As Greg locked his front door, Mozell said, "If you have two items it will make this much more comfortable and carefree."

"Name away. I'm perfectly willing to either hit the closest department store or burgle a neighbor's house, if needs be," he replied.

"First, do you have any old sheets your aren't too attached to?"

"Mozell, for this I consider any sheet expendable--including 300 thread count Egyptian cotton."

She blinked. "You have those?"

"No. If I did, they'd have been on the bed the first time you were here."

"Tease."

He grinned. "I hope so. Anyway, I still have a cheap set I got when I went away to college--kept 'em for emergencies."

"Emergency sheets?"

He shrugged. "I might have had to tear them up for bandages some day?"

"In that case I don't think the victims will complain about a few stains. Second item--do you have a tarp?"

"A tarp?"

"I wasn't going to ask you if you have a rubber sheet. That implies things I'm not really into."

"Neither, damn it."

"Don't get frustrated yet. How about... um... A plastic or oilcloth tablecloth?"

Greg's expression brightened. "As a matter of fact, I do! I keep a tablecloth in case of picnics, because I don't like the looks of those public picnic tables--very splintery, and the team had to work a case once where there was a corpse laid out on one."

"That's the best explanation for being a teeny bit anal I've ever heard. Let's get them."

"Tablecloth's in the kitchen closet." He started for the kitchen.

"Where are the sheets? I'll get them."

"Hall closet, top shelf... um, on the right, I think. You can't miss them--they started our red, but they're sort of rose now."

As he got down the tablecloth, he heard her opening the front closet. She called, "I'm going to bet that you used hot water, not cold."

"When I went to the communal showers at my dorm I had to wear the Snoopy robe my grandmother had given me in high school. The humiliation was less than it would have been if they'd spotted my pastel pink underwear." He heard her laughing. "I couldn't afford new ones for an entire semester, and when I went home I got funny looks from my father when he saw me unloading my luggage. Mom understood."

He met her in the bedroom. She set the sheets and bottle on the dresser and said, "Okay, first you strip the bed, then put down the tablecloth. If it doesn't fit exactly, just make sure the major portion of the center of the bed is covered. Then put on the sheet..." She reached out and drew a finger down his cheek. "Or sheets, if you prefer. I have to tell you, sweetie, we aren't going to need a top sheet, 'cause I promise you we're going to want a shower before we take a nap. But if you want to put both sheets on, knock yourself out--maybe there'll be less of a chance of skidding."

"And what are you going to be doing while I'm doing the domestic bit?"

She picked up her case and hugged it to her chest, giving him an impish smile. "I'm going to be changing." She turned and headed for the bathroom. In the door she paused, looking back over her shoulder. "Oh, and when you're done with that--strip." She twitched her hips, then went in and shut the door.

Greg stared after her for a moment, then quickly got to work, singing, "Ah, sweet mystery of life at last I've foooound you..."

From the bathroom he heard her call, "And the man knows Mel Brooks! Is it any wonder I love him?"

Greg got the bed squared away, then quickly pulled off his clothes and sat on the edge of the bed. *All I can figure,* he thought, *Is that maybe the Buddhists and Hindus are right, and reincarnation is the way things go. I must have been really, really, really good in a previous life. I've had my share of luck with the ladies, and there were a couple of them I might have been able to consider staying with for a while--good gals. But Moe... Christ, we're talking a different class here. It's like 'yeah, my Subaru is nice, but you say I can have a Lamborghini?'*

His train of thought was interrupted when the bathroom door opened. She'd shut off the lights in the smaller room, and he didn't get a good look at her for the first second--then she stepped out into the light. His mouth dropped open. "Holy shit," he said, almost reverently.

"Now, now. No need to be blasphemous. Why not use Danish and say 'for fanden da ogsaa'? That means 'oh, for fuck's sake'. Or I really like the Norwegian way of saying you're surprised--'dra meg baklengs inn i fuglekassa'. The literal translation is 'pull me backwards into the bird cage', but it means 'are you kidding?'"

"Both are good, by why Danish and Norwegian?"

"Well, I'm pretty sure those are two Norse languages, so they seem appropriate." She arched her back, jutting her bosom a little more. She was wearing what looked like a very tight, low cut brown leather bustier, which laced up the front, and a short matching skirt that barely came down to the tops of her thighs. The ensemble was completed by soft brown leather boots that came up over her knees--and a wig made of white yarn. It consisted of a single braid as thick as her wrist, worn over one shoulder. "Since I'm supposed to be a Valkyrie, ya know."

"I---do---not---believe---this."

She smiled at him. "If you didn't look ready to drool, I'd be afraid I'd just made a dreadful fool of myself. When we were at the con you seemed pretty interested when the guys were talking about my costume, so I thought you might like to see it." She smoothed the skirt down, smiling nostalgically. "I have some nice memories associated with this."

"Huh."

She cocked her head. "If I didn't know they were brown, I'd swear your eyes were turning green, Greg." She walked over to him, took hold of her braid, and used the tip to tickle his nose. "I'm ready to make some new memories for it."

"I'm all for that. How do we begin?"

"We begin by setting down the rules of the forfeit. The number one, must not be broken on pain of never again getting stakes like this--you don't move unless I tell you to."

"Oh, man. I get the feeling that's going to be hard."

She wiggled her eyebrows. "That, among other things. But I promise to make it worth your effort."

"Can I hang onto the struts in the headboard?"

"Whatever works for you, dude. I have an alternative set of footwear in my case--lace up sandals--and I could get the thongs, if you think you need help."

Greg swallowed. Her smile didn't waver. He found himself really considering the idea. "Rain check?"

She kissed the tip of his nose. "I've never done it, either, Greg. I'm just laying out possibilities. I know I'm acting kinky as hell, but most of this is new to me. I've just found the perfect playmate, and I'm ready to explore."

He kissed her back. "I'll be happy to be your navigator, but let's not try to map all the corners of the erotic universe in one expedition."

"Fine. I'm all for having something to look forward to. Now, then--howsabout you get comfortable?"

"How do you want me?"

"What a loaded question. Any way I can get you, darlin', as long as it doesn't include anything that will cause either of us to need the services of a chiropractor. But to start with, just stretch out comfortably--you're going to need to hold the position for a little while."

Greg stretched out on his back. "This do?"

"Beautifully. You might want to grab that headboard, like you suggested earlier." He did. She grinned. "Ya look good like that, Sanders. But then, you look good all the time."

"You don't need to flatter me, Moe. You've already got me where you want me."

"It's not flattery, Greg. I sound a lot more sincere when I flatter. I'm just indulging in my favorite past time--letting whatever runs across my mind shoot straight out of my mouth. Okay, I'm going to be taking the wig off soon, since I put too darn much work into this thing to risk getting chocolate in the white yarn, but first I'm going to get some use out of it." She took hold of the braid again, bent over, and tickled Greg's bellybutton with it. The lab tech didn't exactly giggle, but he shivered and made a hitching noise. She dabbed playfully at the twitching muscles of his flat abdomen, then slowly began to drag the tail up the center of his torso. By the time she reached his chest he was laughing. "Ah, ammunition--he's ticklish."

"This is from the situation, not the stimulation."

"Sure it is." She swirled the yarn ends around his right nipple. This time he did chuckle, as it drew up into a stiff peak. "You just keep telling yourself that, my friend." She repeated the action on the other side. "And hang on to that headboard, 'cause if you grab me... Let's say that the use of a bat was not the only self-defense technique Pawpaw taught the girls in the family. He was a farm boy, and didn't believe females had to fight fair."

"You wouldn't really hurt me," he said confidently.

She smiled sweetly. "And you wouldn't make me. Get a grip on that thing, Greg," She stepped down to the end of the bed, "and spread your legs."

Greg obeyed, saying, "I just hope the headboard survives. When a bed is broken during sex, people usually don't expect it to be the headboard that cracks."

"So we're unusual."

Greg was already half-erect, his cock lying along his thigh. She bent, peering closely, then smiled and managed to insinuate the tip of the braid up and under, tickling the very base of his cock. Greg yelped, digging his heels into the mattress and arching his hips, then said, "Sorry."

"Hips are okay. It's almost impossible not to move hips during good sex. But goood boy on keeping the legs anchored."

Greg endured a couple of minutes of delirious erotic torture as the soft, tickling yarn was trailed over every millimeter of his genitalia. Finally he panted, "Mozell, does the term 'die laughing' mean anything to you?"

"I have to stop, anyway," she said cheerfully. Standing up, she peeled off the wig with one hand. With the other she touched her finger to the tip of his erection, sliding it around slowly. "You've started to drizzle, and I don't want lubricant stains on my wig any more than chocolate." She wrinkled her nose. "That would just be wrong. And I'm afraid if I wash it, this sucker would just unravel."

"You could hand wash with Woolite. Man, wouldn't that make a recommendation letter? Next commercial--'Mozell from Nevada writes--Your product is the only thing I've found that will get semen and chocolate sauce out of my wig'."

Mozell had to lean back against the dresser with laughter. "Hoo. I'd buy a case just to see that, but I don't do hand washing. Life is too short. If it can't be tossed in the Maytag or dry cleaned, it isn't bought." She coiled the wig on the dresser, then picked up the chocolate syrup. Greg tensed in anticipation. "Yes, be afraid--be very afraid." She unscrewed the top and squeezed a dab out onto her finger. "Decisions, decisions, decisions. Where to begin?"

She gave him a leisurely perusal, actually whistling absently. "Well, there's that cute lil nose." She dabbed a smear on his nose.

"The things I do for love," he sighed.

"Quiet. Canvases do not speak back to the artist. We will now go for the Jackson Pollock technique--drizzle." She up-ended the bottle, squeezing, and laid a thin trickle of dark liquid down his throat. She spent a couple of minutes decorating him, humming happily as she laid dark lines in loops and swirls. She limited herself to a single thin line directly up each leg ("You're edible, Greg, but your legs are a weeny bit hairy, and even as feline as I feel sometimes, I can't deal with hairballs. Stop laughing, you'll spoil my aim.") She took her time to be accurate just twice--making sure she completely coated his nipples, then laid a puddle in his navel. She set aside the bottle, then began to strip. "Stay still. You're body heat is going to thin that a little, and I don't want it to all drip off before I can get to it."

When she was naked, she went to the foot of the bed. "I'm beginning by working my way up." Her grin was slightly evil. "To a certain point. Just keep hold of your self-control, because this is going to take a little while."

"Wait!"

She gave him an incredulous look. "Now?"

"My mind has been fogged by sexual anticipation. We can't do this."

"Greg, don't make me use the guy line of 'you can't stop now.' I can't claim to get blue balls, but a sexually frustrated woman is not a happy creature."

"Mozell--chocolate syrup--diabetic? I can't let you hurt yourself like that, no matter what I have to sacrifice."

She smiled. "Oh, you sweet baboo. Greg, look at the bottle closely."

Greg looked. "Sugar free?"

She nodded. "What other kind would I have?"

He let his head drop back with a blissful sigh. "Guilt free sex. Thank you, lord."

"Pretty much what I said when I found it. Now, you might want to save your breath for panting and moaning." She grabbed his ankle, bent down, and took the first lick. Greg brayed with laughter, but his hard-on definitely twitched. "Ankles as erogenous zones? Does this mean that if a dog licks your ankle before he tries to hump your leg, you have mixed emotions?"

"Moe..." It was a drawn out groan.

"Yes, pretty man." She started to work her way up, switching sides occasionally. When she reached his inside thighs, she started to add nips and nibbles. Greg found that his hands were white knuckled on the headboard, and he knew that the muscles in his arms were going to ache. Finally she was licking a dribble out of the shallow crease that marked where his leg joined his body.

She lifted her head and spent a leisurely moment licking her lips, then walked over to the dresser, pulled a Wetnap out of the dispenser there, and began to clean her face and hands. "Moe!" The single syllable was both pleading and demanding.

"Hm? Oh, I'm not abandoning you, sweetheart. But even the best banquet has a pause to allow the diners to reflect." She held up a finger. "And clear their palate. Be right back." She went into the bathroom. Greg heard water running, then the toilet flushing. She came out, smiling, and said, "All right--so something other than the palate needed to be cleared." She reached down and drew lazy designs in the chocolate on his chest. "You deserve my FULL attention." She popped her finger into her mouth and sucked it for a moment, eyes locked with his own. "You know," she said conversationally, "I think that chocolate covered Greg is about to become one of my favorite flavors."

She moved quickly, kneeling on the bed so that she straddled his thighs, and planting her hands on either side of his shoulders. Bending down, she gave his nose a quick lick. He grimaced good-naturedly, "Gah."

"Hey, you want the tongue on other parts of the anatomy--you put up with a puppy kiss. Besides, I needed to get rid of that first dab I'd put on before it solidified. I imagine it would be like trying to peel up rubber cement after awhile, and if I'm going to scrape with my teeth it's going to be for erotic effect, not cleaning purposes." She started on the syrup she'd drizzled down his throat.

Greg was treated to close to fifteen more minutes of leisurely licking, sucking, and nibbling. When she started working on his nipples he couldn't restrain himself, and bucked his hips upward, frantic for contact, but she sat back quickly. "Greg..." she said warningly.

"The hands are still holding firm," he assured her, shaking the headboard to demonstrate. "And you said that hip moves were okay."

She smiled. "So I did." She wagged her finger at him. "Greg, you're built on a very nice scale, but I have to tell you--you're not going to reach."

"Mozell, if you don't touch my dick soon I am going to tell my insurance company to send the physical and psychological therapy bills to you."

"Patience, hon. I'm down to your waist--it won't be long. But if you think I'm passing up that bellybutton, you're crazy." She swooped down, and Greg started to make very interesting noises. When she finally reached his cock, Greg was grateful that his nearest neighbor worked during the day. He could have ended up getting some pretty funny looks.

He was so on edge that it didn't take long, though she did her best to prolong the more intense sensations. Several times she took a grip at the base of his penis and squeezed firmly, pinching off the seminal tubes and temporarily holding off his climax. Finally she took a deep breath, said, "Wish me luck," and sank down, managing to swallow him to the root. He felt her chin press against his balls, and her warm breath ruffling his pubic hair. When she hummed, he bucked his hips (gritting his teeth to keep the thrusts shallow), and came. Her fingers scratched lightly at his belly, and he experienced the unique sensation of having a woman sucking his cock while she chuckled.

Finally he went absolutely limp--all over, and gasped, "I'd really like to let go of the bed now."

Mozell crawled up his body, letting herself lie on him. ""G'wan. You've been a fantastically good boy." He lowered his arms slowly, wincing, and she bit her lip. "I'm sorry, babe."

"Don't be." He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight. "Believe me, it was more than worth every twinge." He kissed her. "But you're going to have to wait a little while for me to do anything for you."

"No need. I already got mine."

"Say what?"

"Twice."

"You're kidding."

"You were too preoccupied to notice, and I was too involved to give much evidence." He was silent. "You don't believe me?" She straddled his thigh and rubbed her crotch against him. "That is definitely not chocolate syrup you're feeling." He blinked at her. "Hell, Greg. No one has any trouble believing that guys have spontaneous emissions during wet dreams. It's possible for a woman to have an orgasm without direct physical stimulation." She shrugged. "Not common, mind you. You're still gonna have to work for me most of the time."

He grinned. "That's fine, because that implies that there will be extensive calls to duties."

"I'd say that's a foregone conclusion. Why don't you go grab a fast shower while I strip the bed, then I'll shower, and we can catch some sleep."

"I have a better idea. Why don't we both strip the bed, then both get in the shower, and we see if we can't turn that double into a triple."

She smiled at him. "You're a lot of fun to get sticky with, Sanders."

Nine o'clock That Evening

Greg and Mozell pulled into the station parking lot, one behind the other. Sarah and Catherine were talking on the sidewalk as the two parked nearby. Sarah said, "Do you think they spent the day together again?"

"Judging from the smug looks on their faces, I'd say it's a distinct possibility," Catherine answered.

Greg and Mozell disembarked, and stepped up on the sidewalk at more-or-less the same time. They stopped when they reached the two women. Greg said, "Ladies. Heard of anything unusual coming in?"

Sarah shook her head. "Day shift had it easy--nothing but a couple of robberies and assaults, no homicides."

"Shucky darn," said Mozell. "They're probably been resting up for tonight." She pointed up at the sky. "Full moon."

"That's a myth," said Sarah dismissively. "People are no more stirred up during the full moon..."

Catherine was shaking her head, and Mozell said, "I worked a lot of years graveyard shift in convenience stores, Sideburn. Believe me, it's true."

Sara had stiffened at the nickname, and now she looked at Catherine. "You don't believe that, do you?"

"Sarah, believe me, during my time as a dancer, I noticed that the crowds got a lot more rowdy and demanding at certain times of the month," said Catherine dryly.

Greg said, "Hey, the moon affects the tides, right? And the human body is mostly water, so why shouldn't it affect us?" He jerked his head toward the station. "C'mon, Mozell. Let's go see if they've found out anything about your little problem." They went in.

Sarah was scowling after them. "That is just so wrong on so many levels."

Catherine sighed. "You know, Sarah, some things can wear pretty thin." Sarah gave her an uncomprehending look, and Catherine mentally shrugged. Something was distracting her from her slightly sullen co-worker. She lifted her head and sniffed the air delicately. "Sarah, do you smell that?"

Sarah looked around. "Nothing nasty. Actually, it smells kind of sweet. Did they open a new donut shop nearby?"

"No, and it doesn't smell like donuts. It smells like..." She trailed off, looking thoughtful.

"Like what?"

"I can't say why, but suddenly I'm thinking about that trip East I took a few years ago, when I toured Hershey, Pennsylvania."