"A supply run, hm.  That's interesting."<em>Not really</em>, Gerlinde thought, aiming her syringe down at the split between the girl's thighs.  She was sure there was more to the story, but the stereotype that the girl was just a common partisan banished any romance to listening to the story.  The wildness of what was going to happen to her became all the more important.  "Amsterdam's a nice city.  I love the Van Gogh Museum."<br/><br/>Gerlinde dropped her hand down to the girl's vulva and parted the lips tenderly.  She moved her fingers wide, stretched out the top until the head of the girl's clitoris was exposed, still cringing under its hood.  A flash of malevolence hit her.  She wanted to humiliate the girl; to break her down, make her less than human before actually treating her like it.<br/><br/>"Amsterdam's known for its pretty whores.  Were you a pretty whore too?"  She felt guilty as soon as saying it.  It didn't keep the twitch of a smile from her lips; just a twitch.  Then she focused on her work.<br/><br/>She put the syringe tip against the little pea of flesh under the hood.  One hand, spread skillet-warm on the girl's belly, kept her hips in place.  The other slid the point of the needle into the clitoris.<br/><br/>She depressed the plunger.  Testostercortizan filled the organ deep within.  Gerlinde knew what it would do, and her brain clamored with shock that she was doing it to the girl.  Within instants, she thought, those eight-thousand nerve endings would begin to flower into four thousand more.  Within minutes, the meat would begin to balloon to nearly double size.  By then, the girl's entire vagina would be awash in testosterone, produced within itself, raging with arousal.<br/><br/>It made her press the plunger down all the more slowly.  It kept her stare on the girl's face.  It didn't make Gerlinde feel good.  It made her feel something vile.  Something better than good.