The Sidewinder Caper - Sex Stories

The Sidewinder Caper

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 ...