As Sarah prepared her test tubes for the blood work, she realized that she could actually smell the faint musky scent of the woman’s vagina. She turned around, syringe in hand. Miriam made a sound in her throat and moved one of her legs. The whisper of flesh against the examining table sheet was disturbing. “I’m going to be taking some blood, Mrs. Blaylock,” Sarah said in what she hoped was a thoroughly professional tone. Miriam extended her right arm.

The arm was beautifully shaped, the hand delicate and yet strong. A frightful and sensual image flickered in Sarah’s mind, so disturbing that she shook her head to suppress it.

Something made her own flesh crawl when she began stroking Miriam’s skin. “I’m trying to raise a vein,” she said. “Make a fist, please.” She inserted the needle. Miriam made another noise, one that was familiar to Sarah. It was her own little chortle, the one she always made when she was penetrated. To hear it under these circumstances, in the throat of another woman, was faintly revolting. Sarah had to concentrate every ounce of attention on what she was doing just to avoid tearing a hole in the woman’s arm. Mrs. Blaylock’s hand lay palm up in hers. Perspiration blurred Sarah’s vision as the syringe filled. She longed to be free of Mrs. Blaylock’s touch. It was undeniably pleasurable and the very delight of it was what was so awful. She looked down at the palm, noticing its bizarre preponderance of vertical lines.

At last the syringe was filled and Sarah could withdraw it. “Don’t drop it,” Mrs. Blaylock said.

Her tone was so light, so kind, but so chilling. With as much calmness as she could muster, Sarah set about filling six test tubes with the woman’s blood.

“I’ve got to examine you,” she said in what seemed a silly little voice. “Please lie on the table.” She fingered her stethoscope.

Mrs. Blaylock lay with her legs bent at the knee, hands folded across her abdomen. Her nipples were erect.

Sarah was transfixed, she had never seen such supple perfection. The woman’s flesh was as fair as gold. She turned her face to Sarah and with the gentlest, the sweetest of smiles, murmured that she was ready.

Sarah applied the stethoscope to the center of the chest. “Breathe deeply, please.” The lungs sounded as clear as a child’s. “You don’t smoke?”

“No.”

“Good for you.”