.

Atlas pulled back a chair at the modest kitchen table and lit a cigarette. The stench of the smoke was both nauseating and comforting. “You matter to me.”

15

ATLAS

The complex dance of love and hate is a vibrant paradox—the similarities stemming from primal, instinctual responses. Emotionally healthy individuals can regulate A and separate the two emotions, but since my mental health is murky at best, I lack this ability.

A shrink would evaluate my parents and tell me that this stems from my father establishing an environment where I believed anger and violence correlated with love. There would be truth in that. My father beat me, professing his love for me with each blow. Violence cloaked in twisted declarations of love.

The contrast of my white knuckles gripping the worn leather belt and the redness of Callum’s ass are stark reminders of the brutal beatings inflicted by my father. Perhaps this was where my interest in impact play began. My body ignites with a rush of adrenaline at the intense physical sensations. The sharp stings and the satisfying thuds fuel my desire.

Each strike I give Callum makes me harder for him, and I feel a sense of relief. Unlike the situation where my father would harm me, Callum knows that he’s safe. He has a safe word. He knows I’ll stop if he demands it. Despite our dysfunction,we’ve consistently succeeded at one thing over the years—we’ve fostered safety for each other.

Besides, Callum could slit my throat before I blink if he thinks he isn’t safe with me. He has psychotic tendencies—a side effect of his brutal life. These usually come into play with violence and blood. In moments like these, Callum doesn’t need to be in charge. He wants to let go. He doesn’t want to think or control anything. These are the moments when I’m the master.

I loathe my feelings for him and the raven-haired beauty who has held us in her grasp for years. She’s pulled us in with a force that’s kept us at a standstill. My hatred for this situation burns with an intense flame, leaving me disgusted and revolted. She’s turned me into my father—an obsessed man who crosses lines and causes harm to obtain his heart’s desires.

My soul is gripped with the need to take my pound of flesh, to alienate what has caused my insides to bleed so viciously. All I wanted was a simple life away from the madness of my father and the world he raised me in. Instead, I’m in love with two of his victims.

I continue to belt Callum’s ass, desperate to cast out the demonic shadows of my past that still follow me. I’ve allowed myself to fall so irrevocably in love that the idea of being without it sucks the oxygen from my lungs.

The belt drops from my hand as I stare at the welts on Callum’s ass. I derive pleasure from those markings on his flesh. They arouse us both.

Callum isn’t a submissive, and I’m not a dominant. We construct our relationship to provide for our needs at any given time. Right now, I need control, and he desperately wants to be owned. Lately, Callum has needed my dominance to control the spiraling emotions that could risk the life we’ve built.

Anger rises in catastrophic waves as I pull his hair, yanking his head back. I lean down and whisper in his ear, “I want to see the videos. Get up.”

The fabric of Callum’s shirt is rough against my hand as I pull him off the floor and march him to the office. “Turn it on.”

His fingers shake as he boots up the computer. The first image is her empty apartment.

“Don’t be stupid, Callum. Show me what you watch.”

Callum presses various keys, and Mona pops up on the screen. She’s naked in the shower with soap suds cascading down her body.

“Show me what you do when you watch,” I demand.

Callum fists his thick cock, gliding slowly up and down his length. He’s nervous. His shyness is endearing when it comes to Mona, a clear sign that he’s trying not to objectify her. The notion is idiotic since he spends time alone watching her naked body and everything she does when she’s alone.

“You fuck yourself dry?” I demand. “I call bullshit on that.”

Callum’s eyes widen in shock as I spit on his dick and his hand. “There you go. Thought you could use some lube.”

My eyes flicker from Callum to the bright light of the computer screen. God, she’s beautiful. A full figure, shoulder-length dark hair. I brush my fingers over the screen, longing to touch her soft skin.

Before Mona, we had a plan. We knew what we wanted—a life away from all the madness my father forced us into. Then she came into our world and pulled us away from that future. Ironically, Mona gave us the freedom we craved by putting us in a cage where we worship her.

At first, I hated her for it. I loathed the girl who softened Callum’s edges and made him see beauty in ways that were foreign to me. I didn’t know why she was so special, why shewas the one to capture his heart when hundreds of others were disposable to him.

I wanted to hurt Callum. I wanted to puncture and bruise his flesh in the same way as he tortured my battered heart. I needed to see him suffer for forcing me to watch as he became consumed with Mona.

But all that changed once I saw her strength and kindness amid the horror of my father’s world. As I watched her take care of the other women in her group.

---