Chapter 27: Dirty Little Milkmaid
The sterile light of the Behavioral Conditioning Room washed over Evonleigh, bleaching her skin of color, emphasizing every tremor. It felt jarringly cold after the humid, sensual heat of the Suspension Garden. Her breasts, still swollen and tender from Aurelian’s ropes and mouth, ached fiercely beneath the thin paper gown Dr. Guerin had provided. The cool air pricked her hypersensitive nipples into painful rigidity. A faint, sweet, cloying smell – her own milk, leaking steadily since Aurelian left her – mingled unnervingly with the sharp tang of antiseptic.
"Remove the gown, Evonleigh," Dr. Guerin commanded, her voice crisp and precise as a scalpel. She stood near the imposing padded table, clipboard in hand, her severe blonde bun flawless, her Sezanne suit immaculate. Her gaze was assessing, devoid of warmth.
Evonleigh hesitated, the paper crinkling under her sweaty palms. The memory of hanging exposed, Aurelian’s fingers inside her, her body betraying her with wave after wave of unwanted ecstasy, made her stomach clench. Humiliation burned hot behind her eyes.
"Now," Guerin snapped, a flicker of impatience crossing her composed features. "We do not have time for your maidenly reluctance. Your debt is considerable, your purpose is being refined. Resistance is inefficient. Disrobe."
Swallowing hard, Evonleigh let the gown slip from her shoulders. It pooled around her ankles, leaving her naked under the harsh lights. Her breasts felt impossibly heavy, swaying slightly as she shuffled forward at Guerin’s gesture. Drops of milk beaded on her dark nipples, tracing slow paths down the swollen curves. The throbbing ache in her cunt, momentarily dulled by the cold and the shock of transition, surged back, a persistent, needy pulse.
"Approach the table. Assume position Beta." Guerin pointed to the gleaming padded surface. Evonleigh knew the positions. Beta meant kneeling on the table, back straight, hands clasped behind her back, breasts thrust forward. She clambered up, the padding cool against her knees. The position forced her spine into a rigid arch, presenting her chest like an obscene display.
"Excellent." Guerin circled her slowly, the sharp click of her heels echoing in the sterile space. Her eyes lingered on the glistening trails of milk. "Your mammary augmentation is functioning optimally. Good. Efficient lactation is a key indicator of receptivity to deeper conditioning." She stopped directly in front of Evonleigh. "Now, Evonleigh, I want you to lean forward. Extend your tongue. Clean your left nipple. Lick off the milk."
Evonleigh froze. Lick herself? Like… like an animal? The humiliation was scalding, worse than Aurelian’s casual cruelty because of Guerin’s clinical detachment. Her throat tightened. "I… I can’t," she whispered.
"You can," Guerin stated flatly. "And you will. Corporal association is a powerful tool. Linking the physical act of self-stimulation with linguistic reinforcement will hardwire desirable pathways. Failure is not an option." She leaned in slightly, her perfume a cold, expensive contrast to Evonleigh’s own musk. "Begin. Now."
Trembling, Evonleigh forced herself to bend forward from the waist, straining against the awkward position. She stretched her neck, her tongue flicking out tentatively. The tip touched the slick skin just below her left nipple. The taste was strange, sweet and metallic. She flinched.
"À fond, salope," Guerin murmured, the French words dripping like venom. "Deep, slut. Get your filthy tongue on that leaking tit properly." Her hand shot out, a stinging slap landing squarely on the outer curve of Evonleigh’s right breast.
"Ah!" Evonleigh cried out, the pain sharp and shocking. The struck breast jiggled violently, spraying a fine arc of milk across her cheek and collarbone. Heat flooded her face, mixing with the cold milk.
"Recite," Guerin commanded, her voice cold. "Recite the rhyme. 'Little Miss Muffet sat on her tuffet...' Continue it. The corrected version. You know it."
Evonleigh squeezed her eyes shut, trying to remember the obscene parody drilled into her. Her tongue darted out again, lapping clumsily at the milk on her left nipple, the sensation bizarre and degrading. "L-Little Miss Muffet," she stammered, her voice thick with shame, "sat on her tuffet, eating her c-curds and… and whey..."
"Plus fort! Louder!" Guerin barked.
Evonleigh flinched. "Eating her curds and whey!" she repeated, forcing volume into her trembling voice. She licked harder, trying to capture the droplets. "Along came a spider who sat down beside her…"
"Non!" Guerin snapped. "Wrong. The corrected version. Think, slut. What sat down beside her?"
Evonleigh’s mind went blank for a second, consumed by the humiliation of licking her own nipple under the doctor’s pitiless gaze. "A… a cock?" she guessed desperately.
Another sharp slap landed on her left breast, lower this time, near the swollen underside. "Bête! Idiot! 'Along came a dick'! Say it!" Milk sprayed again, this time hitting Evonleigh’s chin.
"Along came a dick!" Evonleigh gasped, the words scraping her throat raw. She bent further, her tongue swiping frantically now, lapping at the milk on her cheek and neck as much as her nipple, the salty-sweet taste mingling with the salt of her tears. "Who sat down beside her! And said…" She hesitated.
"Et?" Guerin prompted, her hand poised. "What did the dick say? Tell me what the big, hard dick said to Little Miss Muffet’s needy little cunt."
Evonleigh whimpered. "He said... 'Move over, cunt, I need to fuck you silly'!" The crude words felt like shards of glass in her mouth. She licked desperately at her nipple, the rough texture of her tongue against the hypersensitive peak sending jolts of unwanted sensation straight to her pulsing clit. The shame was a physical weight, crushing, but a treacherous heat was coiling low in her belly, stoked by the slaps, the exposure, the filthy words.
"Better," Guerin purred, a flicker of satisfaction in her icy eyes. She watched Evonleigh’s frantic tongue work. "But clumsy. You missed a spot. Here." She pointed to a trickle of milk Evonleigh hadn't caught, high on the swell.
Evonleigh strained, arching her back impossibly further, her muscles screaming. Her tongue stretched, barely reaching. She licked. The position, the effort, the utter debasement… it was too much. A low moan escaped her.
"Again," Guerin commanded. "The rhyme. From the beginning. Louder. Put some conviction into your depravity, ma petite salope."
Swallowing bile and milk, Evonleigh obeyed. "Little Miss Muffet sat on her tuffet!" she choked out, louder, her tongue dragging over her own flesh. "Eating her curds and whey!" Slap! Guerin’s hand connected firmly with her right breast. Milk sprayed. Evonleigh cried out, her voice cracking. "Along came a dick!" She licked frantically at the fresh spill on her skin. "Who sat down beside her!" Slap! Left breast. More milk. "And said 'Move over, cunt, I need to fuck you silly'!" She was panting now, tears streaming freely, mixing with the milk on her face. Each slap sent a bolt of pain that somehow amplified the deep ache in her breasts and the insistent, needy throb between her legs. The obscene rhyme echoed in the sterile room, her own voice sounding alien, broken.
"Good girl," Guerin murmured, a chilling approximation of praise. "You learn. Pain focuses the mind, doesn't it? Sharpens the connection." She stepped closer, her gaze dropping deliberately down Evonleigh’s body, past her heaving, milk-slicked breasts, over her trembling abdomen, to the apex of her thighs. Evonleigh instinctively clenched, but the swollen lips of her cunt were visibly slick, glistening under the lights, a traitorous testament to her body’s betrayal. "Ah, regarde-moi ça," Guerin breathed, her voice dropping to a husky, knowing whisper. "Your greedy little chatté is practically weeping. Does reciting filthy rhymes while licking your own tits make you wet, Evonleigh? Does the sting of my hand make your cunt clench?"
Evonleigh couldn't speak. She could only hang her head, a sob catching in her throat, her tongue still instinctively darting out to catch the persistent leak from her nipple. The shame was absolute, a suffocating blanket. Yet, the heat in her core was undeniable, a furnace stoked by degradation. Guerin’s clinical observation of her arousal was almost worse than Aurelian’s direct assault. It stripped her bare in a different, more profound way.
Guerin reached out, not to slap, but to trace a single, cool fingertip down the center of Evonleigh’s torso, from her sternum, over her quivering stomach, stopping just above the dark curls. Evonleigh flinched violently. "The body never lies," Guerin stated, her finger hovering. "Yours is singing a very clear song, ma belle. A song of need. Of hunger. Your modifications amplify it, yes, but the core desire… that primal need to be used, to be filled, to be broken into pleasure… that was always there. We are merely… refining its expression. Ensuring your service is efficient. Thorough." Her fingertip brushed the very top of Evonleigh’s pubic mound. "Now, finish cleaning your other nipple. Recite the rhyme. And this time, savour the taste of your submission. Let it sink in."
Evonleigh bent forward again, the motion automatic now, her mind a whirlwind of shame and unwanted, building pressure. Her tongue found her right nipple, swollen and aching. "Little… Little Miss Muffet…" she began, her voice thick with tears and arousal. As she licked, the rhythmic motion, the rasp of her tongue on the sensitized peak, combined with the lingering sting of the slaps and the filthy words tumbling from her lips, pushed her over an edge she hadn't even seen coming. A strangled cry tore from her throat as an orgasm ripped through her, sudden and violent, not the shattering peak Aurelian had induced, but a deep, convulsive clenching that radiated out from her cunt, making her hips jerk spasmodically against nothing. Slickness gushed from her, dripping onto the padded table beneath her knees.
She slumped forward, gasping, trembling uncontrollably, milk and tears streaking her face, the taste of herself salty and shameful on her tongue. She’d come. From this. From licking her own nipples and reciting nursery rhymes while being slapped.
Dr. Guerin watched her dispassionately, making a note on her clipboard. "Conditioning progression: Significant. Physiological response to linguistic and pain stimulus confirmed. Association pathway established." She looked down at Evonleigh’s shuddering form, a cold, satisfied smile touching her lips. "Very efficient, Evonleigh. Your body is learning its lessons beautifully. Soon, the mere thought of your own degradation will make you drip. Now, remain in position. We have more rhymes to explore. 'Georgie Porgie' awaits, and his kisses are far from innocent." She tapped her pen against the clipboard. "Begin."
Evonleigh flinched at Guerin’s command, the cold ‘Begin.’ echoing in the sterile chamber. The residual tremors from her humiliating orgasm still vibrated through her core, leaving her cunt clenching rhythmically against the empty air. Milk continued its slow, shameful seep from her tender nipples. "G-Georgie Porgie," she stammered, the name thick on her tongue still coated with the taste of her own lactation. She bent forward again, hating the reflexive arch of her spine that thrust her abused breasts forward. Her tongue flicked out, catching a bead forming on her right nipple. The sensation was absurdly intimate, grotesque under Guerin’s pitiless gaze. Salty-sweet. Degrading.
"Plus fort, idiote!" Guerin snapped, her heel clicking sharply on the polished floor. "Pudding and pie. What did he do? Recite it properly!" Her hand hovered, poised for another correction.
Evonleigh swallowed. "K-kissed the girls…" she choked out, louder, her tongue swirling clumsily around the stiff peak. The muscle memory of Aurelian’s mouth sucking hard flooded back, making her pussy gush fresh slickness. She pictured his grin, his fingers digging into her bound flesh. "Kissed the girls and made them cry!" A tiny moan escaped her as she said it, the image mingling with the present degradation. Made them cry. Like she was crying now. The connection sparked, hot and dark in her belly.
"Oui," Guerin hissed, stepping closer. Her expensive perfume clashed violently with the smells of milk, sweat, and Evonleigh’s arousal. "But Georgie wasn't gentle, was he? He didn't kiss their lips, you stupid chienne." A stinging slap landed squarely on Evonleigh’s left breast, jolting her entire body. Milk sprayed in a fine arc, spattering her cheek and Guerin’s immaculate sleeve. "Where did he kiss them? Be precise."
Evonleigh gasped, the pain a bright flare that somehow amplified the needy pulse between her legs. She licked frantically at the milk on her face, the saltiness mixing with her tears. Her mind raced, the conditioning slamming into buried, illicit thoughts. "H-he kissed their…" She hesitated, a dangerous thrill sparking. Do it. Say it wrong. Feel it. "...their mouths?" she whispered, deliberately injecting uncertainty, knowing it was incorrect.
"Non!" Guerin’s hand cracked against the same swollen flesh again, harder. Evonleigh cried out, a sound that dissolved into a shuddering gasp as the sharp pain morphed instantly into a wave of sickening pleasure that radiated straight to her clit. Her hips jerked. "Their cunts, you filthy animal! Georgie Porgie kissed the girls' cunts!" Guerin snarled, grabbing a handful of Evonleigh’s hair and yanking her head back, forcing eye contact. "Say it! Admit what that dirty bastard did!"
The pain in her scalp, the sting on her breast, the crude words – it all coalesced into a white-hot spike of arousal. Evonleigh’s breath hitched. "He kissed the girls' cunts!" she yelled, her voice raw, echoing off the clinical walls. Saying it, screaming it while held captive, sent another surge of wetness soaking her inner thighs. She wanted the mistake. Craved the slap. Needed the crude correction that made her body sing with forbidden pleasure. She deliberately let her tongue miss a thick trickle of milk running down her sternum, letting it glisten obscenely. Hit me again.
Guerin’s eyes narrowed, a predatory gleam replacing clinical detachment. She saw the deliberate failure, the desperate hunger in Evonleigh’s wide green eyes. "Ah, ma salope réceptive," she breathed, her voice dropping to a husky, knowing murmur. She released Evonleigh’s hair. "You like being wrong, don't you? You crave the sting. You need me to force the filthy truth out of that pretty mouth." Her cool fingertip traced the path of the milk Evonleigh had neglected, stopping just above her navel. "Georgie Porgie didn't stop at kissing. What did he do to those wet little holes once he’d tasted them? Tell me. Make me correct you."
Evonleigh trembled violently. The conditioning was a live wire, sizzling through her nerves. She wanted to fail spectacularly. "H-he… he licked them?" she offered, her voice trembling with manufactured innocence, her gaze fixed on Guerin’s poised hand. Please. Slap me. Make me come again.
A cruel smile touched Guerin’s lips. "Bête!" The slap was brutal, rocking Evonleigh sideways. Stars exploded behind her eyes, instantly followed by a molten rush of pleasure that made her cunt spasm. Milk sprayed wildly. "Licked? He fucked them, you desperate whore! Fucked them raw!" Guerin grabbed Evonleigh’s chin, forcing her face close. "Say it! Scream what that pervert did!"
Evonleigh was panting, drunk on the cycle of mistake and punishment. "He fucked the girls' cunts!" she shrieked, the words tearing from her throat, accompanied by another gush of arousal soaking the table beneath her. "Fucked them raw!" Her body was on fire, every nerve ending screaming, the shame eclipsed by the overwhelming, degrading ecstasy. She deliberately let her tongue hang limp, milk dripping unchecked from her nipple onto the padding. More. Harder.
"Good. Very good, Evonleigh," Guerin purred, her satisfaction icy. She watched the slick evidence of Evonleigh’s arousal drip. "Your body understands its purpose now. It craves the humiliation. It thrives on being corrected." She pressed her thumb hard against Evonleigh’s lower lip. "Show me. Show me how much you need this. Touch yourself. Right now. Show me how wet your disgusting little cunt gets when you’re forced to be a filthy, stupid slut."
Evonleigh didn't hesitate. The command bypassed her conscious mind, slamming straight into the conditioned pathways Guerin had carved. Her hand, trembling but inexorable, slid down her slick stomach, through the dark curls, and plunged two fingers deep into her soaking cunt. A guttural moan ripped from her throat as her walls clenched violently around the intrusion. "Mon Dieu, oui!" she gasped, the French obscenity bubbling up unbidden, her hips bucking against her own hand. She fucked herself frantically, fingers pistoning in and out of her drenched hole, the squelching sounds loud in the silent room. She kept her gaze locked on Guerin, tears streaming, milk dripping, embodying utter, degraded need. Her other hand came up, roughly squeezing her own aching, milk-slicked breast. "J’suis une salope! A stupid, filthy slut!" she babbled, the words spilling out, fueling the fire. "Fuck me! Correct me! I need it!"
Guerin watched, scribbling notes, a clinical observer to the raw spectacle of conditioned ecstasy. Evonleigh’s fingers worked brutally fast, slamming into her gushing cunt, her thumb finding her swollen clit and rubbing hard, frantic circles. Her back arched impossibly, a silent scream on her lips as another orgasm detonated, shattering her completely. Her body convulsed, juices flooding over her hand and onto the table, her choked cries echoing off the cold walls. She slumped forward, gasping, shaking, utterly broken and completely owned. Guerin made a final notation, her expression chillingly serene. "Conditioning: Optimal. Subject demonstrates profound eroticization of failure and verbal degradation. Proceed to Phase Gamma protocols."
The sterile light seemed to bleach Evonleigh’s shuddering form even whiter as she slumped forward on the padded table, gasping. Her fingers were still slick with her own juices, trembling violently against the cold vinyl surface. Milk continued its slow, shameful seep from her swollen nipples, dripping onto the padding between her knees. The sharp scent of antiseptic couldn’t mask the thick musk of her arousal, the cloying sweetness of her milk, the salt of her tears. Phase Gamma protocols. The words echoed coldly in her fractured mind, a promise of deeper violation.
Dr. Guerin observed her dispassionately, tapping her pen against the clipboard. "Recovery time is inefficient," she stated, her voice slicing through Evonleigh’s ragged breathing. "Conditioning requires sustained pressure. Phase Gamma commences immediately." She set the clipboard aside on a gleaming metal trolley laden with unfamiliar instruments. Evonleigh flinched at the soft clink. "Position Gamma. Assume it. Now."
Position Gamma. Evonleigh’s stomach lurched. It meant lying supine on the table, legs spread wide and bent at the knees, feet flat on the padding, arms restrained overhead. Utter exposure. Utter vulnerability. She whimpered, trying to curl in on herself.
"Move!" Guerin’s command cracked like a whip. Evonleigh scrambled clumsily, her limbs leaden with exhaustion and residual tremors from her forced orgasms. She rolled onto her back, the cold vinyl shocking against her sweat-slicked skin. She lifted her arms above her head, wrists instinctively twisting away from the padded cuffs dangling from the table’s frame. Guerin moved with swift, practiced efficiency, securing each wrist with a soft click. The restraint felt terrifyingly final. Evonleigh forced her trembling legs apart, bending her knees, planting her feet flat. The position splayed her open obscenely, her swollen cunt lips glistening under the harsh lights, her milk-leaking breasts rising and falling rapidly with each panicked breath.
Guerin stood between her spread thighs, looking down at her like a specimen pinned to a board. Her severe expression didn’t change, but her eyes held a chilling intensity. "Phase Gamma intensifies the linguistic-physical pairing," she explained clinically, her gaze fixed on Evonleigh’s exposed sex. "We move beyond self-stimulation to active service. Your mouth requires conditioning equal to your cunt." She reached down, not touching Evonleigh, but slowly, deliberately, began unbuttoning her immaculate Sezanne jacket. The crisp linen parted to reveal a silk camisole beneath, the same icy blue as her eyes. Evonleigh stared, confusion warring with dread.
Guerin shrugged off the jacket, letting it fall carelessly to the sterile floor. She reached behind her back, unhooking the camisole with a fluid motion. It slipped down her arms, pooling around her waist. Her breasts were revealed – firm, high, smaller than Evonleigh’s swollen mounds, tipped with pale pink nipples already stiffening in the cool air. Evonleigh’s breath hitched. This wasn’t part of the script she knew. Guerin’s movements were economical, devoid of sensuality, yet profoundly intimate in their violation.
"Your task," Guerin stated, stepping closer, her bare torso now inches from Evonleigh’s face. The scent of expensive perfume mingled nauseatingly with Evonleigh’s own musk. "Is to service me orally while reciting the next rhyme. Failure, hesitation, or inadequate performance will be met with immediate correction." She placed a cool hand on Evonleigh’s forehead, pushing her head back firmly against the padding. "Begin. Recite 'Mary Had a Little Lamb'. The corrected version. And put your mouth to work."
Evonleigh’s mind blanked. Suck Guerin’s tits? Now? While reciting that filthy rhyme? The sheer, clinical perversity of it stole her breath. Guerin’s nipple hovered directly above her mouth, pale pink and taut. The proximity was suffocating. "M-Mary..." Evonleigh stammered, her voice a dry rasp. She strained against the wrist restraints uselessly. Guerin’s hand remained firm on her forehead.
"Louder," Guerin commanded, her voice dangerously low. "And open your mouth, slut. Show me that tongue Aurelian found so... talented."
The mention of Aurelian, the memory of his fingers stretching her, his mouth sucking her raw in the humid garden, sent a fresh wave of slickness gushing from Evonleigh’s exposed cunt. Shame burned, but a treacherous, conditioned heat flared alongside it. She parted her lips, her tongue darting out nervously. "Mary had a little lamb," she forced out, louder, her breath hot against Guerin’s skin. She stretched her neck, straining against Guerin’s restraining hand, and touched the tip of her tongue to the stiff peak of Guerin’s nipple. It was smooth, surprisingly soft. The taste was clean skin and expensive soap. Alien.
"Little lamb," Guerin prompted, her voice tightening almost imperceptibly. Evonleigh’s tongue swirled tentatively. "Little lamb." Evonleigh repeated, flattening her tongue against the small, firm swell of Guerin’s breast, lapping clumsily. "Mary had a little lamb..." Guerin’s hand shifted from Evonleigh’s forehead to tangle roughly in her dark hair, gripping tight. "...whose fleece was white as snow." Evonleigh gasped as her head was yanked forward, forcing her mouth fully onto Guerin’s breast. Her lips closed instinctively around the nipple.
"Suck," Guerin hissed, her fingers tightening painfully in Evonleigh’s hair. "Properly. Like the hungry little cocksucker you’re becoming." Evonleigh obeyed, hollowing her cheeks, drawing the stiff nipple deeper into her mouth. She sucked tentatively, the unfamiliar texture and taste overwhelming. Guerin’s scent filled her nostrils. "And everywhere that Mary went..." Evonleigh mumbled around the flesh in her mouth, the words muffled, humiliating.
"Louder!" Guerin commanded, grinding Evonleigh’s face harder against her breast. Evonleigh sucked harder, her jaw aching. "AND EVERYWHERE THAT MARY WENT!" she yelled, the vibration buzzing against Guerin’s skin. She felt Guerin’s nipple harden further in her mouth. The lamb was sure to go." She sucked rhythmically now, the motion becoming slightly less clumsy, driven by fear and the ingrained conditioning to obey. Her own nipples throbbed in sympathy, leaking milk onto her chest.
"But what did Mary really take everywhere?" Guerin demanded, her voice thick with something Evonleigh couldn't name. Her grip on Evonleigh’s hair didn't relent. "What little thing did she always have with her? Think, whore. What did she shove into her wet little cunt whenever she got bored?"
Evonleigh froze, her mouth still working mechanically on Guerin’s nipple. The crude twist on the innocent rhyme sent a jolt of pure degradation through her. Her cunt clenched, spilling fresh slickness onto the table beneath her. She knew the answer Guerin wanted. The conditioning screamed it. "H-her... her lamb?" she whispered, muffled against Guerin’s breast, deliberately hesitant. Hit me. Make me say it.
Guerin’s free hand shot down, not to Evonleigh’s breast this time, but between her own spread legs. Two fingers plunged brutally deep into Evonleigh’s soaking cunt without warning. Evonleigh screamed around Guerin’s nipple, her body arching off the table against the restraints. The sudden, violent penetration was agony and ecstasy fused. "Her dildo, you stupid bitch!" Guerin snarled, curling her fingers inside Evonleigh, scraping her sensitive walls. "Mary took her fucking dildo everywhere! Say it! Scream it while you suck my tit!"
The pain-pleasure of Guerin’s fingers pistoning inside her, combined with the crude command and the nipple filling her mouth, shattered Evonleigh’s last shred of resistance. "HER DILDO!" she shrieked, the sound vibrating against Guerin’s breast, her mouth clamping down hard on the nipple as her hips bucked wildly against the invading fingers. "SHE TOOK HER FUCKING DILDO EVERYWHERE!" Saying the filthy words while being fucked and forced to suckle sent her crashing into another brutal orgasm. Her cunt clamped down viscously on Guerin’s fingers, juices flooding over Guerin’s hand. She sucked frantically, desperately on Guerin’s nipple, her body convulsing, the rhyme forgotten in the white-hot maelstrom of enforced degradation.
Guerin held her fingers deep inside the clenching heat, feeling the powerful contractions, watching Evonleigh’s mouth work mindlessly on her breast. A faint flush rose on Guerin’s normally pallid cheeks. Her breathing hitched, just once. She slowly withdrew her soaking fingers, watching Evonleigh shudder through the aftershocks, still sucking weakly. "Conditioning: Deepening," Guerin murmured, her voice slightly unsteady for the first time. She extricated her nipple from Evonleigh’s slack mouth with a soft, wet pop. Evonleigh slumped back, gasping, tears streaming anew, her body a trembling wreck of used flesh. Guerin looked down at her glistening fingers, then at the dark-haired girl broken on her table. "Phase Gamma...effective." She reached for a sterile wipe, her movements regaining their clinical precision, but her eyes lingered on Evonleigh’s ravaged form with a new, unsettling intensity. The sterile light gleamed on the wetness Evonleigh had left on her breast.