Outside of their Jurisdiction

"Thanks, Mr. Frankie," Ronnie called out as he went to grab their plates.

Ronnie stopped when he saw the four twenty dollar bills under Mr. Frankie's plate. Turning, he saw the two business men smiling at him.

"Big Joe says we need watch out for you, kid," Frankie said as the two men left the store.

"What was that about?" Francine asked as she wiggled her blue jean clad butt onto the stool behind the cash register.

""That buzzer goes off? You need grab the chops out the oven," Ronnie said, slipping his apron off. "And use them hot pads; don't be grabbing the pan with your bare hands, hear?"

"Ronnie, how stupid you think I am?" Francine huffed. "Now, where you going?"

With a smile and a kiss, Ronnie left the store through the rear door. A moment later, his motorcycle rumbled around the front of the store. Francine watched through the glass door as Ronnie roared away.

Isaac Grossman was true to his word; he did throw in the two wedding bands. With some grumbling, he also threw in a ladies' watch. He was still muttering at the unfairness of it all when Ronnie Spuntzin rumbled away.

"Isaac Grossman! You just made fifty dollars and you're complaining?" Sylvia, his wife chided him. "And you seen how proud that boy was being able buy that ring for his girl. So what you fussing about, eh?"

"That guitar, huh? How long that guitar been here?" Isaac said, changing the subject. "It's a Gibson, the boy says. It's one of the best guitars the boy says. Well, no one even looks at it twice."

Francine's cream of jubilation deafened Ronnie. She slapped him when he also gave her the watch and reminded her that they opened at six AM, not 'whenever she felt like just waltzing on in.'

Every customer that sat at the counter was treated to Francine thrusting the ring in their face. Every customer that brought their groceries to the cash register was treated to Francine waving the ring in their face.

At seven, Ronnie locked the door. Then he and Francine sat and ate dinner. Throughout the meal, Francine would look at her ring, slump against Ronnie and kiss him. She laughed happily when he finally slapped her on her blue jean covered rump and ordered her to eat. Her day might be over; he still had many things to do before he could sleep.

"Love you 'til the end of time," she declared and finished gnawing the meat off of her bone.

On Thursday, Reverend Duncan was again seated at the counter, enjoying the hot breakfast instead of his usual bowl of Rice Krispies cereal. Francine nearly dropped the carafe when Ronnie point blank asked the man how soon he could perform the wedding.

"Son, just need go on down to the courthouse and get the license," the man said. "How's next Saturday sound to you?"

"Seven PM?" Ronnie agreed.

"I love you 'til the end of time," Francine declared, filling Mr. Collins' cup.

"So, what's this I hear you marrying Polly May's little Franny, huh?" Big Joe himself asked a few hours later, parking his bulk onto the stool. "Hey, boy, why you don't have maybe a lasagna or how 'bout just a good spaghetti and meatball on the special?"

"You know what? That, that ain't a bad idea," Ronnie agreed.

"But not on Friday. Fridays are fish, maybe some what? Shrimp? You ever have shrimp?" Big Joe said. "That Polly May Wilson? I tell you, girl was something else and that daughter is quite the looker, huh?"

"Yes sir, I'm marrying Francine," Ronnie admitted, serving the man the baked chicken plate.

"Saturday, seven huh? Sorry, boy, can't make it. Need to be at the cabin; see, got us this little cabin out in the woods, got a little business meeting some smart guys think they can tell me what's what," Big Joe said and nodded with approval at the taste of the chicken. "Boy your momma taught you right, hear?"

When he finished the second plate of the dinner special, Big Joe fished an envelope from his coat pocket and handed it to Ronnie. He gave the young man a light slap to the face as he walked to the register.

"You a good boy, hear?" Big Joe said and left the store.

"I, I don't like him," Francine whispered, even though they were not within earshot of the five kids playing by the jukebox.

"Yeah, well, he likes me," Ronnie shrugged.

"He scares me," Francine admitted.

"He should scare you," Ronnie agreed, thinking of how Big Joe had dispatched of the two young men and the young woman that had robbed and killed his parents.

The card was from the Babanetti family of Joseph and Catherine and Joey Babanetti. Ten crisp one hundred dollar bills were tucked inside of the card that simply read 'wishing you all the happiness on your special day.'

The wedding was a simple fare; neither Ronnie nor Francine had much in the way of family. From the simple wedding, Ronnie and Francine led the procession of pickup trucks and old cars from church to the store where Ronnie had prepared their wedding feast. He smiled; Big Joe would have laughed as Ronnie served their guests the first lasagna he'd ever made. Everyone raved about the lasagna and the wedding cake.

Polly May and Darren and Coach Woods ran the store and counter while Ronnie and Francine went to New Orleans for a five day honeymoon. Neither Ronnie nor Francine had ever been out of Arkansas and everyone always raved about the sights and sounds and revelry of the French Quarter.

The Royal Sonesta was majestic indeed. Both Ronnie and Francine felt a little out of place in the opulent hotel room. But when Ronnie softly kissed his bride, her smile returned.

Despite Theresa's instructions, their first time joining had not gone very well. Francine's hymen was a strong barrier and her blood was copious. At the sight of his bride's tears, Ronnie's erection had wilted.

Now, in a hotel room in New Orleans, the hustle and bustle of the French Quarter just beyond their window, Ronnie embraced his beautiful wife and softly kissed her. She melted into their embrace and returned his kiss with great passion.

Again, Ronnie followed Theresa's instructions. He took his time, touched, kissed, and caressed his wife's beautiful body as he bared each inch of her. Her pale pink areolae were large, roughly the size of silver dollars and her nipples were fat nubs. She seemed to like having them lightly gnawed and Ronnie did his best to satisfy his wife's wants and desires.

Her belly was soft, freckled. Ronnie made her squeal with mock indignation when he began counting her freckles.

Her plump pubic mound was capped by a fringe of carrot orange hair. Ronnie kept his opinion to himself, but he preferred a nice bald pussy, especially when it came to using his mouth.

"Oh! Ron, Ronnie, where you learned that?" Francine demanded after Ronnie had tongued her to orgasm.

Ronnie did not answer; he picked that moment to slide his erection into her wet folds. Instinctually, her legs wound around his upper thighs, pinning him in place.

Without a hymen, without the blood, the two were able to fully consummate their marriage. Prior to their first time, Ronnie had inquired about condoms. His new wife gave him a perturbed look.

"We married, Mr. Spuntzin," she said. "We supposed have babies."

Francine liked the missionary position, although she did not achieve climax. The doggy position had her looking over her shoulder at him in astonishment. Her beautiful eyes suddenly squeezed shut and she actually barked out in orgasm. When he reached around and diddled her fat clitoris, Francine howled.

Cowgirl was the winner in her book. She could control the speed of their coupling. She could use her hands on him, on herself. And, she could stop and lean forward and kiss him and tell him they were going to have three, maybe four head of kin. She laughed happily when her description of her belly becoming all big with their baby made him pump a torrent of sperm into her womb.

They walked around the French Quarter. They ate at a small bistro, they had some very potent drinks called Hurricanes, and enjoyed some street performances. Piping hot beignets and bitter coffee and chickory completed their evening stroll.

"Husband, let's go back and put some babies in me," Francine ordered, earning them some smiles from others on the crowded street.

In their hotel room, Ronnie again feasted on her swampy pussy. Ronnie realized he was tasting remnants of himself from their earlier coupling. He shrugged; he'd not had any qualms about kissing Theresa or Francine after pumping his sperm into their mouths. So, why would he have any hesitation to taste himself on his wife's pussy?

She had laughed when Ronnie called her pussy a vagina. Ronnie did not tell Francine that it was Theresa Duplantis that had stated that 'Pussy' was a demeaning term. To Francine Spuntzin nee Wilson, she had a pussy and Ronnie had a cock.

"And just like cats? They love gobbling up chicken? My pussy loves gobbling up your cock," Francine laughed happily.

Ronnie pounded into Francine in the doggy position. He grasped and fondled her luscious buttocks and even delivered a few slaps to the beautiful pale orbs. Francine wiggled her buttocks, inviting another slap.

After delivering a second load of baby makers to her womb, Ronnie went to their large suitcase and retrieved the can of lard.

"Now what you got that for?" Francine hooted. "Going make us some biscuits?"

Ronnie put Francine into the doggy position again and she happily waggled her buttocks. She giggled when he gave her buttocks a soft slap and ordered her to behave.

"I, Ronnie... Ronnie, what? What you doing?" Francine suddenly cried out as Ronnie pressed a lubricated finger against her tight little pucker.

She squawked and protested as he pressed the greasy finger into her fundament, but Francine did not move. She gave a bit of a 'hiss' when his finger did gain entry into her rectum. With a grunt, she asked him what he was doing but did not move to dislodge his finger.

"Augh, I, oh, oh, oh Ronnie, what, why you doing that?" Francine asked when he now had two fingers plumbing her rectal cavity.

"Aieegh! I, oh, oh God! God!" Francine emitted an ear-piercing shriek when Ronnie stuffed the head of his cock past her sphincter muscle.

Just as Theresa had taught him, Ronnie paused, allowing his lover to get used to his entry. When his wife ceased shuddering, Ronnie pressed another millimeter of himself into her rectum.

"I'm kill that bitch next time I see her," Francine grunted, thrusting herself back to receive the last few inches of his cock into her bowels. "That Theresa Duplantis. Hear me?"

"I hear you," Ronnie said, reaching down and grabbing her heavy breasts in a tight grip.

"I mean it," Francine groaned as began rocking back in short little jabs. "I, oh! Oh Ronnie!"

A quick diddle of her clitoris caused Francine to shriek and groan in orgasm. Ronnie stiffened and pumped a torrent of sperm into her bowels. Then he jumped into the hotel shower. A moment later, his bride stepped into the shower to join him. She wondered aloud if their shower at home was big enough. Then she leaned forward, placing her hands on the wall of the shower.

"Need to do that again," she ordered, waggling her buttocks at him.

A Frost-Top's root beer stand on Airline Highway in Metairie, Louisiana served them some of the best hamburgers they'd ever eaten. From that small restaurant to Spuntzin General Store, Ronnie and Francine agreed they'd start selling hamburgers.

"Oh! Oh, and you can sell them buns!" Francine agreed.

Arriving home, Ronnie and Francine thanked Darren, Polly May, and Coach Woods for tending to the store in their absence. Darren and Coach Woods wished them well and refused any money. Polly May smirked and informed Ronnie and Francine she had already moved all of her stuff from the shack Deacon Jarvis had been renting to her for the past nineteen years; she now lived in what had been Ronnie's old bedroom. Her smirk widened when she disclosed that Darren and Coach Woods had shared what had been Stan and Darlene's old bed. And the sounds that had come from that bedroom had made even Polly May blush.

"Huh?" Ronnie asked, wondering what young ladies Darren and Coach Woods had enticed to come stay with them.

"Your cousin is a pin cushion," Polly May stated.

"And Coach Woods is the needle," Francine continued.

"He, they, nuh uh!" Ronnie denied, face blazing.

The hamburgers were a huge success. So were the large buns. Thursday's spaghetti and meatballs were served with Spuntzin's garlic bread and Saturday's lasagna also featured the garlic bread. The meals were a big success; Ronnie made their pasta himself. And, the garlic bread loaves also sold out quickly.

"That wedding cake?" Francine asked after they closed up the store one evening.

"Wedding, what wedding cake?" Ronnie asked, smirking as his mother in law seemed to magically appear after all of the evening's work had been completed.

"Wedding cake, wedding cake," Francine said, also smirking at her mother's uncanny sense of timing. "At our wedding? What other wedding cake I would be talking about?"

"I don't know; isn't Deana getting married next week?" Ronnie asked, setting their dinner plates on the counter.

"Uh? Why's one them plates all the way at the other end?" Polly May asked. "And there ain't no garlic bread with it?"

"Uh? That's yours. Lucky I'm giving you anything at all," Ronnie teased, coming around to sit with his wife.

"Exactly. So, who made our cake?" Francine asked.

"Uh? Who you think made it?" Ronnie asked. "Miss Polly May, that pan's still hot."

"I burn myself, it'll be your fault," Polly May said, grabbing two pieces of the garlic bread, then grabbing a third piece.

"That big old wedding cake?" Francine verified. "Ad them three levels? You made that?"

"That cake? You made that cake?" Polly May asked, stuffing a far too big mouthful of lasagna into her mouth.

"Momma, you start choking..." Francine warned.

"Oh child," Polly May smirked. "I've had far bigger stuff in my mouth."

"Mother!" Francine squealed, scandalized.

At church the following morning, Deana's mother approached Ronnie about making the wedding cake for the wedding of Deana Birch and Thomas Glover. Ronnie gave the woman what he believed was a fair price; decorating a cake was labor-intensive. With pursed lips, the woman agreed, then asked about catering; could Ronnie do a fried chicken dinner for approximately thirty to forty guests?

Ronnie did not realize he was not stepping on the toes of Deborah Sidloe nee Duplantis, sister of Sheriff Duplantis; he was full out stomping on the woman's feet. The woman ran a catering business out of her home, and as the only person in Bloutchen County that catered weddings, business luncheons and other functions, she'd fully expected to cater the Glover-Birch wedding.

On Monday, Deborah sweetly reminded Mrs. Birch that there would be a twenty percent deposit up front to reserve the catering. And, Wednesday morning was the absolute latest Mrs. Birch could reserve Deborah's business.

"Of course, it depends on the size of your wedding party," Deborah cooed sweetly into the telephone. "And for the finger sandwiches? I would never dream of using that Spuntzin bread; stuff is just so dry and nasty..."

"Mrs. Sidloe, I've already secured the services of Ronnie Spuntzin," Mrs. Birch said, voice just as saccharine sweet as Deborah's voice. "He is a full fifty dollars cheaper than your services and won't be serving your mealy old finger sandwiches neither."

Deborah called her big brother and screamed into the telephone. Theresa Duplantis watched her husband's face assume a hard, cold countenance. She listened in as he made a telephone call. Then, when Zed grabbed his hat and his service revolver, she hurriedly dialed Spuntzin General Store.

"Judge Burkeholder just gave Zed a search warrant for your store," Theresa urgently whispered into the telephone.

Ronnie quickly made two telephone calls. Darren and Coach Woods hurriedly helped Ronnie load the stills and the bottles of beer and rice brew into Darren's Ford Galaxy and Coach Woods' old van. Then, the two men simply drove to the high school and parked and waited for the signal to return the property to Spuntzin's.

And, when Sheriff Duplantis, Officer Larry Gordon and Deputy Adam Jones stomped into Spuntzin General Store, Ronnie's attorney, Bruce Duncan, Reverend Duncan's younger brother was seated at the counter. Polly May stood behind the counter, leaning forward to afford Sheriff Zed Duplantis an unencumbered view of her creamy cleavage.

Sheriff Duplantis was red-faced with rage as Bruce carefully scrutinized the warrant. Then with a nod, the attorney allowed the search of the store to proceed. When Larry Gordon grabbed the door knob for the back stairs, Bruce stopped him.

"No sir. This warrant is for the store. It says nothing about the upstairs; that would be the domicile of Mr. and Mrs. Spuntzin," Bruce said. "This warrant does not include the living quarters."

"It says 'Building,'" Sheriff Duplantis argued.

"It specifically says 'business,'" Bruce corrected, even tapping the word with his fingernail. "Your officer sets one foot on those stairs, he is in violation of this warrant."

"You two, stay here," Sheriff Duplantis ordered his men, jerking the warrant from Bruce's grasp.

"Are dildos illegal?" Polly May asked, causing Bruce, Larry, Adam and Ronnie to flame crimson.

"Mother, must you?" Francine blazed.

"Uh, no ma'am," Bruce stammered.

"Is lard illegal?" Francine whispered to Ronnie, causing him to chuckle.

"Let's hope not," he said, kissing her.

Forty minutes later, Sheriff Duplantis returned, a brand new warrant in hand. Again, Bruce made the man cool his heels while he read through the warrant. Then he nodded his assent and both Larry and Adam thundered up the steps.

"You uh, you said uh, dildos? As in, uh, more, more than one?" Bruce asked as they could hear the heavy footsteps overhead.

"Mm hmm," Polly May cooed.

Leaning over the counter, a move that made her substantial chest balloon, Polly May whispered into Bruce's ear that she had more than one hole. Bruce again flamed brightly and asked her if he might somehow verify this fact for himself. Polly May smiled as Sheriff Duplantis seemed incapable of keeping his eyes from her large breasts.

"Mickey's got that motel on sixteen," Polly May suggested into Bruce's ear.

"And uh, what, what would this cost me?" Bruce asked.

"Why, Mr. Duncan! I, I'm no prostitute," Polly May snapped, homely features even more ugly as she grimaced in displeasure.

"Oh, oh, no ma'am! You, you mistook my words," Bruce hastened to say.

"But, I never say 'no' to any tokens of appreciation," Polly May said. "Should I go fetch a bag? Some overnight essentials?"

"Ma'am, you cannot interfere with an on-going investigation," Sheriff Duplantis barked as Polly May opened the door for the upstairs.

"Oh, I wouldn't dream of interfering with your little boys," Polly May promised and sashayed up the stairs, even as Sheriff Duplantis ordered her to stop.

Both Larry and Adam blushed when they saw Polly May saunter into her bedroom. She smiled sweetly as she made a show of packing some lingerie, some condoms, a jar of petroleum jelly, and two large latex dongs into a small suitcase. Then, still smiling, she sauntered out of the apartment.

"Shall we?" Polly May cooed, walking from back stairs to the front door of the store. "Yours is the Lincoln?"

"Sheriff we have complied with your warrant. It is now time for you to leave," Bruce said, rising.

Larry and Adam had to agree; they'd found nothing in the upstairs apartment. They'd found nothing in the shop, the storeroom, or the attached garage.

"I find anything..." Sheriff Duplantis muttered as they left.

"God, let me go on up and clean up everything," Francine sighed. "Know, ought to quit making that stuff. Getting be more trouble than its worth."