15. Atlas
ATLAS
T he 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 she was 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.
“What’s your favorite song,” Mona asked one girl. She always held the women after my father and his men had roughed them up.
The girl, Lesley, sniffled and whispered, “My Girl.”
Mona nodded and began to sing. Her voice was shaky, but her embrace was firm as she brushed the damp hair away from Lesley’s face.
It was deeply moving. Despite her fear, Mona had a deep compassion.
She focused on helping another when she didn’t need to.
At that moment, I understood how she’d stolen Callum’s heart. Because she’d also stolen mine.
I tug Callum’s hair until his head falls back. “You wish you were fuckin’ her, don’t you, Callum?”
I fist my dick and violently slap his face with it before shoving it deep into his open mouth.
“Keep your eyes on the screen, baby boy. I wouldn’t want to punish you again.
Eyes on her hands as she moves them over her naked body.
Choke on my dick and imagine her cunt wrapping around your cock as she rides you. ”
Callum gags on my dick as he desperately gasps for breath.
“That’s it, baby boy. Take it all the way back. I love the way you choke for me.”
I thirst for the salty tears that fall from his eyes. Bending, I lick the saltiness from his cheeks. “You look so pretty when you cry for me.”
Callum’s hands move to my ass, and he pulls me further into his mouth. He’s showing me that he likes it. My boy is trying to regain control.
I laugh, remembering how it used to be me choking while he called me names.
“Where have you been?” I asked as soon as Callum opened the front door.
I hadn’t seen him for days. He snuck out at the break of dawn and stumbled in late at night. I knew he was staying later than he needed to at the compound for her. He had an irrational fear that something would happen to her if he so much as blinked. He was the same with me in the beginning.
But it was different in my situation.
With me, he feared I would kill myself. With Mona, the fear was that my father would have her murdered.
He didn’t utter a word. The quiet thud of his jacket against the wall hook was the only sound.
His silence was maddening.
I stepped toward him, grabbing his throat and slamming him against the wall. “Where have you been?”
My instant rage-filled action had no reaction.
Callum stared at me, his eyes vacant, as if the man I loved had become a shell, robotic and lacking in passion.
My chest tightened, and my world narrowed as I witnessed the dull lifelessness in his eyes.
At that moment, I would have done anything, uttered any word, no matter how depraved, for the faintest glimmer of joy to ignite within him.
I didn’t wait for him to respond. I crushed my lips to his in desperation. Relief flooded through me as he parted his lips, and his tongue tangled with mine in a dance consumed with anger. His body reacted to mine, his cock surging against me.
“Is this what you want?” Callum hissed through gritted teeth.
Before I could respond, he gripped my throat, restricting my ability to speak.
“We can do this all night, Atlas. Hashing out violence until we feel something other than pain. I enjoy this game.” The metallic taste of blood invaded my mouth as Callum’s teeth sliced my bottom lip.
“Why don’t you be a good boy and get on your knees for me? That’s what you want, isn’t it?”
My body responded to his demands even as my brain raged at me to punch him in the face.
With one hand firmly on my throat, Callum used the other to unfasten his pants and release his cock. My mouth watered, and my lips parted. Callum thrust inside my mouth, pushing in all the way until he hit the back of my throat. I gagged, and saliva formed in abundance.
“You don’t get to question me, Atlas. You don’t get to ask me where I’ve been or who I’ve been with.
I get enough of that from your deranged, demented, dehumanizing father.
You don’t want to be like him, do you, Atlas?
You don’t want to be a weak, insecure little man who demands others kneel to him out of fear, do you? ”
Callum’s words were a bullseye, hitting their mark.
“How do you think he’d feel knowing that this is how you like to pray, baby boy?
Do you think he’d be interested to know how you beg for God while my cock is deep in your ass?
How would the great Marcus Meyer react if he knew his son loved my dick more than he loved his Daddy’s little bullshit cult? ”
My body instinctively reacted, and I moved my head up and down Callum’s cock.
I loved when he used depraved words that my father preached against in his sermons.
I always found it wildly amusing how Marcus Meyer pretended to be a god-fearing man.
A prophet ordained by God. He pushed the narrative on the naive women and corrupt members of his church.
In reality, Marcus was a drifter, a crook, a maniac who had no issues harming people to fill his pockets and obtain more power.
Callum pulled out of my mouth. “You look so pretty, baby. You’re my pretty boy, aren’t you?”
I nodded, basking in the praise. I wanted to be his good boy. I wanted to be his filthy slut. I wanted to be anything Callum needed.
He placed his hand under my chin and collected the saliva trailing from my mouth before wiping it on my face. “You know how beautiful you look with spit and cum on your pretty face?”
My head snapped back as Callum slapped me. “Spit on my cock, bitch. Make it nice and wet.”
I spat on Callum’s dick and stared up at him. He sneered at me before shoving his dick into my mouth again, hitting the back of my throat. I relaxed so I could take him deep.
“Good boy.”
I gripped his pants and yanked them down to grip his ass. Pulling apart his cheeks I rubbed the tip of my index finger over his asshole and pushed in slowly, careful not to go too far.
“Look at you, Atlas. Such an obedient little whore. Your daddy thinks you’re his good little choir boy, but little does he know that you only kneel before one god.
I should take a video and send it to him.
Show him how you like to pray. That’s it, Atlas.
Suck my cock until you receive your fuckin’ holy communion.
Daddy would be so proud of how desperate you are for a shot of my cum down your worthless throat. ”
My cock surged as Callum spoke about my father’s disapproval, my entire being fueled with insatiable lust. The blasphemous words cleansed me, wiping away the brutality of my father’s sermons and his dysfunctional, twisted views about God and faith.
Yet, even knowing that my father was the monster of this story, I couldn’t help but feel dirty. Disgusting. A demonic being wrapped in sin. My father had sown the seeds of dysfunction, but I had allowed Callum to water it until my sickness climbed into a twisted vine of poison oak.
I was sure that many facets of my upbringing foreshadowed my fall to my knees, swallowing Callum’s cock with such vigor.
There was relief in being in a relationship that was so freeing.
With Callum, I could think what I wanted and speak instead of swallowing my words.
With Callum, I'd found a peace I’d never known.
So it was no shock to me that I’d do anything to maintain my solace.
“That’s it, princess. Take that dick. All the way.
” Callum gripped my hair, and my head snapped back as I gazed up at him.
“That’s it, baby. Eyes on me while I fuck your useless mouth.
I want you looking into the eyes of your god when he gives you his favor.
Next time you decide to speak out of turn, I want you to remember how I fucked your mouth into submission and put you in your place, proving that the wrath of God is all-consuming. ”
The memories of the past take hold of me. The demons I thought I’d buried rear like the four horsemen riding in a blazing inferno. “Who’s getting mouth is getting fucked into submission now, motherfucker?”
Callum and I have always been harsh when we fuck.
Our sex life lacks the tenderness and gentleness that marks the rest of our relationship.
Fucking for us has always been hard, fast, and completely unhinged.
We have words and cues for when it goes too far or if we want it to stop, but trauma has prevented us from using them.
Fucked up, I know. We’ve built our entire relationship on dysfunction, just like our obsession with her.
My hips thrust into his mouth as I roll up his cotton t-shirt, exposing his nipple rings. I grab the hoops and tug, forcing Callum to arch his back.
I pull out of him and watch as spit falls from his mouth, trailing down his chin and hitting the hardwood floor. He looks the way I feel: pathetic. “This is all you’ll ever get from her. She’ll think we’re a twisted sickness that perverted her privacy.”
Callum opens his mouth to speak, but I fill it with my cock and stare at the raven-haired beauty in the shower. I long for her to be here with us, to touch her, to have her hands on my flesh.
Callum and I need her so we can finally be at peace.