Femme Fatale Catfight

Lola Leigh, an evil, conniving, 33-year-old brunette murderess, is hiding out at a remote house, well outside the city limits, about to escape with a fortune in stolen money. Marilyn Hayworth, a feisty 29-year-old blonde private detective, has finally figured out the case after months of hard work. She's called the cops, who tell her to wait, but say that they won't be able to send anyone for another hour, because of an earlier call that tied up a lot of manpower. But the determined, independent-minded blonde PI isn't taking any chances that her quarry will slip away, and because she's much closer, she goes to the gun moll's hideaway despite the police instructions - just in time, as it turns out: Lola has the front door open and her car is in the driveway, engine running and door open. She's in the front room, about to close the suitcase full of stolen money, on the point of slipping away for good.

Marilyn rushes through the open door. Startled by her sudden last-moment arrival and recognizing the interfering blonde PI from her earlier snooping, Lola fumbles in her purse and pulls out her small automatic pistol. She's already killed two people for this money and knows that if she's arrested, it's a whole life sentence, or maybe even the death penalty. Reacting to the danger, the feisty blonde PI rushes forward and grabs Lola's wrist, forcing her arm up as she fires, shots hitting the ceiling. The two women struggle desperately for possession of the gun, Lola still firing, but the shots hitting the walls and ceiling, going wide as Marilyn keeps Lola's wrist held hard and tight in her hand, the gun moll screaming in rage, panic and frustration. As they stagger unsteadily around the room in their high-heeled shoes, struggling over the gun, their bare legs tangle and they fall heavily, Lola losing her grip on the gun, which slides across the wood floor.

The two women fight furiously and desperately, the blonde PI fighting for her life, the brunette femme fatale knowing it's a life of riches and luxury if she can get away, a life sentence - or worse - if she can't. They roll over and over on the wood floor, hitting, slapping, scratching, kicking, spitting, biting and pulling hair. Lola makes another desperate lunge for her gun, but Marilyn grabs her from behind, pulling the screaming girl crook back at the very last moment, arm coiled round her throat, just as the murderous brunette's fingertips were brushing the gun.

The two women's short satin slip dresses are ripped and torn, and their high heels come flying off as their sweaty bare legs tangle and kick, as the two women roll over and over on the floor, alongside and over the stolen money, which has spilled from the open suitcase - the struggling women having knocked it over as they rolled over and over. The foul-mouthed bad girl screams abuse at her blonde opponent and the two women claw at each other wildly, raking each other savagely with their nails and tearing at each other's flimsy dresses, which are ripped and torn to the extent that little is left to the imagination.

Now dressed in little more than panties, with a few strips of their dresses stuck to sweat-soaked bodies, Lola catches Marilyn with a lucky blow, stunning her momentarily. Sobbing with rage, she crawls towards her gun, her hand closing on it, turning to face her hated opponent. Realizing the danger, the blonde PI throws herself desperately at the girl crook, hand grabbing her wrist at the last moment, forcing the brunette's aim wide, then slamming her hand on the floor, twisting her wrist savagely, screaming at her to drop the gun. The gun fires twice more before clicking empty, just as Marilyn slams Lola's hand on the floor a final time, causing her to lose her grip on the now empty weapon, which slides away across the floor.

Panicking, Lola scrambles to her feet and runs for the open door, but Marilyn follows, determined that Lola shouldn't get away, and determined to bring her to justice herself. She closes the gap, dives full-length, wraps her arms round the girl crook's sweaty bare legs and tackles her down hard on the floor. The fight resumes, with both women rolling over and over on the wood floor in a sweaty tangle, hitting, slapping, scratching, choking, kicking, spitting, biting and pulling hair, Marilyn gasping with exertion, Lola sobbing with rage and panic.

After a life-or-death struggle lasting fully 30 minutes, the two women are soaked with perspiration, slipping and sliding off of each other, nearly exhausted. Finally, the feisty blonde PI rolls the brunette femme fatale onto her back, straddling the girl crook and sitting astride her, pinning her down. Lola bucks and kicks wildly, trying to throw off the blonde PI. Lola's sweaty bare legs are waving and kicking in the air, her eyes are wide in panic, and she's screaming abuse at the blonde PI. But Marilyn grabs the screaming girl crook by her sweat-soaked hair, pulls her up off the floor a little, draws back her other arm, balls her fist and then KOs the evil brunette with a savage punch that would make a championship boxer proud. The gun moll's head snaps back sharply and her eyes roll up, as Lola is knocked out, flat on her back, out cold, her limp body pinned under the exhausted-but-triumphant blonde PI.

Too exhausted to get up, and fearing she'd collapse across her unconscious foe if she tried, the victorious blonde PI continues to sit astride the beaten brunette, breathing hard, her sweaty bare breasts heaving as she slowly regains her breath, her heart pounding from the mix of exertion and adrenaline, knowing she came within seconds of death at the hands of the evil brunette.

After being unconscious for 20 minutes, Lola slowly comes round - dazed, confused, and still half out of it, blinking her eyes rapidly, trying to clear her head. As she slowly comes round, a look of utter despair comes over her face as she realizes her situation: flat on her back, with the feisty and determined blonde PI straddling her, sitting astride her to hold her down, and pinning her wrists hard and tight in her hands for good measure, even though Lola is utterly beaten and clearly not going anywhere.

Lola sobs and struggles weakly, bucking, trying to throw Marilyn off, her legs kicking weakly, bare feet slipping uselessly on the wood floor. But the blonde PI keeps the murdering girl crook firmly straddled and pinned under her sweaty body, glaring down at her defeated foe, her expression a mix of triumph and contempt. After a few more minutes they hear the siren of a police car in the distance, Lola feeling sick with fear as the siren gets louder and louder, then stops as the police arrive. A few moments later, two cops burst in, looking with astonishment at the scene in front of them: the feisty blonde PI has the defeated brunette crook straddled, pinned and helpless under her, utterly defeated. Down to just their panties and a few strips of their slip dresses, their scratched and bruised bodies are so sweaty that they look like oil wrestlers. Their hair is so matted with sweat that it looks like wet mops. All around them, scattered on the floor, is the evidence of the desperate life-or-death struggle: overturned furniture, strips of torn dresses, both women's high heeled shoes, the brunette's gun, the overturned suitcase, and millions in banknotes and bonds.

As the blonde PI explains the situation to the astonished cops, the groggy girl crook is sobbing her heart out, facing a life sentence or maybe the death penalty, as opposed to the life of luxury she was looking at before Marilyn disarmed and overpowered her, having arrived and apprehended Lola with less than a minute to spare - a few moments more and the evil femme fatale would have escaped forever, long before the police arrived.

If all had gone to plan, Lola would have had the money safely in the bank by now, and would have been in the bar of the luxury hotel she'd already booked. She would have been sipping champagne, and had planned to flirt with and seduce whatever young stud caught her eye: slowly crossing and uncrossing her legs, the skirt of her short, flimsy slip dress riding up, exposing her thighs and maybe revealing a brief flash of her panties, dangling a high-heeled shoe provocatively from a shapely bare foot. But all her plans have been undone and now she's lost everything - the life of riches and luxury, her freedom, and maybe even her life, depending on her sentencing. The arrogant, sultry brunette murderess had had her evening all planned out, and imagined it would end in a hotel bedroom, with her on her back, skirt round her waist and panties pulled aside and her legs dangling and kicking, up over the shoulders of some muscle hunk, high heels still on. But now she's flat on her back on the hard wood floor, straddled and pinned by another woman, her wrists pinned on the floor above her head, sweaty, scratched, bruised, hair and make-up ruined, her slip dress torn off and in shreds, her high heeled shoes on the floor halfway across the room.

The cops tell the blonde PI she can get off the defeated girl crook, and she gets up slowly, still a little unsteady on her feet through exhaustion, stumbling, placing a bare foot on Lola's stomach to steady herself before she steps away. The cops haul Lola roughly to her feet, read her her rights, twist her arms behind her back, and handcuff her, the cold metal digging into her slender wrists, making her wince in pain. She's led away by the cops, groggy, unsteady on her feet and still half out of it. Hair and make-up ruined, exhausted, sweaty, disheveled and barefoot, only shreds of her dress remain, and she's sobbing hysterically with rage and humiliation, not to mention fear about her fate. Marilyn smiles in triumph as her beaten foe is led away past her, their eyes meeting briefly before Lola looks away, unable to meet Marilyn's, gaze, knowing the blonde PI outsmarted her and then outfought her, despite the fact that Lola had a gun and Marilyn had been unarmed. Lola's body is trembling with fear and shaking with sobs of rage and frustration as she's led to the police car and put in the back seat, sobbing her heart out as she's driven away to her well-deserved fate, hands cuffed behind her back, head down, utterly and totally defeated by the better woman.