Dirty Little Secrets

Hey there, crime kids. Happy Monday. It's time once again to take a trip to the dark side, where your most violent fantasies become sins of the flesh, right here, where the hardboiled action is non-stop, at the coolest crime joint in cyberspace ... at That Killing Feeling.

In Chapter 19 of DAZED, BEAUTIFUL & BRUISED, homicide detective Carrie Love and porn star Laura Lang check out the perverted pleasures at Club Fuck ... and then take them home to the bedroom ...


EXT. CLUB FUCK - NIGHT
The filth-sleaze go-go of the
Thrill Kill Kult’s DIRTY LITTLE SECRETS over --

A faceless warehouse on the
cheap end of Santa Monica Blvd.

Laura pulls Carrie
behind the velvet rope.

ON THE WOMEN
Laura, an SS erotic piece of art.
Carrie, just getting her feet wet
in something too short, too tight.

LAURA
Ready to get totally depraved?

CARRIE
Yes, please.

INT. CLUB FUCK - FRONT BAR
A carnival of perversion.
The fall of Rome. Fellini, on tap.

The magic couple sip cocktails.
Hands all over each other.

CARRIE
It’s the nipple clamp version
of the Star Wars alien bar.
(beat)
I love it.

LAURA
(takes her hand)
Then c’mon, love --
let’s tighten the screws.

ON THE DANCE FLOOR
The throbbing groove of
The Thrill Kill Kult’s BLUE BUDDHA.

In a hailstorm of strobes,
an earthquake of music,
Carrie and Laura shake it,
grind -- delirious. Intoxicated.

CARRIE
(sings along)
Ultra flesh, is what we want --

IN MONTAGE:

ON A BANQUETTE AT THE REAR BAR/LOUNGE
they hold hands.

Laura leans over, whispers something.
Carrie ERUPTS with laughter.

IN THE 'PLAY ROOM'
The girls watch the demonstration.

A TRIBAL MASTER deftly flogs a
young ANDROGYNOUS BOY
on his panty-clad privates --

AT THE FRONT BAR
Carrie and Laura order drinks.
Stare at each other.

ON THE DANCE FLOOR
The kinky sounds of the
Thrill Kill Kult’s SEX ON WHEELZ.

The women twist and shake.
Bump and grind.
Slither and slide.

IN MONTAGE
An 'almost there, but not quite'
VALLEY COUPLE stare.

Two tweaky ecstasy GAY CLUB BOYS leer.
A SCARY GOTH GUY and GIRL
slide up next to them.

FROM ABOVE
The lovers do their mating dance.

IN THE BOOTH
the DJ YELLS something at the LIGHT BOY.

ON THE DANCE FLOOR
a spotlight HITS the girls.
They don’t notice, entranced.

Laura takes Carrie’s neck in her hands.
KISSES her mouth.

They stop dancing. Kiss.
Devour. Melt. Merge.

And, as CAMERA starts a
slow circular pan around them --

Laura GRABS Carrie’s hair.
Pulls her head back.

Bends into her neck.
Starts sucking. Biting. Feasting.

Strobe lights EXPLODE,
spinning shards of pulsing passion.

INT. PLAYROOM - MOMENTS LATER
The scary, depraved goth-ooze of Daniel Ash’s
COMING DOWN bubbles under the dark dankness.
Last call. Final fix.

Carrie and Laura stand stage right.
A DOMINATRIX unshackles an
underage-looking nymph
in a Girl Scout uniform.

Laura unclips a leash.
Hooks it to Carrie’s collar.

CARRIE
gulps. Part fear. Part wet.

LAURA
gives a little yank.
Pulls her up onto the stage.

Guides her over to a large wooden cross,
like a big ‘X’.

CARRIE’S EYES
flicker. Liquid. Innocent.

At least for now --

Laura places Carrie’s left wrist
on the cross.

Into a shackle.
SNAPS it shut.
Then does the other.

The blonde reaches up to the
zipper at Carrie’s throat.

Slowly unzips it --
all the way down.

The glistening black vinyl flies open --
Revealing lingerie. Bare, trembling skin.

Goosebumping. Glistening.

Laura reaches down.
Places Carrie’s left ankle on the cross.

SNAPS the shackle shut.
Then the right ankle.

She stops.

Takes a black leather-gloved hand,
strokes Carrie’s calf.
Our heroine shudders.

Then slowly, achingly --
goes up, up Carrie’s leg.

Reaches her soft, milky thigh.
Stops.

CARRIE
quivers.
Bites her lip.

Closes her eyes.
A tear of pleasure trickles down.

Yes.
Laura’s hand continues on it’s journey.
Reaches Carrie’s panties.

Stops.
Carrie’s hips buckle.
She can’t take it.

Please.

LAURA
stands up abruptly.

Boots CLOMP, CLOMP over to
a rack of instruments.

Paddle. Whip. Riding crop.
Cat-o’-nine tails.

She grabs the cat-flogger.
Takes a breath.

The women lock eyes.
Laura smiles.

Slowly raises it.
CRACKS it in the air.

Carrie reacts.
Hands grip the restraints.

Laura walks over.
Kisses her.

Whispers sweet naughties.
Returns to her position --

And starts making love
to her trembling slave-girl.

Gently swirls the dozen
soft deerskin straps like a flag --

And softly whacks Carrie’s tummy.
A tickle. A tease.

Carrie jerks with pleasure.
And again, crack -- on her shoulder.

Crack, on Carrie’s thigh.
She moans softly. Surprised.

Uhhh.
INT. CARRIE’S APARTMENT - LATER THAT MORNING
The fragile, subterranean croon of
David Bowie’s cover of GOD ONLY KNOWS over --

In the bedroom,
softly lit with a lone candle.
Carrie’s handcuffed to the bedposts.

In the same outfit.
But the dress is gone.

Laura kneels before her
on the foamy comforter.
Flogging Carrie gently.
Delicately.


And on each swirling
whissssk of the soft straps --
Carrie jerks with new pleasure.

Without the visual,
it sounds just like lovemaking.

Because it is.

Laura’s flogging quickens.
Softer. Closer. Deeper.

Carrie writhes. Moans.
Starts to reach climax --

Pause.

And she HOWLS AT THE MOON.
A carnal, animal bray.

SHRIEKS like a banshee virgin
finally finding release.

Starts crying, sobbing from so much.
Laura THROWS the flogger to the floor.

Reaches up.
Unfastens Carrie’s wrists.

Throws her arms around her.
Holds her there.

PUSH IN on their faces.
Simple. Pure. Perfect.