FATHER OF THE BRIDE - PT 1


Winston Michaels stood on the steps outside the church and checked 
his watch for the umpteenth time. Today was his daughter Tara's 
wedding and she was decidedly late. All the guests had been seated 
but his little girl and her bridesmaids were nowhere to be found. He 
had already called the limo company and been told that girls had been 
picked up over an hour ago. CEO of a large electronics corporation, 
Intelli-tech, Mr. Michaels was unused to waiting for anyone. People 
usually waited for him. He hated not being in control. The middle-
aged gentleman's frustrated pacing was suddenly interrupted by the 
shrill ring of his cell-phone.


"Winston Michaels here."

"Why good morning Mr. Michaels," replied a husky feminine voice. "Are 
you enjoying the wedding?"

"Who is this?" he demanded.

"This is the woman who kidnapped your daughter. And if you value her 
life you will be silent and listen."

"I'm listening."

"Good. If you follow my instructions to the letter we shouldn't have 
any problems. First start walking away from the church. Talk to 
nobody. Head north towards Elm Street."

"You must be crazy. I'm not going anywhere until I talk to my 
daughter."

"There is a payphone on the corner of Elm. The phone will ring in 
exactly 3 minutes. If you don't answer it you will never see your 
precious Tara again. If you hurry you just might make it."

"This is preposterous!"

"2 minutes and 45 seconds darling. You really ought to hurry."
The line went dead. Michaels turned and ran.

Victoria Fox smiled and hung up the princess phone in the back of her 
sleek, black, ultra-stretch limo. The luxury auto was huge, with 
plenty of room for Ms. Fox, her lovely assistant Nikita, and a pile 
of six unconscious females. The sleeping beauties, sprawled on the 
plush velvet seats, consisted of erstwhile young bride Tara Michaels 
and her five bridesmaids. Morgan, the `wedding photographer', was 
happily taking pictures of the KO'd cuties. 

"Do you know what you have to do Nikita?" asked the gorgeous modeling 
mogul turned femme fatale.

Nikita, a large-breasted, blonde adult model from the former 
Czechoslovakia, nodded her agreement. She looked absolutely edible in 
a cotton candy pink strapless latex dress, white thigh-highs, and 
strappy white sandals with 5-inch heels. The eastern European sex-pot 
had her long blonde hair pulled into pigtails, giving her a naughty, 
schoolgirl gone bad look. 

"Excellent, then you should be getting in position, he'll be here 
shortly."

The pouty young blonde slid out of the limo and crossed the street to 
a phone booth. She picked up the phone and waited. The wait was a 
short one, as moments later a gray-haired man in a black tuxedo 
rounded the corner. The game was on.

FATHER OF THE BRIDE - PT 2

Earlier that same morning…at the fabulously lavish Biltmore Hotel, 
where Tara Michaels and her five bridesmaids have spent the night 
before the wedding, the photographer arrives. However, instead of the 
expected Howie Finestein, it is an attractive young brunette who 
introduces herself as Morgan. Tara, spoiled rich brat that she is, 
throws an immediate fit.

"A replacement photographer? But Howie's the best, my wedding will be 
ruined!"

"I assure you Miss Michaels, that I am a very competent photographer. 
In fact, I have do fashion photography for some of the biggest 
magazines in the world. I've done layouts for Cathouse, Sex Kitten, 
and Saphos."

"Aren't those porno mags?" butted in Amanda Huggins, an annoyingly 
pretty blonde who was Tara's Maid-of-Honor.

"I prefer the term `erotic art'. Would you care to look at my 
portfolio?"

The girls all gathered around to look at the large leather-bound 
album. Inside there was an array of pictures of very beautiful women 
in various states of undress. Some were touching themselves. As they 
got deeper into the book, the pictures got more and more risqué. The 
wedding party was getting quite embarrassed, but also aroused by the 
sensual photography. There were nervous giggles at the bondage shots 
and squeals of `gross!' at the picture of the blonde with the 10-inch 
black dildo shoved up her ass, but nobody could say that the 
photographer who had taken these photos wasn't quite talented.

"Well, I guess she'll have to do," sighed Tara. "Besides, the 
hairstylists are due any minute and we have to start getting ready."

"Don't mind me, I'll just start taking some pictures," replied 
Morgan. 

The girls were all still in little silk dressing robes and remained 
like that whilst their hair and makeup was done. Morgan busied 
herself snapping the odd photo as a small army of stylists swarmed 
over the sextet of society snobs, primping and painting them for the 
big day. She made light conversation with the girls, complimenting 
them on their elaborate hairstyles. After what seemed an eternity, 
the beauticians were finally done with their special affects 
wizardry, and left so that the girls could get dressed. This was the 
part that Morgan had been waiting for. Miss Fox had been quite 
explicit in her orders; get as many pictures of the girls in their 
undies or, better yet, in the buff, as possible. She soon had her 
chance as the girls began slipping out of their robes with the casual 
comfort of longtime friends who were used to seeing each other naked.

"You're not still taking pictures are you?" asked Beth Michaels 
snottily. Beth was Tara's seventeen year-old sister and was even more 
spoiled than the bride, if that was possible.

"Of course not," lied the pretty picture-taker, holding her expensive 
camera aloft, as a half-dozen miniature spy cameras that she had been 
secretly placing about the room recorded every juicy second. 

Morgan had a sudden vision of young Beth, hogtied and hung from the ceiling, 
being fucked in all available orifices by nazi she-wolves wearing 
strap-ons. The thought brought a smile to her lips.

Morgan enjoyed the show while the babes began slipping into their 
delicate lingerie, which matched their dresses - the bridesmaids in 
chic modern black and the bride in spotless virginal white. They add 
real silk stockings, which they proceeded to attach to their garter 
belts and Tara added a cornflower-blue silk garter high up on her 
thigh. Some lucky gent was supposed to catch that later, but Morgan 
had a feeling that Miss Fox might end up with it instead. 

All too soon the panty-fest was over and the girls were in their 
dresses. As they all added long silk gloves to complete their 
outfits, Morgan couldn't help but think that, even though they were 
all spoiled bitches, at least they had a sense of glamour. She 
gathered up her mini-cameras, which had been transmitting a steady 
stream of images to a communications van parked outside, as 
stealthily as she had set them up. She then took her `real' camera 
back into her hands and went through the motions of taking the now 
fully dresses girls' pictures.

Presently, a hotel staff member came in and informed them that their 
limousine was waiting outside and the bridal party marched downstairs 
to their waiting chariot. They were crossing the lobby when Tara's 
cell phone rang. It was her mother. Apparently in all the confusion, 
her 14-year old brother had been left behind and the limo would have 
to pick him up. Tara complained, as she did about everything, but in 
the end poutily agreed. The limo driver, a gorgeous young Asian woman 
in tight-fitting black livery, waited patiently by the open rear 
door. The girls, jaded though they were, couldn't believe how 
splendid the car was. They piled in, not knowing that this was no 
mere rental, but Victoria Fox's custom built dream-machine.

Morgan gave the Korean cutie, Sung Lee, a wink as she followed them 
in. Soon they were comfortably on their way, the girls oohing and 
aahing at the car's many accoutrements. They picked up the boy and 
his sisters huffily relented to having a few pictures taken with him 
outside the limo. He was then banished to sitting up front with Sung 
Lee and they were off. There was a bottle of very good champagne 
chilling in an ice bucket and Morgan suggested a picture of the girls 
toasting. She popped the cork and filled a crystal flute for each of 
them. 

"Now," she said, "everybody squeeze in close and raise your glass." 

They all did, smiling beautifully.

"Great, now everybody drink."

They did this as well. 

"Excellent," she enthused once they had all drained their 
glasses. "Now smile and say sleepie-bye!"

She clicked away as the first girl, the bitchy Beth, collapsed across 
the seat, her empty glass dropping from her hand. The rest followed 
suit one by one, until only the bride was narrowly clinging to 
consciousness. She managed to toggle the intercom to the front.

"Driver," she gasped, "help me."

The partition glass slid down and a cloud of wisps of red gas escaped 
into the back. Her brother was slumped over against the door, fast 
asleep. The devious driver had dispelled a sleeping gas through the 
cars vents and into the unsuspecting lad's face.

"No help for you," replied sweet-faced Sung, "just sleep."

She was right, for the blonde bride swooned, joining her friends in a 
sleepy sprawl in the rear of the limo. 

The rear door of the limo opened and two more women climbed in. 
The first was Ms. Victoria Fox, wrapped in her trademark silver fox fur coat. 
Her long, straight blonde hair spilled over the fur's collar in golden waves. Her hands 
were encased in short, gray leather driving gloves and she carried a 
black cane. Another trademark, the ebony-wood walking stick was 
tipped in sterling silver. The head of the cane was silver as well, a 
delicately crafted fox-head. The femme fatale slid over to make room 
for her companion Nikita, the Eastern European blonde bombshell. Ms. 
Fox surveyed the collection of collapsed cuties with a smile. She 
picked up the empty champagne bottle.

"Dom Perignon 48'. A very good year… for sleep," she commented. 

Her Vixen, Morgan, giggled and took her picture.

"And who is that up front with you Sung Lee?"

"Little brother," she replied simply. "He's sleepy."

"Yes, I imagine he would be, the poor dear. Let's go add Daddy 
Warbucks to this touching family reunion."

FATHER OF THE BRIDE - PT 3

Winston Michaels had never run so fast in his life. His daughter 
meant the world to him, and nothing would happen to her. Not if he 
could help it. But as he turned onto Elm Street, red-faced and 
breathing heavily, he nearly panicked. There was a woman in the phone 
booth - his phone booth. Frantically, he banged on the glass.

"Miss, I need that phone right now!" he exclaimed. "This is an 
emergency."

The buxom blonde turned and nonchalantly opened the booth. 

"It's for you," she told him in heavily accented English as she held 
the phone out to him.

The confused businessman grabbed the phone and squeezed past the 
blonde as she slipped out of the booth. He turned his back to her and 
placed the receiver to his ear. Behind him Nikita quietly slid the 
door closed and leaned against it.

"Hello? Hello?" he shouted into the phone. "Is anyone there?"

The answer he got was not what he expected, as the mouthpiece of the 
phone expelled a cloud of yellow smoke into his face. The older man 
was already breathless and panting from his mad dash from the church, 
and he gasped when he breathed in the candy-sweet fumes. He 
immediately began to feel light-headed. It was some sort of sleeping 
gas! He dropped the phone, which continued to emit the knockout gas, 
and tried to get out the door, but the blonde was blocking his way. 
She stood there casually smoking a cigarette as he pounded feebly on 
the glass. His vision was blurred and his limbs had turned to water. 
Fighting to keep his eyes open he slid to the floor of the booth. He 
made one more useless attempt to escape before his body went limp and 
became still. The blonde glanced at him and signaled the limo.

Victoria Fox watched the scene unfold from her perch in the limo 
across the street. This was always her favorite part, the culmination 
of weeks of planning, resulting in a flawless abduction. She pulled a 
Davidoff cigar from the inside pocket of her fur and watched as 
Nikita handed the unsuspecting fool the phone. She ran the cigar 
under her nose, savoring the aroma of fine tobacco; as Nikita exited 
the phone booth right on cue. She produced a silver butane lighter 
and held it to the cigar as sleeping gas burst from the phone and 
into Mr. Michael's face. She slowly brought the cigar to life with 
deep puffs while watching the booth fill with yellow gas.

"Get the door please Sung Lee," she requested when the millionaire 
businessman fell to the ground.

Nikita signaled the all clear just as Ms. Fox extended a long silk-
stockinged leg and stepped from the car. She smiled sweetly at her 
attractive Asian aide and nodded to the driver of an ambulance that 
was parked immediately behind the limo, before crossing the street. 
The ambulance pulled around in front of the phone booth just as the 
fur-clad femme reached the door. Nikita stepped aside and let the 
folding door slide open allowing the pent-up gas to escape. She took 
an extravagant drag on her cigar and prodded her prey's limp body 
with the end of her cane.

"Perhaps we used too much sleepy-bye gas Nikita," she mused. "Oh 
well, live and learn."

Two buxom babes in white latex nurses outfits climbed out of the back 
of the ambulance bearing a stretcher. The two blondes were two thirds 
of a set of triplets named Ava and Zsa Zsa. Magda, the third sister, 
was driving the emergency vehicle. Their father had had a crush on 
the famous Gabor sisters. They quickly moved to the fallen man and 
began strapping him in. One of them fitted a clear plastic mask with 
tubes attached to it over his face. The tubes ran to a small metal 
tube affixed to the stretcher.

"I don't think the gas canister will be necessary ladies," their boss 
informed them. "That phone gave him enough to make him sleep till 
winter."

"Better safe than sorry," commented one of the lovely healthcare 
honeys.

"You can never get too much sleep," added her pretty partner. 

"Very well girls, I will defer to your professional medical opinions. 
Now let's get him loaded for delivery."

The devious duo hefted him with surprising strength and moved to the 
back of the ambulance. Just as they were dumping him inside, a rather 
nebbish looking young man with a slight build and glasses, came along 
walking his dog. Ms. Fox had selected this street precisely because 
it was very quiet, but of course no plan was foolproof.

"What's wrong with him?" the man asked nosily staring at the 
naughtily dressed nurses, while his small dog yapped annoyingly.

"He asked too many questions, like most men," declared Queen Victoria 
as she sauntered over, puffing on her cigar. She blew an ethereal 
cloud of blue smoke purposefully into his face.

"Smoking cigars is a nasty habit," he groused waving the smoke out of 
his eyes. "Can't you do that somewhere else?"

"I smoke where I want to my little man," she said blowing more smoke 
at him. "And I can tell by your childish attitude that you are over-
tired. My satiny smooth sleepy-smoke is just what you need."

The foolish male tried to back away, but was cut off by Nikita. His 
head was already swimming from the narcotic-laced smoke he had 
breathed. His tiny dog continued with its insistent yips. Victoria 
pointed her cane at the little mongrel.

"I'll get you my pretty," she quipped. "And your little dog too."

She unleashed a stream of green gas from the end of the cane. The 
little pup instantly ceased barking and collapsed to the ground with 
a low whine that quickly ended as well.

"Mr. Chippers!" moaned the man in despair. "Oh, what have you done?"

His protests ended when she redirected the stream of gas into his 
face. Nikita insured that he was well and truly asleep before letting 
him drop to the pavement. The nurses had climbed in behind their 
patient and shut the doors. The ambulance sped away and the limo took 
its place. Victoria offered her arm to Nikita and together they 
strolled to the limo, thanking Sung Lee for once again getting the 
door. Once they were comfortably seated the car took off to meet the 
ambulance at the rendezvous point.

FATHER OF THE BRIDE - EPILOGUE

The two vehicles pulled into a quiet underground parking garage. A 
black van waited in the shadows. A tiny Japanese woman in black 
leather got out of the passenger side door as the limo pulled up. 
Victoria got out to greet her.

"Hello Amiko," she said. "I have the first item on your boss' 
wishlist."

"Ms. Fox, punctual as always," bowed the petite girl. "Yamamotosan 
will be pleased."

She handed the much taller blonde a black suitcase.

"Please give Mr. Yamamoto my thanks."

She nodded towards the ambulance and it's back door quickly opened. 
Several Japanese men got out of the van and took possession of the 
unconscious Mr. Michaels. As soon as the transfer was made the 
ambulance once again sped away. Victoria was strolling back towards 
the open door of her luxurious limo when Amiko called after her. She 
had seen the bevy of beautiful babes lying in the back.

"What will you do with them?" she asked.

"Well I won't be able to keep them long," acknowledged 
Victoria. "Everyone will be looking for them tomorrow. But we'll have 
some fun tonight," she finished with a smile as she got in the car.

Amiko watched them drive away with a wistful look. Fun indeed.

The next morning, the sextant opened up St. Matthew's as he did every 
Sunday. This Sunday, however, was different. On the altar were six 
naked women, five in black gloves and one in white gloves. They were 
all sleeping peacefully with their limbs intertwined. As the 
disbelieving elderly man came closer he saw that they weren't alone. 
A young boy, as naked as the day he was born, laid among them a 
satisfied smile on his face.