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In other words, the situation wouldn’t make it in a courtroom.
That was the insidious reality of grooming, micromanagement, nonconsensual behavioral conditioning, emotional abuse—the list went on. There was rarely a specific point where you could go: right here, this is where he abused him.
Chances were Corey adored the man, and if we faced enough resistance from Corey, we’d stand there with our dicks in our hands, utterly helpless.
This was something Sloan and I had discussed at length many times over the years, when it concerned other subs—and some Tops—who’d been victimized.
“But what do you believe, Master?” Archie asked pointedly, once I’d aired my thoughts.
I released a breath. “I believe Marcus has crossed too many lines and taken too many liberties when Corey’s been in no position to give informed consent.”
“From what you’ve told me, I can only agree,” Sloan said. “Some of the things Corey’s said, how you claim he’s phrased himself—anyone would see the warning signs.”
“Then of course we should help,” Archie said. “I mean, we have to. Some poor boy is being abused—I can’t sit back and hope someone else will help him.”
That was sweet. I appreciated him for saying that, and I felt the same way.
“I think the problem is we have to be prepared,” Sloan explained to him. “Given the lack of details, we have to be ready to be there for him whether it takes a week or several months.”
I nodded to him. That was the problem.
“We probably can’t trust him,” I went on. “Depending on how far this goes, we gotta be there to make sure he gets professional help, maybe we have to reach out to his parents—we just don’t know beforehand.”
“There’s the risk of attachment too,” Sloan pointed out, and it was a good point. An important one. “Say he’s beaten down mentally and emotionally. Once the fog clears, he might latch on to the people he views as saviors.”
“At least we’re good people,” Archie argued. “We won’t take advantage of him. We will coax his true opinions back to the surface and let him decide for himself.”
Archie didn’t need to sell us on this. Sloan and I were in. We weren’t saying these things to find an excuse to sit idly by; we only wanted to be sure Archie was aware of how time-consuming this could get in a worst-case scenario.
“We’re with you, Archie,” I assured. “But I demand that we go into this with our eyes open. We all have to understand that in order to swoop in on such short notice, we have to invite that risk of him getting attached. Because to get him to listen to me, I have to speak to him in our language. I will be the carefree Sadist he already likes to be around, and Sloan—once he enters the picture—might come at it from a Daddy Dom angle that Corey’s naturally drawn to.”
It was another tragic reality with these victims. Much like an abused dog, they would defend their owner. And I could only imagine how Corey would react if we approached him like concerned fellow members of a kink community. He’d hightail it out of here faster than we could blink.
“So be it.” Archie sat straighter and held firm. “We will help him, whether he needs a quick wake-up call to realize Marcus is a bloody bastard, or he needs months of guidance and support to find his way again.”
Sloan and I exchanged a glance.
Archie was certain.
“Fair enough,” I replied with a nod. “In light of his Facebook status, I will try to include him in the playtime with the brats as soon as he gets here. I want to improve his mood and get it through his skull that I absolutely love it when he goes bananas.”
Which wouldn’t be anything but the truth anyway.
Then when it was time for me to prepare my demo with Archie, I hoped Sloan could take over and work his own magic on Corey.
What happened after that was anybody’s guess.
CHAPTER 15
“He just parked, Master,” Archie announced, standing in the patio doorway a bit breathless. He must’ve darted straight from the kitchen where he was getting better acquainted with Ivy.
“About time,” I replied. “Thanks for letting me know, pet.”
He nodded and disappeared again.
The sun was about to set, and we’d already endured three rounds of hide-and-seek, causing our eardrums to shatter every time we located a brat in the woods and they screamed bloody fucking murder.
I was much more comfortable now, surrounded by heaters on the patio, good music playing in the background, a glass of bourbon, snacks… At the next table, Gretchen and Kit were trying to size up Sloan and figure out if he was a “Lucas type of Daddy” or a “Colt and Reese type.”
I could tell them that Sloan was a bit of both, but where was the fun in that?
