Orlando eased back on the yoke, cut thrust, and the sleek Gulfstream jet settled gently onto the runway of the King Khalid International Airport in Riyadh.

"Hey! Wake up, beautiful!" he said, leaning across the thrust console and giving Indri a gentle nudge. He braked seconds after touchdown, steered towards the apron, and cut across a taxiway, heading for a private hanger on the outskirts of the busy Middle Eastern airport.

"We there?" she murmured, rousing herself from an inflight nap. Indri lifted the headphones off her ears, tousling her auburn curls, and shifted her hips in the co-pilot's seat to straighten up. She'd fallen asleep to the strains of Aram Khachaturian's Gayane Ballet Suite over the private jet's sound-system, with an open book of Carlos Castaneda's Journey to Ixtlan splayed across her lap. She had almost finished reading it, as the luxurious aircraft had crossed the Mediterranean on its final leg from Mykonos, where the last girl had been picked up.

As she pulled her seat-back upright, she felt the last trickle of Orlando's semen ooze from her wet slit and soak into her silk panties. She and a couple of the other models aboard the Prince's private jet had availed themselves of the Prince's private pilot's privates, to become initiated into the mile-high club en route. Indri had been the first model picked up on the international flight, and the last one to be fucked. Orlando Falconi had gotten to know her pretty well, as just the two of them had the plane to themselves over the long trans-Atlantic stretch. The rest of the girls had just been fuck-toys, mile-high quickies, as the plane had jumped from airport to airport around Europe, picking up gorgeous girls headed for the Prince's bed.

Prince Neyaf, one of the many royal grandsons of King Abdulaziz had a weakness for indulging in grand sex-parties with the world's most beautiful women, and it was an indulgence he could well afford. Most of the women he sought were top-models, or jet-setters who used their exceptional beauty to gain favors from the world's richest men. While not directly in line for the throne, the Prince was nonetheless royal blood, and shared handsomely, if indulgently in the profits from his family's vast oil holdings.

Indri had made a name for herself as a rising Victoria's Secret lingerie model, and had attracted the attention of the young Prince on one of his clandestine visits to New York, when they had been introduced at the party of a hedge-fund manager who lived on the Upper East Side. She hadn't fucked the Prince on that occasion, but she had certainly made a strong impression on the swarthy royal, as well as a number of other billionaires who were in attendance, from the moment she made her entrance, wearing a see-through Versace gown, sans bra.

The plane rolled to a stop outside a flood-lit hanger, and the cabin door swung open to a couple of Bentleys, parked just beyond a red carpet leading up to the executive jet. As the twin engines mounted on the plane's tapered empennage whirred down to silence, six girls wobbled down the foot-lit steps in their heels. Two limo-drivers were holding doors open, waiting on the warm evening tarmac to transport them to one of the royal family's palatial compounds for their indefinite stay. As the other girls exited the plane, Indri wheeled around in her four-inch spikes, and returned Orlando's kiss before leaving the cockpit door. He gave her a small Burberry case, handing it over almost reverentially, and asked her if she had memorized the detailed time-table for the plan.

"Of course!" she smiled, and as the door to the flight-deck opened onto the now-empty cabin, she talked freely to the young, handsome pilot, "...but why did you pick me?"

"It's really quite simple," he began, and as they walked together out the hatch and down the stairs, a closed-circuit camera zoomed in on them from the corner of the hanger.

"Who's the cunt talking to the 'Sidewinder'?" asked Duran, watching the closed-circuit monitor at the other end of the remote feed.

"That's His Majesty's new toy. Some underpants-model from New York," replied Selvaski, Duran's fellow Academi employee. They both worked for the private security contractor engaged to protect the royal family and the palace compound. From the control center on the estate grounds, they could monitor the mansion, the airport, and all the other facilities controlled by the royal family.

"How'd he get that handle anyway?" Duran asked in passing.

"In Iraq. The approach to Baghdad airport required a corkscrew descent over protected airspace to avoid missile fire from insurgents around the perimeter. He took the maneuver to the extreme, usually banking heavy jets over sixty degrees on his spirals - scared the shit out of most of the visiting brass and Washington dignitaries, but he never took a hit, and picked up the nickname in the process. The guy's a real alpha. Takes everything to extremes no one else can pull off. The guy's a natural!"

"Tell me we get to strip-search those babes in the limo when they get here!" Duran drooled.

"They're way outta your league, sonny!" Selvaski snorted.

The Bentleys passed through security at the main gate of the compound, and pulled up to the front entrance of the mansion. The girls were escorted to their private suites on the second floor. Indri was new to the routine, but some of the models had made the trip before, and on the ride from the airport, they had told her what to expect. The girls were there as playthings for the Prince and his guests - expensive playthings! These were some of the most beautiful women in the world, and as models, were well-known in the industry, earning fortunes posing for layouts, magazine covers, and doing runway work for many of the largest fashion houses.

Money was no object for the magnates of the Middle Eastern oil cartels, however. They could afford to compensate them beyond the dreams of mere call-girls. These were courtesans of royalty - both blood and financial variety. They often returned home with hundreds of thousands of dollars transferred into their personal bank accounts, depending upon how unobtainable they were perceived by mere mortal men. The Prince prided himself on bedding super-models. It was a point of honor few men could aspire to, and these women knew their bodies were their tickets to wealth. This gig was just big coin, for a future when they were no longer so young and beautiful.

Their bags were brought up, but none of the women had bothered to pack much. They would be given shopping excursions around the best outlets in Riyadh, which were opened for their personal use whenever the proprietors received orders from the Prince's people. Nepotism ran deep around the ruling house, and you paid to play in the Saudi capital. Indri was provided with a personal staff to tend to her every need, want, and desire. Her dresser was an attractive Arab girl in her early twenties, the daughter of a vassal family indentured to the Royal House.

"Thank-you, Amani. How long have you been working here in the palace?" Indri asked the pretty, young girl, as she laid out the dress she had just un-packed.

"I have worked here since I was nine, Miss. My grandfather owed a debt to the Royal Family, and all my sisters and brothers are required to serve at the pleasure of the ruling house, as were my father and uncles."

Indri picked up the Dolce & Gabbana dress and held it up to the young girl, whom she was quite sure could never dream of affording such a dress, working as she did, a virtual slave.

"See if this will fit you, Amani." The dark-eyed girl looked at Indri with a stunned look and shook her head, as if it were not allowed. But she looked at the dress admiringly, nonetheless.

"Memsaab?"

"Please! I would like you to have it." Subdued, the girl lowered her eyes, but after a moment, looked up again with an expression of renewed hope. Indri handed the girl the dress with a kindly look, and she received it hesitantly, but held it to her body closely, turning to admire herself in the mirror.

"You are spoiling my servants!" chided the Prince, who startled them both, as he stood with a bemused look on his face in the vestibule of Indri's apartments. "It is alright, girl. Take the dress. You may leave." Amani rushed out with a nod to the Prince, and closed the door behind her.

"That was a great kindness. She will serve you well, now!" the Royal Prince observed.

"So may I serve you, your Highness." Indri smiled, thankful that he had allowed the girl to keep the dress. She admired his confident manner as he approached her.

"When I first saw you that night in New York, I told my brother Saud that you had the look of a Princess, and he agreed. I am afraid we played a little trick on you that night in Manhattan. You see, my brother and I are twins. You met us both that night, perhaps not realizing it. When I went to get you that drink, it was my brother who brought it back to you. I wanted him to meet you, so I told him of our conversation, and he continued our chat in my place. A harmless deception I have come to use unnecessarily and too often, I'm afraid, but yet, still necessary at times. My needs have become... somewhat complex in recent years. Having a double can be very convenient.

"You are... incredibly beautiful, my dear."

The Prince took her hand and kissed it, and looked into her silver-gray eyes intensely. He held her hand intimately, kneading her fingers with his, rubbing her palm gently. She felt the desire in the way he touched her, and she wondered if he intended to consummate their arrangement this very moment. She was used to being around powerful men who never hesitated to take what they wanted, and nothing they did ever surprised her.

"I am Saud, my jewel. Truly!" he said with a sly wink, "My brother desires your company. Please come to his suite around the other side of the stairwell at eight." With that, he released her, and retired from her suite with a polite nod.

Indri stood there, perplexed at the game.

She wondered if she had somehow involved herself in an intrigue beyond even what she had prepared herself for. On the flight over, Orlando had shared many stories of the Royal House, and warned her of what lay ahead of her. If she was shocked at the revelations, she tried not to show it, for the 'Sidewinder' was a man so audaciously confident in his abilities, that the surprising plan he had confided, and ultimately enlisted her aid to execute, seemed flawless. And yet... the House of Saud had out-maneuvered the authorities of both the French and American governments combined for over a decade.

She wondered what type of soirée the Prince was hosting this evening. Were all the other girls on the guest-list as well? She had participated in orgies before. Men of means often fancied them, and as an aspiring model, she had done many things that were expected of her in the rarefied circles in which she needed to habituate for the advancement of her career. She chose a revealing Garavani dress, and laid it out before taking a shower. She felt very alone, and called Amani on the intercom, needing her more for company than assistance.
 
The young girl quickly appeared, wearing the beautiful dress she had given her. Indri smiled, for she looked stunningly sexy in it. Amani gave her a hug and thanked her again, then hesitated, but reached up and kissed her, surprising herself with her boldness. Somehow, she felt Indri was more approachable than others she was used to serving in the palace. Indri looked at her in the dress, and noted how it barely covered her ample breasts, which were nearly a full cup bigger than her own. She reached down and adjusted the bodice, so the girl's boobs were not quite so constrained, and the casual familiarity emboldened the girl even further.

Amani reached up and kissed her again, but this time, Indri took the girl's mouth to her lips, and held her, while her tongue played upon the curve of her upper lip. The young girl parted her lips and welcomed her into her mouth. The two beauties from different cultures held onto the moment, as if each needed someone to trust with such genuine intimacy, so seldom experienced with the people each was accustomed to being with. The kiss dissolved their respective stations in life, and they were just two girls sharing their bodies, and no small piece of their souls. Indri kicked off her heels as their tongues parted, and she took the pretty, young girl by the hand and led her to the bathroom.

They helped each other out of their tight dresses, and removed their panties. Indri reached into the shower and adjusted the water, then pulled Amani into the marble-walled enclosure with her. They closed themselves into a steamy world all their own, and through the foggy glass, their nude bodies bounced and rubbed each other, as they playfully shared their sensual ablutions. Indri, being taller, bobbed around on the balls of her feet, circling Amani and soaping her up with her hands, then getting out of the way, so the shower-spray could dance over her new friend's body. Their breasts bounced together, then pressed close as they kissed and played their fingers around each others soft, wet curves.

Selvaski nervously looked at his watch again, and hoped Falconi's instincts in trusting the girl were justified. She had one task to perform, and she had to have it done in a certain time-frame, or they were all in trouble. He scanned monitors all around the grounds of the palace, and called Duran on his shoulder-mic, sending him to the far side of the perimeter, knowing that the local crowd of hangers-on which congregated near the gate on that side of the compound would keep him engaged in idle conversation for a good while. He switched to the remote camera-feed from the airport and saw the Gulfstream G-650 jet being checked over and re-fueled by the ground-crew. The 'Sidewinder' would be filing a bogus flight-plan with the tower about now.

Prince Saud left his brother Neyaf for the night after going over the usual instructions to his brother's bodyguards. The French judicial police were known to occasionally have agents embedded around the compound, watching the traffic leaving and arriving when they received intelligence that Prince Neyaf might be attempting to travel abroad, disguised as his twin brother. Neyaf couldn't be legally extradited, so the French government's only recourse was to catch him 'en transit', where the Royal Family couldn't shield him from arrest. After being caught in 1999, smuggling two tons of cocaine into Paris aboard the royal family's jet from Columbia, the Prince had been tried in absentia, but had escaped under diplomatic immunity back to the protection of the closed Saudi Kingdom. He was virtually unreachable, ...at least by the French government.

Indri was enjoying an early dinner between Amani's thighs, after they had spent nearly an hour of foreplay in the shower together, but it was getting time for her to get ready for her date with the Prince. Amani had been the recipient of several incredible orgasms from one of the most beautiful models in the world, but they brought their sweet lovemaking to a close, so she could get ready to go have sex with the convicted felon who had bought her for the evening. After another quick shower together, Amani repaired to her quarters, and Indri dried her hair and applied her make-up. She needed to be especially seductive tonight - so alluring that even if the other girls were there distracting him, she would get the Prince alone with her for the remainder of the evening.

She needn't have worried. When she arrived at Neyaf's royal apartments, they were alone. The Prince, as Falconi had suspected, wanted Indri all to himself. She was the prize of prizes, and he savored her beyond all women that evening. They dined together on a meal fit for royalty, but Indri ate lightly, as Neyaf regaled her with royal charm, confidant that this world-class beauty's legs would be splayed open for him before the night was over. Indri was the consummate actress, playing into his seductions like an innocent fawn, but after hearing the 'Sidewinder's' revelations of this drug-smuggler's past, all she could think about was the moment when the contents of her Burberry catch-purse could be introduced into his drink.

Indri wanted to find an opportunity to dispatch her potent sedative before the moment came when she was engaged in intercourse, but she knew it was first necessary to put 'His Highness' completely at ease. To play out her assigned role in this high-stakes caper, she was prepared to invest a little skin in the game. For a payoff as big as this scheme promised to yield, money didn't just talk, it shouted, and she had fucked other men for much less. The servers brought in after-dinner apéritifs before they were dismissed for the evening. The bodyguards outside the royal apartments were dismissed as well.

She had a plane to catch, so Indri took the initiative. She stood up, walked around the table, and pulling the straps of her Garavani original off her perfectly tanned shoulders, she let the five-thousand dollar dress fall to the marble floor. The Prince took a last gulp of champagne, and sat back in awe of her priceless beauty, unveiled at last. She was twenty-five, and at her flawless peak! Her auburn hair cascaded in shining waves past her shoulders. She stood like a goddess in nothing but her Christian Louboutin heels. Her perfectly sculpted five-foot-eight body, an incomparable work of art - his for the taking.

And he took her with gusto! He rose in front of her, admiring her from head to toe. Her bare, C-cup breasts defied gravity, standing firmly uplifted, with pale, puffy aureola, and pebble-hard nipples. He took them in his hands and caressed them as he kissed her. She had never been kissed by a man with a full beard before, and as he dropped to her breasts, taking her nipples in his mouth, she tried to suppress a giggle. He led her by the hand to the bedroom, and quickly removed his clothes. She took his swelling cock in her mouth, and deftly pulled him fully erect with her sweeping tongue.

With aggressiveness that surprised him, she pushed him back and mounted him, plunging his short, fat cock inside her until her pubic bone ground down on his. Each thrust into her womb would cost him tens of thousands of dollars, she reminded herself, adding up to millions before the night was over. Their extortion would be simple. Once they had the bastard in the air, a radio message would be sent to the Royal Family. Transfer a hundred million dollars into their Swiss bank account, or the 'Sidewinder' would fly him straight to the French authorities - a fate they had already invested millions in avoiding. They would pay.

She smiled down at him as she ground his meat around inside her. She even worked herself into an orgasm, though she wasn't sure the impetus was from the physical sensations or the thought of all the royal petro-dollars which would soon be flooding her account. She had been the missing piece in the puzzle, and Orlando had cut her in handsomely, for she was the only way to get to him. She didn't know whether her Burberry case contained chloral-hydrate, or a more exotic drug, but it would do the trick, once she got it in his drink. When he was out, she would call her contact in security, and he would be up in minutes with a laundry cart.

She rolled her hips on his stiff cock, dragging it in and out of her wet tunnel, squeezing her pussy-walls down and compressing his cock inside her, as she came, again and again. The Prince was shocked at her aggressive sexuality, but couldn't contain his excitement, as he exploded inside her with convulsive spasms. She let him squeeze out the last streamers of his seed inside her, then fell back, drenched with sweat, between his legs. The Prince was gasping, and out of breath, smug in his satisfaction at having fucked yet another of the world's most beautiful women.

"Sweetheart, could you get me a drink?" he smiled.