Chapter 14

It was the morning of Elizabeth's wedding and, as she sat on the edge of her bed, she felt none of the excitement that she had long anticipated she would. In fact, she wasn't sure if she wanted to marry Andrew at all anymore and certainly she didn't want to be rushed into this registry office farce! All her life she'd dreamed of a proper ceremony at Westminster Cathedral staring herself in the central role attired in a designer dress with a long train marrying her Prince Charming - but now she was close to tears.

Elizabeth's thoughts were interrupted by a brief knocking on her door, after which her mother bustled in with more than enough excitement for the entire family, eager to hustle her daughter along...

Stood in all her wedding finery at the front door of her house, Elizabeth waved goodbye to her mother before returning inside where her father, immaculate in his suit, sat reading a newspaper which, in celebration of the occasion, he actually put down as Elizabeth entered the room. Running his eyes up and down his daughter's elegant form, he smiled at her encouragingly. "It's a very pretty dress, pet," he said.

"It's shit!" she replied in a voice full of venom. "I wanted a traditional gown in white with a train and a veil, not a formal jacket and skirt set in cream. I look more like a guest than the bride! And you know what the bride wearing cream traditionally means?"

"No, darling, I don't," Philip answered wishing that Elizabeth would change the subject.

"It means that she's not a virgin!"

"Well, you're not, are you?" her father offered reasonably.

Elizabeth stamped her foot petulantly, "Oh, father!" she wailed and, seeing that he'd clearly said the wrong thing, he stood and moved towards her. Bursting into tears, she opened her arms and took him into a hug, burying her face into her chest.

An undemonstrative man by inclination, Philip felt distinctly uncomfortable having to deal with a crying woman even if she was his own daughter. "There, there," he muttered, returning her embrace. "Stop crying, you'll only make your mascara run..."

Still snivelling, Elizabeth did her best to follow her father's advice. Then she felt his right hand sliding down her back before coming to a rest on her buttock where it started to squeeze and fondle her gently. She knew full well that she should repulse his unseemly advances but she felt a need deep inside of her... and, besides, even at this last minute she hoped might just be able to win a reprieve for herself. Pulling her skirt up around her waist with both hands, Elizabeth gave her father an easy route to her panties and he eagerly slide them down her legs before slipping them off totally. Standing up again after being forced to kneel as he removed her underwear, he embraced her with one hand while fondling her now bare arse cheeks with the other. "We don't have long, daddy..." she reminded him huskily.

"You're right, Elizabeth," he smiled at her as he removed his hand from her buttock and, instead, used it to pull down his fly and to ease his cock out into the air. Flexing his knees slightly, Philip lowered himself to the correct height before slipping himself back into his daughter for only the second time in his life. This was never going to be slow and meaningful lovemaking, they both knew and accepted that; no, this was about raw passion and desire so, consequently, both participants simply began to hump each each other. Quickly settling into a rhythm and with her father holding her buttocks with both hands now, Elizabeth rode the roller-coaster of illicit and illegal sex, loving every moment of her father's perverted desires. Outside in the street, the bridal car honked its horn impatiently. "Hurry, father," she gasped as her own orgasm built quickly towards a climax.

"I'm hurrying," he spluttered as he increased his thrusting both in speed and intensity. With the car horn outside sounding for a second, more urgent, series of honking, both Philip and Elizabeth gasped and climaxed almost simultaneously, his fingernails racking furrows in the soft flesh of her arse.

Rushing now, Philip pulled himself out of his daughter while she frantically grabbed at a handful of tissues from a box laying on a sideboard beside the door and started to daub at herself. "Where'd you put my panties?" she asked urgently.

Looking about in a panic, her father shrugged his shoulders. "They're here somewhere," he flapped, dropping to his hands as he began a search under the furniture in the immediate area. The car horn was now sounding continuously with no beak in the dim.

Dropping the used tissues into the waste bin and pulling her skirt back into place, Elizabeth hurried towards the door. "Come on, dad!" she called back over her shoulder, "Forget them - no-one will be any the wiser..."

"Alright, alright," her father grumbled as he got back up to his feet before starting to follow her. "I'm coming!"

"You did that a few moments ago..." she reminded him with a grin.

"That I did," he agreed, "and when I get home I'll have to remember to find those panties before your mother does..."

Sitting astride the powerful motorcycle, its multi-cylinder engine burbling quietly beneath her, Mabel watched the small group waiting outside the Registry Office in Greenwich. The sun shone down on her causing her to perspire a little into the black leathers and full-face helmet that she wore. As the white Rolls-Royce swept silently to a halt at the kerb a few hundred yards ahead of her, Mabel dropped her heavily tinted visor into position before snicking her bike into first gear. As Mabel watched, a middle aged man who she assumed was Elizabeth's father hopped out of the offside passenger door, before walking swiftly around the car where he opened the second passenger exit. Mabel smiled for she was so pleased that Master Sam had told her all about the wedding arrangements for Elizabeth, an act that had allowed her to plan this piece of revenge upon her rival...

Dropping the clutch and twisting the throttle, Mabel set the bike into motion and accelerated quickly up the road just as Elizabeth clambered, smiling, out of the car. At the last possible moment, Mabel heeled the bike over and mounted the kerb, her bike's horn blaring and sending the assembled wedding guests scrambling for cover. But Mabel didn't care about them and her attention was focussed purely on Elizabeth whose face had now turned towards the oncoming bike, pure terror etched into her wide, staring eyes. As Mabel swept by, she thrust out a hand and grabbed hold of Elizabeth's wig, pulling the hairpiece away. Accelerating harder now, Mabel triumphantly zipped away, Elizabeth's 'hair' clutched tightly in her grip...

Recovering her composure slightly, Elizabeth watched the motorbike disappearing into the distance. She was vaguely aware of voices calling out to 'get the number' and other replying that the bike had no plate but none of that mattered to her since she well knew who the pilot was. All that concerned her now was that here she was at her wedding with her assembled friends and relatives as well as Andrew's family and a well paid photographer to capture the moment for prosperity and she was standing there as bald as a coot while everyone stared at her! Clamping both hands over her scalp, Elizabeth shot back into the wedding car before ordering the chauffeur, "Drive, just drive! Get me out of here!"

Knowing from the sound of the woman's voice that it would be most unwise to try to argue with her, the driver let out the clutch and pulled rapidly away from the registry office.

Elizabeth's mobile telephone started to ring a few moments later, which hardly surprised her. Fishing the instrument out of her handbag, she tearfully answered the call.

"Hello, darling, it's your mother," her mother's voice explained rather unnecessarily. "Are you alright?"