At Heathrow the car went to Terminal Five and pulled up beside a small but ornate entrance, well away from the crowds of arriving and departing passengers at the front. Sharifa led the way in and they were whisked by the doorman into a lift and up several floors. There they were met by a Ground Hostess in a smart baby-blue uniform with a little matching cap and matched court shoes. Nicola noticed with some amusement that even her fingernails were painted with the same shade of nail varnish.

~Salaam aleikhum. Welcome Princess. Will you take refreshment?~ she asked in Kobekistani Arabic.

~No refreshments,~ Sharifa replied sharply in the same language, ~Cut out the Princess, Highness will do. Speak only in English as my friend does not know Arabic.~

"As your Highness wishes," the hostess continued, "This way please; I have reserved a table for you."

Sharifa ignored the woman and sat down at the nearest unoccupied table.

"We'll sit here," she said, handing the British Airways reserved sign to the Ground Hostess, "But is the aircraft not ready?"

"It is held up by Air Traffic Control, Highness," was the reply.

Nicola sat down, resigned to a wait before they could go any further. Then a problem occurred to her.

"What about our luggage?" she asked Sharifa.

"All taken care of, Highness," the Ground Hostess cut in before Sharifa could answer.

Giving the Hostess a sour look, Sharifa flipped her 'phone open and selected a quick dial on it.

~Controller,~ she snapped.

~Why are we still held on the ground at London?~ she asked moments later.

After listening for a few seconds she snarled, ~Well fix it. Now!~ and closed her 'phone.

"What was that?" asked Nicola, "and what is this room?"

She waved at their very luxurious surroundings, where the uniformed staff outnumbered the passengers.

"This is a departure lounge, and I was trying to hurry them up," her friend said.

"What about customs and passports and tickets?" Nicola asked, panicking as she realised she had left her passport at home in Cardiff.

"Not needed," was the enigmatic reply from Sharifa.

***

It was less than five minutes later that the Air Traffic Controller in Swanwick was asked by her boss, "Why are you holding a Purple flight on the ground at Heathrow? Didn't you know that Royalty have priority?"

"It's OK, boss," she replied cheerfully, "It's only an equipment positioning move, there is nobody flying on it."

"In that case, why is a Royal Princess having a hissy fit in the super-VIP lounge?"

"Oh, shit!"

***

The Ground Hostess rushed up to Sharifa and Nicola smiling broadly, "The flight has been cleared, Princess. Please follow me."

To Nicola's amazement Sharifa stayed where she was, and said, "I think I'll have a cup of coffee."

As the Ground Hostess walked away she could just be heard muttering, "Awkward bitch."

Sharifa's face became even more red with anger.

The Ground Hostess returned with the coffee, but Sharifa ignored it and ordered, "Take us to the aeroplane, now!"

Disapproval showed in every movement the woman made as she led the way to the flight gate. There she turned to leave them, but the Princess insisted that she should take them all the way to the actual aircraft. Shrugging, she did so with bad grace, and as they were greeted by the flight attendants she turned to go.

~I did not give you permission to leave us,~ said Sharifa, icily, ~You will come with us on the journey.~

~I'm sorry, Princess. I can't possibly do that,~ the woman replied, a note of fear entering her voice.

~You are a Kobekistani citizen are you not?~

The Ground Hostess nodded.

~Then you do as you are told, or my father will deal with you, and that would be far worse than my wrath,~ threatened the Princess.

The hapless woman went aboard the aircraft and the two girls followed her. They turned left, through a door while a flight attendant ushered the ground hostess elsewhere.

In the doorway, Nicola stopped, amazed. Instead of the rows of seats she had expected to see, there were four comfortable looking sofas, and some armchairs spread haphazardly round the large cabin. Somewhat incongruously there was also what looked like a vaulting horse to one side.

"What ...?" her voice tailed off as she realised she had no idea where to start asking the questions.

Sharifa took her hand and led her to one of the sofas and sat her down.

As soon as they were seated, Sharifa said, "Champagne," apparently to the empty air.

A few seconds later Nicola had another shock as an air hostess entered the cabin with a tray bearing two glasses, followed by a man carrying an ice bucket containing a bottle of champagne. It was not the speed of the service which shocked her, though that was remarkable, but the fact that the air hostess was nearly nude. To be sure she was wearing the same uniform cap as the Ground Hostess had worn, but that was almost all. The only other 'clothing' she wore was that her fingernails and toenails had been varnished in the same baby-blue as her cap. When she looked at the man, she saw that he was also as good as naked. True he wore trousers, but they were made of thin chiffon, and his genitalia could clearly be seen through the material. His finger and toenails had also been painted blue.

When Nicola could speak she asked Sharifa, "What is going on? Have I gone mad? Am I dreaming?"

"We are going for a quiet weekend away from it all, so relax and have some champagne."

By degrees, Nicola did relax, and the alcohol helped. An hour after take-off, they had had some delicious canapés, and had just started on the second bottle of champagne when a thought struck Nicola.

"How did you arrange this 'plane?

"The owner was not using it today, so I borrowed it," was the confusing reply.

"You borrowed an airliner?"

"More or less," replied her friend, "Look, how much do you know of my family?"

"Er, your father lives in one of the Gulf states, and I assume your mother does also. Not much more than that."

"We are going to Kobekistan to visit my mother and father at my home," said Sharifa carefully, "He has a lot of influence, so he arranged for this aeroplane to take us home and bring us back on Sunday."

"Oh," was all Nicola could manage. She had understood that borrowing a car was possible, even a Rolls-Royce if you knew someone who was a chauffeur to somebody rich, but the concept of borrowing an aeroplane was beyond her.

"What about the Ground Hostess?" Nicola giggled, "Didn't we kidnap her?"

"Oh, I'd forgotten her," said Sharifa; raising her voice a little she said, again apparently to the empty room, ~Bring the woman in.~

The Ground Hostess was led into the cabin, completely naked now and looking somewhat dishevelled.

Sharifa stared at her and then asked the steward who escorted her, ~Who has been using her?~

He looked shame-faced and Sharifa added, ~No matter.~

At her gesture, the steward fetched the vaulting horse to the middle of the cabin and the woman lay on it resignedly.

"Do I have to shackle you?" asked Sharifa, reverting to English.

Nicola detected pride in the woman's voice as she replied, "Princess, there is no need."

"What are you going to do?" asked Nicola.

"Punish her," was the brusque reply.

The steward produced a small whip and a horrified Nicola stood open mouthed as Sharifa raised her arm.

Whish ... THWACK!

A line of white flesh, rapidly turning red and then nearly black appeared across the woman's shoulders.

"Stop!" wailed Nicola, "What are you doing?"

Sharifa raised her arm again as she said, "I told you; punishing her for her rudeness to me at the airport. She should have known better, much better."

Whish ... THWACK!

A second stripe joined the first.

Whish ... THWACK!

And a third. Then Sharifa stood and watched her victim writhing a little as the pain of the three weals increased and merged into one burning mass. Nicola thought that this would be the end, but Sharifa raised her arm again.

Whish ... THWACK!

This blow landed across the buttocks of the unfortunate woman, leaving even more widespread damage.

Whish ... THWACK!

The next line of pain was close to the last one and parallel to it.

Whish ... THWACK!

A third parallel line joined the other two on the twitching buttocks.

"Do you want a go?" asked Sharifa.

Horrified, it was all Nicola could do to shake her head.

Sharifa sat down and took up her glass of champagne again. The woman and the steward left the cabin, after the steward had replaced the whipping bench at the side, out of the way.

"You were sensible not to whip her," said Sharifa, as though it were the most trivial of decisions, "If the lines cross, they have a nasty tendency to bleed, and that leaves permanent marks which lower the value. It takes practice to get it right."

"Lower the value? How can a person have value in that sense? You just assaulted that woman," replied her friend.

"Nicola, you need to understand, on this 'plane we are in Kobekistani territory and Kobekistani law applies. She was whipped for her rudeness, and that is what she expected to happen."

"Won't she be in trouble because you took her from the airport? Won't we be in trouble?""

"To answer both questions, no. I took her because I had the power to do so, and working outside Kobekistan is a great privilege, for a woman especially, so she lost her job when she was rude to me; I am simply returning her to her owners. Now let us leave this distasteful matter out of the conversation."

She sipped at her champagne and looked at Nicola, defying her to talk about it further.