Prologue

 

Three years ago

 

Mary Ellingworth turned eighteen years old last month, and two days after that the sheriff issued her driver's license to her. Today she was going well above the posted speed limit while driving the bright yellow Chevrolet Camaro ZL1 convertible her daddy had given to her as his present for her eighteenth birthday. She and her best friend forever, Rhonda, were enjoying the glorious day with the top down as they sped down the road to the next town, Jeppson's Creek. They were heading to the sale at Richmynd's Department Store.

Richmynd's was an expensive store specializing in very stylish and sometimes trendy fashion aimed at the younger set. A sale at Richmynd's was an event to covet and not to be missed because they were very rare events. When they did have one they weren't selling loss-leaders or come-ons; they were selling. They were making way for a large order of new inventory and they slashed prices to the bone. Mary and Rhonda were not going to be denied the opportunity to get in on the first day of the sale as early as they could manage, and both of them had gotten out of bed at an hour that was, for them, incredibly early on a Saturday.

Technically, driving above the posted speed limit was 'unsafe' by definition. However, in this car and in Mary's hands, that was far from the truth of the matter. If the road had been a tad more crowded she likely would have pared a few miles per hour off her speed, but as empty as it was, that was unnecessary. Her expertise in driving a car was as good as it was because she had been driving since age fourteen. She was a very competent, experienced, driver regardless of her age and her current speed, and she knew it. The sheriff knew it too.

The beep from the radar alerted him to the fact that someone was going at least ten miles per hour over the limit because that was where he had set the threshold for an audible alert to sound. When he glanced up to see the offending car it was obvious that ten miles per hour understated the situation by a wide margin. He also knew who it was as soon as he saw the car. After a barely noticeable hesitation, he flipped on his roof lights and pulled onto the road. He put the throttle pedal to the floor and smoked the tires as his Dodge Charger hemi V-eight responded. In this car, built to run down and catch moonshiners, catching Mary would be almost laughably easy despite what she was driving.

The only moonshine runner he knew he would probably never be able to catch, even in this car, was Randy Hodd. Randy modified his own cars and had a small business doing the same for other speed freaks, including most of the other moonshine runners in this corner of America. Of all the people transporting illegal booze, Randy was the only one the sheriff wasn't really concerned about catching because Randy's father made good tasting, affordable, and safe moonshine. That was almost worth encouraging as far as the sheriff was concerned. Additionally, Sheriff Jethro Evert liked Randy. They were friendly with each other and had been so for years. They were actually friends in a way, although they weren't at the level of being drinking buddies. That would change, however.

Jethro had sampled the elder Hodd's moonshine on more than one occasion. He laughingly referred to it as quality control sampling, ostensibly to make sure that Henry was still producing a high quality moonshine, or if he had slipped and was producing a lesser quality drink. That was important because he would have to drop the hammer on both Henry and Randy if the quality declined. Jethro would leave them alone as long as that didn't happen.

Mary glanced in the rear view mirror. Her attention was attracted by the flickering lights she had seen in her peripheral vision. She laughed when she saw them and announced to Rhonda, "Jethro's up early. Fucker wants to pull me over."

Rhonda squirmed a little more deeply into her seat, trying to make up for the sleep she had lost from getting up so early this morning. She cracked a smile and responded, "Maybe so, but what he really wants to do is fuck you."

Mary sighed theatrically. "So true. But he's only a man and all men want to fuck me. Well, if I'm going to have to deal with him slobbering over my tits I might as well have some fun with this." With that she put her blinker on and eased over, pulling onto the shoulder as she slowed to a stop. She waited in the car.

Jethro sauntered over to the side of the Camaro, but before he said anything, Mary brightly chirped, "Good morning Jethro, how nice to see you again so soon. Do you want to see my license and registration? You know I have a license, you gave it to me, and you know daddy gave me the car, 'cause ain't another like this one within a couple of hundred miles. Or maybe you just want me to get out of the car so you can frisk me. You never know sheriff, I might be concealing weapons or something." She snickered at that.

Considering what she was wearing, the only thing she was capable of concealing was a suntan, and only very little of that. She was wearing a very tight, very skimpy, crop top t-shirt and hip-hugging jeans cut so short they could barely qualify as being of legal length. The neck of the t-shirt was low cut to begin with, but after being stretched over her more than abundant breasts, it covered barely half of the tops of them. Towering over her as he was, Jethro could not avoid looking into her deep cleavage.

Mary levered herself up out of the driver's seat so that she could perch her ass on the top of the back of the driver's seat. She extended an elegantly shaped, long leg out to put her foot on the top of the dashboard to hold herself in that position. With her leg slightly bent, it displayed the curves of her calf and thigh to perfection. She had great legs. She leaned back slightly, straining the fabric of her crop top even further, while continuing her teasing.

"You gonna frisk me sheriff? You know that if I'm concealing something illegal it has to be under my clothing so that's where you'll have to frisk. I ain't wearin' much, so frisking me won't take very long." She smiled at him wickedly, silently daring him to take her up that challenge.

He smiled at her antics with condescending acceptance. "You purely do love being a cock tease, don't you?"

She put her hand out to gently touch his stomach. "C'mon Jethro, you know the rules. If you got it, flaunt it, and I got it to flaunt."

"Maybe so," he drawled, not removing her hand, "but one of these days that attitude is going to get you in trouble and you won't be able to control the situation."

" That's where you're wrong sheriff. If it's a man I can always control the situation." To prove her point she slowly moved her hand lower and lower until she was sliding her palm over his very hard and erect penis. She could feel his hardness through the thin fabric of his summer weight uniform. She pressed her hand more firmly against his cock, encircling it with her fingers as much as the fabric would allow. Then, looking up into his eyes while she gently masturbated him she asked, "Would you like this better if we got rid of your pants and I used my lips?"

He endured the torment silently and without visible reaction, all the while actually loving what she was doing and wishing he could take her up on the offer. Had Rhonda not been in the passenger seat he might have. Instead he countered with, "Are you attempting to bribe a police officer?"

She pulled her hand away as though she had received an electric shock. "Me? How could you think I would do such a thing?" She paused for a fraction of a moment, then regained the initiative. "Tell you what Jethro. Since it appears as though you don't plan on frisking me or giving me a ticket, I'll give you a promise. Two promises. First, I promise I'll slow down 'cause you're being so nice to me this morning. Second, I promise that when I turn twenty-one I'll give you a blowjob if you're still sheriff. No strings attached. Maybe I'll even let you fuck me just because you're hung so well... now that I know for a fact that you are."

He didn't clarify which promise he was referring to. "I'll take you up on that. But if I catch you speeding again, no promises. Slow down." With that he backed away from the car and she slid back down into the driver's seat. She turned to look at him, blew a kiss to him and took off at a sedate speed.

 

 

Chapter One

 

Present day

 

Blugh Bayou was a very backwater, almost sleepy town in the southeast corner of Louisiana. Because of its off-the-beaten-track location, along with the many large elegant homes on secluded property, its numerous plantation-sized properties and quiet nature, it could have been the epitome of antebellum living. But its overall size and large, very much more densely populated central core belied that possibility. It was quite a large place; some even called it a medium size city with its enormous, sprawling suburbs. It had trouble living up to the image of a city however, because it was so quiet and genteel. Yet despite its size it had very little political clout at the parish level, let alone at the state level. At the state level, when it was referred to by name, the name was usually deliberately and disparagingly mispronounced. It was enunciated to rhyme with 'ugh'. Sometimes the speaker dropped the "L" completely, pronouncing it Bug Bayou. The proper pronunciation was blue, but nobody at the state level of government cared about that even though they knew it.

The Mayor of Blugh Bayou was pretty much reviled by everyone in the state government, and the deep-seated level of disrespect for the mayor probably accounted for a good portion of the dismissive attitude awarded to the town. The result was that any requests from the town for assistance that made it to the state hierarchy were blithely pushed aside. That was especially true for requests for financial aid in the form of state money for public projects. The general feeling of the state bureaucrats was that too much of the money sent to Blugh Bayou got stuck in the mayor's pockets. Twice in the recent past, investigations had been initiated on that belief, but both failed to produce anything actionable despite the fact that they added to the general body of belief that something was rotten in the Bayou.

The residents of Blugh Bayou were mostly aware of the reputation of the mayor, yet despite that, he was reelected to office every two years with virtually no opposition. That was true until Amanda Dubeouf decided she had heard enough complaining about him and decided to do something about it.

The daughter of lower middle class parents, Amanda had graduated from high school near the top of her class. She could easily have been valedictorian had she cared enough to try for that honor, but she didn't care and therefore wasn't. What she cared about more was being named Prom Queen of her graduating class. She ran for that and got named to the Court after only barely missing on being named the Queen. The student winning that title was a true beauty and went on to compete in other pageants and did fairly well in them. Had those pageants been judged on only pure beauty, she probably would have won most, if not all of them. But she faltered in other areas, which cost her a few titles. She did look stunning in a bikini or an evening gown though.

After high school Amanda thought she was done with schooling. However, after protracted... sometimes loud... discussions, Amanda's parents talked her into going to a junior college for two years. In her second year there she made two decisions. The first was that getting a full four-year degree beyond her high school diploma was a complete and utter waste of time, money, and effort if she was going to remain in Blugh Bayou. The second decision was that she was going to remain in the Bayou.

Mid-way through the summer after her second and final year at the junior college, she looked around at her life and decided that while she wanted to stay in the Bayou, she also wanted to see some of the world before she settled in for life. So equipped with her high school diploma and her junior college transcript, she drove herself over to New Orleans, spent a few days raising hell there, then enlisted in the army.

Her army career was undistinguished, but it taught her a lot. Now, armed with an Honorable Discharge, greater maturity, and a much tougher nature, she returned to Blugh Bayou. She returned just as there was talk about how the mayor was going to run for yet another term in office and how nothing ever changed. In short, it was going to just be more of the same favoritism, nepotism and graft that everybody knew was taking place but nobody was willing to testify about against him to see it end. Fed up with the talk and complacency she was seeing, Amanda marched herself down to City Hall, got the forms needed to begin her political career by collecting the number of signatures necessary to get her name on the ballot for mayor.

She had been popular in high school, and her parents had a wide circle of friends. She also had a fairly decent bank account balance. She had lived frugally during her army time, and saved much of her army pay. She knew she had enough money saved to support herself without a job for the months until the election. She talked about her decision with her parents and enlisted their support. They agreed to contact all their friends and acquaintances, asking for their signatures, and further, to ask their friends to sign and circulate the signature forms as far and wide as they could. She did the same with her own friends. She also set up a card table in shopping malls and asked passing shoppers to sign also. Many did, not because they believed that this young, inexperienced, woman could actually run the Bayou, but because they were sick of the guy who was running it and they wanted to see another name on the ballot, beyond the hacks who they believed would be no better than the guy already running things. A breath of fresh air in City Hall would be welcome, so they signed.

Once she collected far more than the minimum number of signatures necessary and knew that she was going to be on the ballot, she began campaigning. As expected, at first she was largely ignored by both the press and the voters. But she was persistent. Her following grew slowly at first, but it grew. She was at something of a disadvantage because her absence from town for a few years, including two tours of duty spent in a war zone, resulted in her not being fully up on the issues facing the town. She learned quickly however, and soon enough she was able to discuss the issues with knowledge and a keen sense of perception. The main thrust of her campaign was simplicity personified; she promised that she would answer any and every question put to her or her administration with the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. That promise struck a respondent chord with almost all the voters who were tired of lies and evasions from their elected officials. The voters welcomed the idea of getting a responsive, believable mayor into the town government. That went a long way toward overcoming he fact that she had zero political, business, or any other experience that would equip her for running the town. And maybe it was because she had zero political experience that voters believed her promise to tell the truth.

If her eventual meteoric rise in popularity could be said to have begun at one incident, it would be this one. It was at, what was for her at the time, a fairly large rally with over a hundred people in attendance on a Saturday afternoon. After her prepared speech she opened the floor to questions and almost immediately a man asked about a particularly contentious issue. That didn't bother her at all, but the way he asked the question, adding caveats and highlighting subtle nuances, put a very specific slant on the matter. A complicated slant. She thought about how to answer without making a mess of the issue and remained silent for far longer than another politician would have while she thought it through. She finally broke her contemplation and announced that she would not answer the question. That started some dark and angry mutterings in the audience. But before those got out of hand she continued and clarified her position.

"I will not answer your question here and now because doing so would be a disservice to both of us. The way you phrased your question adds elements of complexity that are not quickly and easily dealt with. You've added important elements, but what you've asked can't be addressed with a simplistic answer. I would have to give you a long answer and I don't want to bore everyone here with a lengthy, technical response." Upon hearing that, a few people started to head for the exits but then stopped when she continued speaking. "I will, however, be more than happy to answer your question with the fullness it deserves if you will be so kind as to come to my home tomorrow afternoon. There, in a quiet setting with no time constraints, we can discuss the matter fully after I answer the question and explain my reasoning."

That very unexpected offer from her stilled the crowd momentarily and she seized the moment. "I would like a show of hands from a few other people who will be willing to join us tomorrow to listen to the answer." A few hands shot up into the air. She waved them back down then continued. "Before anyone volunteers to come, you need to know that I'm attaching conditions to being there. There will be a price to attend." More murmurs began but were quickly silenced with her next statement. "The price is that you will give a promise to me and everyone here that you will be willing to meet with others afterward and report what was said. I want your promise that your report will be full and complete. There will be no half-assed, half-hearted, incomplete summaries. Further, I don't care where you stand on this or any other issue. What I do care about is that when you tell others what was said that you will keep your opinion out of it. Or, you will flatly state that it is your opinion and does not represent what was said. Now, may I see a show of hands of those who are willing to abide by those rules?"

Nobody there took an accurate count. Those few people who bothered to look around at the raised hands were reasonably consistent in their beliefs that there weren't more than a dozen or so who didn't raise their hand. She randomly picked three people out of the crowd, then addressed the questioner. "Will three o'clock be convenient?" Since it would be on Sunday, three was perfect as far as he was concerned. She looked over the crowd, focusing a lingering glance specifically on the three she had chosen, then moved on to further questions.

The meeting at her home the following day went as planned but for one tiny detail. A few additional people showed up. They were welcomed also. When everyone was seated and introduced to each other, she excused herself to disappear into the kitchen. She returned burdened by a huge tray filled with pitchers of lemonade and cookies. She said that since they were all friends here that they could serve themselves to as much as they wanted.

Naturally she heard feedback about how the meeting went and the reports were overwhelmingly positive, particularly on the fact that she had been gracious enough to serve lemonade and cookies. She factored that into her campaign and made sure that when it was appropriate to do so, another question was deferred to a 'lemonade and cookie meeting' as they came to be known. Respect for her and her popularity soared, even among those who disagreed with her positions.

By the third such meeting quite a few people took to inviting themselves if they hadn't been selected from the crowd. They weren't turned away. That encouraged still more to invite themselves and it became blatantly obvious that her small home was becoming too crowded to effectively handle the need. It also became obvious that she was footing the bills for these sessions out of her own pocket because she didn't have a political party behind her funding her lemonade and cookie meetings. That could be said to have sparked the next surge in her standing.

By this time all of her rallies were respectably large. Unfortunately, the size of the rally had a strong correlation to the number of uninvited participants that would show up if she deferred a question. It happened that one of the wealthier residents in town was well aware of that fact, yet he still planned to ask a very complicated question. He did and it was. Upon hearing the question she resignedly turned to an aide seated behind her and in a very small voice, not intended to reach the audience, said, "I guess that means another large crowd at my house tomorrow. I'll be up all night baking cookies." Despite her effort to not be overheard, she was.

She turned back to the audience and raised her voice to address the man who asked the question. She was about to launch into her by now famous "If you will be so kind as to join me at my home...", but she never got the chance to issue her invitation.

Seeing her look at him, and knowing what was coming, the man interrupted her before she began. Almost boisterously he said, "Before you ask me to come to your house let me state that I will NOT be so kind as to be there." That brought a shocked silence to the crowd. He continued unfazed. "I will not be the cause of that burden being imposed on you again. It is well known that you are paying for the lemonade and cookie meetings with your own money because you don't have a political party backing and funding you. I will instead ask if you will be so gracious as to accept an invitation to hold the meeting at my home instead. I have a larger house than yours and I can handle the crowd more easily. Besides," he added with a chuckle and warm smile, "you've borne the expense of these things for far too long. It will be my honor to provide the lemonade and fresh-baked cookies if you accept." That brought a round of applause and set the standard for the future. Even though more such meetings were held as her campaign continued toward election day, she never again hosted another meeting at her house. Most were held at the same benefactor's house who had just broken the ice for her. He added to the charm of the event by providing three different flavors of lemonade and a wide variety of cookies. While making arrangements with the new-found benefactor for the "off-site meeting", as her small staff of volunteers referred to it, she made it abundantly clear that only lemonade and cookies would be served, never anything more. She set the rules and he respected that limitation.

The group meetings with lemonade and cookies became the hallmark of her campaign and stayed with her for two more runs for office after she won the first one. She won the first one by a landslide, the magnitude of which was so notable that it attracted the attention of politicians at the state level. Some early speculators began to ponder the question if she might be interested in running for governor some day.

Interestingly, at one point in her second campaign, she got wind of the fact that a host for one of the lemonade and cookies meetings was planning to serve mint juleps and hot hors d'oeuvres. Upon hearing that she sent word back that his doing so would not be acceptable. These were lemonade and cookies events and there would be nothing more served.

She was so open and accepting of people, that during her second run for office people began to drop in on her unannounced to speak with her or to ask questions. That included a few knocks on her door at home after business hours. She accepted some dinner invitations that were offered during her second run, and her attendance at one's home became something of a badge of honor. By her third run for the office, dropping in on her unannounced at her home was frowned on by the public at large, but was still done on occasion. The alternative preferred by virtually everyone else, was that she drop in on others, announced in advance or not, whenever she felt like doing so. She strongly encouraged that thinking, although she rarely availed herself of the option of going to someone's house unannounced. Since this was, in every resident's mind, still a small town, they operated by small town rules. Despite having been elected a few times, she was still seen as a hometown local girl who happened to be mayor. Particularly so since she adhered to her first run pledge to answer every question put to her openly and fully. Accordingly, she was welcomed whenever she 'dropped by'.

Having her drop by was not only acceptable, it was 'the thing to have happen' if you wanted to be seen as a serious player in the community, particularly if it was one of the rare, coveted unannounced variety. Many people offered her encouragement to 'just drop by' and did it just because they learned things when she did, and they were impressed by the fact that they could get their views heard and considered. Blugh Bayou, in the person of Amanda Dubeouf, was setting the standard very high for having an open and transparent administration.

Throughout it all she almost magically managed to maintain her figure. The time she spent in a gym became a way to get access to her, so she was happy to put time in there also. That too became an opportunity to meet with her and get questions answered. Despite her work to maintain her looks, nobody ever thought she had gotten as far as she had on anything other than her brains and personality. She was loved by many and respected by almost all. Some of what she did pissed people off, but nobody could say that they didn't understand why she did what she did. If they did say that it was only because they were too lazy to get the answer by asking her. Her open, information-flowing administration became a model for other communities, but none were able to equal the public acceptance that she attained.