Review of ‘Enough Is Enough’

[NOTE: please read the second and third paragraphs from this post before continuing. Important–don’t skip reading them!]

Enough Is Enough: Surviving Emotional and Psychological Abuse is a memoir by Brien Nelson. As the subtitle indicates, the book is about not only his years of having been victimized by emotional abuse, but also about his efforts to overcome the trauma.

He wrote the book in response to a bitter divorce from a psychologically abusive, alcoholic ex-wife whose manipulation was pushing him to the breaking point. The one good thing she did, though, was to advise him to see a doctor because of his overwhelming health problems at the time; that doctor, in turn, after finding no physiological problems with him, advised that he seek psychotherapy (page iii). When he got that therapy, vast depths of repressed pain surfaced…from problems he’d had long before she entered his life.

The reason he’d been so susceptible to such a manipulative woman, a wife who repeatedly kicked him out of their apartment in wild rages, was that he’d developed a codependent mindset as a result of years of emotional abuse from his narcissistic parents and their golden child, his similarly narcissistic older sister.

After going through many memories detailing one painful episode after another, he goes into how he has been doing the healing work. As of the writing of his book, he is amazed at how much progress he’s made, in spite of knowing he still has a long way to go.

He writes of his childhood experiences as a bit of a loner, with few friends, in the first chapter. He writes, however, as if he were describing the childhood of someone else, a friend. Projecting himself into another boy has a sympathizing effect for the reader, at least from the writer’s point of view: we often don’t want to read of someone complaining about his own problems; but if he pleads the case of someone else, he doesn’t seem so ‘selfish’ about it, and this caring for another makes us want to empathize not only with that ‘someone else,’ but also with the writer.

Though this imagining of his sad childhood to have been that of a friend is an effective writing technique to arouse compassion in the reader, I for one was able to feel plenty of empathy for Brien just reading of his experiences as his own. Indeed, I was touched by how frank and honest he is about baring his soul to the reader; it took a lot of courage to reveal what he did…read the book yourself to see what I mean!

Though I, thank the gods, never experienced an abusive spouse or an acrimonious divorce, as he did, I nonetheless can relate to his childhood experiences of narcissism in the family. My parents weren’t alcoholics, and my father’s worst vices were his bigotry and mental slavery to conservatism, rather than narcissism. But my mother,…

As with Brien, I have a golden child sister, a narcissistic know-it-all who speaks when she should listen. Brien’s sister did things to him when a child that were, understatement of the year, sexually inappropriate. So did my sister play inappropriate games with me, when I was about eight or nine.

I don’t wish to go through everything he discusses in his book because, of course, it’s best to let him do it himself, in his own words. Suffice it to say, my take on why he went from an abusive family upbringing to an abusive marriage is from what I’ve learned from object relations theory.

The bad internalized objects we get from abusive parent/elder siblings reside in our minds like ghosts. These become a kind of blueprint for our later relationships, predicting with remarkable precision how they’ll be. If we’ve been abused as kids, we expect such relationships elsewhere; an abusive relationship becomes our normal.

Brien’s book, however, is not a pity party, as some idiot anonymous troll claimed it to be in the comments on the book’s Amazon page. In the later chapters, Brien focuses on what we can do to heal our trauma, such as repeating positive self-affirmations of beliefs contrary to the poisonous words we heard during our years of abuse.

One affirmation in particular that he gave touched me: “I am completely normal” (p. 137). Anyone who has read my blog posts on how my late, probably narcissistic mother subjected me to gaslighting (by claiming, in the most absurdly extreme language possible when I was a kid, that I have an autism spectrum disorder I’ve since learned I don’t have) will know why this affirmation resonates with me.

I’m at one with Brien in saying that positive affirmations, done repeatedly over a long enough period of time and felt to be true in one’s heart, can help in eventually healing psychological trauma. Going back to my point about object relations, I’d add that it helps, through autohypnosis and meditation, to imagine and introject new, loving objects who are the dialectical opposites of those abusive ones in our past.

In our suggestible hypnotic state, we can imagine those internalized objects (i.e, imagined new parents) saying those affirmations to us with loving eyes. The powerful emotional effect of hearing and seeing them, in our mind’s eyes and ears, should help to drive home the affirmations even better.

In chapter ten, Brien writes of “Silencing the Rebel,” which seems to be his way of referring to what is usually called the inner critic. It’s a rebel, because it rebels against our true selves, replacing who we really are with a false version of who we are, a projection of all the worst parts of our abusers. To heal, we must silence this inner bad object, exorcise the demon, even.

Brien also writes about his relationship with a higher power. Though we all have diverging opinions on religious and spiritual matters, it is common for survivors of emotional abuse to use some form of spirituality to help them heal and give them peace.

I do that through what I call The Three Unities: the Unity of Space, symbolized by a Brahman-like infinite ocean of universal oneness, which helps me to feel connected with the world, thus ending my isolation; the Unity of Time, at once a cyclical, wave-like conception of time and also the eternal NOW, which helps me to focus on my living, present reality, and not on my painful past, or worrying about my future; and the Unity of Action, a dialectical monism symbolized by the ouroboros, which helps me to know that whatever ill may befall me, it will eventually, in one form or another, flow back into good.

Whatever direction you choose to take, Dear Reader, whether it be spiritual or not, I recommend you read Enough Is Enough. For even when we’ve removed the abusers from our lives, we’re still haunted by the pain they’ve caused us; and apart from Brien’s advice about saying affirmations and using spirituality, reading his story is a helpful exercise in empathy.

The stronger empathy we feel for him (or for any C-PTSD sufferer, for that matter), the more we can be assured that we’re better than our non-empathic abusers. For remember, one of our abusers’ most powerful weapons against us is to make us believe we have their vices. In empathizing with Brien, though, we know we don’t have those vices.

‘Creeps,’ an Erotic Horror Novel, Chapter Thirteen

Thea, walking away from her car the next morning to go into her office to work, felt her cellphone ringing in her purse. She took it out. 

“Hello?” 

“Ms. Cummings?” a female voice on the other end said. 

“Yes?” 

“I’m Officer Lena Van Gorder. I work for the local police department, under Detective Nichols, who’s connected with Capitol in a very friendly way, if you know what I mean.” 

“Really?” 

“Yes. I also know about your attempt to find out what’s going on down there yesterday. I learned through the grapevine that Capitol is hiring. They need someone to operate what’s called the Regulating Room, since they’ve let go someone there who wasn’t…well…working out for them.” 

“Oh?” Thea wondered if this ‘dismissed’ person was the one she was supposed to have met the night before. 

“Yes. Also, one of their junior managers is being transferred to another branch, one in Montreal, so they’ll need someone to replace him. I was thinking that if you could somehow convince Mark LeSaffre that you and your brother—disguised, of course—were people he can trust, you could get jobs there, then find the proof you were trying to find yesterday.” 

“Wow, thanks!” 

“Just giving you a suggestion. Gotta go. Can’t let Detective Nichols know what I’ve been talking about. Maybe we’ll talk again…or maybe not. Bye!” 

“Wait. Officer—“ 

She’d already hung up. 

****************** 

“Why are we meeting here instead of in your office?” Thea asked as they all sat at a table in a diner. 

“Because this has to be off the radar,” Van Gorder said. “My immediate superior, Detective Nichols, is on LeSaffre’s payroll.” 

“Oh, so that’s why you want us to go into Capitol instead of some undercover cops,” Guy said. 

“That’s right,” Van Gorder said. “LeSaffre has connections all over the police force, not just in the Toronto area, but all over Canada, and even in the US, where Capitol has other branches. He’s seen you two, but he doesn’t know you. You can disguise yourselves with fake beards. Ms. Cummings, dress like a man. Can you imitate a man’s voice?” 

“Yeah, I guess,” Thea said in a hoarse-sounding bass vocal fry. 

“That’s always got to be your voice,” the female cop said. “Keep all your mannerisms, speech peculiarities, and that kind of thing consistent, or else Mark will be suspicious. He’s paranoid as hell about his enemies. I looked into your histories and learned you both have studied drama and psychology, right?” 

“How did you know about our histories?” Thea asked, sneering and looking askance at the police officer. 

“It’s amazing what you can find out through the internet,” Van Gorder said. “But it’s true, right? You’ve both studied drama and psychology?” 

“Drama and psych for her,” Guy said. “Only drama for me.” 

“Whatever,” Van Gorder said. “I hope you have good acting skills, ‘cause you have to be as believable and natural as possible, to convince LeSaffre that you are real mafia men.” 

“We can,” Thea said. “We learned method acting in our university acting classes.” 

“What’s ‘method acting’?” 

“It means we have to learn how to be the people we’re acting as,” Guy explained. “Find stuff within our own personal lives that relates us to these mafia men we’re pretending to be, to make it more realistic, then we can—.” 

“Fine, whatever,” the cop said. “Anyway, LeSaffre will want references from a mafia man, since people with criminal backgrounds, but who are also loyal to their bosses, are the only ones he trusts. He hates ‘straight’ people and trusts only the corrupt. Evil is his good. I know a crime boss who can pretend you’ve both worked for him, Trevor McCluskey, whose gambling, drugs, and prostitution rackets are up in Winnipeg. LeSaffre gets a lot of his new men from McCluskey.” 

“How do you know this McCluskey will vouch for us?” Thea asked. 

“‘Cause if he doesn’t, his son will do ten years for armed robbery,” Van Gorder said. “Don’t worry about the details, I’ll work all of that out. Let’s just remember to keep quiet about all this. You’re lucky I didn’t want to take my vacation time this month, as Detective Nichols wanted me to; otherwise, you’d have missed your chance to get hired by LeSaffre. He’d have found two other people instead.” 

“And what’s in it for you, Officer?” Guy asked. 

“My sister got mixed up in prostitution. She went missing from one of McCluskey’s brothels in Sault Ste. Marie. Is she dead, or has she been moved into one of these Capitol branches? I’d like you to help me find out, and get her out if you find her.” 

“What’s her name?” Thea asked.  

“Mary.” 

******************** 

“Remember,” Thea told Guy, who was in a suit, “act all enthusiastic about working in Capitol and enjoying the benefit of fucking the girl of your choice, since that’s a perk Mark gives you as an employee.” 

“OK,” Guy said, making sure his fake beard was on right. “With my background in computer programming, I should be able to figure out this ‘Regulating Room’ job easy enough.” 

“When I got the management job, I realized it wasn’t so much because of my experience as a manager in a department store as it was my ‘attitude’ towards the ‘Commodities’. Those bastards actually call their sex slaves ‘Commodities’: how repugnant. Anyway, LeSaffre’s main concern is loyalty to his business, as that cop told us in the diner. I could sense Mark’s paranoia about being betrayed, looking in his eyes. I’ll bet you’re meant to replace the guy who disappeared when he tried to give us proof of the sex slavery and mind control. I couldn’t get that file he sent to my phone to upload, much less open, to give me the proof.” 

“I guess had that guy lived, he’d have given you the password, or something.” 

“I don’t know. Anyway, we can’t communicate by cellphone—they’ll track our calls and texts, as they did his.” 

“OK,” Guy said, straightening his tie. “I have to act like the lecher I was with Petunia.” 

“We both have to,” Thea said. “Which will be difficult for me, but we have to think like this Mark does. Total psychopath. No empathy, no pity. Shouldn’t be too hard for you, being male and all.” 

“Thea!” 

“Guy, every guy I’ve known has been like that, to some extent, at least: Dad, my former boyfriends. As for you, I’m hoping you can show me you’re a little better than that…assuming you can stop fucking Petunia and actually think of other people.” 

“OK, OK.” 

“Anyway, if you get the job, don’t only go for Petunia when they give us that ‘benefit’. You and I can only occasionally use that benefit to fake making it with her while communicating our plan to free her; if we choose only her, over and over again, LeSaffre will get suspicious, and maybe figure out that we’re the ones who met with him and Petunia in his office with Kay and Brennan. He might even have her killed, as extra revenge on us for trying to expose him.” 

“Right,” Guy said, having just finished putting on brown contact lenses to cover his blue eyes. “Ready to go.” 

“Good luck. Sound eager for the job. Bye.” 

“I will. Bye.” He left the house. 

******************** 

Guy went into Mark LeSaffre’s office trying hard not to fidget. He wanted to touch his fake beard out of fear that it was falling off, or was on wrong; but he also feared making it come off from touching it. This indecision led to more fidgeting, which he had to suppress. Mark was sitting at his desk. 

“So, Jack Mortimer?” Mark said, holding out his hand. 

“Yes,” Guy said, shaking his hand and sitting in the same chair he’d sat in, across from Mark’s desk, when he had been there with Thea, the lawyer, and Brennan. “I’m interested in the job opening for ‘Regulator’. Trevor McCluskey heard about the job, and sent me to you.” 

“Trevor McCluskey, eh?” Mark said, looking intensely in Guy’s eyes. “Another fellow, someone named Cameron Thewlis, said McCluskey referred him here, too, but for a management job.” 

“Really?” Guy said, hoping his voice wouldn’t sound too shaky to Mark. “What a coincidence. I guess you’re doubly lucky that he can help you out.” 

“I guess.” Mark looked over ‘Jack’ some more. “You know, you look a little familiar, Jack. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but I feel I’ve seen you somewhere before…and I never forget a face.” 

“Well,” Guy said, keeping still, “Do you ever hang out in The Leicester?” He smirked lewdly. 

That must be where I saw you! I bet I’ve seen you up at pervert’s row, checking out the strippers up close.” 

“Hey, man, that’s the only place I sit in The Leicester.” 

Guy and Mark gave each other a high five and laughed. 

“You’ll be pleased to know that we have two girls from there working for us here,” Mark said with a grin. 

“Which bitches?” Guy asked. “I wanna ‘Regulate’ ‘em!” 

Mark laughed. “Well, if you do your job well, you’ll be doing a lot more than just regulating them, Jack. What’s most important to us here in Capitol is loyalty. We have had the police and government on our side, ever since they legalized prostitution; but there’s always somebody who wants to fink on us and shut us down, claiming we’re doing illegal things here. We had to…terminate your predecessor for being disloyal, and termination here has a way of, let’s say, getting under your skin.” 

“I see,” Guy said, trying not to frown. He hoped the chill he felt slithering throughout his body wasn’t visible to Mark. 

“Loyalty, on the other hand, comes with great rewards. In regulating, you watch the sexual activity between our clients and our girls—well, most of ‘em are girls, but we have some men for the gay crowd and for desperate women. It’s like watching live porn videos.” 

“Sounds like a sweet gig.” 

“It is, but it gets better than that,” Mark went on. “We reward your loyalty by allowing you to enjoy any one of our girls that you like, for one hour each week, for free.” 

“Alright!” Guy roared. “Oh, sorry for the noise.” 

“That’s OK, Jack. Your enthusiasm is understandable and appreciated, actually. We’ll give you full training on all the equipment and technology, starting the day after I confirm your reference from McCluskey. Odd how he’s in Winnipeg and you’ve been here in southern Ontario, frequenting The Leicester. Well, he has businesses and contacts around here, too, of course. Anyway, if all goes well, you’ll be starting the day after tomorrow. How’s that all sound? Oh, and the pay is $30 an hour.” 

“That sounds like music to my ears.” 

Capitol will make The Leicester seem like a convent in comparison, I promise you.” 

“I can hardly wait…pardon the pun.” 

They both laughed and high-fived again.

‘Creeps,’ an Erotic Horror Novel, Chapter Ten

[sexual content]

A man took Petunia back to her room. 

“Strip,” the man said. 

As she was unbuttoning her white dress shirt, she thought, that lawyer and government worker paid no attention to my writing ‘Help me’ on their hands…as I knew they wouldn’t. I’ve seen them walking about here before: they must be working for Mark and Capitol in one way or another. 

She was in only her white bra and panties now. The man was ogling her with a smile. 

“Keep going,” he said. “Let’s see the rest of you.” 

She removed her bra, showing him her firm little breasts and thinking, I saw Guy’s eyes: he doesn’t believe Thea, either. He believes I like to fuck the clients here. I’m trapped here. She won’t be able to get me out. I’ll have to escape myself, or die trying. 

She’d pulled down the panties, and her bare feet kicked them aside. The man looked up and down at her nakedness. 

“Good,” he said. “We have a customer waiting for you.” 

**************** 

Thea went to a Starbucks, sat at a table, and stared at the Frappucino she’d bought. Guy didn’t leave with her from Capitol: he said he wanted to meet up with a friend. 

What am I going to do? she thought. I can’t get anyone to believe me, not even Guy. When I got in my car, I saw him going to the bus stop, so I guess he isn’t going back into Capitol. He’d better not be: I’ll kill him if he fucks Petunia again. But what can I do? I can’t stop him, or any guy from paying to have her. 

Suddenly, a recording of the chorus of ‘Sisters Are Doing It for Themselves’, by the Eurythmics and Aretha Franklin, was playing on her phone, telling her she had a text message: 

I work for Capitol. I can help you. Let’s meet in the Eastview Shopping Mall tonight, in front of the Starbucks. Will you be available at 8:00? I can be there then. 

Whoever this was didn’t leave a name, she thought. He must know it’s dangerous to snitch on the company. He must be a he: other than the enslaved prostitutes, what woman would ever work in such a degrading place? Ms. Kay must not know how corrupt LeSaffre is. 

Thea replied to the text message with, “I’ll see you there at 8:00 tonight.” 

***************** 

Jim read her reply on his cellphone. He thought, I’m a dead man for doing this; Mark surely is tracing my calls and text messages. But I can’t live with myself for doing what I’ve been doing. 

He watched the video screen showing the room nude Petunia went into. Then he saw the man about to have her enter. Jim’s eyes lit up as soon as he saw his face. 

Thank God they put an orange Creep up her pussy to make her compliant with him, Jim thought. I don’t wanna speak her words for her, the way I feel. Can’t believe that prick wants to fuck her so soon after that fake meeting. 

“So good to see you again, Petunia,” Guy said as he unzipped his pants. “I knew you liked your job.” 

She looked up at him as she knelt and took his cock in her mouth. He looked down and saw tears in her eyes. 

“What the…?” he said, then he moaned from the wet massaging of her lips and tongue. He raised his head and closed his eyes. 

She put her hand up his left pant leg. He felt her finger tickling his leg, rubbing a straight line down in a stroke. 

“Oh, don’t do that, baby,” he said, then he felt two more strokes, a short horizontal one, then another top-down one: an H. “Wait…oh!” Her writing and sucking were distracting him from the experiencing of either. “H…ah!…E…oh!” 

She wrote L…P, then H-E-L-P again. 

“Holy…shit!” he grunted. His heart was racing from both the feeling of her flickering tongue stimulating the underside of his cock, and from putting the evidence all together: her robot-like talking in the room with Mark, Thea, Kay, and Brennan; her writing finger; and the tears in her eyes. His brain was going in opposite directions—pleasure and guilt from what her mouth was doing. 

He came in her mouth, and saw some of it drip down her chin; but he also admitted to himself that he saw the tears in her eyes, at last, and he felt ‘HELP’ written on his leg again. 

“Thea…was right,” he panted as he put his dick back in his pants and zipped them up. He fell to his knees and faced Petunia eye to eye. Now he had tears in his eyes to mirror hers. “I’m so sorry, Petunia.” 

He wrapped his arms around her and fought to refrain from weeping. She put her arms around him and held him close. 

“You must hate me,” he whispered into her ear, burying his wet face into her neck. Now her finger was writing on his arm. 

N-O. 

“You…don’t?” he asked. “After what I’ve done?” 

N-O. 

“Can’t you speak?” he whispered in her ear. 

N-O. 

Keeping his mouth close to her ear and his voice as soft as he could, he said, “We’ve got to get you out of here.” 

Y-E-S. (Her hand was always shaky…) 

“And you like me, even though I took advantage of you here?” 

Y-E-S. (…yet her finger wrote with sufficient clarity.) 

“Did Capitol…drug you in some way?” 

Y-E-S. 

Of course, he thought; her shaky writing finger, struggling to communicate with me, proves how little control she has over her own body. “They’re controlling what you say, what you do?” 

Y-E-S. 

His erection was returning. Her writing finger is expressing her real thoughts, he thought; if she insists she still likes me, even after fucking her twice, maybe she’ll be OK with a third fuck. “They’re watching, and listening, aren’t they?” This was his softest volume yet. 

Y-E-S. 

“They’ll get suspicious if we don’t fuck, right?” 

Y-E-S. 

“Since you like me, even after what I did…and I feel like an asshole for asking, but I’ll respect your wishes if you answer no. Is it OK if we fuck again?” 

Y-E-S. 

“Really? You mean that?” 

Y-E-S. 

He looked in her eyes and smiled. Her tears were gone. Her smile seemed less artificial. 

“OK,” he said, unzipping his pants and pulling out his hard cock again. “I’ll be gentle. I promise.” 

He slid his cock inside her slowly, her sighing softly. As he pushed in and pulled out, he panted these words: “I’ll talk…to Thea…about…a plan…to get…you out…of here. Unh!” 

******************* 

“Good, they’re fucking again,” Free Mark said to Jim as they watched Guy and Petunia in the Regulating Room. “I didn’t like that pause between the blow job and now.” 

“You think he was whispering a secret message in her ear?” Jim asked. 

“It’s very possible,” Free Mark said. “When I walked in here, right when he came in her mouth, he didn’t look happy.” 

“After he leaves, I can play back the recording at a high volume so we can know if he said anything to her that we need to worry about,” Jim said. 

“I don’t think we need to worry about that right now,” Mark said. “For the moment, he seems to be just enjoying himself.” The only thing I need to worry about at the moment is that text message my computer caught you sending to Thea Cummings, he thought.

‘Creeps,’ an Erotic Horror Novel, Chapter Nine

Guy and Thea sat in ‘Free Mark’ LeSaffre’s office with a woman lawyer and a government official, while Mark was out fetching Petunia. They’d been waiting for some time. 

“She’ll be drugged,” Thea said. “That’s why this is taking so long.” 

“We’ll need proof of that,” the lawyer said. 

“That won’t be easily given,” the government man said. 

Just then, Mark returned with Petunia, who for once was fully dressed. She sat on a chair beside Mark, and they were facing the other four. She seemed at peace. 

“OK, Petunia,” Mark said. “I understand you know Thea and Guy Cummings here, is that right?” 

“Yes,” Petunia said in a clipped voice. Oh, God, she thought; I want to scream out for them to help me, but I can’t even twitch! 

“Beside them are Ms. Patricia Kay, their lawyer, and Mr. Jules Brennan, who works for the Ministry of Labour,” Mark told her. “They have some questions for you about your work here.” 

“Are you happy here?” Ms. Kay asked. 

“Yes,” Petunia said with a smile that seemed fake only to Thea. “Everything’s OK.” Everything in me wants to yell, ’NO’, but this thing they put in my brain has my mouth paralyzed, except for what they want me to say, she thought; Can’t I even get a teardrop to roll down my cheek? 

“Are you sure, Petunia?” Thea asked, looking deep into her eyes.  

“Sure, why not?” Petunia said, still smiling. “The pay is great, they provide technology to ensure no spreading of STDs, and we have full protection against abusive clients. We’re fine here. I’ve never had such job security anywhere.” My body is a traitor to my very soul…and I can’t stop it! 

“Really?” Guy said. She may have acknowledged having known me, but she looks at me as if she’s never met me, he thought; her speaking sounds kind of robot-like, too. 

“Petunia,” Thea said, “hold Ms. Kay’s hand, and Mr. Brennan’s, too.” Her whole manner seems mechanical, she thought; her voice sounds almost like a recording. 

Petunia put her hands in those of Kay and Brennan. Please, you two, Petunia thought; feel my fingers writing ‘Help me.’ 

“What’s the purpose of this, Ms. Cummings?” Mark asked. “Is Petunia going to have a seance or something with Ms. Kay and Mr. Brennan?” 

“Yes, I don’t see why this is necessary, either,” Kay said. 

“Are we supposed to be turned on by Petunia’s tickling fingers?” Brennan asked. 

“Pay careful attention to how her fingers are moving,” Thea said. “It’ll all make sense to you in a minute.” 

“All I feel is random tickling,” Kay said. 

I knew they wouldn’t admit to feeling a message, Petunia thought as she continued trying to write; They’re on Mark’s payroll. 

“I think Ms. Cummings is wasting our time,” Mark said. 

“She likes to fuck, Thea,” Guy said. “I know.”  

She scowled at him, then looked with pleading eyes at Brennan and Kay. 

“Mr. Brennan! Ms. Kay!” Thea said. “She’s writing in your hands! H-E-L-P-U-S. Don’t you feel it? Haven’t you noticed how fake her emotions are, how robot-like she’s acting? Capitol has her drugged in some way. She’d never willingly become a prostitute! I know Petunia! I’ve known her for years. This isn’t the real her!” 

“Really, Ms. Cummings?” Mark said with a sneer. 

Brennan and Kay looked at Thea with cool incredulity. 

“You two are on LeSaffre’s payroll,” Thea said, then got up. 

You’re right, Petunia thought; and I can’t say a word to confirm it. 

“Oh, come on, Thea,” Guy said. “Be reasonable. There’s no proof of what you’re saying.” 

She glared at him, then walked out of the office and slammed the door. 

“Look, I’m sorry,” Guy said, getting up. “My sister’s real emotional sometimes. She can’t accept Petunia’s life choices here.” He looked over at Petunia, who showed no concern for Thea, but just stared blankly at a wall. “I’ll go get her.” He left the room. 

Finally, a tear ran down Petunia’s cheek. 

**************** 

“Good work,” a man in the shadows of the Regulating Room said to Jim, who’d been speaking into a microphone remotely connected with a microscopic device touching Petunia’s brain, thus making her say his words. The device had been put into her in a Creep. 

“To be honest, I’m not sure if I feel comfortable making her say that,” Jim said. “She’s tried to escape twice, remember.” 

“Oh, come on!” the man said. “I knew Petunia, too…carnally. I had her in a hotel room. As Thea’s brother told her, she likes to fuck. What you had her say to them was practically the truth. Creeps do ensure no spreading of STDs, we do protect our Commodities from abusive clients, and her youth, beauty, and skill in bed will ensure her job security. Remember, we sic yellow Creeps only on undesirable Commodities—older ones, ones that don’t make us a profit anymore, and—“ 

“But this is wrong, Mr. Da—“ Jim said. 

“And we also use the yellow ones on disloyal employees.” 

‘Creeps,’ an Erotic Horror Novel, Chapter Eight

“Why do I have to go, too?” Guy asked. 

“To be an additional witness,” Thea said. “To add credibility to our case when the government official and lawyer do their investigation. Besides, you have to redeem yourself.”  

Redeem myself?” Guy asked with a sneer. 

“Yes,” Thea said, grabbing his arm so he wouldn’t walk out of his bedroom. “I have proof that Petunia is being held there against her will. She used her finger to write a message on my arm. She did it with great effort, but she did it several times, enough times that I could tell there was a deliberate message she was giving me.” 

“What was the message?” 

“Help me—help us, I should say. She wrote the same thing, H-E-L-P-U-S, over and over again. The exact same strokes, so I know it was deliberate, not random tickling or something.” 

“Help us?” He remembered her ticking his arm with her finger. 

“Yes, and it’s obvious what she meant by that. She isn’t the only victim of human trafficking there. When I looked through the computer pictures of all the women—some men, too—all of them naked, I noticed that most of them were either black, dark-skinned East Asians, or Latinos. A few First Nations, too. Capitol is obviously luring poor people from the Third World and making them prostitutes, with the fake promise of a job opportunity, or something. But I’ll bet their poor families aren’t getting a cent sent home. I’ll bet Capitol is drugging them, too, to keep them under their control.” 

“She didn’t look high.” 

“Petunia didn’t seem high to me, either, but there’s no way she could possibly be enjoying what she’s doing over there. We’ve got to help her, and tomorrow, you’re coming with me.” 

************* 

In the cafeteria at lunchtime, Petunia again never saw Mary anywhere in the crowd of drugged, naked eaters. She sat at a table where a black woman and an Asian woman were whispering to each other. Petunia heard the name ‘Mary’ said a few times. Her heart jumped at the sound of the name, and she listened to them more carefully, straining against the drugs to focus her attention. 

“Do you buy…any of these stories…that some people escape?” the black woman asked in a thick African accent.  

“I wanna believe them,” the Asian said. “They give me hope.”  

“Maybe that’s…what they want, Arunny,” the black woman said. “They do it…so we don’t…kill ourselves…or something.” 

“Did you say…Mary…before?” Petunia asked them. 

“Do you know…what happened…to her?” Arunny asked.  

“Mary, the white girl…the redhead, right?” the black woman asked. 

“She had red hair,” Petunia said. “Yeah, Mary.” 

Had red hair?” Arunny asked, jolting.  

“I think she was killed…last night,” Petunia said. “I hope I’m wrong…We tried to escape…When the Creeps came…and one crawled into me…as I was…losing consciousness…I saw her shaking…I think a…yellow Creep…burned her inside…to death.” 

“Don’t say that!” Arunny coughed, then covered her face so her tears wouldn’t be seen. She whispered. “Maybe you’re wrong…The drug…in the Creep…made you…see things.” 

“Maybe,” Petunia said. “I hope so.” 

“Mary was getting older,” the black woman said. “Her tits were sagging…I think they kill you…if you’re getting…unattractive…and you’re not…making as much…money for this place.” 

“Please don’t…talk like that, Kusiima,” Arunny said, fighting back tears. 

“Don’t worry, sweetie,” Kusiima said. “You’re still young…and pretty…as I am…and you are,” she said to Petunia. “We should be safe.” 

*************** 

That night, Petunia lay in bed, emotionally exhausted.  

I don’t care if the door by the head of my bed opens, she thought; I’m not going out there tonight. Kusiima reassured me that I’m safe from being killed, because I’m still young and pretty, which means I’m still useful to this whorehouse; but no one asked me for sex all day today. I never thought I’d hope to service more customers than fewer. Is Guy coming back? Is Thea? 

Then, lying on her back, she followed her train of thought as it went back to her ‘work relationship’ with Ricardo Davis, the man who lured her into Capitol. Drugged and drifting off into unconsciousness, she was ruminating her way into a dream… 

Business trip to New York City with Davis…meeting Ken Maynard about some impressive new technology…something microscopic…powerful…Davis wanted in on it…to be in charge of distribution, or marketing…a lot of money to be made in it…I’d get a big raise, too… 

We met Maynard in the hotel restaurant…I wore no underwear…I’d hoped Maynard would like me…with his money, give me a better job than what Davis had given me…I was glad I’d tarted myself up for Maynard…He was handsome and charming as well as rich…Too bad he was just as bad as Davis, as I’d learn eventually… 

At dinner, Maynard dropped his fork and went under the table to get it…He saw my spread legs…my pussy…he ate me out…Davis was French-kissing me and feeling my right tit…He never seemed to notice how long Maynard was under the table…didn’t care…I came in Maynard’s mouth… 

After our naughtiness, Ken came back up with his fork…He and Davis talked about the business…about the technologycoated in a soft, rubbery covering”…”will look like multi-coloured larvae”…like baby worms…I didn’t understand what they were talking about…I wish I had… 

“We want to expand up into Canada”…”We have contacts in Mexico and Central America, South America, the Caribbean, Africa, Eastern Europe, and Southeast Asia, even India”…”get our Commodities from there”…”shipped right to you”…”help us get more in Canada, as you have already done here, obviously”…I heard Ken say all this to Davis…I paid no mind to it…I just played footsies with Ken…”You’ll make a ton of money, Davis”… 

In our hotel room, I let Davis fuck my ass…then Ken knocked on our door to give Davis something…naked, I went over to let Ken see me…Davis took a sleeping pill…when he was asleep, I went over, still naked, to Ken’s room, next door…I let him fuck my ass, too…hoped he’d like me enough to marry me…I’m so stupid… 

I had no idea there were hidden cameras in his room…in Davis’s room, too…in the hotel hallways, where Ken had me walk about naked with him… 

And now I’m back in Canada…Ken gave me over to ‘Free Mark’…was I in an airport?…I was always drugged with Creeps…There was the airplane ride with Davis to New York City…then the flight back to Toronto…then back to New York to be with Ken…Then ‘Free Mark’ took me from Ken…Now I’m in Toronto again…because Guy and Thea were here…I don’t remember another flight back to Canada…Did Mark take me back?…he must have, in a private jet or something…I just remember that party…Davis…Ken Maynard…’Free Mark’…other men…fucking me…fucking Ken’s maid, Rosa… 

Now I’m in Ontario again…I must be… 

Rumination

[NOTE: please read the second and third paragraphs from this post before continuing. Important–don’t skip reading them!]

In many ways, we C-PTSD sufferers are our own worst enemies. I don’t mean that in a shaming way, of course, but rather in a compassionate way, and with the intention of motivating us to stop one bad habit of ours in particular: rumination.

We can be obsessive in going over our pain, again and again, with no end to the ruminating in sight. Why? What psychological purpose does it serve? What emotional need does it attempt to satisfy? It seems masochistic, for all we seem to be doing is feeling an endless replay of a tape loop of old pain.

Are we hoping to discover some new insight as to why things happened the way they did (with our abusers)? That’s how it seems to me, whenever I ruminate about the family that messed with my mind throughout my childhood, adolescence, and young adulthood…right up to my (probably) narcissistic mother’s death.

The bad thoughts never seem to go away.

Here’s the thing: after our narcissistic abusers are gone, the mental abuse continues in our victimized heads; we do it to ourselves. We become our own psychological abusers, however much we may not want to.

I have a tendency of waking up after only three or four hours of sleep (needing to use the washroom); then, when I go back to bed,…all the bad thoughts come back into my head. My inner critic reminds me of many a social failure I’ve had, hurtful things the family said to me, whether in the recent or the remote past, or worse!…imagined cruel retorts to anything I might say to assert myself. After that has started, I can generally forget about getting the other four or five hours of sleep I need. Sound familiar?

So, how do we stop all this ruminating? One obvious thing we should do is mentally to say to ourselves, “Stop it!” as soon as we realize we’re doing it again. Even more obvious, though, is that this is easier said than done.

How do we stop the ruminating?

It might help to remind ourselves of why we need to stop. Keep your list of reasons short and sweet, so your mind doesn’t wander off into more nonsense. Here are mine:

  1. Rumination doesn’t help me at all.
  2. Rumination is an addiction. Kick the habit.
  3. I already know how I feel about my abusers. Why go over it again?
  4. I already know why I feel that way about them. Why analyze it again?
  5. I call them abusers for a reason.
  6. They have the problem, not me. (See #3, 4, and 5.)
  7. My faults are no reason to gaslight me. Abuse doesn’t improve people.

Another good thing to do is to use those good inner voices I wrote about in other posts, and imagine them saying loving things to you, to bring you out of the bad thoughts.

I imagine my new, internalized good objects saying such things as the following. Father: “It was all them that did the bad. None of it was you, son.” Mother: “You’re a beautiful, wonderful human being, and we love you. We’d never treat you so hurtfully. You need to forgive yourself for your faults. We won’t judge you so harshly.”

We need to give ourselves the caring we never got from our abusers.

As you can see, we all need to practice self-compassion: 1) speaking these words of kindness to ourselves; 2) remembering how everyone experiences these feelings of failure and suffering, in one form or another; and 3) being mindful of whenever we lapse back into bashing ourselves.

For all this to help you, you have to practice it regularly. Remember that the reason you doubt your justification to go no contact, to think well of yourself, and to recognize that your abusers really wronged you (i.e., you are not being over-sensitive) is because they’ve programmed you to think that way, to control you.

We call them abusers for a reason. We also call ourselves victims for a reason. It’s high time we put the feelings of victimization behind us.

‘Creeps,’ an Erotic Horror Novel, Chapter Five

[Some sexual content.]

“Guy, can I talk to you upstairs alone for a minute, please?” Thea called down to the basement from the first floor of their house. “Sorry, Bill and John, I need to talk to him in private.” 

“OK, I guess we’ll meet you at my house later,” John said, getting up from the couch with Bill. “See you then.” 

“Yeah, sorry guys,” Guy said as his friends went up the stairs. “I’ll be up in a minute, Thea.” 

“This is important,” she said. “Don’t take your time.” 

Two minutes later, Guy and Thea were alone in the kitchen. 

“I couldn’t help overhearing what you said about Petunia LeBar,” Thea said, frowning. 

“You were eavesdropping on me again?” Guy said, frowning back at her. “Don’t I deserve privacy? Don’t I have any rights?” 

“What about her rights? What about her privacy?” 

“Look, she’s lowered herself to that lifestyle, she’s gotta take responsibility for her bad choices.” 

“How about your lowering yourself to being a whoremonger, you creep! You take some responsibility. She’s my friend; you know that! And you raped her for money!” 

“What the fuck?! I never raped anyone! She agreed to it. She was smiling the whole time.” 

“I don’t believe you, Guy. She couldn’t possibly have consented. I’ve known her for years. We shared that apartment together, when you used to visit all the time, before I moved out to support you after Dad died. Petunia would never have become a prostitute willingly. Someone’s exploiting her desperation, giving her drugs, or something, to make her smile at you.” 

“She didn’t look high.” 

“She must have been. She would never do that kind of work, even if desperate for money. She’d have considered other options.” 

“People change, Thea.” 

“Not that much in a mere year, Guy. Where is she? In Capitol? They’re controlling her, somehow. We’ve got to get her out of there.” 

“We?” Guy asked. “Why do I have to help?” 

“To redeem yourself, to her and to the world. You fancied her once, didn’t you? That’s why you visited our old apartment so many times, not so much to talk to me about stuff, but as excuses to see her, though you were too shy to go out into the garden, where she was watering her flowers, and talk to her. But you weren’t too shy to fuck her when she couldn’t say no, eh? You coward! Well, now you can help me help her. Let’s go.” 

*************** 

The following night, Petunia lay on her cot and ruminated over how she’d gotten mixed up in Capitol. Memories flashed before her mind’s eye in fragments, made all the more incoherent, and even surreal, by the drug she’d been given to make her go to sleep. Indeed, as with the night she tried to escape, the drug made it difficult for her to distinguish conscious thought from dream. 

Thea walked out the door with a suitcase in each hand…What was I going to do?…No one to replace her as a roommate…Rent too expensive…Landlord kicked me out…No way was I going to go back to Vancouver and live with my mom and dad, I hate them…Found a cheap place…lots of cockroaches, awful place, but no other affordable one…I was just a waitress, really stressed out, yelled at a customer one day…spilled coffee on another…I got fired…Didn’t know what else to do…Walked into Ricardo Davis’s office…His sign outside said they’d give me full training…I’m a high school dropout…money was running out…I took a chance on Davis’s job offer…figured my tits and ass would make him like me, was wearing a tight red dress, wore heavy makeup, I looked like a whore…got the job, later learned what a bad mistake I’d made…What he saw wasn’t the real me, but it was what he wanted…too much of what he wanted…Give him what he wants, give him what he wants…maybe he’ll pay me better…not… 

I answered a questionnaire for him…no ‘right’ or ‘wrong’ answers, just had to be honest…no questions of work experience, but mostly personal questions…strange…Was I close to my family? No, didn’t want to be…How was my financial situation? Terrible, desperate…How many boyfriends had I had? More than five…questions like that, didn’t seem relevant to any kind of job…I sat across from him, uncrossed my legs and spread them a bit…He looked down, could see my white panties…I’d intended that…Give him what he wants…give him what he wants… 

On my first day, I wore a tight-fitting brown wool jumper dress…went only half-way down my upper legs…I sat across from him, let the dress ride up my legs…he could see my purple lace panties…thought about my cockroach-infested apartment…Ricardo saw me frowning…told me to come over to him…I sat on his lap, could feel his hard-on under my ass…I cried on his shoulder, rubbed by ass on his cock (Give him what he wants)…told him about my money problems…he promised to help…he paid me only enough to afford the nasty apartment I was in… 

But I was in bed with him…he fucked my pussy, fucked my ass…I sucked his cock, let him come on my face…I was his whore and his secretary…would walk about his office in my underwear, sometimes even naked, just to please him (Give him what he wants, give him what he wants)…He didn’t pay me any better, though… 

He’s fucking me in the ass…is it him, or someone else?…No, it’s someone else…I’m sucking Guy’s cock, aren’t I?…or is it someone else?…Wait, Ken Maynard’s curvy, big-titted maid, Rosa is beside me, as naked as I am…she has three men fucking her, too, just as I have…All the men are in suits, only Rosa and I are naked…she has three men’s cocks in her, in her mouth, in her pussy, in her ass…I have three men, too, fucking me in the same way…Six men in suits, with their flies open and their cocks in us…is that Ricardo fucking Rosa’s ass?…I can’t tell…she’s blowing her boss, Ken Maynard, I think…I’m so high, I don’t know if I’m awake and stoned, or dreaming…I hope I’m dreaming…I hope I wake up from this nightmare soon… 

‘Creeps,’ an Erotic Horror Novel, Chapter Four

Two hours later, Guy came home. Two of his friends had arrived and were watching TV in his basement den. 

“Hey, there you are,” one of them said. “Your sister let us in and told us you’d probably be back soon. Where were you?” 

“In Capitol,” Guy said as he hurried down the stairs to meet them on the couch. “You’ll never believe who’s hooking there.” 

“You went to the whorehouse?!” his second friend shouted. 

“Hey, not so loud, John, you idiot,” Guy said. “My sister’s upstairs.” 

Too late: Thea heard them, and she was now eavesdropping. 

“OK, so who’s working there?” John asked. 

“Remember that girl I had a crush on, the one who used to share an apartment with my sister?” Guy asked. “Petunia LeBar, or Petunia Walker, as she calls herself now. Petunia Streetwalker’s more like it. She’s a whore over there now.” 

“No way!” the first friend shouted. “Petunia’s sucking dick over in Capitol?” 

“Yeah, Bill, that, and taking it in the pussy and in the ass,” Guy said. “She served me with a smile, the dirty little whore.” 

I can’t believe it, Thea thought. I won’t believe it. 

“How was she?” Bill asked with a lewd smirk. “I mean…her body…her skills.” 

“Oh, better than I’d ever imagined,” Guy said. “Such a nice, tight little body. And can she ever suck dick! I’m actually kind of disappointed, though. I thought she was a better person than to be doing that kind of work.” 

I know she’s better than that, Thea thought. 

************** 

That night, Petunia lay on her cot, weeping, as were a number of other ‘Commodities’ (as the staff of Capitol referred to them) in the bedroom they shared. Even the mind-controlling Creep that had just been put into them to help them sleep, which was just starting to take effect, hadn’t prevented them from expressing themselves on at least some level. 

Oh, Guy, she thought as she sobbed, I’m sure you think of me as nothing better than a lowly whore, with that fake grin on my face, tricking you into believing I enjoy my ‘work’. If only you knew that you were seeing, hearing, and feeling a false me; my true self was weeping the whole time, and though you may have been disappointed with me, I was much more disappointed with you. You didn’t know that I was being forced to have sex with you, but were you being forced to have sex with me? 

************** 

The next morning at breakfast, she sat with the talkative man and the woman who’d kept shushing him again. Normally, everyone was randomly assigned seats at different tables for every meal, to prevent the development of friendships; but by fluke these three were put together again. She couldn’t eat from her bowl; she just sat and frowned. The green Creep put in all of them kept them docile, but it didn’t force her to eat. 

In fact, she even found the will to talk with the others, if in that typical, sleepy way. “Have any of you…,” she began, her tired eyes flapping, “ever had to…service a client…who is someone…you know…personally?” 

“Yeah,” the woman whispered. “There’s this one…asshole who’s always…hated me…He’s come here…regularly…to fuck me, ever since he learned…I was here…He ass-fucks me…and comes on my face…Spanks my ass…all just to…humiliate me…Bastard.” 

“A gay man…fucks and blows me…regularly,” the man said. “But not because…he knew me before…He just likes me…Still, I’m not gay, and I hate…having to…service him.” 

“A guy…I used to know…and like…just had me…in all three holes,” Petunia said, tears rolling down her cheeks. “I feel so…trashy.” 

“Don’t show…too much feeling, sweetie,” the woman whispered. “I used to…cry like that…Then, when I…tried to escape…with two…other women, I saw her…dying…in front of me…They used those…killer worms…on her…They kill us sometimes…we have to be…careful…They’re watching.” 

“I can’t…hold it in…anymore,” Petunia sobbed. 

“Try to stop…feeling anything,” the woman whispered. “I’ve gone through…this bullshit…for so long, I don’t…feel anything anymore…I’ve turned off…all my emotions…That way, it doesn’t hurt anymore.” 

“I wish…I could do that,” Petunia said, now trying to stop crying. 

“So do I,” the man said. Then he whispered, “What’s your name?” 

“Petunia.” She picked up a bread roll and bit into it. 

“I’m Sam.” 

“We shouldn’t…be doing this, but I’m Wendy…They’ll hear…They don’t like…for us…to get close.” 

“What difference…does it make?” Sam asked. 

“They’ll kill us,” Wendy said. 

“I know,” Sam said. “The way things are, I’d rather die.” 

“Shut up,” Wendy whispered. “I don’t want…you to die.” 

“I’ve got to get out…of here,” Petunia said. “I’m going crazy.” 

“You’re not alone…in that feeling,” Sam said. “But it’s…so fuckin’ difficult…It’s impossible…They’d never…let us go.” 

“That Frank guy…got out,” Wendy whispered. “They announced it.” 

“I think…they were lying,” Sam said. “To give us hope.” 

“I think…they were lying, too,” Petunia said. 

“Why lie?” Wendy asked. “Why give us…false hope?” 

“To keep us…from despairing,” he said. “If we lose hope, it’ll affect…our physical health, and we won’t be…desirable…as Commodities anymore.” 

“Still, we have…to try to get out,” Petunia said. I can’t…live like this…If only…someone outside…would help us.” 

“I’ll try…to get out, or be killed,” he said. “Both options are…OK with me…I’m straight…Sucking dick…isn’t OK with me.” 

Suddenly, a voice boomed from the intercom: “Stop the chatter down there. Eat. You’re having your showers in ten minutes.” 

Again, they all kept quiet for the rest of their meal. 

If only someone outside would help us, Petunia wished again; Guy, I wanted you to help me, not to hump me. 

‘Creeps,’ an Erotic Horror Novel, Chapter Three

[WARNING: sexual content]

Guy Cummings tossed the come-stained tissues in the trash can, pulled up his pants, and zipped up his fly. He looked at the girl’s face on his computer monitor. “Petunia Walker?” he whispered. “That isn’t really Petunia LeBar, is it? Could ‘Walker’ be a phoney name?” 

In the picture, she was naked and on all fours on a bed in what looked like a hotel room, her ass pointing at the camera so Guy could see her anus and vulva in every detail. With her face also revealed from looking back at the camera, she looked exactly like the Petunia he knew about a year back, her body being even more beautiful than he’d ever imagined. And according to the ad, she was working as a prostitute for Capitol, a brothel in downtown Toronto, just a short drive from his home in Mississauga. Since consensual sex work, including brothels, had recently been legalized in Canada and the US, all Guy had to do was get on a bus and go over to Capitol to see if she really was Petunia LeBar. 

For $200, he could enjoy her for an hour, too. 

I want that to be her, for the sake of my cock, he thought; but for the sake of my heart, I don’t want that to be her. I’ll find out soon enough, anyway. 

He turned off his computer, left his room, then washed his hands in the bathroom. He checked his wallet: he had only $50 there, but his bank card was also there. Off to the ATM. 

“Where are you off to, all of a sudden?” his older sister, Thea, asked as she saw him rushing to the front door. 

“I’m just going to the ATM, then to meet with a friend,” he said as he went outside. “Bye.” 

************** 

An hour and a half later, he was walking through the front door of Capitol. A number of men were there, looking at computer screens with pictures of naked women, a few with pictures of naked men. He approached an unused computer. 

“Can I help you find anyone in particular?” an approaching staff member in a tuxedo asked him with a smile. 

“Yes,” Guy said, flipping through the pictures of young blonde women. “On one of your ads, there was a beautiful thin blonde girl who looked familiar to me. I can’t believe she’s a prostitute.” 

“Let me help you,” the man said, setting the computer menu to Young, Thin, Blonde Women. He started flipping through the pictures. “Stop me when you see her.” 

“It says her name is Petunia Walker, though she looks like a girl I once knew called Petunia LeBar,” Guy said. 

“The girls change their names here, to avoid being bothered during their free time,” he lied, still flipping through the pictures. 

“Stop!” Guy said, recognizing Petunia’s face in a frontal nude picture of her standing on a balcony. “That must be her. Guy Cummings, you sure are one lucky guy.” 

“That’s your name?” the man asked. “Guy?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Well, Guy, just wait a few minutes, and you’ll be reunited with her.” He left to get her ready for Guy. 

Indeed, just five minutes later, Guy was in a small, white room, with a bed in the far-right corner, and steel hooks on the two doors, for hanging clothes. He’d come through the first door; and she, completely naked, came through the second door, which was to the left of the bed from his point of view. 

“Petunia?” he asked, his eyes unable to resist the temptation to look down at her firm, little breasts, shaved pussy, and bare feet. 

“Guy?” she said in what he hadn’t noticed was a forced voice and an even more forced grin. My God, she thought; not him. Not naked before him. And I can’t even control my body to cover myself or control my words. “Long time, no see.” 

“Never seen this much of you, till today.” 

He hadn’t noticed a thin tear running down her right cheek. 

“What would you like to do with me?” she asked, in a robot-like way. I’ve got to tell him that I’m being forced into prostitution, she thought; but I can’t say anything other than what they make me say! 

“Well, since this is the life you’ve chosen for yourself, I guess we’ll fuck,” he said, unzipping his pants. 

Another tear ran down her cheek, unnoticed by him. He sat on the corner of the bed with his pants down to his ankles and his hard cock pointing up. She got on top and aimed it into her pussy, which had been lubricated by a Creep. 

As she was bouncing up and down on his cock, he was thinking, This can’t be Petunia. I never knew her to be this easy with her body. She must have gotten financially desperate to be doing this kind of work. This can’t be the real Petunia…but I guess it is. 

She, too, had thoughts racing through her brain: This is beyond humiliating! Oh, God, Guy must think I’m the lowest trash to be doing this! But how could he know that I have no control over my body or my words; the thing that slithered in my ear—it must have taken control of my brain functioning, or almost all of it, anyway. I must fight to use what little of my body I can control to tell him that this whore he sees and is touching isn’t the real me. She strained to make the finger of her right hand, which was on his arm, write a message on it. 

She’d managed to write H-E-, but he didn’t like how it tickled, so he brushed her hand away and continued fucking. She tried again, writing an H, but he decided he’d fucked her pussy long enough. 

I’d like to fuck him, she thought as she continued going up and down on him; because he’s cute, and I’ve always liked him…but not like this! Not fuck under these circumstances! 

He said, “OK, I think I want to fuck you in the ass now.” She got off of him, then got on the bed on all fours. Still hard, he got behind her. Looking at her asshole, he said, “Wow, you’re already lubed.” 

It was the worm-thing they put in my ass, she thought as he slid his cock inside. Oh, Guy, why didn’t you let me finish writing my message on your arm? I’d let you fuck me if only we weren’t here, though since you now think I’m a whore, I wish we weren’t fucking. I used to like you, though I don’t think I do anymore, knowing what you think of me. But, how could you think otherwise? 

How could she lower herself to this? he thought as he fucked her ass. I really thought she was better than this. My hard-on is loving this…but my heart is hating it. 

She looked back at him, hoping he’d see the tears of shame in her eyes, tears he still hadn’t noticed. She reached back to his right hand, which was on her right thigh, and tried to write a message with her finger on his hand again. 

She managed to write H-E-L-, but he didn’t like the tickling. “Why do you keep tickling my hand?” he said. “Stop it!” He brushed her hand off again. She looked away from him, and down at the pillow, on which several teardrops had fallen. 

After sliding in and out of her ass for about five minutes, he said, “OK, how about a blow job to finish me off? I still can’t seem to come.” He pulled out. 

“OK,” she sighed, then got off the bed and knelt on the floor. He sat on the side of the bed, with her head between his knees. She looked up into his eyes as she began kissing and licking the tip of his cock. 

He looked down into her teary eyes as she took him halfway into her mouth. He assumed her tears were from the pleasure from the sex, so much of a slut did she seem to him. 

Please, see the pain in my face, she thought as her lips continued to slide up and down his shaft. I hate it here so much. If no one will help me get out…oh, someone just kill me, quickly.

‘Creeps,’ an Erotic Horror Novel, Chapter Two

Petunia woke up in bed, in a large, shared bedroom with about a dozen other naked, thin young women like her, as well as two naked men. Most of them were either black, southeast Asian, Latin American, or aboriginal. She still felt a little doped-up, as all the others felt, but the drugs used on all of them the night before, to help them sleep, were wearing off.  

When they all got out of bed, they were made to stand beside their beds, bent over and with their legs wide apart. A green Creep was on the floor between the feet of each person, who then felt it race up his or her leg and into her vagina, or his anus. They all got a jolt from this intrusion, and continued shaking for about half a minute, then the drug inside the Creep had its effect, and they all calmed and became docile and passive. They felt a lulling, massaging effect throughout their bodies; what they saw before themselves seemed wavelike, the colours tending toward turquoise. It was like walking at the foot of the ocean. They seemed to breathe water. 

A pretty, twenty-year-old blonde with hair just over her shoulders, Petunia had creamy, smooth skin, blue eyes, and small but firm breasts. She’d had her pubic hair removed just before being taken here, to Capitol. She was a sexy little pixie, but she’d never wanted to be sexy for the staff of this hell of a whorehouse. 

Capitol was set up by the captors of all these naked women and men, about five women for each man. Petunia and the others left their bedroom and went into a large cafeteria for breakfast, eating with a few dozen other naked women and men. She sat at a table with three men and four other women. She didn’t know any of them; she had to sit at a seat with her name on it. No one ever sat in the same place with the same people; the Capitol staff didn’t want them to develop strong friendships with anybody. 

The people at her table, nonetheless, were engaged in a conversation; they were fighting against the lulling effects of the drug they’d just been given. Still, as energetic as they tried to be, they had to keep their voices down, for microphones and cameras were picking up on everything they said and did; and if any of them said something the Capitol staff heard, one of those killer Creeps might crawl inside her or him…as with Frank. 

“Did anyone…try to escape…last night?” a woman asked in a droning voice, her eyes half closed. 

Petunia was too afraid to say anything. Also, she was peaking from the high of the Creep drug. 

“I heard…a few screams,” a man sitting beside the woman said, in a similar monotone, and with similarly heavy eyes. “Maybe I was dreaming, but I also heard…some shuffling overhead, in the tunnels. Somebody…did try to get out. But, I think, only tried.” 

Petunia shuddered at the memory his words evoked, but she still wouldn’t say a word; even if she hadn’t been high, she wouldn’t have said anything. She just pretended to ignore what he said. 

“Have any of you…ever wondered…about the colours…of those things?” another woman asked, one sitting beside Petunia. “I’ll bet…the different colours…have a meaning.” 

“Like, the blue ones…are a drug…to knock us out…and the yellow ones…kill you?” the man asked. “That’s what I think…The yellow ones…are the lethal ones. Watch out…for those.” 

“Keep your voices down,” a woman sitting on the other side of Petunia said. “Remember, they’re listening…to everything…we say.” 

Suddenly, an announcement was made over the intercom: “Well, one man got lucky last night. Frank Bender escaped.” 

Frank? Petunia thought; the guy crawling in back of me, the one who got killed by the Creeps—wasn’t his name Frank? Was what happened last night a dream, were there two Franks escaping with me, or am I hearing lies? 

“What makes you think…the colours…of the Creeps…have a…special meaning?” the first woman asked. 

“I tried escaping…about a month ago,” the man whispered. “I looked…behind me…when I heard…the screeching sound…they make…I saw…blue and yellow ones…A woman…crawling in front of me…got a yellow one…up her asshole…I saw her shaking…as if she were…burning inside…She fell…I touched her chest…No heartbeat…I heard no breathing…she was dead…Then a blue one…got in my ear…I felt high, then lost consciousness…The next morning, I was eating breakfast…like right now, still as high…as we all are now.”  

“Did anyone here…try to escape…last night?” the first woman asked. 

“Yeah,” Petunia said. “But I’m not…trying that again.” 

“Maybe not,” he said. “But we should…all organize…a union…of some kind, and plan…to break out of here.” 

“Shut up!” whispered the woman who told him to be quiet before. “They’ll hear!…You’ll get…us all killed…They’ll sic…the yellow ones on us…one of these nights.” 

“They’ll kill us all…sooner or later…anyway,” he whispered. “When we get too old, and we no longer…make a profit for them.” 

“Keep quiet,” she warned again. 

“Stop the chatter!” the voice over the intercom said. 

Petunia remained quiet, as did the others, for the rest of mealtime. If only some people outside could organize a union of some kind, and plan to break us all out of here, she thought.