02

Delta Bayou and the Miss Dixieland Pageant (Delta Bayou Adult Mysteries no. 1)

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Chapter 1- The Bet

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Detective Delta Robbins rapped her fingernails on the table of the briefing room, waiting for the captain's words about the weekly assignments. She accidentally made eye contact with Detective Stanford across the room. He winked at her with his usual condescending smile, but she rolled her eyes and looked away. He was really getting under her skin lately and she thought she would have to do something soon to put him in his place.

When she had first transferred into the Bafford County Police Department, only two months prior, she had thought that she would like James Stanford. He was tall and very attractive, with short brown hair, broad shoulders, and an easy smile. He had a natural charm that had made him a favorite among the other officers and with command. Delta could tell that he was used to being the best and used to having his way. Until she arrived, that is. Her excellent case records had followed her from Atlanta and her new coworkers were eager to hear the details of how she had managed to track down and stop the serial killer that had been picking off the "Real MILFS of Atlanta." Stanford's jealousy was almost immediately clear. He had begun to pull his strings within the chain of command, making sure that he got the better cases while Delta was stuck investigating small town crimes.

But today she was through. Stanford's ego had been indulged long enough and she didn't take shit from anyone, no matter how chiseled their jawline. She especially didn't take any shit from cocky sons of bitches like Stanford, the classic alpha male type, who sauntered through the precinct like he owned it.

The chief clicked on the overhead projector, and the change in lighting jolted Delta from her thoughts. She listened intently as he briefed the staff on all of the local cases, but was holding her breath, waiting for the best one, which he always saved for last.

"And the big case this week," he said, clicking on a slide, "concerns the Miss Dixieland USA Beauty Pageant." An image of beautiful women covered in makeup and sparking gowns appeared on the projector screen. "We have reason to believe that the pageant is a front for a relatively new and dangerous synthetic drug called Red Cherry."

The slide changed, revealing an image of a small, bright red pill resting beside a penny for scale. "The manufacturing, use, and distribution of Red Cherry is highly illegal, but according to our preliminary investigations, either the participants or organizers of this pageant are directly involved in its distribution. That's why the Bafford County Police Department will be sending in one of our finest to go undercover to investigate the pageant."

"Now," he cleared his throat, "on to case assignments!" He passed out the files to the other detectives while Delta waited for her name to be called.

"Detective Robbins, the West Street arson." A thin manilla folder plopped onto the desk in front of her and she glared at it.

"Detective Stanford," the police chief Payne went on in his gravelly voice, "Miss Dixie-"

Before he could finish, Delta stood, her chair screeching loudly across the floor as it scraped the gray linoleum.

"Actually, Sir, perhaps I could take the pageant assignment."

The chief looked at her with a frown that deepened the already defined creases around his mouth. He wasn't used to being interrupted. "Detective Stanford has connections with the organizer that could get him placed as one of the judges. How would you gain access to the pageant?"

"I could go undercover as a contestant, Sir. I'm new to the area, and unlike Detective Stanford here, I haven't dated half of the county." A few of the other detectives snorted and chuckled. Stanford's reputation as a lothario was well known.

Stanford made a derisive sound in his throat. "Well, while I wouldn't mind seeing you on stage in a bikini, Robbins, the chief was pretty clear about who's getting this case." Again, there was light laughter, this time at Delta's expense. She crossed her arms and stared at the chief expectantly.

He sighed, rubbing his temple, where his thin hair was threaded with gary. "Detective Robbins makes a good point, but I've had more than enough of you two bickering. I don't care who takes the case. You two will work this out on your own. He turned on his heel, waving everyone out of the room. "Dismissed!"

Stanford and Delta watched as the rest of the detectives filtered from the room. She, stood patiently with her hands on her hips and her chest pushed out to exacerbate the fullness of her breasts, pushing against the cotton of her button-up blouse. Stanford ambled over to her, the causal motions of his body betrayed as she noticed how his eyes briefly flicked from her chest to her face. "Come on Robbins, you heard what the chief said. Let's not make this complicated. Just give me the case. I'll let you have the next big one." He took a sip from his coffee cup as Delta sized him up.

"I'll tell you what Stanford- I have an idea about how to make this more interesting. I'll take the Miss Dixieland case, and you'll take the West Street arson case, and if you solve the arson case first, well then," she leaned close enough to smell the sandalwood of his aftershave and the sharp scent of the black coffee in his mug as she dropped her voice low, "I'll suck your dick."

His eyes bulged as he choked a bit on his last sip. She bit her lip as he coughed twice, spitting a little coffee on his hand as he cleared his throat. "What?"

"You heard me."

He shook the coffee off his hand, and grinned at her, wolfish eyes looking her up and down. "First of all, that's sexual harassment in the workplace, Robbins." He grinned and wiped his coffee-damp hand against his dark trousers. "And second, what happens if you solve your case first?"

"When I solve my case first, you go down on me." She pretended to pick away a bit of lint from her shirt, flicking her sharp nails as she waited to see his reaction.

Stanford shook his head in disbelief, but she saw the corner of a smile hiding in the curve of his lip. He leaned in closely, and she felt the slight heat that radiated from his muscular body.

"In that case, I look forward to seeing you on the stage, Detective."

He reached out for her the West Street arson file, but she held it tightly in one hand. With the other, she grabbed him by the collar, tugging him forward. He stumbled towards her, his head bent down so that their mouths almost met. "And I look forward to seeing you between my legs," she whispered, looking straight into his hazel eyes.

She let go of the file without warning, causing him to stumble for his balance as she walked away. She spared one look over her shoulder at him as she left, and saw that his lips were still parted, half in surprise, half in excitement. She flipped her brown hair over her shoulder, and gave him one last lingering smile as she left him standing alone the room to watch her ass as she walked away.

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Chapter 2: Phil Detmar, Maker of Dreams

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After the 20 minute drive from Milkinville, the small city where the police headquarters was located, to Norridgeton, which sat on the county line, Delta lingered in her car. She had just pulled up in front of a lovely two-story brick building with white painted shutters right off of Norridgeton's main square. She unbuckled her seatbelt, and pulled down the mirror to take stock of her appearance. She had worn her hair down today, letting it spill over her shoulders in soft waves. She had also put on a bit more makeup than usual, thinking that it would help her look more like the pageant type. Her reflection stared back at her, light blue eyes shadowed in a smoky palette, with a touch of blush on the apples of her cheeks. As an extra touch, she dabbed a bit more lipstick to her lips, tinting them a glossy pink. Satisfied, she smiled at her reflexion and shut the mirror, grabbing the envelope beside her which contained her Miss Dixieland application and undercover identity documents.

She entered the building confidently through the white paneled front door and stepped into a bright reception area where a young woman sat behind a desk.

"Excuse me," Delta said, "my name is Delta Bayou. I'm here to turn in my paperwork for the Miss Dixieland pageant."

"Oh I'm sorry Ms. Bayou," said the receptionist, a pretty girl with light blonde hair and a smattering of freckles across her nose, "but the deadline for that was two weeks ago."

Damn

, she thought,

that must be why Stanford handed over the case so easily.

"There must be something that can be done, I've just moved, you see. I had to get a copy of my birth certificate sent all the way from Louisiana."

"Well," the receptionist said, looking her up and down through long eyelashes, "perhaps you can persuade Mr. Detmar. He's the CEO and the main organizer for the pageant." She lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper, and twirled a stray lock of light hair around her finger. "He's a real sweetie. And he can be very easy to persuade, if you what buttons to," she stared meaningfully at Delta's ample bosom under her tight blouse, "undo."

Delta winked at her. "Thanks for the tip..." she glanced at the silver nameplate on the desk, "Sarah." She turned slightly and undid the top three buttons of her patterned blouse, allowing just a bit of the black lace of her bra to show.

"Of course," said Sarah with another little smile. "Mr. Detmar's office is upstairs, third door on the right. He's not in a meeting right now, so just go right in."

Delta's heels tapped a staccato beat on the marbled cream floor of the office. It seemed to have been a nice building once, a bank, perhaps. The lobby was open to the second floor, with iron braced skylights showering light below.

How does a regional beauty pageant afford this kind of real estate?

Up the stairs she found Mr. Detmar's office easily in the wood paneled corridor.

Phil Detmar

, the sign on the door read,

Maker of Dreams, CEO Miss Dixieland USA

. She knocked on the door while at the same time turning the brass knob and pushing in.

"What's this?" said Phil, jumping to his feet, and clicking something quickly on his computer. He had the look of a naughty schoolboy, caught at something he shouldn't be doing. What was the tab he had just closed? A clue to the case, or something more benign? Delta would find out.

She smiled at him, noticing his disarming good looks as she shut the door behind her and clicked the lock into place. He was middle-aged, but with an athletic build and sandy blonde hair that was just hinting at grey around the temples. He looked at her expectantly, and fiddled with his dark purple tie. "Can I help you?" he asked in a deeper voice as he took in the sight of her. "Miss?"

"Delta Bayou." There was something charming about him as he pushed back his hair and nervously straightened his tie again. "So sorry for barging in on you. Your secretary said that I could let myself in."

The hint of a frown wrinkled the corner of his bottom lip- quite a kissable lip, Delta noticed. It was fuller than the top lip and made him look younger than he actually was. "Sarah," he sighed. "I should really fire that girl, but she's...she's" he waved his hand looking for the word.

"Very attractive?" Delta supplied, leaning against his desk.

"Yes-I mean no! I mean," he coughed awkwardly and his ears turned red at the corners. "How can I help you again?"

"Oh right, silly me. I'm an applicant for the Miss Dixieland Pageant, and I have my application and papers with me, all right here! I just need a signature." She smiled and tilted her head expectantly, willing him to make things go smoothly for her.

He frowned slightly and flicked a paper around on his desk. "I'm afraid the Dixieland Pageant is closed to new entries. The deadline was two weeks ago."

"Yes, I know. But I was told you knew how to bend the rules," she said. She pointedly pushed her application across the desk, leaning forward to show off her cleavage as her dark hair spilled over her shoulders. "I know I'm not afraid to bend any rules."

Phil cleared his throat, adjusting his tie once more. "To be honest with you, you're the perfect candidate for Miss Dixieland. I would even say you're better-looking than half the girls who signed up already!" He blushed a little. "But I'm not sure what you want me to do for you." He looked quickly from the papers in her hands to her chest back to her face. The pink blush of his cheeks spread up to his ears and down over his neck.

Perfect

.

"It's not what I want you to do for me," She straightened, and touched the collar of her blouse. She watched his eyes as she slowly moved her hand down to undo one more button, letting her shirt fall open to reveal the soft curves of her breasts, visible beneath the lace of her bra. "It's what I want to do for you. All I need is your signature on this form. If you sign it, no one will question my application."

Phil's voice caught in his throat. "What do you want to do for me?" His voice came out in a husky whisper.

She kicked her heels off and put one knee up on the desk and then the other, bending over across it and leaning towards him. "Just sign this form and find out," she said. She pushed the application against his chest and slid it lower and lower, until the hand covering the paper was against his crotch. She could already feel the erection forming beneath his pants. He gasped and she knew that she almost had him. That meant she was one step closer to beating Stanford.

She gave Phil an alluring smile as he took the paper and grabbed the nearest pen, lowering the nib of it against the form. He hesitated, and looked at her uncertainly, so she slipped open button and zipper of his pants. He closed his eyes and sighed deeply as she reached in through the slit in his boxers and pulled out his cock. Her ass stuck up behind her as she lowered herself on the desk, repositioning for balance. With his cock in her hand and only inches away from her mouth, Phil laughed nervously and finished signing his name. "You must really want to be in this pageant, huh?"

Delta smiled mysteriously, and slipped the head of his cock in her mouth, running her tongue over the smooth skin, tasting the slightest salt of his arousal. He groaned as her wet mouth closed over his shaft. She slid her mouth over his length, taking him in as deeply as she could. Enjoying the taste and texture of him, she let her tongue slide up and down over him as he gripped the edge of the desk for balance. "You could definitely win this competition," he said, shuddering, eyes closed in pleasure.

She pulled her lips from him. "Oh this is just for the entrance; I can win on my own." She teased him with a few short licks against the head of his cock while she stroked him in one hand. She lifted her head again and said wryly, "I wouldn't want to endanger the integrity of the competition." She winked at him and took him back into her mouth, taking three long sucks that made him gasp with pleasure.

Phil let out a chuckle mixed with a groan. "No, of course not," His voice was low in his throat. She wished he would stop talking.

She let his cock escape from her mouth with a small but audible pop and smiled, dabbing at her mouth. "That's enough of business. Let's get personal." She sat up on the desk, and drew herself up to her knees. Quickly, she unzipped the back of her gray pencil skirt. Phil watched her as she slid it up from the hem, bunching it around her waist and exposing her black panties. She pulled Phil's hand to the thin fabric, and guided him in pulling them down over her long legs. He was eager to help. The panties fell forgotten to the floor as she scooted to sit on the edge of the desk.

Phil placed his hands around her waist and bent his head to her neck, trailing hot kisses down her flesh. Her skin warmed under his attention, and her breath came faster as she raked her hands through his blonde hair. Then, breathing heavily with desire, she opened her legs to him, and felt the soft fabric of his slacks against her naked skin. She bit her lip as his hard cock grazed the inside of her thigh as he adjusted himself, making ready to enter her.

He pressed between her thighs, and she moaned, feeling his girth, still wet from her mouth, as he slid all the way inside of her. She wrapped her legs tightly around his gently rocking hips, running one hand over his broad shoulders and the other back up into his sandy hair. Held tightly in his arms, she breathed in the scent of his body, the slight hint of sweat and arousal, mingling with the sharp alpine scent of his soap.

With her head tilted backwards and her back arched, Delta's breasts were exposed to Phil. His hungry mouth kissed lower, and lower, over her clavicle and chest, to the top of her bra and then even further over the thin lace. He moaned her name and flicked his tongue over her nipples, which were poked firmly out against the fabric. "Yes," she whispered as his hand fumbled hastily with the cloth, pulling one of her breasts free. His wet mouth closed over her nipple and she felt her body tense with the combined pleasure of it and the motion of his hips.

She bit playfully into his neck, and soon came hard, throbbing against his cock. She felt him stiffen in response. "On my tits," she said in his ear. "Come on my tits." Immediately he withdrew his rock hard cock from her, and she slipped off the desk and to the floor, pulling her other breast from her bra. He steadied himself between her tits and she pushed them together for him, enjoying the feeling of his slick member slipping between her large breasts. He groaned, and grabbed her hair, pressing her body against him as he came, the hot liquid of his orgasm splattering against her chest.

What a mess

. She stood up and pulled a finger through the milky fluid, lifting it up. "Phil, honey, could you bring me something to clean up with?"

"Oh! Of course!" he said. He quickly tucked himself back into his trousers, and buttoned them. He ran a self conscious hand through his hair and gave her a half smile. "I'll be right back."

"I'll just be getting dressed," she said sweetly, pulling up her discarded underwear from the floor. He slipped out the door, shutting it behind him. As soon as it was shut, she grabbed his mouse, opening up his web browser. With one click, she was in his history. Site last visited:

Pornsluts.net, Boss fucks secretary, shoots huge load

. She sighed and x'd back out of the window. Typical, and no clues there. To be certain he wasn't hiding anything on his work computer, she pulled a thumb drive from her purse and jammed it into the USB port. In a few clicks she had installed the program she needed. It would discreetly run in the background of Phil's computer and send a copy of all of his files to her hard drive. It would take a few hours to copy and send them all, but still, with her assured entry into the pageant, she felt that she was a step ahead of Stanford.

She had just thrown the hard drive back into her purse when there was a slight tap at the door. She adjusted her skirt, sliding it back smoothly over her hips and slipped her shoes back on. "Come in."

Phil appeared in front of her with a wet cloth. "Do you need any help?" She took it from his hands without comment and wiped off of her breasts while he watched, seemingly entranced. As she pulled her bra back into place and buttoned her shirt he started. "Oh, the pageant. So... you're in!" He coughed awkwardly. "The ah... entrance fee has been waived."

She laughed lightly, and walked over to him, grabbing his butt playfully. "Call me sometime, Phil. You're cute."