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.