Mega Edition: Billionaire Playboy's Club...A Memoir By Virginia Roberts (Part 2) (3/8/26)

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What's up everyone and welcome to another episode of the Epstein Chronicles.

In this episode we're going to pick up where we left off with Virginia Roberts Memoir,

the billionaire's Playboy Club.

The next two weeks I was expected to be at Charlie's back in call, never allowed to leave a side,

even making me sleep in his bed from the second night onwards.

I'd never even got the chance to call TJ again.

It was too much of a risk anyway,

thus pushing him further out of my memory to afraid of the emotional repercussions.

Our typical routine was to wake up, get showered, and dressed,

and I would put on my makeup while Charlie made his business calls for the day.

We would leave the house mid afternoon, and run his errands, do some shopping,

sometimes meeting his friends or business partners for lunch.

None of the men he introduced me to seemed offended at his choice of adolescent eye candy.

They just continued to chat away as if it was normal to be in public

with his arms draped over a girl young enough to be his granddaughter,

not too shy by giving me a flirty tap on my bottom or even trying to kiss me.

My last night was no different from every other night.

We went shopping that day and out for lunch alone.

Later we headed to a club he called the Guana Joes.

We met up with his friend and said our lows.

They both seemed so excited about the club,

and Charlie was full of compliments all around.

The club did have a line out the door, which looked a mile long coming in.

Luckily we didn't have to use the front door.

Charlie returned from the bar with two giant looking, long island ice teas,

which were his favorite drink to start with,

and then we just sat there for a while watching people dancing.

Occasionally conversing about passing thoughts,

we danced for a while, having a few more drinks,

and after about two hours, Charlie said he was ready to go home.

What a daunting time to look forward to!

He always liked to have a brief sexual encounter before drifting off to sleep

with my naked body intertwined between his arms and legs.

It was bad enough to have to entertain him at every given second of the day,

but his grip on me was so stifling, I felt so choked,

I could hardly breathe much less sleep.

Eventually my overworked mind would drift in and out of a restless sleep,

but constantly on edge, I thought many nights of escaping,

but where would I go?

Would one of Ron's ever-so-connected informants find me

and turn me into something to be disposed of for good?

I just prayed that I wouldn't be another missing person

to add to the list of girls found in the local ditches,

and I knew that was where I was headed if I screwed this up for Ron again.

As if my guardian angel was here the whole time listening to my secret prayers,

my rescue came the next morning,

with an abrupt bursting through the bedroom door at about 6 a.m.

Charlie and I were still lying in bed together,

and his grip on me was still tight.

The men dressed in all black military gear had large guns and helmets on.

It was so frightening that at first I couldn't even comprehend

what was happening so rapidly.

I thought Charlie could have been in some kind of trouble with a business friend.

He had done wrong too, but then one of the men in black shouted,

FBI, this is a raid, get down with your hands on your head.

In too much shock to move, three of the men grabbed Charlie

and threw him to the floor and cuffed him,

I sat up in bed with the sheets covering my naked body,

and watched as they dragged Charlie from the room.

Still completely nude, he wasn't even allowed to get dressed.

Another agent had come back into the room to find him a pair of shorts.

I could hear him screaming at the top of his lungs,

all the way outside, he was screaming,

and the last thing I heard him yell was if you say anything you know,

who will find you.

I could hear a more threats being yelled at me,

but I couldn't make out what it was that was being said.

I was in total confusion, and I couldn't believe what was happening.

There were so many uniformed agents,

I felt so small compared to all of them,

but they were very kind and helped me out of bed,

allowing me to remain covered up with the bedsheets so I could get dressed.

The first decency I had been shown in a long time.

It was a not feeling to acknowledge.

I knew the life that I had come accustomed to for the last six months

was now over, and in so many ways I was relieved,

but I was also very nervous about what lay ahead of me.

I excused myself to the bathroom to put on some clothes,

not having anything half decent, like a normal pair of jeans and a t-shirt.

The best I could come up with was a metallic blue mini skirt,

and a tiny matching top that fell just below my breasts,

hardly clothing at all, it was more like scraps of cloth.

Putting my hair up in a tight bun,

with the scrunchy that held my $500 bills,

I was let out of Charlie's townhouse for the very last time.

Starting my life over, again,

I wanted to leave behind my every memory belonging to these horrid times,

only taking a small sack containing my underwear, make-up bag,

and journal with me.

The agents led me down the staircase,

and my last vision of Charlie was bent over the hood, screaming, and handcuffed.

I slipped into the backseat of the car,

and was driven to Broward County Police Station

where the federal agents interviewed me

about my entire wearabouts for the last six months.

I was so scared of what Ron would do if I told the agents

what really happened, but at the same time,

I knew he'd most likely kill me anyways for being such a liability.

Over the next few hours, I sat down and told the agents

how Ron's business worked, and what part I had to play to them.

I was able to ask how they found out I was at Charlie's house,

and they informed me that I was being followed all the way

from Ocala, Florida, where Ron had me stowed away for the last four months.

TJ, my friend, called my parents,

after the first conversation, and ever since then the FBI

were tapping the phone lines and recording every conversation,

completely unaware of TJ's carrying act of deceit.

I was in shock that they had been tracking us for so long.

I knew now, with or without my help,

the FBI had enough to put Ron away for a very long time

if they could catch him that is.

Having so many crooked people working for you

can be an advantage when you're in trouble,

like having a pair of eyes in every city.

Ron somehow was able to find out about Charlie's arrest

and immediately deserted the country

to avoid legal punishment.

Ron had so many countless charges put up against him

eventually when the FBI were able to track him down.

They were able to have arrested Yugoslavia

and extradited back to Miami.

He was finally held accountable for being a pedophile,

soliciting women for prostitution,

and running many illegitimate and illegal businesses.

By the time the FBI caught up to him,

he was in his mid-70s and he died of old age serving

his second year in prison of a lengthy sentence.

Coincidentally, I was told of his punishment

and death many years later by one of the same FBI agents

that had rescued me from Charlie's arms.

I was taken out of interrogation after the interview was over

and told to sit in one of the officer's desks

while I was awaiting for someone to come pick me up.

Uncertain of who that someone would be,

I assumed it would be someone from the juvenile delinquent division

to take me back to some state operated lockdown facility.

Not the nicest place to call home,

but I had no choice in this matter.

Sitting back in the revolving chair,

I was twirling out of boredom

and listening to the roaming conversations within the office.

I pondered in fearful anticipation

of the dreadful places that lay in store for me.

Having spent a lot of my adolescence

in these kinds of places

for the sheer factor that my mother said I was out of control

and unable to handle by 11 years old.

There was plenty of just reasons

for me to be scared of those places,

what I knew lay in store for me,

where a constant fight between the rough girls

being settled with violent raids,

then I'll came the pepper spray,

and then the strip searches,

and worst of all, no sunlight.

It didn't matter if you were a quiet,

shy girl that didn't belong there,

when there was a fight,

which could be like a few times a week,

every person in the room was considered a threat

and they were treated like a violent criminal.

I hated those places,

and the memories they gave me.

That's why I always ended up back out on the street.

No child or juvenile should have to be subjected

to such unreasonable force and neglect.

Some of the girls were so used to being subdued

to this kind of treatment.

Their whole life, they ended up repeating,

the same attributes as the people

who initially hurt them in the first place.

One very sad girl I'll never forget

had a father who had been a heroin junkie

and decided to play a Russian roulette

with some of his attic friends and by fate,

or chance took the bullet straight through his brain,

killing him instantly.

Her mother being a heroin addict herself,

spiraled downwards after his death,

and gave her four-year-old child

to her age and grandmother

that eventually had to put the 12-year-old

in this undyre circumstance.

I can only have the highest hopes for her today,

but unfortunately for most girls that have been victimized

by society,

they aren't ever able to stop being a victim

for the rest of their lives,

or go on to make other people victims themselves.

A sad and unfortunate fate for so many innocent,

and it happens so much more

than anyone would rather admit

to instead of just trying to find a solution.

Alright folks, we're gonna wrap up right there,

and in the next episode dealing with the topic

we're gonna pick up where we left off,

and that's with Part 1 of Chapter 3.

All of the information that goes with this episode

can be found in the description box.

What's up everyone,

and welcome to another episode of the Epstein Chronicles.

In this episode we're gonna write back to

the billionaire's Playboy Club,

the memoir,

by Virginia Roberts.

Chapter 3.

Hours later,

I was still twirling myself in the same office chair

when I spun around to see my father walking in my direction.

I nearly fell off my seat at the sight of him,

gripping the chair's handles

I couldn't imagine what in the world I would say to the man

I once used to call daddy,

but now hated for the abandonment

and unforgiving wounds he instilled inside of me.

He contemplated putting his arms out to hold me,

but instead anger and shame took over,

and he just shook his head.

I never saw my dad cry until that day,

and I have to say it made me feel young again,

and said that I had disappointed my parents again.

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The agents now standing beside us

led both of us together back into the interrogation room

to retell my journey to my father

who they said I had no choice to tell

or they would have to tell him for me.

Being I was underaged, minor when Ron violated

the statutory rape law, among many others,

when he took me back to his apartment

and kept me as a sex slave.

My dad couldn't believe what he was hearing.

And for his lack of a better choice of words,

asked me to stop talking.

He was just happy to know I was alive.

Like everyone I'd known in my life,

they'd rather brush it under the carpet

and not deal with the pain rather than realizing sooner

or later it all comes out some time in our life

even when it transgresses into our future,

then becomes what we are willing to accept

out of partners, work, and people in general.

Simply saying in other ways,

then with words that our bad decisions

befall our tragedies later on in life.

The next discussion was led to where I would go from there.

Before anyone could put his or her suggestion forward,

I leapt in with my two bits

and made it obviously clear to my dad

that if I was sent away,

to another lockdown facility

and if he betrayed my trust again,

he would never see me again.

I would disappear for good this time,

and for all he would know I could be dead

in no time on the streets.

He looked at me for the first time in my life.

He saw the many years I had grown up

and the time I was gone.

And heard the seriousness in my tone of my voice.

When I made my vow to him,

he put his head in his hands

and told me the bad news.

My mom didn't want me to come home

and she was making his life hell

for even suggesting,

bringing me back into their lives.

I, for some reason,

threatened her lifestyle and drove her crazy.

I'd been surprised about how a lot of things

lately, but not that one.

The last time I saw my mom,

she ever so carefully lied to me

and told me she was bringing me

to an eye doctor for an infection.

I walked into this tall blue building

with people in uniforms holding clipboards

and a few musly guards.

She ushered me inside and hurried

to close the large auto lock doors behind her,

leaving me there alone

and imprisoned.

Which is what led to me recently

living on the streets.

My life was hell as long as she was in control of it

so when she didn't want me back at home,

I was fine with that too.

But there had to be somewhere else I could go.

My dad said he had no choice

but to put me back into the facility,

but he made a sincere promise

that he would not take any longer than a week

to try to find a place for me to stay

and to go to school.

A week I could deal with,

but I was still unsure if I could trust my father

and hold him to his word,

but yet again I had no choice.

Being my legal guardian,

he could send me anywhere he wanted,

and there was nothing I could do,

except for keep running.

I gave in.

The officers to take me back to the last facility I had run from,

I gave him one last hug,

and reminded him one week and I'm gone.

Notting his head, and squeezing his arm tighter around me,

I could only hope he meant it,

but he didn't look too optimistic.

In the police car on the way back to the facility,

they had to handcuff me in case I ran again.

But I had no intentions anyway.

I was going to give my dad the week

before I began to search for the right opportunity

to jolt again.

The ghost come back,

said so many of my girlfriends,

from the past,

and there was now a lot of new faces there too.

At night we were all in bed,

and supposed to be sleeping,

I'd be daydreaming of better days,

and imagine myself somewhere in a comfortable bed,

actually enjoying my life for a change.

A week went by in this facility,

spending most of my days locked up

in what they called the white room,

a bare room with a concrete floor,

no toilet, or even a chair to sit on.

The only comfort I had was the blue sweater,

that was provided as part of the uniform,

and my hair scrunchy,

filled with my stowed-away cash,

that no one had found,

during the unpleasant strip searches.

I would spend hours in the white room

for objecting to the conformity

and unwilling to participate

in their drilling regime.

I didn't feel like I owed an explanation to these people,

even when they brought a psychologist in to speak with me.

What was the point when I would be gone any day now?

And as if any of these people

even cared in the first place.

I was just another number in the system,

and they had a job to do.

There was one mega-bitch female guard named Evelyn,

and she used to either really like you

or really hate you,

and God forbid you were one of the unfortunate,

that she didn't like.

She'd make your entire stay,

and agonizing nightmare,

constantly picking on girls who were not strong enough to cope

with their predicament or past issues.

She'd stand them up and publicly humiliate them,

and even when they begged her through their sobs

to let them sit down,

she'd only torment them worse,

which only made the strong girl

want to antagonize the fragile ones

with more malicious intent.

Luckily, when I had previously been there,

she didn't take much notice of me,

but I stayed out of harm's way with her,

just being quiet and observant.

Being back here seemed like an eternity,

while I held my end of the bargain,

but unfortunately my father didn't.

The first chance I saw to run,

I took it.

I was being sent to get my blood

and urine taken for drug and disease analysis.

My driver would be a volunteer

from the community,

and it would be the perfect getaway for me.

I was brought from the white solitaire room

and led into the bright sun,

feeling like today would be a favorable day

for my escape.

We got to the doctor's office,

my whereabouts told me,

I had plenty of ways to run,

and I scouted out the best looking route.

Then, was to barge through the volunteers

and experience grip,

and wriggle my way out if needed,

then hit the asphalt running

until my legs couldn't carry me any further.

Playing it out in my mind

felt different to the anticipation

that led up to actually doing it.

The inner strength that I had

was the only thing going to help me

in this circumstance.

We arrived in the parking lot,

and I hadn't set a word to him,

the entire drive,

I couldn't see him as anything,

but a challenge,

so I kept quiet instead.

Ignoring his humorous attempts to befriend me,

the car pulled to a stop,

and he came around the side

to unlock my door,

and that was it.

Here we go.

I told myself and pushed past the volunteer.

His arms grabbed out at me,

but only caught me by my shirt.

He didn't even put up much of a struggle

like some of the other trained ones

but just tore up my collar of my shirt,

letting me break free.

I had done this many times before,

so I knew I wasn't gone yet.

I had to first get out of these clothes,

the cops would be looking for someone

of my description in the area,

with a blue shirt and khaki pants.

So my first stop was a busy shopping complex.

I took the money from my scrunchie

and bought myself a pair of jeans,

a shirt,

and a sweater for disguise,

and my next stop was Dunkin' Donuts

and a cup of coffee.

I didn't have doubts about getting out of the facility,

but I wasn't expecting it to be so easy this time.

My past excursions all began

with an abrupt struggle,

sometimes ending in a brutal state of affairs,

after being pepper sprayed,

and fastened into some painful lock

by forceful men,

four times my size,

then tossed into solitary until I saw

my next chance to dessert.

I got to know the guards real well

and dragged down to the white room by them.

There was Jim,

large black man,

who could have doubled

for a Miami Dolphins defensive linebacker,

John was another big man

with a ponytail and a mustache,

and he looked like someone

who definitely owned a Harley.

The last guy Scott was smaller build,

but made up for it

with his steroid-injected muscles,

bulging out of his neck,

and there was this added height

to the floor,

they were actually pretty nice guys.

Not afraid to have to laugh

after some explosive incident,

and I held no contempt towards them either.

They were just doing their jobs.

It was deja vu all over again,

free at last,

but where would I go now?

With Ron Scouts on the lookout for me,

and now the authorities being notified

I was run away again.

I would have a lot of people

searching for me,

so I knew I had to be careful where I went.

The first time I met her,

was to use the payphone,

to call my parents.

My dad answered completely

surprised to hear me on the other end.

I wanted to sarcastically thank him

for breaking his promise to me.

I hope he is happy now.

He just lost his daughter for good.

I stopped to listen to what he was trying to say,

and he told me I was getting you out in a few days.

I found you somebody to stay with.

She's a good person,

who has got teenagers to age.

I was so outraged at her ability

to put her own wants before the needs of her own flesh and blood daughter.

I told him to come pick me up,

and bring me to the house,

so I could speak with her for the first time in over a year.

But if I felt threatened for one second,

I'll be on my way quicker than a blink of an eye

and for my own good.

He wasn't overjoyed at my proposition,

knowing what position this put him in,

as her husband,

but as my father he decided to put me first for once

and take me home to confront my mother.

I arrived to my house for the first time in a very long time,

and everything looked different.

My parents refurnished and renovated the house.

I didn't even have a room anymore.

My old belongings in bed were removed,

and it was now in office.

Of course, my mom didn't meet me at the gate,

or the front door,

like her long-lost offspring reunited.

No, instead she waited for me to come up,

and find her out back smoking cigarettes,

and having a beer.

She stood up from her chair,

and squinted her eyes loathing,

in hatred,

she coldly slapped me hard in the face.

The slap stung, but I matched her look,

with a familiar stone coldness

that only she could understand.

Immediately we both started to cry,

and we washed away our anguish and resentment

through our tears,

and consolidated our feelings,

for the first time since the chaos first affected our lives.

She didn't want to know

how much of my whereabouts,

and she still had a lot of anger to get over,

but she asked me to stay home,

at least.

My little brother ran through the back door,

and hugged me so tight,

I started to cry again,

and was saddened by how much time I had missed.

The time I had lost,

just hanging out with my brothers,

and it took me even longer to realize

how precious time really is.

We were never going to be the average Joe's next door,

but at least this was better than nothing.

I loved being with my family again.

We had barbecues and bonfires with each other,

and life began to slowly piece back together.

It was bizarre how normal it was

when I first got home.

I turned 15 that year,

and it was the exact cup of tea

that I had needed to boost me up,

and get me on the right track.

I decided to go to school,

and acquire my general education diploma,

or GED, and got a summer job

with my dad at Mar-a-Lago Donald Trump's

exclusive country club in Palm Beach.

Surrounded by lush acres

of tropical landscapes,

I secured gardens,

and a mansion made into a beach club

for the rich and famous.

It's known as the jewel upon beach.

I was in sheer awe at the gold arched ceilings,

and grandeur ballrooms.

The spa where I worked was world-class,

not only oozing in style,

but in the way.

Each and every clientele was treated

with the utmost service.

My focus was now,

set on becoming a massage therapist,

and working my way into the luxurious spa,

when I worked for now,

only I was a locker room attendant there.

I studied many books about the anatomy

of the human body,

and how you can affect a person's well-being,

and health for the better

through a simple healing touch.

It was amazing to me that the way the body

responded to massage.

I was more than just interested,

I was determined to become a therapist.

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It's who you share it with.

That's why we work even harder to protect it,

and as a mutual insurance company,

we're built for our customers.

We prioritize your needs

and are here for you when you need us.

Amika Empathy is our best policy.

Visit amika.com

and get a quote today.

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All right folks, we're going to wrap up right here

and in the next episode,

dealing with the topic,

those with this episode can be found

in the description box.

What's up everyone and welcome to another episode

of the Epstein Chronicles.

In this episode, we're going to pick up

where we left off,

with Virginia Roberts Memoir,

the billionaire's Playboy Club.

It was one of those anatomy books

that I had my nose buried in one afternoon

on a quiet Tuesday,

and it could get pretty lonely in the locker room,

so if I wasn't busy,

I'd sit outside by the spa's reception

on the floor to the sun.

A lovely looking woman in her late 30s

who spoke with a proper English accent,

approached me.

I assumed it was a general question

like where's the lady's room,

or was that the famous model from so and so?

But she was more interested

in the book I was reading.

Only believing at first,

we were just making small talk.

She was really intrigued at my choice of reading.

She then asked if I did massage on the side.

I stated I was only reading the book

and I had not yet begun to study,

but one day I would love to practice massage therapy.

She introduced herself as Glenn Maxwell.

I would later find out that she was the daughter

of the late prominent businessman

and disgraced newspaper tycoon Robert Maxwell.

I told her my name is Jenna,

pointing to my name tag on my shirt,

and offered her to cold,

or hot beverage,

as those were my instructed duties at work.

She accepted a tea,

and went on to chat a bit about this rich guy

he worked for,

and she knew, offhand,

that he was looking for a massage therapist.

Just doing me a good deed

out of the kindness of her heart,

I'm sure, she offered to introduce me to him.

I declined her first proposition,

thinking out loud,

told her I didn't know the body well enough

to even attempt an interview.

She didn't seem worried at all

about my fear of incompetence,

saying that if he liked me enough,

he would get me the best training in the industry.

Elaine thought that I had a cheery persona,

and I fit the quota for what he was looking for,

and as she put it,

an enthusiastic learner,

that she said,

she gathered from the sticky notes popping out

of the various sections in my book.

I accepted her phone number,

and the house address,

and told her I will call her

if I'm able to come over after work.

I rushed over to the tennis court

where my dad was working,

and told him of the news.

I was ready to become a massage therapist,

seeing that it was a lady

in her late 30s who came off

as more of a nurtureer

rather than a procure,

neither of us saw any reason to be hesitant.

Chapter 4.

At around 5pm,

my dad drove me down to the bottom of El Brillo Way

on the Palm Beach intercostal.

We pulled into a short driveway,

back ining a large pink mansion

with a heavy wooden door.

I was so excited about this chance

that my dad to wish me luck.

He gave me a big squeeze,

and wished me my best.

He walked me to the front door,

and I rung the door chime.

Moments later, we were greeted

by an older gentleman,

dressed in a casual,

butler uniform.

I told him I was here to meet Ms. Maxwell

for a massage trial,

and he opened the doors

for my father,

and I, telling us to wait in the entry,

my care,

seeming very proper

and elegant for now.

She shook my father's hand,

and thanked him for bringing me

and kissed us both on the cheeks.

They spoke briefly about whom she worked for,

and about Mar-a-Lago where she worked.

She was in a hurry,

you could tell,

to end the conversation

and say goodbye to my dad,

which she did ever so pleasantly.

She said the boss was upstairs

to follow Galaine up the stairs.

I was so nervous, but I didn't show it.

I kept my reserve and demeanor,

cool as ice, trying to show maturity

for the open position.

We continued on to the massage room.

Passing by a grand crystal chandelier

and a couple of lengthy wooden hall tables,

displaying a multitude of photos,

displaying young girls,

and beautiful women.

Trying not to gock at them,

I didn't even notice that some of those girls

were only wearing their smile.

How my dad work was,

and I told her that it was easy peasy,

as always, just trying to make simple conversation.

There was a fork at the end of the staircase,

and she led me to the right-hand side.

The lights were dimmed in the bedroom,

but I could still see the king-size bed

in the middle of the room.

We did a U-turn around the bed,

which led us into a massage room.

Dripping in luxury,

I could have definitely compared it

to the renowned Mar-a-Lago Spaz.

It had marble walls,

and a self-automated steam room,

at the very end of the Burberry Carpeted Room.

There was a very large mirror over a basin,

to the right of the room,

with an array of oils, ointments, soaps, and lotions,

and a small closed door,

which I assumed, must be a closet.

The only thing that struck awkward about this room

was the naked man laying face down,

a top of the turquoise massage table,

in the center of it.

I had to be prepared for this,

I told myself,

I had never done before,

so I quickly brushed away my thoughts

of possible schemes,

wanting to believe, wholehearted,

that this was going to be legit.

Galein introduced us,

to each other, and I proceeded to make his acquaintance.

Looking up, from his downward position,

he looked me over and gave a smile to Galein,

an obvious notion of his approval.

He was Jeffrey Epstein,

as she pronounced for him,

as if I was supposed to recognize his name or something.

He affirmed,

his pleasure, and replied,

just call him Jeffrey.

No need for formalities.

He answered cleverly,

putting me at ease.

This man did not look like someone to be aware of.

Both him and Galein appeared to be very nice people,

and conscious of their health,

as their need for massages

and spa visits,

no alarm bells went off yet.

I was prepped by Galein to treat this

as a lesson from her,

and follow her exact lead.

Become Jeffrey's traveling masseuse,

seeing the world, and getting paid well for it.

I was very hopeful,

a job like this could really make my dreams come true.

I followed suit,

and washed my hands with warm water,

so the coldness would not shock Jeffrey's naked body,

then lathered them in rich body butter.

Galein told me to always keep one hand on Jeffrey,

even when getting more lotion,

so it didn't make him lose concentration on being relaxed.

She gave me a tip,

to keep a blob of lotion.

On my forearm,

so it prevented me from having to keep going back for more,

and it was less disruptive to Jeffrey.

This all seemed like real fun to begin with.

I was being educated about the body,

and splitting Jeffrey's body with Galein,

mimicking her every motion,

starting with his feet,

we began with his heels,

and the arches of his souls.

Push in the blood up his calves

and upward strokes

to rejuvenate the body's blood supply,

to mind his leg hair,

didn't pull.

I was keeping up with her and enjoying the education.

It was so interesting how the body worked,

and I couldn't believe I was learning all of this for free.

Once I got a bit of a groove following Galein,

they began asking me all sorts of questions about my past,

and it didn't take long before the conversation

led down the darker experiences of my young life.

When they found out that I hadn't led much of a normal existence,

they only pro me with more questions.

Which being put on the spot answered honestly.

The funny thing is,

that they didn't seem appalled,

at all by my statements,

rather entertained, if anything,

Jeffrey called me a naughty girl.

With that right smile of his,

and half playful, and half defensive,

I answered, no, I'm not,

I'm really a good girl,

just always in the wrong places.

He then replied, it's okay,

I like naughty girls,

and rolled over onto his front side

so I wasn't shocked at the appearance of his manhood,

but I was incredibly shocked at his complete ease,

to present himself with an erection.

I tried to ignore it,

waiting to follow the next directions,

off of Galein,

who now, surprisingly,

stood behind me bare-breasted.

Before I had a chance,

to even think of her applying hastily,

she began to slowly undress me,

while Jeffrey started to stroke his manhood,

while watching us.

She unbuttoned my blouse,

covering them,

in her hands,

she moved her lips across my nipples,

licking and teasing them,

with her tongue,

making them cold and stiff.

Next, her hands moved down to my tiny, white skirt,

removing the final piece of my remaining uniform.

She slid my skirt down my legs with ease,

for a moment,

keeping on my love-heart panties,

so they could both take notice

of my apparent youth.

They even snickered to each other

and Galein joined in as laughter.

Acting as my madam,

she instructed me to start by licking his nipples,

and after I had sufficiently

pleasureed both of them,

then prompted me to go down on Jeffrey orally,

while she rubbed her breasts along his body,

tantalizingly.

She moved behind me again,

this time to remove my panties,

and start fondling the delicate folds

between my legs.

I was still in shock from the initial degrading blow.

I didn't even let the reality sink in.

To emotionally handle,

so instead I hid behind my fears,

which I told myself,

I wasn't ever going to be worthy

of anything at all,

and this would probably be as good as it gets for me.

After all, I thought,

what have I been trained

up for until now?

Nobody ever stopped to ask if it was comfortable

or if I wanted to stop.

No, instead, Galein only directed me

to conclude the massage session

by climbing up on the table

so he could penetrate me.

When it was all said and done,

and over with,

I was taken into the steam room,

with just Jeffrey to get further acquainted,

as Galein left the room,

to go get dressed.

He asked me to grab his feet

and rub them not saying a word,

about what just happened,

like it was all normal and accepted.

I listened on to him ramble

about his health benefits of Asana

and the history of it,

I figured I had gone too far already.

What would be the point and thrown

in the towel now,

after I had done exactly what these people wanted?

Whilst we were sweating,

out our body's toxins and the steam

was blasting my burning face,

I listened to his lessons,

entertaining his ego,

I let him become my teacher,

he seemed to like that.

He sounded like a very clever

and intelligent man, though.

Telling me his story of how he made himself

a elite financial advisor,

for clientele, with only billions

in their bank accounts,

and through his so-called lessons,

he became my mentor,

and I emerged as his pupil,

the teacher's pet.

After the sauna,

we went to the next glass door,

beside us, where the shower was.

He turned tap, outwards,

and stood underneath the water,

as I stood naked and cold,

from the temperature difference.

Soap and asked me to wash his body

from top to toe.

It didn't stop there,

I had to massage the shampoo,

and conditioner into his scalp as well.

I was bewildered that someone

would ask this of someone else,

wasn't it belittling enough,

having to endure the elicit massage

from beforehand,

but now this,

the surprises kept coming that night.

As this was definitely,

not how I expected my interview to turn out,

I'm on this earth.

Life was full of disappointments.

I let everyone else take the power of authority

from myself,

and use me in whatever way he or she wanted,

instead of standing up,

and giving myself the respect I deserved.

Which in turn would have helped me,

get through life,

without all of the abuse,

I ended up copying.

Not given the belief in myself

from an early age,

I suppose, affected my sense of control.

For in strength, reduced my inner self,

to shreds, until I was cut so tiny in size,

I would be completely subdued,

to only their wants and needs,

left ignoring mine.

The men I had encountered in my short experience with them,

only repeated their inflections,

convincing me that there was no running away

from this sick world I lived in.

Not yet understanding,

it all came down to the choices,

that I had made for myself.

I needed some encouragement

and the right words to unlock my very soul.

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Jeffrey told me the towels were on the heated rack.

Just outside the shower

and asked me to get one

and pat them down.

I didn't even sell first,

as I sat there freezing

while I completely pat it down his body

with a white fluffy towel

until he was dried.

I nearly expected him

to ask me to dress him as well,

but not surprisingly,

that came later down the track too.

I dried myself off,

and wiped the makeup

from under my eyes,

keeping quiet,

not sure what to really say,

while I got dressed,

until he brought me downstairs

where Golan was sitting

at a desk holding his black leather duffel bag.

When she moved from the chair

to let Jeffrey sit down,

she passed him the bag

and began to tell me

that I had great potential

to be a massage therapist.

They really liked my style,

and who knows where this could lead to?

She asked to see me again tomorrow,

same time after work.

He grabbed one stack

and took out two crisp notes,

placing them in my hand.

He laughed that it was nearly

my whole week's wage at Mar-a-Lago.

Only here I didn't have to degrade myself

as his new little toy.

When I got home,

my parents were anticipating my arrival.

I kept it simple and sweet with my folks.

Only letting them know

of the lessons about the body I had received

and the future prospects

in massage therapy that lie ahead.

I was working for,

and complimented my ability to be a hard worker.

I quickly got out of the conversation,

afraid I might give away a hint

of shame in my eyes,

but no one caught on.

I excused myself to the bathroom,

to have a shower,

and stared into the mirror for a moment.

Asking myself,

if I could really go through with this,

only to mentally respond

by reminding myself

this would be as good as it gets

rigidly in the shower,

as if I could wash away the filthiness of the night.

But it didn't help.

I could still feel their hands in me

and all over me and inside of me.

Trying to sleep that night

was nearly impossible too.

Closing my eyes,

only to drift away to flashbacks

of the moment I had to give myself to Jeffrey

and Epstein.

Each replay,

an exploitation of my vulnerability.

The next morning,

I saw his memory

from my thoughts.

I was quiet for the whole trip to work with my dad

before we got out of his car

in the parking lot.

He asked me if everything was okay.

I lied for his sake of mind.

My life was being transformed

and I didn't even know it yet.

But soon enough,

I would be a brainwashed tool

only used for the sexual pleasure of others.

Alright folks, we're going to wrap up right here

and in the next episode dealing with the topic

all of the information that goes with this episode

can be found in the description box.

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