My Name Is Anneke Lucas and I Was a Sex
Slave to Europe's Elite at Age 6
See this article and comments on
Global
Citizen.
https://annekelucas.com/
The mother brings the daughter to
satanist sex parties - high politicians
When I was a little girl in my native Belgium,
I was put to work as a sex slave.
My mother sold me, and drove me wherever,
whenever she got the call. The boss of
this pedophile
network was a Belgian cabinet
minister. The clients were members of the
elite. I recognized people from
television. Their faces were familiar to
the masses, while I was confronted with
the dark side of their power addiction
— the side no one would believe
existed. I came across VIP's, European
heads of state, and even a member of a
royal family.
Breaking the personality: eating human
shit like a dog
Around my sixth birthday, in 1969, I was
taken to an orgy for the first time, in a
castle. I was used for an S&M show, on
a low stage, chained up with an iron dog
collar, and made to eat human feces.
Afterwards, left lying there like a broken
object, I felt so humiliated, I had to do
something to save my soul, or else — and
this I knew for certain — I would have
withered and died.
I raised myself up, and stood looking at
the bizarre crowd of aristocrats
dressed up as hippies, swaying
to the music in various levels of sexual
interaction, busily availing themselves of
little pills and pre-rolled joints passed
around on silver trays by sober waiters. I
trembled in fear, but my body straightened
and stilled itself like a bow in suspense
before the shot, and I heard my voice as
though it were not my own, chiding the
adults, telling them that this was wrong –
that I was going to tell on them, and that
they would all go to jail.
Trippy, spacey music was oozing through
the atmosphere and most people were too
high to notice me. One man, wearing a
business suit, caught my eye. He looked
scared, but he held my gaze for a brief
moment, and seemed to feel for me. Then he
was gone. I never saw him again in the
network, but years later I did spot him on
TV. He became a prominent Belgian
politician.
Another shock: A fresh dead body in the
cellar
I was quietly led away and taken to a
cellar. I was certain that I was going to
be killed, but instead I was shown the
fresh body of a young murder victim. I was
to remain silent.
During the week, I went to school. I was
a shy girl, with few friends. I remember,
once, in the second grade, becoming aware
of an energetic shift in the room, to
realize all eyes were on me. The teacher
had been calling on me, and I had been too
spaced out to hear. She wondered out loud
if I knew the answer to the question she
had asked, and I sat in embarrassing
silence while the class laughed.
I was a nonentity at school, and at home
no one cared for me. I received more
attention in the network. It felt good to
be viewed as the most perfectly beautiful,
sensual object by powerful men with high
standards in taste. This was the only
positive in my life, and I clung to it as
my only raft to keep from drowning in a
sea of shame and self-loathing.
20 years old man abusing 10 year old
girl systematically
After four years of surviving the
network, when I was 10, a new guest
brought along his 20-year-old son: tall,
dashing, blond, and blue-eyed. He boldly
advanced toward me. I smiled, and he
called me a little whore. Not since the
first time I had been brought to an orgy,
four years earlier, had I expressed my
true feelings. I was furious.
"You think I like it here?" I sneered.
This interaction started the most intense
year of my life, in which I would feel
more than ever loved, seen, and
understood, and would be more than ever
abused, all by that same young man.
Torture with 11 years as a preparation
for child murder - and saved live by a
negotiation
A year later, when he was through with me,
I was of no use to the network anymore,
and was to be killed. When my torture
began, he stood watching, laughing
This was the third time that my entire
being became filled with an otherworldly
force. Fierce pride straightened my body.
A burning cigarette was put out on my
forearm. My energetic body latched onto
his in pure defiance. The thought "I don't
need you!" had become me, and all I saw
was the energy behind the troubled ocean
of blue in his eyes, and the love in spite
of all the pain he had passed on to me.
I was led away to a small room, and
strapped onto a butcher's block. The man
who tortured me was one of the defendants
in the notorious Dutroux
case, which, when it broke
the news in 1996, was believed it
would blow up the Belgian pedophile
network. But instead, eight years later,
only Marc
Dutroux received a life sentence. I
should have died that night in 1974 on
that butcher's block, but my life was
saved at the last minute.
While I had been tortured, the young man
had been negotiating with the politician
in charge of the network. They made a
deal: he would work for the politician,
extend his shady services in exchange for
my life. This one good deed eventually
cost him his own life. In this milieu, any
shred of humanity is a deadly weakness.
Life is saved - remembering the
dog scenery in Los Angeles in 1988
My life was spared, and I was told to
remain silent forever. It took me 40 years
before I could speak up.
In 1988, when I was 25 years old, I was
walking downtown Los Angeles, near Skid
Row, and got a faint, specific whiff of
human feces, and was assaulted with the
memory of the extreme humiliation I had
suffered as a child. My instant thought
was: "If this is true, I'm going to kill
myself."
I was too identified with the experience,
and the shame was too great. I wasn't
ready, and pushed the memory back into the
subconscious. It would take several more
years, many more hours of therapy, to
finally share this memory with one safe
person.
Outing and the feeling of self esteem
I share this experience publicly here for
the first time, having finally reached a
place in my healing where I have access
once again to the strength that came
through me in those moments of clarity in
the network. I also believe that the world
is more than ever ready to confront its
darkness. We have to, if we are to survive
as a species.
All survivors of incest, sexual abuse,
and sex trafficking have my strength.
Though I suffer from PTSD, and, for
example, I still become nauseous whenever
I hear a certain kind of airy, trippy
music, I've become so mindful of triggers
that they don't control my everyday
existence. It takes so much energy to
survive not only the physical violence,
but to endure the psychic drain of abuse —
to carry the shame.
Just surviving daily life while trying to
heal from child sexual abuse requires a
thousand times the strength it would
require for someone without awareness to
pursue a successful career. And society
still values the career person over the
survivor.
Power addicts, world leaders, and corrupt
politicians who abuse
children are themselves like
children who never grew up, driven to
power to avoid ever feeling the
humiliation of child abuse again,
unconsciously seeking revenge from a place
of hurt by recycling the abuse. They lack
the courage to heal.
Those of us who have suffered sexual
abuse, incest or
sex
trafficking need to learn to
harness our survival strength on our own
behalf, so we can heal our damaged ego,
and channel that strength to lead the way
towards a future in
which former victims conquer by love,
understanding and compassion for all.
