Squeezing a lingerie model-grade buttock, Quintilian growled against Victoria's lips, then took a matching, monogrammed silver hip flask from his coat pocket, his resolve weakened by his wicked, dipsomaniac, nymphomaniac wife.<br/><br/><strong>"My lips are sealed, except to your tongue and Zaffy's,"</strong>he smirked, grinning at his uniquely qualified Azeri maid and giving her a firm kiss and grope as well,<strong>"but I look forward to your enhanced interrogation techniques."</strong>He poured a generous swig of 30 year old Glenfarclas in his cup and Victoria's, then added a little tea. The sinfully alcoholic and expensive cuppa helped Quintilian wolf down his breakfast, and only years of practice saved his tie and shirt from merciless staining by egg and baked beans. Once breakfast was out of the way, their epic voyage could begin.<br/><br/><strong>"The plane should really be ready by now. Ladies, by your leave?"</strong>With an encouraging pat on their arses, Quintilian headed out towards the car, after asking an airport worker briefly and patronisingly for directions to their plane. Once he'd helped the ladies back into the Rolls with an approving glance up their skirts, an airport baggage buggy guided them to the plane.<br/><br/>(http://cdn-www.airliners.net/aviation-photos/middle/1/2/5/1674521.jpg)<br/><br/>They approached the plane from the front, and as the pilots saw them coming a long loading ramp lowered from the tail of the plane.<strong>"Welcome on board the flying garage,"</strong>Quintilian sighed with delight as he drove the car up the ramp and straight into the hold of his large private airliner. A clever system of wheelclamps locked the car in place at the push of a button, and Quintilian got out. A staircase led up to the flying palace's main deck. Before he headed up it, he secretively looked in a large steel locker bolted to the wall of the plane.<em>Parachutes? Check.</em><br/><br/><strong>"Follow me, Victoria, let's make sure they didn't cut corners on the crystal toilet seat,"</strong>the megalomaniac grinned as he ran loudly up the thick red carpeted steps. They led to a cocktail bar with leather sofas, fully fitted with seatbelts of course. There, two stewardesses awaited them.<strong>"Victoria, Zafirah, these are our air servants Lydia and Chloe. Feel free to get cheeky with them, but obey British Aviation Authority regulations,"</strong>he winked.<strong>"Mix us some G &amp; T's, we'll call for them in the hot tub. This way, my darlings." </strong><br/><br/>The bathroom was larger than the First Class lounge on the top floor of a jumbo jet, and had a large, tiled showering area with gold plated taps and shower heads. Beside the showers bubbled the hot tub, with a service button to poke the air servants with.<strong>"Here it is. Anyone fancy a dip, or would you two minxes like to give the bedroom a thorough inspection first?"</strong>Quintilian leered, taking off his coat and hanging it on a hook. There were three plush silk bath robes ready for their use, whose comfort made it worth looking like Hugh Hefner just to wear one.<strong>"Help me with my tie, darlings?"</strong>he chuckled, pulling off his jacket, then pulled Zaffy and Vicky into satisfied group snog. This was one hell of a new toy for them to play with.<br/><br/>