The Red Scare

by Lynn Lake

Genres: Erotic & Steamy Romance

Synopsis

An erotic novella based in 1950's America with mixed themes including girl on girl action, mystery/suspense and BDSM. 1957, Washington, DC. Sleazy PI, Megan McCarthy, is hired by publisher, Adele Katz, to find out if her new bondage model, Constance Cumming, is a natural brunette or really a redhead. It's the height of the Communist witch hunt, and Adele doesn't like "Reds", of any kind. She knows she can count on Megan's obvious appreciation of Constance's bound and helpless charms to uncover the truth. An intense investigation ensues, and what the PI learns about the busty, leggy model threatens to blow the case wide open. But who's really fooling who, and will Megan and Adele be left seeing red?

Release date: April 25, 2013

Publisher: Accent Press

Print pages: 41

Sample

Chapter One

Adele Katz’s office was in the Borland Building on D Street. Not far from the power brokers in Washington, but not exactly rubbing padded shoulders with them either. The politicos probably preferred it that way, if they knew about Adele at all. For the woman’s sleazy publishing enterprise was not something any self-respecting, expecting-to-be-re-elected 1950s public official would want to touch with their ten-foot pole, if they were so endowed.

At least, not openly.

Adele Katz published “photo-books”, cheesecake and beefcake pornographic magazines packed with black-and-white pics of busty broads and buff boys, some of the silliest text this side of the Congressional Record. The small, sharp-featured, 40-something woman did it all by herself, with the aid of a free-thinking printer and freelance corps of free-spirited models and below-the-counter shopkeepers. The woman with the dyed-blonde semi-beehive and acerbic wit had made herself a pretty penny with her photo-books of pretty people, and she didn’t like to spend a dime of it if she didn’t have to.

That helped, slightly, to explain her brusque greeting when I strolled into her cubbyhole office at one minute past the hour of our appointment. ‘You’re late. Time is money, you know – my money.’

‘Pleasure to see you too, Miss Katz,’ I replied, draping my suited form into one of the two wobbly wooden chairs the lady kept for her fleeting guests. ‘You said on the phone you had some work for me.’

She eyed me with a pair of shrewd, grey orbs, took a pinched gulp out of the teacup in her right hand. She had a cigarette burning in her left hand. She didn’t offer me either. ‘You’re Megan McCarthy – the PI?’

‘Guilty as charged.’

‘Probably a few times, I bet.’ She took a pull on the cigarette, blew smoke out her nose. ‘What’s a dame doing in the dirty PI racket?’

‘Who’s calling whose racket dirty?’ I countered. ‘I’m earning a living, that’s what I’m doing. When a client actually hires me and tells me what they want me to do.’

‘Just about anything, I imagine.’ She set the teacup down and pushed a photo-book across her cluttered desk. ‘Ever heard of Constance Cumming? Or seen her?’

My nose twitched like a bunny’s at the gates of the Garden of Eden, just hearing that sexy sounding name. And when I eagerly leaned forward and plucked the slim magazine off Adele’s desk, excitedly flipped through the glossy pages, my breasts in my tight, white shirt started to tingle, my pussy in my tight, black slacks started to buzz.

‘Um, she’s a model or something, isn’t she?’ I feigned ignorance, feasting my baby-browns on the photos of my favourite bondage model in the bound book.

Adele’s thin, red lips formed a wry smile around the butt-end of her cigarette. ‘That’s right.’

The right stuff, I thought to myself, leafing through the pages of Good Wenches Make Good Neighbours. I’d seen busty, leggy, luscious Constance Cumming in many a brown bag “art” book and back-alley blue movie, pictured the curvaceous brunette more times in my fevered imagination than my cunt could remember. And now I was seeing her again, in the office where it all began.

The photo-play portrayed Constance with two almost equally buxom women, in a bondage scenario, of course. The story was stunning in its simplicity: Constance had just moved into the white picket fence neighbourhood, and her provocative figure and effervescent personality had stirred up the juices of the menfolk, forcing the two jealous housewives to take it upon themselves to teach the lovely lady . . .