It was no ordinary day. It was the day of what I guess you would call a “Beer Marathon.” You see in my small village, in the Czech Republic, we have this thing. It happens once a year, and what you do is you make a team, and drink all day. Your team consists of three people in total and you literally run from pub to pub. Each person on your team must drink two pints of ale, and then off to the next pub you go. The team of three that gets to the last pub and finishes their beers together wins the marathon. Oh, and the prize is wonderful. You each get a keg of the very best Czech beer.

Me and my two girlfriends were really looking forward to it. We had participated in this event every year since we were twelve, and every year we half seriously, but jokingly would say this is our year to win. It started off wonderfully as it always does, and in case you didn’t know, the people in the Czech know how to have fun, and also know how to drink more than your average person. I mean look at me. I’m as thin as could be, and I could drink way more than any person I have ever met, man or woman, from any other country. That saying the Irish can drink a lot in my opinion is a complete myth because they drink nothing compared to the Czech, Polish, or Russian people.

As I said before it was no ordinary day, and I had no idea it would be the worst and final day of my life. It was the day my life was stripped away from me, as well as my two girlfriends. Although I don’t know what happened to them, or where they went, I think of them often. I think of what would have happened if we didn’t participate in this beer marathon? I still believe the end result would have been the same. These men would have abducted us anyway because I now know they were studying our every move for some time.

They knew about me, about my family, about my friends, about my friends’ families—things like where we lived, how old we were, where our brothers and sisters went to school, where our parents worked. If we didn’t cooperate with them, or if we tried to escape, they promised we would go home only to find a dead family. They would kill our entire family—everyone.

It was horribly awful, we were jogging to the final pub, laughing having a great time, and the next thing I knew, something crashed into side of my head, and I was unconscious. When I woke up I was completely naked, and so cramped I couldn’t move at all. My legs and my arms were bound together in the same fashion you might tie a pig before roasting it, and fabric was stuffed in my mouth making it impossible for me to say anything, and difficult to breath. I was in complete blackness, and I knew there was someone next to me, because I could feel the warmth of another body. I also knew I was in a car that was moving because I could feel the vibrations from the street.

After what seemed like an eternity, the trunk of the car opened, and I couldn’t see very well because I had been in such darkness with my eyes open for a very long time. I realized that myself, and my two friends had made this horrific voyage together, but where we were I had absolutely no idea. This tremendous man put his arm in-between our legs and arms picking each one of us out of the trunk and dropping us on our backs on the floor. I noticed there were many women in the same position as me when I regained my vision as I looked around with my cheek on cold wet cement. All I could hear was women moaning and I saw many tears rolling down many eyes.

I will never forget the eyes of my dearest friend Susan, she looked like the woman in Hitchcock’s Psycho after she had been slain in the shower; Susan was catatonic. After some time, once again I don’t know how long, we were picked up, and slid across this rusty iron bar, now suspended and hanging next to each other in the air like meat. I could feel warm blood start to trickle down my arms and legs, and all the circulation to my feet and hands was cut off. I felt as though my back and neck were breaking, and I couldn’t imagine what was to happen to us next.

I wished to God they just killed me already, and in fact that is what I thought they were going to do, but I suffered a much worse fate. I was starting to get dizzy, because I had a day of drinking, and now I was suspended with all of my blood rushing to my head. I was tired, and it was impossible for me to hold my head up anymore so I just had to let it hang, and I could see a whole bunch of men in suits joking around approaching us.

One man in particular, although I couldn’t see him was inviting all these men in suits to have a look at us. They were walking back and forth, and I don’t know how many of us there were, but I could hear the moans were growing more intense. By this time the pain I felt was so intense and all encompassing, I felt nothing. The girl next to me was crying because one man was punching her in her legs, arms, and ass, and pulling on her nipples as though he was going to rip them off. He remarked, “This one is firm and strong, she looks like she will be a good earner; so far she is my first choice.”

All of these men in suits were speaking different languages, and although I didn’t understand everyone, I understood most of them. I can speak proficiently German, Italian, Russian, Czech, Polish, French, Spanish, Portuguese, and English. In school I studied languages because it has always been my dream to travel the world and learn about, and communicate with people of different cultures in their native languages. The Arabs I had no idea what they were saying because their culture and their language never interested me; and prayed none of them came near me. Fortunately they didn’t because they obviously have a thing for only the blond haired, blue-eyed girls.

Next, this pole we had been suspended from violently and suddenly went crashing to the ground. I remember hearing many shrieks of pain, and a lot of laughing from the men. Fortunately for me, I unconsciously lifted my head and landed on my shoulders and not my head like most of the women. Our feet were cut away from our hands, but our arms and legs were still bound together. We were now each allowed to stand, although it was very difficult because we were bound in balls for God knows how long. The girls who refused to stand, or two weak to stand, quickly stood when an example was made out of one of them. One of the girls refusing to stand had her throat slit, and her tongue pulled through the opening so it looked like she was wearing a man’s tie. After viewing that, all the women stood on their own accord.

While standing, I caught a glimpse of the man who had invited the men in suits to have a look at us; I knew it was him because I recognized his voice. I’ll never forget his voice. He only spoke in English, and I’m guessing all the gentlemen in suits had a basic working knowledge of English, the universal language. He said, “Why don’t you test out the women you fancy free of charge. Feel free to do whatever you want to them, just don’t abuse their faces.”

These men in suits proceeded to drop their pants to there ankles, and if anyone tried to resist, they would slap us repeatedly being sure not to damage our faces, or punch us in our ribs and stomachs making it impossible for us to breath because we were all still bound and gagged. Occasionally, they would cut us with razors under our armpits or on the souls of our feet, or stab us with keys in our ribs and lower backs. Then, we weren’t rapped, we were violently fucked over and over, so many times that I just blacked out. When I blacked out or when any of the girls lost consciousness, the tremendous man who picked me out of the trunk would shoot ice cold water on us from a hose, just laughing sadistically. I suppose that was his job for the moment, to revive any women who passed out from the trauma and torture.

After being fucked, and fucked everywhere, with not only dicks, but with broomsticks, or hands, I could see blood coming from my vagina, and knew blood was coming out of my rectum because it was very warm. Now, I guess I’ll call him the host of this sadistic escapade for lack of a better term, he said, “Give me twenty minutes or so to clean these bitches up, and during that time you think over your decisions, and then we will let the bidding begin.”

We were all pushed and shoved into this tiny room, and the only way we could move was by hoping because our feet were still bound together. With every hop we left a trail of blood because most of us had gaping slits in the souls of our feet. At this point in time, beyond feeling pain, I wasn’t even in a hellish nightmare. What was happening to me was impossible, and I convinced myself that I was sleeping in my parent’s home. I would have to wake up shortly.

Now with a fire hose that had so much pressure we were pushed into the concrete walls, and later to the ground, we were hosed off with ice-cold water all together. Everyone was standing in puddles of pink water. An old gentleman, with sad and compassionate eyes, toweled each one of us off, rather delicately, and I remember the tremendous gentleman holding the fire hose telling him to hurry the fuck up because he didn’t have all night, he only had now less than twenty minutes. I could see that this man was just as scared as we were, and how he got caught up in all of this, God only knows. He feared for his life as well, but he made sure never to hurt or scare any of the women, and I remember with me, he dried my intimate parts in the same fashion you’d dry a baby, and he made sure to occasionally make eye contact with me to make sure he didn’t do anything to hurt me because after all I was profusely bleeding. I felt so sorry for him.

After toweling us off, a bathrobe was draped over our shoulders, and we were instructed to move back into the other room of this warehouse. Some of the girls, exhausted, and in tremendous physical pain just fell to the ground, and instead of being picked up were just kicked and rolled into the other room by that tremendous gentleman who was really enjoying himself. He reminded each of us of the woman who had her throat slit and assured us that there was an endless supply of young tight bitches. The master of ceremonies told him to have fun, but try not to break anything on the girls because that would bring down there value. “Nobody wants to buy a bitch with a broken arm or leg, then they won’t be able to work.” That guy was all about business.

When in the room for the second time now, the master of ceremonies said, “Let the bidding begin,” and that is exactly what happened. This master of ceremonies would hit us behind our knees and push us one by one to the cold concrete ground and start the bidding. For each of us, the bidding began at 5000 euro; that is 5000 euro to purchase a person. And it was a bidding war, men were going back and forth fighting with each other, or negotiating with each other—if you let me buy her, I won’t bid against you on the third bitch from the end. Alliances were formed, and much money was changing hands. More money than I had ever seen before.

The master of ceremonies would give a little biography on each girl telling her age, where she was born, assured her teeth were hygienic, and would provide the highest bidder with all of her background information so that if she tried to escape her family could easily be found and murdered. The information was insurance because these men wanted to be sure to protect their investments.

As each woman was bought, she was thrown into the back of a truck. I’m guessing each one of these men came with their own box truck as to transport the women to their new destinations. My beautiful friend Susana was bought for 11,000 euro by this disgustingly grotesque and fat Arab mother-fucker, and it came as no surprise to me because she is a blonde haired, blue eyed angel. My other friend was bought by a Frenchman; I could tell he was a Frenchman by his accent when he tried to speak English. My father always told me it is easy to spot a Frenchman when they speak because when the French were born, they were born without mouths. Their mother would take a pin, and poke a tiny hole where their mouth should be, and that is why all French people when they speak sound like they are talking out of an asshole. I think French is a beautiful language, but it is true, you must keep your mouth somewhat more closed and they are a very arrogant, snobbish, cowardly people. The French don’t even really like the French.

I was bought by a little-fat-balding Russian; and he was little in just about every way from what I remember. Except of course his rage and temper. That day was the last time I saw any of my friends. I don’t know what tragic fates they suffered, or are suffering. I don’t know where they went, or what has become of them, all I can do is pray and hope that the bastards who bought them are murdered or tortured, or I pray that they are dead because I wish this life of being forced to fuck on no one other than the bastards who use us like pawns in a devilish game of chess.
While in the truck with these 11 other girls from all over the world, the Russian came in the back and gave us a little speech in his very best English. He told us, “You all belong to me. I kill you if you make noise. I kill you and your family if you try escape. You belong to me, you work for me, I your new father.” Then he closed the doors to the back of the truck, I heard them lock, and off we went.

It was a long voyage; I think it was many days, many days of once again being in complete darkness. I was beyond weak for I had not eaten anything in some time now. My head was spinning, and I could hardly move. Some of the girls had to go to the bathroom, and even though we all tried to relieve ourselves in the corners of this truck, the stench of for lack of a better terms, shit and piss was nauseating; and in fact many of the women started vomiting up what little they had in their stomachs, or just dry heaving. The souls of my feet were burning because I was stepping in all this bile.

When we arrived at this new destination it was night, and we were instructed to one by one climb out of the truck, and once our feet were unbound, we were told to walk through a door. There were two men with machine guns, there was no where to run, so all twelve of us walked into this building, and up many fights of stairs, all being directed to a little room with a toilet and a shower. The Russian who bought us, and the two men with machine guns proceeded to take off all of their clothes, and freed our hands now. They told us if we tried to take off our gages, they would torture us, so no one dared move there hands near their face.

They each fucked us once again, or tried to stick as much of there hands and fists as they could into our vaginas, and rectums, or would laugh and take turns seeing how far they could stick a broomstick into our vagina or anus, and they were taking crude measurements as to who had the deepest anus, or the most flexible pussy. This went on for many hours, and occasionally more gentlemen would join in, some would leave, some would come back. I was one of the lucky ones, what was happening to my body was not happening to me. At this point in time, I felt nothing, I was dead, I had lost my will to survive. Although my eyes were open, I didn’t see anything at all. Everything was a blur. Although I’m not deaf, somehow my brain shut off my ability to hear. I was conscious, but unconscious. I suppose that was their goal, to completely break us, and break us they did.

I was dead inside I tell you, I was bleeding from everything except my eyes and ears, and there was nothing more they could do to hurt me. I remember thinking about when he said he would torture us; if this wasn’t torture than I don’t know what was. What more could they possibly do to us!

When they were finished abusing us, our new daddy told us to get into the shower and clean ourselves up. Just as he was saying that, another gentleman entered the room with a box of clothes, and our new daddy told us to put on some clothes, and he would be back in one hour and expected all of us to look presentable. He said if we were able to stay quite, we could remove our gages, but he was leaving one of the gentlemen in the room with us, and instructed the man to beat us and break our ribs if he saw or heard any talking of any kind.

The box of clothes that was presented to us really wasn’t clothing at all. It was all this lingerie, and we were expected look very sexy. After dressing and cleaning ourselves, we went into a kitchen and there was food everywhere with our daddy and other gentleman eating. He said to us, “You girls must be very hungry. You can eat, but you can only eat just as soon as you start making money. Nothing is free!”

We were given a long trench coat with not much lining in it, a cheap digital watch, and were on our way out of this building to have a tour of our surroundings. I knew we were in Russia, but exactly where we were I had no idea; all I knew is it was beyond cold outside; so cold that I saw birds frozen on the street dead, so cold that a tear would instantly freeze on your face and split your skin.

While on the tour, he explained to us the rules. He said, “I trust you ladies. I trust you never disobey me. I trust you be good earners. The more money you make, the more food you eat, the more freedom you have. These streets you work. These streets you find many customer. I know all police. The police never bother you, I give money to police and they watch you for me. If you ask Police for help, or if you ask another person and he go to police, they will say to me this, and I will hurt you more than you’ve ever been hurt in all the life. If I no trust you, you have nothing.”

Then he introduced us to a beautiful girl wearing sunglasses and a glove on her right hand that was being escorted by another Russian gentleman. He said, “Have a good look at her. Isn’t she beautiful? She still work for me. She still a good earner. She ask a man for help one time. This man try to help. This man dead now. She write a letter to family. Family never get letter. Have good look at her. She look no more.” He proceeded to take off her sunglasses, and remove her glove. Her eyes had been scooped out of her skull. She had no eyes, no eyelids just two holes. All of the fingers on her right hand except her thumb were cut off at the knuckles. He told us this isn’t even the worst fate we could suffer, and if that wasn’t the worst fate, I don’t know what in God’s name could be.

So we learned about the streets, where we were, and he told us that we all must go back to his building at six in the night, then six in the morning. He told us as well that there were lots of wealthy Russian and Chinese international businessmen in this town, so we always better come back with money, or we would be very sorry. He said, “Each one you bitches I pay good money for. Until I get back money I spend on you, right now I have negative money and I very mad. Never take less than 20 euro each man, and when you have 200 or more, come back fast.”

I was thinking 200 or more euro is a tremendous amount of money for me; me being from the Czech. In my village a beer cost 10 cents you know. I remember thinking if I was to earn money like that, I could certainly find a good spot on the streets to hide some money here and there; I could certainly outsmart this Russian bastard, and save my family. Although I was dead inside, I was still physically alive, my brain still worked—I just needed to become a machine for a few years, or until I figured something out. I needed my father and mother, my sister, and brothers to know just how much I love them, and that my disappearing was in no way their faults.

The days were cold and long and all seemed to blur together. I was ageing tremendously before my very eyes because being fucked by ten to twenty men a day takes a lot of life out of a person. But I was a master of my craft and knew just what to say, and how to get much more than 20 euro from each gentleman. All the men desired me, and none of them could last very long sexually.

I found a loose brick on a building in a rather dark alley, and I started to save money. Twenty euro here, fifty euro there, and the money was adding up. I never gave that son of a bitch more than 200 euro for a ten-hour shift—never ever! And why should I? He had no idea how many men I was fucking, or what I was earning for him.

Yes the police were everywhere, and yes I could always feel their eyes watching me, and I was fearful that I would be seen hiding money behind that brick. I never thought of the ramifications of my actions if I was to be caught. I never told anyone, and never initiated a conversation with any of the women who worked as prostitutes. I figured they all must be for lack of a better term completely fucked up, and I don’t want to know anything about them, or what they are thinking, or doing, or trying to do—I only want to be concerned with myself. I never spoke with anyone, until of course Justin.

I remember seeing this gentleman once in a while. I suspected he was just a regular guy because he drove a beat up car, and was always dressed with very thin clothing. His boots had holes in them, and he lived in a building that to the eye would appear to be abandoned. He would always look at me with an intrigued look on his face, and I got the impression he really thought I was beautiful. He really thought to himself, why is this woman doing what she is doing?

After many months of making eye contact with me, one day he approached me, and asked me what my name was. I told him my name, and I could see he just thought I was playing with him because he didn’t believe me. He found it strange that I had the same name as a famous American icon. I told him I didn’t care if he believed me or not, my name is Madonna and I have no reason to lie to you, or anyone else about my name for that matter. I also told him he should feel privileged because he was the only person who I ever told my name to. I didn’t have to tell my name to that Russian bastard who bought me because he had a full biography of who I was, and where I was from; I never told my name to any of the bastards I fucked, I always just asked them, “What do you want to call me big boy,” or “who do you want me to be?”

He said to me, “You are a very beautiful woman, and I don’t know why you are doing what you are doing? I see you almost every day and always wanted to ask you this: would you like to come to my home because it is very cold outside and drink some hot tea?” I was a bit suspicious; in fact I was always suspicious of everything because how could I be sure he was a genuine individual after all. Perhaps he worked for my new daddy, perhaps this was his ploy, and when my daddy found out that I went to a kind man’s apartment for a cup of tea, and didn’t receive any money, just chatted with some gentleman, I would be tortured. So I needed to find out more information about him in a manner that didn’t seem to invasive. I asked him if he wanted to know why I was doing what I was doing, and he replied, “One day, if you would like to confide in me, that’s fine, but I just want to get us out of the cold for a little while. I just want to have a cup of tea with a beautiful woman.”

Something in my gut told me to trust him. Something told me that this man, this man of twenty something new nothing about the injustices and sadistic practices in my world. I looked around for police, and saw none, so I decided to trust this man. I had already made more than enough money for one day of work, so I certainly had some time to spare, and when I returned back to my daddy’s building I would have nothing to fear.
In his apartment he did just what he said. A fire was roaring so it was warm, and he started to boil water and brew some tea. The tea was so delicious, and I was very grateful. It was my first cup of tea since the Czech. He apologized for the condition of his apartment, and he wished he had more to offer me than just tea. He also apologized for not formally introducing himself.

His name was Justin Cavior. I asked him what nationality or ethnicity he was because I never heard a last name like that, and he told me he had no idea. He was an orphan, and had no known family. When he was 18, he needed to have a last name, before being sent out into the real world, and something in his soul told him that Cavior was his last name but he had no idea why. He laughed at me when I told him it sounded a bit French, he told me of all the ethnicities he possibly could be he knew he wasn’t Chinese or French. He said he always felt as though he was an American, and one day dreamed of living somewhere in California or Hawaii where the weather is always warm and beautiful.

After chatting with him for some time, and really just learning about him, and what he did for work, or how long he had been in Russia for, or what was his favorite artist or classical composer—just as I started to feel like a normal human being again, having normal conversation, I realized it was getting late. I started to get my things together. He begged me not to leave, to just stay a bit longer, but I assured him it was the best time I had in a long time and we would do this again soon enough.

For the next few days, I didn’t see Justin, and I was worried. Yes, perhaps I was wrong; perhaps he did work for my daddy. Perhaps my daddy was just waiting, waiting to torture me; perhaps my daddy was just waiting long enough until he could kill my family and show me evidence of there deaths. But then I started to recall the short story by Edgar Allen Poe I once read about the tell tale heart or something, and I knew it was just my imagination getting the best of me. No heart was beating under my floor. That Russian son of a bitch knows nothing, and that is what I should be telling myself rather than hearing a beating heart in a dead person, and trying to act nicer than usual, or looking deeper into the meanings of words that were uttered and subtle gestures.

Finally, I saw Justin again, around eight o’clock at night, and he asked me how I was. I told him I was as good as I could be given the circumstances, and asked him where he had been in these days, and what happened to him because he looked extremely sick. He told me he was in the hospital because he had a terrible accident. He appeared to be fine other than his pale complexion and his hands bandaged up in gauze, but when he lifted up his shirt for me, I could see that his stomach and chest had been completely burned. “The burnt skin you see on me isn’t from a fire, it is a chemical burn. You remember I work unloading trucks? I never know what I’m unloading, but I unload whatever is on the truck. One of these containers had in it some kind of acid, and while carrying it, it ruptured all over my hands, arms, chest, and stomach.”

I felt so sorry for him. He is such a beautiful young gentleman, and I assured him he was still handsome with the face and body of an ancient Greek God. He laughed, and said to me, “Please don’t make me laugh again because my skin and body hurts too much. Sheets of my skin have been coming off.” He then asked me if I wanted to accompany him for some potatoes, cabbage, bread and tea, and I explained to him that it was still early in the night, and I needed to work, but if it is possible, I would meet him at his apartment for midnight.

That night at midnight, I knocked on his door, but he wasn’t answering. Just as I was about to walk away, he came to the door sweating, and I could see he was sick and in much pain. I brought him to his room, and laid him on the bed, and placed cool rags on his head to try to bring down his fever. He just kept saying to me, “I don’t know what I am going to do? If I cannot work, I cannot eat, and if I cannot eat, I cannot live, and I am not ready to die just yet. I’m not ready. I’m scared. I have no one.” While he was lying in his bed, I noticed a bit more of his body was burnt by these chemicals than just his hands, chest, arms, and stomach—in fact the entire front portion of his body was horribly mutilated, all except for where his belt was fastened upon his waste, where he wore his wrist watch, his ankles, and his feet.

“You know I’m only 24 Madonna. I’m 24 years old, and look at me; I have nothing. I have nothing and who will ever want me now? You are the first real woman I ever spoke to. I don’t know why I spoke to you, I guess it is because you are the first woman that I ever found attractive, and something about you just felt familiar and comfortable. I never approached you because I know what you do for a living, and I don’t associate with prostitutes. Something in my heart told me you were different, so one day I said what the hell, let me just talk to you. Now, you would be disgusted to be with a man like me.

Look at me Madonna! My entire body is destroyed. Even if I were a rich man, you wouldn’t be with me. You couldn’t be with me! I haven’t even had enough courage to look at my dick yet; I don’t even know if it will still work, all I know is it feels like it is on fire along with the rest of my body. I appreciate all that you have done, but please just leave me now. Let me die. I don’t want you to remember me like this! Please just get the fuck out of here and never come back!”

I didn’t leave him. How could I leave him, he was my only friend. I just leaned over him, looked into his eyes, and gave him a kiss on the forehead. I didn’t want to stop there, for some reason, for the first time since I was in the Czech Republic I felt love, and I gave him a kiss on the nose, on his eyelids, and on the lips, and assured him that everything would be O.K. He fell asleep, and I left him a note telling him I took the keys to his apartment, I want him to stay in bed, and when I had time, I would check on him during the afternoon.

The next day, I decided to take all the money I had been saving over the past few months, and without telling Justin, I hid it in his house. I figured it was better to hide it in his house, than to just leave it behind some loose brick in a building. I went into Justin’s room, and he told me he had been feeling a lot better, but I knew that was a lie and he was saying it just to be polite. He thanked me for everything, but I explained to him that what I did for him was nothing; it is what any normal person or friend would do. He said to me, “If there is anything I can ever do for you, now or in the future, just say the word, and consider it done.”