Adam & the Cult of Concubines

My attempt at some very cheesy, pulp noir. Forgive me if I suck at it. Before you sink your teeth into this novella (~25k words), know the facts. This adventure is set in 1958, it is filled with nonsensical ideas, private dicks, a religious cult, free-use sex, some misogyny, married women doing things they shouldn't be doing, the kidnapping of a multi-millionaire, inverted nipples, and a hint of romance. It's a slow burn, but there's plenty of sex. There is no incest, but there could be some interpretations of non-consensual sexual activity (hint, it's all consensual -- the characters could have bailed any time). If that floats your boat, read on. If not, take a pass and no harm done.

The Job Offer

My feet were perched on top of my old, beaten and worn office desk, while I leaned further back in the faux-leather, swivel chair. It squeaked loudly to my movements, and I lamented on repairing it. The top drawer to my desk doesn't open properly, either. Probably because I used to perch my clubs on it, instead of the desk itself. Guess I got bad habits.

I opened the morning paper, trying to find where they'd placed my advertisement. Business has been slow and I desperately need work. Against my better judgment, I spent my last eight bucks on that newspaper ad, hoping it might drive a few clients my way. If I don't turn things around, I'm going to be forced to close shop and go back to working as a bouncer. I'd seen enough bar fights to last me a lifetime, and have no desire for more.

Jenny's been sweet about our predicament, even bringing me soup the last two days. I promised, once I get things rolling again, I'll bring her back on. Right now, I just can't afford a secretary. What happened to all the cheating spouses? Last year, I was swamped with them. That kind of work may be crass and mundane, but it pays.

I found the ad buried near the back of the paper, cluttered around many other ads. The one to the left of mine was offering fifty bucks off the new '58 Magnavox record player. It was a nicer looking ad, too, and twice the size of mine. I considered calling the advertising department to complain, when I heard the familiar chime of the lobby door opening. I hopped to my feet and rushed to the front, almost tripping over myself when I saw who was there.

"Excuse me," she said, "Are you Mr. Cleese?" She was blonde and tall, with slender legs that reached glorious heights, and a pendulous, hourglass figure. At first, my eyes kept darting between her gams and her cleavage, like when I'm confused over which entrée I want at Katz's deli. All the choices are so delicious, it's almost impossible to decide. It's when I saw her face, my eyes finally locked. She was perhaps the most stunning beauty I'd ever seen. As gorgeous as those that light up the silver screen. Maybe more. "Mr. Cleese?" she asked again.

"Oh... oh, yes. Sorry. I wasn't expecting anyone. You can call me Dylan. Come in, come in. To my office." I held the door open, waving her through.

She smiled, walking past me. I'm not sure if she was wearing perfume, but the scent was intoxicating. Faint, feminine, sexy. Her hips swayed like gentle, ocean waves as she made her way to the chair in front of my desk. She turned to me, before sitting down. "Are you coming? My name's Clara. Clara Lipton."

I walked past her and around my desk, sitting down, embarrassed by the grim offerings in the office. At least her chair didn't squeak. "Clara Lipton? Where have I heard that name before?" The way she was seated across from me allowed an all-too-intimate view of her cleavage. I don't think I'd ever seen such a low-cut dress outside the pages of a magazine.

"You've probably heard my name mentioned with my husband's, Timothy Lipton."

"Timothy Lipton? President of Lipton Sheet Metal & Fabrication? The company that supplied like half the war effort, right?"

"The one and only. We married in '47. When we first met, I couldn't believe he was remotely interested in me. Little ol' me? Clara Pennington, from Nebraska?" Her voice had a husky air to it, yet it was soft and sultry. It was almost musical.

"Oh, I could see why a man like Timothy would be interested in you, Miss Lipton," I said, while thinking to myself, 'Any straight man on this planet would be interested in Clara Pennington from Nebraska. Hell, she might even turn the bent ones straight.'

"Timothy swept me off my feet and we married one year to the day after we met."

I was jealous, but smiled approvingly. Based on what she was telling me, I had to assume she was around thirty-five, give or take a couple years. Close to my age. "How can I help you, Miss Lipton?"

"Please, call me Clara," she said, with a hint of desperation in her voice. She leaned forward and introduced a new law of physics to my senses. My eyes were sunk to her chest, like gravity is to a black hole. I wanted to resist, but couldn't. "Timothy went missing two weeks ago. I mean... he usually tells me where he goes, but sometimes he'll pop off for a day or two without a conversation. I know he's an important and busy man, and I never minded before, but then... then he sent me this."

Clara tossed an envelope on the table, with thick, writing paper inside. I picked it up and pulled out the folded paper. I read it aloud, as it wasn't very long. "Dear Clara, I'm sorry, but I've found someone I truly connect with. I know you will understand, even though it hurts. Juliette will be contacting you soon regarding the details of the divorce. With love and kindness, Timothy." I looked up from the paper. "With love and kindness?" I scoffed. "This is A-grade asshole."

Clara burst into tears with that statement, screaming, "It's not Timothy! It can't be! You have to help!"

"Help how, exactly?" I asked. I began to lean back in my chair, but stopped as soon as it started squeaking. "And who is Juliette?" I waved the letter in my hand.

"His personal assistant. Please, find him. Bring him back to me! I have to know WHY and if this is real. He's leaving me?" Clara quickly reached for her purse, revealing a hint of areola. It was several shades darker than her skin, and had my mind racing on what the rest might look like. She pulled out a handkerchief and wiped away some tears. "Jack says Tim is staying at the Red Maple Resort outside of Riker's Beach. It's near Ensanada."

"Jack?"

"Jack Tatum is Tim's best friend and business partner. It took a lot of begging to get that information out of him." Clara sullenly looked down to her chest while explaining, and then noticed her partial nip-slip. She didn't bother adjusting. "Please. Go there and find him. Bring him back."

"The Red Maple? Isn't that some exclusive club? I think I heard Detective Parsons, down at Central Station, talking about it a while ago. Said some whackos live out there or something."

"He might be right. It is exclusive to wealthy people, and only men are allowed to make reservations. Also, from what Jack told me, there's an inner circle. An even more exclusive club within the resort. If Jack is right, it's more like a cult. He thinks Tim's gotten himself in with these strange people. The only reason he told me all this is he thinks it might impact Tim's future business decisions. Jack says Tim's been distant these past months; not really engaged. I've seen it, too. I thought he was just stressed."

"Do you want me to make reservations and try to get inside with these 'people' you mention? If he's brainwashed, there might not be much I can do, short of kidnapping. I've seen how a religious group can infiltrate an individual. Really change them. It's a sad and scary thing, Clara. We're in L.A. There's a lot of freaky, religious groups out here. Hollywood, ya know. My point is, I can try... but I can't guarantee you much of anything."

"Please. At least try."

"Men only, huh?"

"Um... about that..." Clara was gently rocking back and forth as she spoke, her eyes to the floor. "Um... Jack said the men must bring a woman, and the, uh... the women... none of them are allowed to wear clothes."

I broke out in laughter and said, "Now that's very modern!"

"I'm serious. Jack says it's a rule they have. He doesn't know exactly why and he didn't ask. He thinks it's a way for the inner circle to determine if one is worthy of joining."

"Like... if I bring a woman who is beautiful enough, they might invite me?"

"Not just beautiful, but dutiful. Obedient."

"Oh... I see. And where exactly would I find such a woman to do this?"

Clara looked deflated, her face diving into her tissue, "I don't know... but I need your help, Mr. Cleese!"

"It's Dylan," I insisted. "Okay, I'll try, but convincing my secretary to go starkers is going to cost a lot more than my typical daily rate."

"I'm prepared to pay you a thousand dollars, Mr. Cleese. Er... Dylan. A thousand now, and a thousand more if you bring Timothy back to me. I'll even tack on another three thousand if things go back to normal. Timothy loves me. I know he does. He's just not himself right now!"

I almost swallowed my cigarette. The down payment alone would carry me for the next four months, even after I pay Jenny her share. I hopped to attention. "Miss Lipton, I accept your offer... so long as you agree to pay for any additional expenses I may incur. Gas, food, lodging, that kind of thing."

"Of course, and call me Clara, please." She reached into her purse and pulled out an envelope stacked with Benjamins. "Here's the down payment of one thousand dollars. How quickly can you begin?"

"Give me a day or two to convince Jenny. I'll reach out soon." I hated seeing her go. It was like being visited by Aphrodite in the flesh. Damn, what I could do with that flesh...

Putting the Team Together

"FIVE THOUSAND DOLLARS?!" Jenny screamed. When I called her, she immediately rushed over, eager to hear of this high-paying opportunity. She's only six blocks from the office, but was sweating by the time she arrived. We've been experiencing an unusually dry heat.

"Potentially five thousand, but uh... there's more," I explained. I told her everything, to her horror, and could see her mind was racing, trying to wrap her head around what I was saying. Jenny's a good, Christian girl. Cute as a button, but fairly old-fashioned in her behaviors. Her husband is a local pastor of a struggling ministry.

"Dylan, I can't do that! Can you go alone?"

"We think bringing a girl is what helps get us in with this... uh... inner circle. This cult group."

"What about Dorothy?"

"Dorothy Chambers? My accountant?"

"Yes, she seems sweet and she's single."

"Jenny, I mean no offense, but Dorothy is quite plain. I don't think that would work. We need someone attractive."

Suddenly, Jenny's face lit up. "I know!" she exclaimed. "How about Bella? She's got the kind of charm you're looking for, right?"

"Are you serious right now?" I asked, a hint of disgust and disbelief in my tone.

"Well, why not?"

"One, I haven't seen Bella in almost four years and that's a good thing. Two, I can't stand her. So, no. Anyone else, but her."

Bella is my ex-wife. When I started the agency, she did much of what Jenny handles now, but we also worked cases together. We were quite the pair, and clients poured in as our reputation grew. We were becoming locally famous as a successful, husband-and-wife detective team. It was Bella who insisted on hiring Jenny so that we could take on more cases. I found it ironic that the real ploy in hiring Jenny was to free up Bella's time, so she could cheat on me. Bella would leave the office, claiming she had work to do, only to meet up with her lover. I've worked many infidelity cases. It didn't take me long to figure it out, but it took me longer than I care to admit. The divorce was costly, but the worst of it was the cost to my reputation. It really set me back and I've never fully recovered. This current lull in business is a testament to that.

Jenny sighed, "It's too bad you two can't work together occasionally. Bella is very attractive."

This is true. I always thought Bella looked amazing in a dress, and even better out of one. Not everyone is so blessed. "Yes, she is attractive," I said, "but so are you."

"You think I'm attractive?"

"Of course, Jenny."

"You've never said anything before."

"I try to be better than most bosses. Hell, you know Steve Jenkins drives Rita mad with his ill-mannered behavior." Steve is a successful vacuum salesman and has an office next door to us. He's not around often, but when he is, he's always patting his assistant on the ass, and chasing her around the office. I think the poor woman has threatened to quit a time or two.

"Oh. Well, I just thought... you know... anyway, the point is, James would never be okay with this."

"We don't tell your husband any of the details. It's just a work trip, and your work is confidential. Jenny, I want you to know, I intend to pay you four hundred dollars of this down payment. I'll also pay triple your rate for the time we work the job."

"Four hundred dollars? My goodness, that money would go so far for James." Jenny was tapping her toes, nervously biting her nails. "But, I... I... I just can't see me being naked, Dylan. I'm not a nudist!"

"No, you aren't... but Jenny, you're strong enough for this. It's just one gig and then it will all be over."

"You have to promise me, no pictures."

"We won't even bring the camera. We don't want to raise suspicion, anyway. We just figure out what's going on, and try to get as far as we can with the investigation. I'm booking us for five nights. If the dates are available, we will leave on Monday."

"Oh my goodness, I'm going to need all of Sunday to pray about this. All day. But okay, I'll do it."

It was the following morning when I made the call to Red Maple Resort. I didn't bother with an alias, opting to keep things simple. I asked if they had any rooms for the coming week. "You're in luck, sir," said the voice on the line. "We recently had a cancellation. It's a suite. Will you be bringing more than one concubine?"

His question caught me off guard, but I didn't let it show. I improvised, "I hadn't thought about it. Now that I know I can, I may."

"I'll mark you down for two. If you decide on more, you can probably fit up to five in there. Just let us know in advance."

"Of course," I said.

"And how will you be paying? For the week, that will be $320."

"A fair price," I lied. The most I'd ever paid for a room, up to this point in my life, was eight bucks a night. That was steep, too. At least I can mark this in the 'additional expenses' category. "I'll bring cash," I said.

"Yes, sir. Allow me to get your details."

I finished the call and rang Clara, the client. "Do you think you could swing by the office?" I asked. It didn't take extra convincing and she arrived an hour later, looking even more stunning than yesterday. "It's nice to see you again. Please, sit," I motioned. Her dress wasn't as low-cut, but it was form fitting. Her breasts were without support, but as firm and full as they are, she didn't need it. Still, it makes a man's thoughts sink to nefarious places.

"What have you learned?" she asked.

"Clara, just how invested are you in this?"

"Timothy is everything to me, Dylan. I would do anything!"

"I booked a suite for next week and I was told to consider bringing more than one..." I paused for dramatic effect, "... concubine."

"Concubine?"

I nodded and said, "I get the impression, the ones who bring more than one might have more influence. More status. It might help get us into that inner circle."

"How many women do you need to bring?"

"I think two will be enough, and I was thinking, you might want to consider coming."

"Me? But wouldn't Timothy be furious if he sees me there? He--"

"-- wouldn't know it's you," I interrupted. "That is, we can make it almost impossible for him to know it's you."

"What? How?"

"A friend of mine. Wonderful lady. She's a wizard with make-up. That, and a wig -- even a haircut and dye if you are so bold -- and she can change your appearance dramatically. And get this, she also has access to colored, contact lenses. It's the latest thing in Hollywood. She once had an entire conversation with me while wearing some, pretending to be a stranger. I've known her for years and didn't recognize her at all. The least we can do is pay her a visit. Her name's Melody Thomason."

"You really think it would work?"

"I'm confident. It will also get you personally closer to seeing what's really going on with your husband. I can find someone else, of course, but I thought to ask you first. Besides, hiring another girl for this could be costly. It's asking a lot."

"The money isn't the issue, Dylan, but yes. I'll come. When can we see this woman? Melody?"

"Let me ring her now."

Another hour later, we were in the dressing room of the Frankel Theatre, Melody Thomason's second home. If Clara hadn't taken me up on the offer, I probably would have asked Melody to go on this adventure. She's not much up top, but she's got a great back porch. I explained our needs and she appeared thrilled for the challenge. "There's fifty bucks in it for you if you make it convincing," I said.

"Dylan, I can turn this woman into Quasimodo for that kind of money."

I left them to it, but after a couple hours of waiting, I was getting hungry. It was almost two o'clock when they came out of the dressing room. I was now looking at a dark redhead, with straight hair, rather than the luscious, blonde waves she'd previously been sporting. Her eyes were a misty green, a change from the shale blue that came natural to her. Her lips were a soft pink, instead of the deep, berry color she normally uses. Some shading softened her jaw and cheekbones, and she was no longer in heels. The flats worked fine. Outside of her perfect rack, I couldn't tell it was Clara Lipton in any way. Still a knockout. Just a totally, different kind of knockout.

"You're right," said Clara. "I do look different."

"You really do," I agreed.

"But, uh... what about my..."

"Your?"

"My nipples. They might be recognizable."

"Nipples?" Melody screamed. "What?"

"Oh... uh, Melody. I guess we didn't tell you everything, but Clara will have to be... well, au natural... when we get to our destination. But Clara, why do you think your nip--"

Clara ripped open her top, showcasing two glorious mounds. She was right about her nipples, though. They are very unique. I suppose, if there's a single flaw in this otherwise perfect specimen of a woman, it would be her nipples. Innies, rather than outies. I don't mind at all, but they are distinguishable.

Melody didn't miss a beat. "I've dealt with this issue before!" she screamed, as if she was proud to rise to yet another challenge. "Let me just find it..." She raced back into her dressing room before coming back with two, c-clamp like devices. "We use these to hold make-up applications in place. You know, monster make-up, that kind of thing. Just, uh... just give me your..." Suddenly, Melody reached for Clara's right breast, grabbing it firmly. She began massaging the nipple. "Does it take much to get these... uh... out?" she asked softly, looking into Clara's eyes. I found it oddly erotic.

Clara was a bit surprised by the act, but didn't pull away. "Unfortunately, yes. You almost have to pull them out. This is embarrassing," she giggled, even blushing.

"May I?" Melody asked. Without waiting for an answer, she bent down and placed her lips over Clara's nipple, sucking quickly, working to get it erect. She was definitely getting me erect. "There it is," Melody whispered, before going in for more, sucking louder and harder. Finally, the nipple fully extruded. Even Clara's other hidden nipple was beginning to respond, yet it remained untouched. Melody pinched the one she'd been sucking on, while using her other hand to apply the device. Soon, she was tightening the c-clamp firmly in place.