Jasmine's Last Wish (1/2)

This is a sequel to Imperator Mentus' story, "Aladdin's Last Wish" - where one or two slightly divergent decisions by the characters spin the tale in a radically new direction. (It can be found on Fictionmania.tv or Storiesonline.net. Reading it is not strictly necessary to follow this story, but it does build on that foundation.)

While of - ahem - a different tone than the original, I felt that Imperator did a good job of making the characters recognizably themselves, even if responding to drastically altered circumstances. (If you feel his portrayal is too out-of-character for Jafar, I suggest you look up the deleted song, "Humiliate The Boy", and check out the associated storyboards.)

The story is complete on its own, certainly.

And yet. Sometimes I come across an idea and just... see the consequences. (Well, if he did that, then obviously they would respond like so, and then of course...) Scenes and dialogue and plot points kept appearing, uninvited. Sometimes a story - well, it doesn't write itself, but...

Don't blame Imperator for this. It's my fault.

Light. Dawn. Time to rise, scrounge for food. Except... this was not an alleyway! It was a bed. Soft, silken sheets. And... someone else was in this bed, too? Snuggled close?

Eyes flying open, a bearded face presented itself. Jafar! And just beyond him, Jasmine!

Limbs froze, breath hitched. Everything was confusion. How to explain this insanity? How did I end up in bed with her? My...

Bewilderment. A tangled complex of emotions: ...love? rival?!

Just as incomprehensible, if not more so, were the feelings sparked by Jafar. My enemy, my...

Total paralysis, mental and physical: ...Master?!

Then, the disorientation somehow climbed to even further heights. Pressed up between them were sizeable breasts. They certainly weren't attached to Jafar. A simple but stupefying question presented itself: Who am I?

Two names came to mind at once: Aladdin. Alana.

The name he had held all his life. And the name that she somehow accepted just as deeply. Who am I? a soul wailed.

Memories of the lamp arose, and Genie. Escaping the Cave of Wonders scarcely three days ago. Wishing to be a prince. 'Wishing' to save his life from drowning. And, just last evening, wishing to be a beautiful woman...

And then, memories of what had happened after that. Submitting to Jafar, with body and mind. Pleasuring him by mouth, and so much more. Witnessing Jafar's hands roaming across Jasmine's flesh. Memories of humiliation and shame, somehow mixed with pleasure and satisfaction.

The upheaval inside raged, balanced on the cusp. It might have gone either way - Aladdin or Alana - had Jasmine not just then opened her eyes, blinked, and smiled.

It was not at all the joyous, loving smile Aladdin had thrilled to see since their carpet ride. This smile was malicious, triumphantly vengeful - the one that had been directed at Alana all last night.

Under that contemptuous gaze, she instinctively pulled closer to her Master, causing him to stir.

Jafar blinked awake. Who - well, this was a comely one! He felt other feminine arms from behind, and memory flooded.

Jafar was impressed - amazed, in fact. His plan had been risky. The staff was powerful - yet also maddeningly limited. It could bend and twist a mind only so far. Pushing beyond that, the spell would snap, not the mind. Even the feeble Sultan had resisted the idea of letting Jafar wed his daughter.

The key had always been tying suggestions to strong emotions already present. Using the staff, he had taken ruthless advantage of the princess' deep-seated resentment of being manipulated, and her newfound infatuation with the street rat. Planting doubts pitted the one against the other, stirring her to anxious volatility, undermining her normal stubbornness. Then, once 'Prince Ali' was revealed as a liar - no matter that it was an understandable lie - her fury at the 'betrayal' had left her defenseless. A lit cannon he need only aim. She had always been impulsive and impetuous; it was almost hilarious how eager she became to carry out the 'revenge' he'd proposed.

Likewise with the street rat. Had Jafar tried to ensnare him, he would have fought off the staff's influence in a trice. But in Jasmine's hands... the vexing boy had been helpless. Trusting her unreservedly, his own infatuation leaving him unresisting until it was far too late.

Enspelled, the 'prince' had used the lamp and wished to become a beautiful woman. And then, after a few more sessions with the staff, Jasmine - unconsciously following his directions - had prepared the new harem girl to be eager and obedient when presented to Jafar.

The results last night had exceeded expectations. Thanks to the genie, she was indisputably beauteous, ravishing. And thanks to the staff, disposed to please her new 'master'.

And not long after that, more than 'disposed'. So inexperienced, so... innocent; the street rat had never bedded a woman. Her responses had followed the channels laid down beforehand by the staff. The pleasures he had forced upon her had - in all senses - unmanned her.

The staff's effects had a tendency to fade with time, however. He was not surprised at the confusion and distress in his new slave's eyes. The changes wrought had been enormous and wrenching, well beyond any he'd attempted before. And it had been many hours since Alana's eyes had last been captured by the gaze of the serpent.

For the staff's suggestions to become truly fixed in the mind, new behavior had to be repeated, reinforced. Usually that meant subsequent applications of the staff - especially since Jafar's suggestions were seldom in anyone's interest but his own.

If the commands were rewarded, on the other hand... a victim might not need any further encouragement, and new habits of thought could take on a life of their own.

Jafar considered all this in scant moments, even as he fully awoke, and decided the correct path at once. He would compel the sort of behavior he wanted from her, and without delay. Which entailed some risk; the 'snapping point' might be reached, rebellion might finally spark.

Should he need to use the staff again and again, so be it. If a suggestion was accepted but once, even the strongest will could be worn down by sheer repetition and brute force. The girl's fate was sealed now, there was no escape for her. Sooner or later, she would be his eager slave.

Were it possible, though, he would prefer to avoid lengthy and tedious retraining. And such brutal, extended indoctrination had a tendency to dull and damage the mind. He sensed the potential for a lively bedmate, not a placid cow. Quick-wittedness was a large part of how he had risen to power. Bold steps had carried him this far - he decided to continue as he'd begun. If this worked... at a stroke, it would skip past a great deal of struggle.

Alana saw awareness, then consideration, fill the eyes of the man she still - inexplicably - could only think of as her Master. "Kiss me, little mouse," he commanded.

"Little mouse! Little mouse!" cried Jafar's bird, perched on the back of a chair on the other side of the room. The vizier flashed him a quelling glare. "Hush, Iago," he said, then turned his stern gaze back to the girl.

Alana quailed. But she complied - she was Jafar's harem girl. She could not think why that was so, but she knew it was true nonetheless. Jafar's tongue, sour in the morning, slipped into her mouth. His hand clamped possessively onto her bottom, and pulled her close. She felt horrified, yet somehow could not bring herself to resist. In fact, resistance felt wrong. A harem slave rejoices in being submissive. The thought rose unbidden, full of strange import.

The vizier's hand slipped around her thigh and plunged between her legs. She squeaked, but could make no other noise with Jafar's face pressed to hers. She wasn't rejoicing, exactly, but submitting felt... good. A harem slave exults in pleasing her master. Another thought that felt leaden, ponderous - and seemed to make her body warmer. Her lips and tongue began to work more passionately...

Jafar wanted to chortle with glee. It was working! Alana's own flesh provided the requisite encouragement, rewarding her submission with pleasure. But this was still a juggling act, a two-front war. He broke off for a moment, glanced over his shoulder at Jasmine. "See, princess. This is how a slave should greet her Master in the morning."

Jasmine's smile still looked so out-of-place on that sweet face. Smug and cruel... no, vindictive. It made Alana feel small. And guilty.

The princess came fully awake in the heady rush of righteous anger avenged. 'Prince Ali' - hah! A liar. Just like all the other suitors, treating her like a child, her feelings just a tool to be manipulated. Worse than the rest, with even his royalty as false as his affection.

Now that 'prince' was brought as low as could be. A harem girl, a slave, captive to the crude desires of the man who had exposed his treachery. Before her eyes, Jafar's long fingers exposed more - the girl's ample breasts. He groped them while he forced his tongue into her mouth.

He had proposed the test - tell 'Ali' that she and the vizier would wed. In his distress, capture his eyes with the staff - and discover if he spoke truly.

Had Ali but proven honest, all would have been well. Instead, he was revealed as a sham. So she remade him as he deserved, and would wed the advisor who had proven his perceptiveness.

Wait... the connection there was elusive. Because Ali had lied, she was resolved to marry Jafar. That was true... but she couldn't quite remember why. It would spite Alana, of course, but...

"Come, Jasmine. Surely a princess can do better than a mere slave?"

Her thoughts interrupted, she stared for a moment at the vizier, then grasped his intent. A kissing challenge. A flicker of a look to Alana, then she mustered a smile and leaned forward.

Jasmine did not need to see the girl; this close, she felt Alana tense up as she kissed Jafar deeply. You thought to kiss me? Watch another do what you will never get to do again! The vizier's tongue was a small price to pay for such indignation and grief in the false suitor.

Jafar took a few minutes to enjoy his other victory. The princess' rage had left her vulnerable to the staff. She now accepted him as betrothed, and treated him as such. He had lusted over her flesh for some time now, and she would allow him quite liberal contact with that flesh.

True, not unlimited contact; kisses and gropes were all he dared, at present. And she only allowed this in order to torment 'Ali' all the more, not out of any ardor for him. But once the wedding had been accomplished, her motivations would no longer matter. She would treat him as a wife was duty-bound to... one way or another.

Jafar ran fingers along Jasmine's crotch. The princess' movements slowed, but he was already pulling away. "I have had a night's rest, and I believe I am ready to teach our little mouse a new trick." He nodded at the bureau next to the bed. "Princess, would you be so kind as to fetch that bottle?"

While she did so, he turned back to the slave girl. "The genie has given you many wondrous things. Long lovely locks, delicious lips in a precious face. Your waist would be the envy of many a girl, your hips are delightfully rounded, and your legs twin graceful pillars." Alana blushed, oddly happy at the words. I adore being pretty and alluring. Another thought with unaccountable certitude. "A marvelous collection, and I have explored much of it." Her face reddened even further, recalling how completely he had taken her the night before.

He leaned forward. "But your mountainous bosom is a wonder among wonders. And it is time for me mount an expedition, to properly survey those peaks." His tongue traveled in circles on a nipple, driving a moan from between her lips. Delicious lips, Master said so... She could not think of him as anything but Master now. Nor could she even conceive of resisting him, rebellion forgotten. She offered her other breast to his tongue with joyous compliance.

He stood, and bade her kneel on the bed. With polite thanks, he took the bottle from a sneering Jasmine. He ordered Alana to hold out her hands. He poured oil into them and commanded her to anoint her bosom.

She worked the oil over her chest. Jafar whispered something to Jasmine. Despite the eyes upon her, Alana couldn't help lingering for a few moments on those strange nubs that stuck out. The ones her Master had awoken with his tongue. Strange... but pleasurably responsive, and somehow connected to the other pleasurable spot below, stirring it further.

Despite those eyes - and because of them. Jafar's, at least. She had her Master's attention, and her embarrassed indulgence seemed to please him greatly. A harem slave exults in pleasing her master. The thought echoed compellingly in her head... and memories of last night confirmed it for a fact.

The memories themselves were compelling, too...

They entered the bedroom with a bit of stumbling. Jafar found it difficult to navigate with two beautiful women clinging to him, competing for his affections. As problems went, it was an excellent one to have.

The setting sun shone through the window. Perched on the sill was Jafar's parrot. "How was your day? How was your day?" it cawed harshly. Both Jasmine and Alana sensed an uncanny amusement in its tone.

"I would say it's gone... rather well," he said, maliciously. Suddenly he pulled Alana close, hand digging into her bottom. A slobbering kiss on her lips, too quick for her coiled emotions to sort themselves.

Alana felt as if she were in a dream. Scant minutes ago, she had presented her bosom for Jafar's manhandling. As she shared his lap with Jasmine on the Sultan's throne, both fighting to arouse him more. And just before... her mind shied away from that memory. Surely none of this was possible. But, then - was Genie, the Cave of Wonders, and all the rest a dream, too?

Jafar had turned to bestow an equally assertive kiss upon Jasmine. Then he broke away, stepping back and laughing gently. "Rather well indeed." He drank in both girls, each holding one of his hands, staring at him with a heady mix of apprehension and resolve.

"Jafar?" the princess said, producing a small, unassuming lamp. "What should I do with this?"

He controlled his first reaction to snatch it from her hands, and instead waved toward a table in the corner. "Place it there," he said, striving to sound casual. It took a supreme act of will to put the lamp aside for the moment. He had pursued it for over a decade, ever since his research had turned up the existence of the Cave of Wonders. The power to reshape reality itself, but three steps away...

It could not be said to be easy. And yet, it proved less difficult than he would have thought. After all, he had another victory to savor. One that still demanded attention to fully secure. So he focused on the two gorgeous young women at hand. Literally at hand, to his satisfaction.

Alana felt a chill as Master turned his attention to her. "That is a very... appropriate outfit," he drawled. She blushed; Jasmine had produced clothing such as she had never seen before. Bright red, with clingy leggings and a sleeveless halter held up only by its own tautness. She had also worn a gossamer veil, earlier; but that had been discarded when she... again, her mind fled from the memory.

Master finished looking her up and down; it was as though his eyes physically probed and fondled her. Muddled feelings of abhorrence and fear and... relish? "But I think its time is past, now." Firmly, curtly: "Disrobe."

She hesitated. Her Master frowned, but then...

"She doesn't know how to dress herself, or even undress herself." Jasmine's voice was full of amused derision. Alana felt shame. How could she be a good harem girl if she could not handle silks and veils and halters? She would disappoint her Master!

Yet that shame itself was not merely perplexing but deeply disturbing. How had she come to desire to be a harem girl? Why did she want so badly to please Jafar? And why did it arouse her so? Nothing made sense...

Jafar saw the irresolution in her pose, and knew that it was time to take a more direct hand. As a young man, he had learned how to seduce. He knew how to excite, as well as compel. While his enjoyment was the important thing - of course - a woman's pleasure could be... useful.

It was inconvenient. The princess had been quite willing to grant him liberties upon her flesh ere now, the better to torment her former love - and Alana had responded with a competitive spirit. But he would need to focus on the slave for a while. He intended to amuse himself upon Alana in a thousand ways, train her to perform whatever act he could imagine. Many of those acts would not be ones a typical girl would find pleasant. Some, even a slave might balk at.

To secure her eager - rather than sulky - participation, she would have to find pleasure in his own. To start her down that road, it would be wise to make the first breach of her gates enjoyable.

Enjoyable... but also humbling. She should come to associate submission and pleasure. So as he moved toward her, he commanded, "Be still!"

Alana froze. Jafar reached for her halter - but he did not try to remove it yet. Instead, he tweaked the nipples that so clearly stuck out from beneath it.

It took minutes to undress her. Slow minutes as Jafar pulled, untied, and occasionally yanked. He did not stint to stroke and pinch the skin that was gradually exposed, either. Especially the darker nubs that decorated the domes upon her chest.

Naked, Jafar so near and a head taller than her, Alana felt unspeakably vulnerable. Two imperious gazes weighed upon her, and all defiance seemed to have fled. And for some mysterious reason, it further stoked the fires already blazing in her loins. Everything felt wrong... at the same time something told her it was right.

Jafar's hand moved - shoved - her toward a desk next to the bed. "Place your hands so. No, keep your feet where they are! Legs straight!" Alana found herself bent forward about a quarter of the way. Her rear stuck out - presented, almost.

"A Master may strip his slave as he pleases, of course," Jafar remarked idly. Without warning, his tone became as iron. "He should never be required to, though!"

Two deliberate smacks, one on each cheek, one from each hand. Not violent, but quite enough to sting - and for twin red handprints to appear. After sharply drawn breaths, her head turned toward him; he savored the fear in her eyes. "No, little mouse, do not move." She became as a statue, save for a slight trembling. He looked up - this drama could serve more than one purpose, and it would not do to ignore Jasmine. His grip on her was not firm enough for comfort yet. "Princess, I think she has earned your chastisement too. Don't you agree?"

Jasmine was startled briefly, but did not fumble her cue for more than a breath. "Quite so," she murmured, stepping closer. Her hands had not the strength of the vizier, but the princess put more effort into her strikes. The left cheek: "Pretender!" The right: "Deceiver!"

Alana felt tears gather at the corners of her eyes. She remembered wishing for this... but she could not remember why. She heard her Master, in a tone of vast amusement, speaking to the princess. "Observe this lovely rump, the marks we have left! As if you and I held hands." He discusses me like a pet beast, not even a person, she thought.

Jafar, watchful because he knew the limits of the staff, noted signs of emerging anger in the set of Alana's shoulders, the stiffening of her neck. He had anticipated something of the kind, though, and moved to interrupt it.

Suddenly her Master scooped Alana up in his arms, and dropped her across the bed. It drove home her new station in yet another way. Aladdin had been a strong young man; more than a match for the vizier. Alana, in sharp contrast, could be tossed about like a child. The anger she had barely started to feel dissolved in a rush of trepidation, stillborn.

On her back, she stared up at him. He loomed over her, his turban spread wide at the top of his long lean body. She had a strange vision of him as a giant, menacing snake. A street rat might fight a snake; she had seen such battles happen in the alleys. Now, though, she was but a mouse - entranced and helpless in that pitiless gaze.

"Spread your legs, girl," he commanded, sneering. "I would see the sex you have wished for."

Tentatively, she complied. Her knees parted somewhat. "Wider!" he snapped.

Her legs spread much further, hiding nothing.

"And what is this you show to me?" he teased.

Alana, eyes wide, remained mute.

"Name it, slave!" he said in a steely tone. The word 'slave' seemed to reverberate in her head.

"My... my almahbal," she whispered.

His laughter was full and - unusually for him - heartfelt. "Such a gentle tongue!"

"Almahbal! Almahbal!" Iago cried by the windowsill, then made a sound like laughter. Jafar nodded the bird's way, and caught his breath with difficulty. "A gentle tongue is a fine thing - in a throne room."

Alana's eyes fell. The memory she had struggled to evade caught up to her with a vengeance. Well she recalled the taste of his issue as he spurted down her throat, seated at the Sultan's throne. Jasmine in his lap, kissing him in a way she never had kissed Aladdin...

The vizier continued, still smiling. "But you are a harem slave, naked before her Master in his bedchamber." The smile vanished. "Name it truly."

She had to comply. She was a harem slave. A harem slave is obedient. The thought seemed to echo throughout her mind, true in a way she could not explain.

"It is... it is my kus." The crude term had seldom emerged from Aladdin's mouth. To Alana it felt... naughty, and yet truthful, as her Master said. Her face was so warm! And... and so was her kus...

Jasmine watched all this - fascinated, gratified, and excited. The obvious embarrassment that Alana displayed at even having a kus, let alone naming it such, was like fine wine. The betrayer deserved all this mortification, and more!

"And such a lovely kus! You should be most grateful." He smirked. "Of course, I doubt you have much experience with them, no?"

He stepped forward. "Let us inspect together what the genie has provided." His fingers tickled across her pubic hair, hovering above the skin. "This is the soft down she hides within, as a mouse in her nest." He began to play with her folds - gentle, teasing strokes. "These, the outer lips; tender and yielding." A minute, perhaps, as Alana's breathing hastened. "They part to reveal the inner ones, protected and sensitive."

Alana could not dispute any of this - the sensations were confusing and overwhelming.

"And what they reveal - the sheath where my sword shall rest." Two fingers worked inward through wetness, a confusing intrusion she could barely process as unpleasant or agreeable. Alana simply lay frozen, humiliated. Why was she letting him... manhandle her so intimately? And with such impunity, without even a token protest?

Because he is my Master, came the resounding realization. It was her own thought... and yet it also felt like an instruction from another. Somehow it was answer enough.

Jasmine sat enthralled. She had never seen a man and a woman make love, and indeed had little idea how it might work. She had once caught a glimpse of two dogs wrestling, until her ladies-in-waiting had escorted her briskly away. Another time, she had seen two rabbits in a similar pose in her father's menagerie.

Never had she seen a man's parts until Alana had revealed Jafar's earlier this evening. And while she had tentatively explored her own nethers, she had barely seen another woman's. This was all proving informative... and, she realized, arousing.

"How charmingly snug you shall be for my zubb, slave," he remarked. Both Alana and Jasmine were startled at the vulgar term. "And... oh ho!" Suddenly two hands imperiously spread her legs wider, then pulled at her newest lips. "A virgin, no less! The genie was generous. Or..." A thoughtful pause.

Mocking laughter. "You were a virgin before! A boy of your age, and not once had you inveigled a woman to share your bed? Pathetic!"

Alana blushed. Aladdin had been anxious about that, even insecure - as a young man would. He had come into a little money once or twice, he could have hired a girl. But that seemed... tawdry. He wanted a willing partner... and before he gathered the nerve, the money went to help a family pay a doctor for their child, or to feed some starving orphans. A few girls he'd helped had offered... but were they truly willing, or merely trying to pay a debt they did not owe? Uncertainty had kept him from taking advantage.

Jafar shook his head, sneering - and inwardly thrilled at his luck. "Do not fret, little mouse. The first stroke of my sword shall draw blood, but the wounds thereafter shall be much sweeter!" He had realized this was an opportunity, if handled correctly. All her life, the princess had been shielded from experience with - indeed, awareness of - the carnal arts. Properly deflowering his new slave could do much to persuade his wife-to-be...

Jasmine's attention was riveted. An especially deep mystery, the loss of virginity.

His fingertips glided a scant inch or so, but kept gently kneading. "Allow me to introduce you to another landmark." Alana's breath caught. "Sensitive, is it not? It is your zambur. Such a small thing, and yet, what pleasures it can provide!" He chuckled. "Not unlike you yourself, I trust." Alana panted and moaned slightly. Her eyes closed, concentrating on sensation.

That would not do. A slave needed to pay attention to her Master. His right hand continued to play with her kus, but his left snuck up and pinched a nipple. Alana yelped, eyelids flying open. "Our little mouse squeaks so!" The princess met Jafar's sidelong glance and joined his laughter. But he noticed a royal flush as well, and royal nipples standing up beneath her halter.

Jafar looked down and caught Alana's eyes with his own. He felt the beginnings of a smile on his face - a true one. He had deployed many false, friendly ones over the years. Only rarely did he allow his actual feelings to show; usually lies were more advantageous. This was a rare moment when the truth was precisely what was called for.

Alana saw her Master's wicked, arrogant sneer and felt small and helpless. And yet, his fingers kept working, making her heart race and her muscles tense and her chest heave. She could feel her breasts moving in time with her breaths; her hands curled into the linen of the bedcover. The hand that had pinched her nipple now stroked it. On and on... and she could not but stare into her Master's eyes... haughty, harsh, superior... irresistible...

The princess marked that expression, too. Alana deserved to submit to a cruel master, the crueler the better. But... Jasmine was troubled, slightly, at the notion of that expression looming above herself. She had dreamed of a husband with a loving smile. Like Ali's had seemed...

Jafar had given the princess careful instructions while she had been entranced by the staff. Clearly she had followed them, else Alana would not be here. So he knew the words to say as he saw that she was nearing her climax. "Who is your master?" he demanded, intensely. He pressed a shade harder on her zambur, moved his fingertips faster, and tickled her nipple with increased force.

"Jafar is my Masterrrrrrraaaaaaaah! Aaahn! Aaahn!" she cried and moaned, heaving in the throes of her first feminine release.

He continued to minister to her flesh until she was quite spent. Submission and pleasure, already linked by the staff, now would stand very near indeed within her mind. Well worth the effort, he thought to himself.

That effort was not quite done, of course. But even as he worked, he could already reap some of the rewards of his labors. "It is not the Master's task to pleasure the slave, you know," he snapped at the panting girl.

It took Alana a moment to understand that. She felt shame again. I want to be the best harem girl for Jafar, came the oddly resonant thought. Abashed at her failings, she rose unsteadily to her feet. "How may I please you, Master?" she asked, breathless, still feeling aftershocks from that amazing explosion.

The day was fully over, darkness and stars outside the window. The night air cooled her unclothed skin, yet it was as if the heat of the noonday sun shone within her belly, and especially on her behind. Even the sting of her buttocks felt good, in some mysterious way inflaming her kus even further.

"I have done you a good turn. Now you must return the favor. Surely you are at least familiar with male garb?" Jafar drawled.

A pause as she worked to grasp his meaning. Once she did, Alana said, "Master... may I undress you?"

He nodded. "You may," he said. Condescending, granting an inferior a great boon.

In the moment, Alana felt as if he had bestowed a wondrous privilege. Tentative, she reached for his cape. He did not stop her, so she undid the clasp, pulled it off, and laid it aside. She paused. "Master, I... I cannot reach your head." She was so short now, especially compared to the tall vizier. Her head barely came up to his shoulders.

Bearing a disparaging smirk, he bent forward. Gently, she removed his headdress. He is bald! she thought in surprise. His head was shaved - and suddenly she recognized the 'old prisoner' that had brought Aladdin to the Cave of Wonders. A gleam in his eye told her he knew what she had realized.

He had betrayed... Aladdin. Tried to kill him. But... he was Alana's Master. She set the overly-elaborate headgear on the desk next to the cape. And undid his sash, if perhaps a fraction reluctantly.

His robe slipped from his shoulders, joined the growing collection. His red, billowing shirt next. She fumbled a little; well she knew masculine clothes, but never had Aladdin undressed another man. Jafar now wore only a close-fitting black shirt and tight black leggings. Not looking down, she helped pull off the undershirt. But there was nothing else, after that. She could not ignore the bulge under the leggings. She had already moved them aside once, in the throne room, and seen what was within.

More than seen. Touched... kissed... drank from... Her hands trembled with fear and anticipation as they reached forward...

"Kneel for such tasks, girl," Jafar growled.

She dropped at once, unthinkingly. After a moment, shame rose. Why am I doing this? Why am I letting him degrade me this way?

Jafar recognized the renewed confusion. He knew the words to conjure by; he had authored them himself. But he made a quick glance at Jasmine. She had the wit to understand his intent. "What are you?" she called out.

"I am a harem slave." A certainty to cling to. Somehow Alana could not doubt that.

"Who do you belong to?" Jasmine's dulcet voice was harshened by wrath. She had drilled this phrase into Alana with the staff, over and over.

"I belong to Jafar." The words came out unthinkingly. True in that way she could not explain. And... arousing.

She resumed her task, completed undressing her Master. His manhood, his zubb, stuck out from his long, lean frame. Lean, but possessed of a certain wiry strength. She might have hesitated, kneeling before a naked man with an erection who was set upon taking her - but Jasmine afforded her no chance.

Harshly, a royal inquest: "Who owns you?"

"Jafar owns me." Echoing, ringing in her mind. A harem slave desires her owner. Rich and resonant; her own thought, yet not her own words?

The vizier could command, too. "Back on the bed, just as you were." Alana darted for the bed, and arranged herself just so, legs spread lewdly once more. Jafar, wearing a satisfied grin, stepped forward. He took hold of his zubb, and used it like a puppet. Dipping the tip just between her lips, right at her maidenhead. He pulled back, and the tip glistened.

"Ah, see, princess! Her kus weeps tears of longing for my zubb."

Jasmine's own privates felt embarrassingly wet. She thrilled to see the blush of shame on Alana's face. He slid the tip of his zubb upward, tickling her most sensitive part. The harem girl groaned helplessly.

He stared in her eyes - then glanced at Jasmine, smirking. "You can see what she desires. And how much." A mock frown. "But I am not certain I should reward her poor performance." Alana looked upset. She wriggled, as if to slide down the bed and take him in. Shame and longing fought to dominate her expression.

Jafar, however, pulled back. Laughing. "Ah ah! A slave may not command. She can only plead."

Self-awareness, and thus rebellion, at last began to emerge. How could she - she would not -

Suddenly a girl's voice rang out. "Jafar is my Master!" Then moans of pleasure. The bird, Iago. It struck her as higher-pitched than her voice sounded to herself... but she knew it was how her new voice sounded to others. Those were her own words, echoed. She remembered the pleasure... and she realized she had spoken truly.

Softly at first, but with increasing volume: "Please, Master. Fuck me. Fuck your slave!" she begged. "Fuck me, I beg you!" she exclaimed then, with full passion.

He plunged into her.

There was pain. But the spanking and pinching had already prepared her for mixtures of pain and pleasure.

He works his way inside my body as he worked his way inside my mind, she realized. In the throes of passion, it was not an entirely unpleasant thought - but there was plenty of unpleasantness. How could she desire a man? How could she desire Jafar? How could the thought - the feeling - of his zubb both repel and delight her at once?

She fled from her humiliation and disgust, taking refuge in the thoughts that seemed so reverberantly certain. I am a harem girl. I want to be the best harem girl for Jafar. A harem girl is submissive. A harem girl rejoices in being submissive. A harem girl is obedient. A harem girl rejoices in being obedient. I am a slave. Jafar is my Master. A harem slave delights in submitting to her Master. Jafar owns me. A harem slave desires her owner.

It was too much. "Master! Fuck me, Master!" She wriggled, not sure if she moved to help or hinder him - not that it made any difference. He was too strong, he simply drove into her, again and again. She had no choice but to submit. She was a harem girl. A slave. And he was her... "Maaaasterrr! Uhhhn! Aaahh!" The pleasure swept her away, again, and she gave in to it utterly.

Jafar gloated, and kept up his rhythm. I told her I looked forward to her squirming beneath me. Her storm passed, gradually, though he faltered not a moment. Once she had some breath back, he bent forward and kissed her. Deeply, exploring her mouth with his tongue. In moments she was returning the kiss - amateurishly, but with ardor.

Jasmine was riveted. She could not know it, but she was staring at the two as raptly as she had stared into the jeweled serpent's eyes hours before. She had known that one day she would have a husband. That one day, she would be initiated into these mysteries. But she had not thought ever to watch some other man and woman 'make love'! It was indecent and lewd... she should look away, this was not how well-behaved girls should act, or feel...

The vizier saw the princess' body language from the corner of his eye. Yes, this all was proving useful on many levels. And pleasant on so many others. A minute or two more to savor his conquest, enjoying the close-fitted embrace of her virgin kus. Then, it was time to reward himself fully. He drove with more force, and caught Alana's eyes. A soft grunt escaped his control, no more.

She realized he was coming inside her. A harem slave exults in pleasing her master. Suddenly she was crying out again, pleasure sweeping through her once more, to her shock... and dark delight.

Submission and pleasure, chained together in her mind forevermore. Jafar basked in her cries, and his triumph - even as he finished pumping, depositing his seed within his newest possession.

Presently he pulled out, and laid to one side on his elbow, catching his breath. Covertly, he gauged the princess' interest. She was slightly flushed, and perhaps her breath came a touch more swiftly than would be expected for a seated girl. Her nipples had certainly not softened since his last check. All to the good.

Alana lay dazed and bewildered and horrified... yet simultaneously pleased and contented. She did not understand how she could take such satisfaction and pride at allowing herself to be so debased and used. Everything was confusion. Then she lifted her head from the bed, looked down her body - as far as she could, at least, with the seeming mountains on her chest.

To the side, Master's faint smug smile. Her eyes lowered involuntarily, and she beheld the semen dripping from the end of his withering zubb. Suddenly she noticed that more was beginning to ooze from her kus. She remembered its taste, and for an instant, it made her want to throw up... until she realized she longed to taste it again, right now.

Jafar owned her. I am his slave, she thought - and there rose scarcely a trace of defiance. The idea of obeying her Master - of complying with his every desire, no matter how twisted - now felt so right. And thrilling. I am happy to be Jafar's harem girl. The words had that surreal intensity she was almost coming to welcome. It was lunacy; such a concept had never appealed to Aladdin. Had never crossed his mind, in fact. But Alana found serving Jafar, in any way he wished, a tantalizing prospect.

Jafar noticed Alana's nipples begin to pucker anew, and crowed inwardly. Confident in his hold on the 'mouse' - at least for the moment - he turned to the princess. There was still work to be done this night to shore up his position.

"Move aside, slave. Make room for my betrothed," he said imperiously, eyes meeting Jasmine's. She was startled, flushed and confused. The princess stood slowly, considering. She had heard that men needed to rest between their bouts of pleasure. She wasn't sure how long, but... sufficient time to frustrate a woman, often. It should be safe enough to approach him. And the look on the slave's face was quite encouraging. Alana was stricken even as she moved to obey, shifting to the foot of the bed.

Jafar, quick-witted, moved to take the spot Alana had just yielded. Best that I stay between these two, for the time being. So Jasmine, when she lay down into his embrace, could peek over his shoulder to witness - and delight in - the sullen resentment in the eyes of the one who had tricked his - her? - way into the heart of a princess.

Jafar undid her halter, and let his fingers roam across the supple breasts so revealed as their tongues wrestled. The princess kept glancing at Alana, making sure she saw what they were doing. He pulled her closer, cupping her bottom with one hand, as the other pulled that delightful, long-appreciated but long-forbidden chest against his own.

After a time, his fingers roamed to her kus, though still outside the silks of her pantaloons. For just a moment, she made a sound in her throat - then stiffened slightly, eyes widening.

Jafar pondered momentarily. The princess was doing this to punish 'Prince Ali', not out of any real attraction to himself. It might just be possible to persuade her to give up her virginity this night... but it would take careful, cautious, judicious effort.

Why bother? Especially when it would come naturally, in the course of time - and marriage. He was not a young man, and he had already deflowered his first new prize tonight. Twice over.

That gave him inspiration, in fact. A way to condition the princess to further associate 'sensual pleasure' with 'Jafar'. When his head turned, Alana noticed his thoughtful smirk, and her eyes dropped demurely to the floor.

"Come, princess," he purred, patting the head of the bed. "Sit here." As she complied - a little watchfully, laying her back against the headboard - he rose and put a hand to Alana's chin, lifting it. He stared forcefully into the harem girl's eyes, and said, "This little mouse needs to express her gratitude for your helpful training."

Jasmine's eyes declared suspicion, but she did not resist as he slid her pantaloons down past her waist and off her legs. Jafar's eyes drank in her naked curves, though her most intimate regions were not visible beyond a tuft of curly hair.

"Princess, but spread your legs a bit," he said, with a certain solicitude. Another moment of hesitation, but she complied. Yes, she was not ready this night for his zubb. No matter. He would take that now-revealed kus by and by.

"Slave, come here." He didn't even look her way, supremely confident in her obedience. Alana was uncertain - as well as both angered and cowed by Jasmine's narrowed gaze - but complied as a good harem girl should. "Kneel here. No, here!" The girl anxiously repositioned herself, rebellion the furthest thing from her mind. "Now lean forward, on your elbows." She obeyed so unthinkingly that it took her by surprise what her face was practically touching. The slight gasp she heard told her the princess was startled as well.

Mere inches before her was Jasmine's kus. Strange and fascinating, with a faint odor that was musky but not unpleasant. I have one of these now, she realized in wonder.

Jafar laughed at the 'o' of surprise the harem girl's mouth made. "You must have had your fantasies," he taunted. "No male - especially a virgin! - could be so close to such a delectable maiden and fail to entertain at least a few lewd thoughts."

Alana felt the blood suffusing her cheeks. Indeed there had been daydreams - and night dreams - of such a view. But never like this!

Jasmine, seeing her blush, felt her jaw tighten. A liar and a lech! That she herself was lewdly exposing her most intimate charms did not occur to her. She only felt anger at the impudence of the former street rat. And a desire to punish...

Jafar ran his fingers up Alana's back. "Your tongue has some talent for pleasuring a zubb. Let us see if it is of any use to a kus."

Now it was Jasmine's jaw that dropped in utter surprise. To put her mouth there? To put her mouth there? Jasmine had never imagined such a thing. Disgusting, degrading...

Degrading. That was... an interesting aspect. Her eyes locked with the vizier's.

The slave girl was hesitating. Jafar's voice became a shade harsher, and he gave the girl's rump a firm swat, though his eyes never left those of the princess. "She shall provide good service. Or she shall learn to fear the strap." Jasmine could not help but laugh at the sudden apprehension in the slave's expression.

Her head dipped between the princess' legs.

Jasmine gasped, laughter forgotten. No one else had touched her there since she could remember. And it was quickly stoking feelings she half-recognized. She had felt some of this sitting next to Ali on their magic flight. She had felt quite a bit more, waking from a half-remembered dream of Ali this morning. But never had such sensations been this intense!

After an uncertain duration, she was almost startled when Jafar spoke again. "Pay attention to her sensitive spot. Well you know by now how important it is to a woman." Alana's tongue repositioned, and Jasmine's eyes closed as her back arched involuntarily.

She wondered. Would it have been better if 'Prince Ali' had been using his tongue there? A moan escaped...

The princess forced her eyes open. The vizier had taken a step back, and was taking in the scene with relaxed amusement. The mouth at her kus made a particularly intense motion, and she sighed. Jafar's smile quirked, and Jasmine glanced away, embarrassed. Not so put off that she even considered pulling away from Alana's ministrations, however.

Jasmine kept half an eye on the vizier, who had turned to his bureau. He opened a small bottle, and poured some oil onto his hand. He spread it onto his... thing. His zubb, she thought, enjoying the rudeness of the term. On the excursion when she'd met Ali, she had seen a snake being charmed in the market. His member was rising again, in just the same way.

Jafar, as ever, had a plan. The slave girl already responded to pleasure with submission. Now it was time to ensure that they were as one. That the link flowed both ways; that submission and humiliation would in themselves produce pleasure. This would prove an excellent test.

He moved to the bed, noting the rising tension in Jasmine's shoulders as he approached. But he took up a station behind the harem girl, who continued to lap at Jasmine's crotch, all unknowing. A twitch as manly hands grasped her hips, but she didn't lift her head.

Alana knew what was coming, and - despite her shame - found herself welcoming it. Her Master was bringing his zubb forward, she could feel it. He would use her again. Here it came - wait! What...

Alana's tongue stilled, and her eyes flew so wide Jasmine had to laugh. The slave girl made a startled "Mmmmmph!", muffled by the princess's muff, halfway between a moan and a grunt.

The vizier had already taken her by mouth, and by kus. Now, he was taking her yet another way - one she had only heard of, with puzzlement, ere now. Frozen, alarmed... and feeling the first stirrings of anger.

Jafar chuckled as he began to move his hips - only a modicum more gently than when he had been inside her as nature intended. "A slave may be used however her Master pleases. She may only submit." The words struck that strange deep chord within her, stilling thoughts of resistance.

Jasmine followed all this interplay avidly, even as she enjoyed the girl's renewed lapping at her nethers. Such a scene as she'd never imagined. A princess, taking part in such depravity! Willingly, joyfully!

Alana's thoughts were quite similar. A submissive plaything she was, compliant slave to the whims of her Master! Never had she conceived of such a thing - but she felt herself getting wet anew as he thrust into her rearmost gate. Her grunts were becoming moans... How could this feel so good?

Jasmine grinned fiercely down at the harem girl as she reveled in her triumph. The 'prince' who'd lied to her, dreamed to possess her - now a girl-slave, herself a possession, used in such a debasing manner. Compelled to not merely submit so utterly, but to enjoy the humiliation! Suddenly a great rush of feeling swept through her, washing away all thought, leaving only sensation...

Had she been in a condition to observe, she would have seen an even more triumphant grin on the vizier's face. Two great conquests in one night! Upon seeing the princess climax, he slipped fingers to Alana's kus, and thrust vigorously. The ecstatic exclamations of the threesome intertwined...

Alana's thoughts returned to the present, and the morning light shining on Master's face. She stuck out her tongue, licking the head of Master's tool each time it emerged from the slick embrace of her breasts. She could feel wetness between her legs. Something about this was wrong... but the 'wrongness' had shifted. Pleasing her Master's senses this way seemed, more and more, to be excitingly naughty instead of revolting. Even her lingering distaste for Jafar's arrogance and greed somehow made her surrender and submission more arousing.

And then, at Jafar's nod, the princess worked her fingers into Alana's kus. The slave gasped and twitched, in surprise and pleasure. Jasmine's haughty expression was filled with amused contempt. Alana's chagrin somehow excited her, forcing out a moan. Her humiliation - and eagerness - both increased as Jasmine sneered and laughed.

Alana's humiliation excited Jasmine, too. Abasing and degrading the formerly virile young man was so wickedly delicious! She who had been pampered but powerless found unexpected - and unexpectedly great - pleasure in taking away the power of a man. Power she had envied. It made her private place - her kus - wet again...

Jafar, nearing climax, grinned inwardly. Including the princess in Alana's training and humbling would prevent her from contemplating her impending marriage until it was far too late. Once the bond was consummated, what little power the princess had would be gone. And Jafar's position would become unassailable.

As Master grunted and his zubb began to spew fluid at Alanas's face and mouth, the dainty fingers at her kus moved more rapidly. The slave cried out her abject surrender, swept away in ecstatic capitulation.

The vizier carefully placed the lamp within his headdress. That had proven a safe place for the street rat - neither the guards, nor Iago, nor even Jafar himself had found it there. If the boy had left it behind even once, the covert searches would have turned it up. Not that his cleverness saved him in the end, he thought with relish, gazing upon the girlish morsel shyly avoiding his eyes as she clumsily dressed herself.

Then he realized there was a lesson to heed, as well. He would have to be most careful. Mistakes with the genie could - would - prove catastrophic. Resolving never to let the lamp from his person, he turned his attention to the princess.

Jasmine was already dressed, having far more practice with feminine garb. Yet she was hardly presentable. Her clothes and hair were disheveled, her makeup was in utter ruin, one of her earrings was missing. He kept the amusement clenched in his heart, and well off his face. So long as she felt her dignity was above Alana's, she would be... tractable.

Finally Alana was clothed in a way that was not completely indecent. "Come, there is much to do today," Jafar urged. The three stepped out from his chambers together, though not actually clinging to each other the way they'd entered it the night before. A serving girl gave them a very startled look before she recovered control of her expression and studiously directed her attention to the floor, blankfaced.

Jasmine, royalty long used to servants about, hardly noticed. "I shall return to my chambers," she declared. The servant was already bustling away. Perhaps a trifle hastily.

"I must find quarters for our new possession," Jafar purred. "I'm afraid I shall be busy for a time this morning." A diplomatic pause. "I suggest your father the Sultan will take the news of Prince Ali's disgrace and departure better from you than myself?"

Jasmine nodded firmly. Remembered anger furrowed her brow as she gave Alana a glance so sharp the slave flinched. "He needs to be appraised of our betrothal as well."

"Feel my breasts, Jafar. No man has ever held them before." Iago moaned in the princess' voice, echoing words she had spoken last night in the throne room. Words meant to hurt Alana. Her stricken expression showed they had scored a hit again.

At Jasmine's exasperated glare, Jafar quickly barked, "Silence, Iago!" He bowed to the princess. "I am pleased to have been of service, your highness. Until later..."

She sniffed and turned away, marching up the hall.

Once she had turned a corner, Jafar snapped at his bird. "There is a time and place for humor, Iago. That time is after the wedding, not before." Iago squawked but settled.

With a sigh, he turned to look down at the apprehensive expression on his new toy. "And what nest shall I place you in, my pet? My little mouse?"

Alana followed her Master through the palace, dazed and numb. Her mind felt... clogged, blocked. Stagnant, unable to flow. It bounced chaotically from one fantastic memory to another, not able to arrange them into any sequence, let alone a coherent narrative.

They approached the entrance to the women's quarters. Despite the insanity of the situation, she could not help feeling curious. That place had been the source of much speculation and tall tales on the streets of Agrabah. Male guests - particularly a royal suitor! - had not been allowed near them. Aladdin only managed to reach Jasmine's chambers because he possessed a magic carpet.

A barred metal gate closed an archway. A guard stood next to it. He seemed a formidable man, even if he possessed the scant beard and general softness of a eunuch.

"Good morning, Grand Vizier," he said. Not hostile, but there was no welcome in his tone either.

Jafar was undaunted. "I have a fresh mount that needs stabling. Open the gate."

The guard blinked slowly, and looked down at Alana. His gaze prowled her body, making her uncomfortably aware of how little of that body her clothing concealed. Despite his gentling, the gatekeeper seemed to take a man's appreciation of the sight. Though he betrayed a certain amused derision, as well. She felt her cheeks turn red from more than Master's dismissive words.

He looked back to Jafar. "The Sultan's harem, my lord, is not a hostel. I may only allow those known to me."

"I speak for the Sultan," Jafar said sharply. Then, low and dangerous: "Or do you doubt me?"

The guard met his gaze for a moment... then looked down. "Of course not, vizier."

Alana felt a thrill, almost a shiver. The vizier was a man of stature and importance. Dominant, lordly. A Master in truth. She felt small and meek next to her... owner.

Jafar nodded slightly in satisfaction as the guard moved to open the seraglio gate. He glanced her way, and paused. The corners of his mouth curled up - smug, cruel. She blushed helplessly and looked down at the ground, bosom hiding her lower body from view.

Suddenly she realized her nipples had stood to attention. That's what made him smile!

Her blush, and her humiliation - and her arousal - all intensified. How could she just accept this treatment as if it were her due? Why was compliance so attractive?

Once inside, Jafar braced a passing functionary, demanding accommodation for his new slave. Flustered, the woman protested... but again the vizier brushed aside all resistance. In a short time Alana was placed in an unoccupied room.

Jafar only gave the chamber a brief inspection. He fixed his gaze upon Alana. "I have business to attend to. Rest here, slave, and await my pleasure." He swept out, the woman trailing behind him still attempting feeble objections.

Alana sat on the corner of her bed and looked about the small, and extremely feminine, room. Alone for the first time in... she wasn't sure.

Thanks to time, and no longer distracted by Master's overwhelming presence, she had recovered a fraction of her wits - which had always been abundant. Finally able to think with something approaching clarity.

Obviously last night had been magical, in many senses - not least the literal. Even beyond Genie granting her disastrous wish. She realized some spell, some bewitchment, must have compelled that outlandish and out-of-character request.

The staff! Her last clear memory as Aladdin was Jasmine coming to him, acting strangely. Showing him the serpent's eyes in the head of Jafar's staff... After that, memories went hazy. And the world went mad.

That the treacherous vizier was a sorcerer came as no real surprise. Aladdin had never trusted the man. One like him would always seek more power. Jafar's 'old prisoner' disguise had been supernaturally good - and who would know so much about the Cave of Wonders but a wizard?

So the magic, Aladdin should have suspected. But he would never have believed how canny and audacious Jafar could be in its application!

She reflected on her situation now. The vizier's victory was devastatingly complete. Aladdin was lost; Alana she would be, forevermore. Genie would not grant her another wish. Neither Jafar nor Jasmine had any reason to ever wish for Aladdin back.

She fought tears, briefly; but they leaked soon enough. For a time, she grieved. Jasmine had discovered "Prince Ali's" lies, and come to hate him. She had carefully and ruthlessly stolen his manhood, bequeathed the name Alana, and delivered her to be Jafar's plaything. That kind of revenge seemed out-of-character for her, too; very likely the princess had been under the influence of the staff as well.

But the royal fury and vengeance had been fully real. Could Jasmine even truly be blamed? She had been lied to, by one who sought to steal her heart.

Had Genie not warned Aladdin, over and over, to tell her the truth? Alana wept bitterly, and not just for the lost love. She had failed Genie, too - her promise to free him betrayed.

At last, still sniffling, she turned her mind from the past and its lost chances. To consider her present - and future. It seemed all too clear: she would be a slave forevermore.

Surely it must be the magic of the staff, but she could not help feeling a strange contentment at the idea of being a harem girl. A harem slave. Even leaving aside the pleasures she had experienced, being a beautiful and submissive girl - who served a forceful and compelling Master - held an eerie, inexplicable attraction.

Not that she had any real choice, anymore. What was the alternative? Running away was worse than useless. In her past life on the streets, she had seen - many times - the inevitable fate of attractive girls with no family to protect them. Were she to escape the palace, she would be servicing men before nightfall, anyway. Property of whatever pimp captured her first.

Compared to that, the harem was not so bad. After all, this room was finer than any she had been in, before Aladdin had wished his way into the palace. The bed her disconcertingly plump behind rested on, more comfortable than the old rooftop pallet by far! Here, there would be no need to scramble for scraps to live on, every single day. Even the Aladdin of last week had wanted to be rich, live in a palace, and never have any problems at all. A harem girl had two of the three...

Except for the small matter of gender. That was a problem! Along with the wickedness of the Master to be served.

And yet...

Her thoughts were interrupted by someone knocking at the arch, and brushing the curtains aside. Two women entered.

One was middle-aged, but dressed finely, moving with confidence. Though time had taken some toll, she remained a handsome woman. In her youth she must have been a great beauty.

The other - dark-skinned, possibly Egyptian - had not quite so much beauty, being merely pretty. She possessed a full measure of youth, though; well shy of her twentieth year. The girl's clothes marked her as a servant. (Even though they were finer and more expensive than Alana... Aladdin had ever set eyes upon, living on the street.)

Both women performed a quick, head to toe once-over. The girl's face remained studiously blank; the woman's lips pursed slightly. Alana was finally, uncomfortably aware of how she must look. Dressed in a sultry - indeed, wanton - outfit, now wrinkled and askew. Disheveled hair and makeup. Cloth and skin alike bedecked with dubious stains.

Like a well-used harem slave, she thought. The image was simultaneously shameful... and wickedly satisfying.

Despite a certain evident tension, the older woman's smile seemed genuine enough. "My name is Priyat, and this is Rubiya. I am the Haseki Sultan. I am in charge of the women's quarters here in the palace." Her smile became slightly more gentle. "I understand you are our new guest?"

"I... yes. I'm..." A moment's hesitation. "I'm Alana. My Master brought me here."

"So I was informed," Priyat said sharply, though her frown was directed over her shoulder at the door rather than Alana. "He grows bold. Perhaps the Sultan should remind him who is the ruler, and who the advisor."

"He is my Master," Alana said. As if that explained anything.

Priyat exchanged a glance with Rubiya. Curious... perhaps the girl was simple. Or addled.

"You seem to have had a busy night," Priyat remarked neutrally. The girl's blush might have reddened a shade further, but her slightly abstracted smile didn't falter. "Let us find you some clothing more suitable for the day." A pause as she looked over Alana again. "Perhaps a bath, first." She turned her head. "Rubiya, please draw some water."

The dusky girl stepped out through the curtain. "While you are here, Rubiya will be your attendant," Priyat told the blinking Alana.

"Thank you," she replied shyly.

As the morning proceeded, Priyat grew increasingly mystified. Words like "simple" or "addled" were inadequate. It was hard to name a single thing about Alana that was not odd in some way. For a time, Priyat suspected Jafar was playing some obscure, tasteless prank.

Such lush beauty, revealed as she bathed. The equal of any Priyat had ever seen, even Princess Jasmine... if in a somewhat more voluptuous mode. (Little wonder Jafar had apparently rushed to acquire her, with no preparation!) And yet that beauty was accompanied by a profound, incomprehensibly complete ignorance of how to present, manage, or maintain it.

How could anyone possibly grow such an elegant mane, for example, and still be incapable of brushing it? She had no idea how to dress herself - quite literally. Looking in a hand mirror, she stared as if she had never before seen her own face!

So... gorgeous but empty-headed. Fitting the image most men had of an odalisque, almost to the point of parody.

Once she was dressed (elegantly and significantly more modestly), they shared a light meal. And the picture became more complex. Though the girl was not messy or offensive as she ate, she definitely had scant experience of formal table manners. Plus, while she didn't overeat, every scrap of food was cleaned from her plate.

A poor childhood, then. One as pretty as she, and poor, would have absolutely no options other than the obvious. Priyat tried on the idea of a common - though uncommonly attractive - whore that Jafar had taken a fancy to, and chosen to possess for himself.

It didn't quite fit. Jafar was hardly immune to feminine charms, of course, and had occasionally dallied with women for hire. (All the servants of the royal household reported to her - in both senses of the term. Priyat was likely the most informed person in the palace.) Those transactions were just that, however - business exchanges. No one could accuse the vizier of sentimentality. Even his pursuit of the princess (Allah forbid that bear fruit!) was driven at least as much by her rank as her beauty.

That pursuit, in fact, made Alana's presence all the more baffling. Taking a concubine was hardly advisable in the midst of courting a princess. Especially courting that princess!

And it was utter foolishness when a dazzling new alternative had suddenly appeared!

Had Jafar conceded to Prince Ali, and purchased this slave girl to console himself? It was unlike the subtle and ambitious vizier to abandon the schemes of years, after but a day and a half of setbacks. Indeed, if Jafar had ordered those guards to attempt Ali's assassination - and who else, even if he was too clever for there to be proof - what could make him concede at all?

Stranger still - Priyat suddenly realized that Alana had adjusted her eating style over the course of the meal. Evidently she had picked up on the unspoken disapproval - and reacted. Where had such intelligence been hiding ere now?

"My lady?" The Haseki Sultan turned in mild surprise at the interruption. Shirin leaned in, giving her the kind of neutral look that Priyat recognized as 'urgent'.

This mystery must be put aside for a time. "I'm afraid you must excuse me for a little while," Priyat said to Alana. "Rubiya will help get you settled, make sure you have what you need."

She stepped out into the hall. "Yes, Shirin?"

"In your chambers, if you please, my lady?" Shirin said quietly.

Priyat frowned, but nodded and strode to her apartment at once. Shirin was definitely agitated, though few would have been able to tell. The day had begun with disruption; this did not augur well.

The moment the painted doors closed, Shirin spoke. "Prince Ali has disappeared!"

The Haseki Sultan blinked, then snapped, "Tell me everything."

Shirin spoke rapidly. "The servants brought him a late lunch. No one has seen him since. He was not there this morning - his elephant is almost uncontrollable!" The briefest of hesitation and she plunged on. "Lakshmi said the princess went to visit him shortly after lunch - alone!"

Audacious, even for her, Priyat reflected.

"After perhaps half an hour, she went back to her chambers. And she brought that new..." - a flicker as she chose a neutral term - "girl with her." Shirin's lips pursed. "She was dressed as finely as a princess herself, then."

Shirin spread her hands. "She wore the garb of a coquette when she and the princess left for the throne room, though. They met Jafar there. He had shooed away all servants and retainers, however, so no one saw what took place then."

Shirin finally hesitated for real. "Out with it, girl," Priyat commanded.

Her most trusted servant - her spymistress, in truth - obeyed. "The princess did not return to her chambers last night. This morning, Naeva witnessed her leaving the vizier's chambers - with him and the new courtesan." Even then, a final pause. "Jasmine's clothes were as unkempt as the slave girl's."

Priyat was aghast. "How am I only learning of this now?" Nothing made sense. Jasmine had been indulged by the Sultan - perhaps even spoiled, in some ways. Spending the night with a man unchaperoned went well beyond indulgence, however.

Her distaste for Jafar was obvious to all. The subject of jokes - and relief, by the many who feared the prospect of his rule. That she would invite - nay, demand - scandal by such behavior was incomprehensible. To salvage her honor at this point, she would have to marry the vizier!

A night of debauchery had taken place in Jafar's bed - Alana's condition made that apparent. Could Jasmine really have participated?

Shirin's gabbling apologies helped rein in her galloping thoughts. "I'm sorry, my lady, I was busy trying to find more information about the guards who attacked Ali. As you asked. Lakshmi and Naeva only just managed to speak to me a few minutes ago..."

Jafar slipped into his laboratory. He extracted the lamp, and examined it carefully. It looked like worthless junk. He rubbed it, tense.

He had expected it - had known it would happen - but he was still awestruck and overjoyed as raw magical energy erupted from the tip of the cheap-looking brass object, coalescing into a giant blue form. Music swelled, as if they were surrounded by an invisible orchestra. Bright sparkling explosions filled the room. The blue being, tall as a house, looked down at Jafar...

...and there came a strange, unpleasant scratching noise; the music returned, but progressively slowed down while dropping in pitch, fading to nothing in bare seconds. To Jafar's ears, a very eerie sound. The fireworks ceased, except for a tiny, fizzling 'pop' with a few desultory sparks.

"Aw, man," the genie said, sadly. "I was hoping it'd be the princess." He turned his head, searching the room. His clothes had changed, to some barbarian form, and outlandish smoked glass rectangles concealed his eyes. "Yo, shorty, you 'round the hood? Maybe want a turn at the mic?"

Jafar, irritated, disregarded the indecipherable words. He grabbed the smokelike trail that connected the djinn to the lamp, and yanked down. The cobalt-colored creature was drawn closer, and bounced off the floor. "I am your master now," the vizier declared triumphantly.

"Master now! Master now!" Iago cried.

"I was afraid of that," the genie murmured, one of the glass squares shattered, a darker blue bruise on his cheek. Then he squinted at Jafar's scepter. "A Staff of Apep! Haven't seen one of those in a Sphinx's age!" He shook his head, crestfallen. "No wonder Al and the princess were acting all weird! Nasty things, always causing trouble." His eyes were suddenly filled with rotating spirals.

Jafar's crooked grin overflowed with malevolence. "I must compliment you on your handiwork, slave," he drawled. "'Alana' was simply delectable last night." A small chuckle. "And this morning."

The djinn looked shocked... and sad, and guilty. The vizier's smile had lost none of its menace, but acquired some mischief. "Even the princess agrees."

The spirals had disappeared; it was easy to tell, since the genie's eyes protruded and became the size of dinner plates. "Whoa!" he exclaimed. Abruptly, with no transition, he was curled around the staff. Iago squawked and flapped his wings, dislodged from Jafar's shoulder. The magical being was examining the jewels in the scepter intently, through some curved disc of glass at the end of a handle. He wore a brown jacket of odd tailoring, and also a hat with a protruding brim and flaps covering his ears. "That's a heck of a whammy to lay on somebody. They both got busy with you?" His tone of bemusement was so insulting that it must have been calculated.

"Enough, slave!" The vizier took a deep breath, dismissing the implied derogation. Instead he laughed in celebration of his ascendancy. "Unlimited power, at my command! At last!"

Suddenly the genie was grey-haired, clad in a scholar's robe. He began to lecture. "Ah, not quite. There are a few, uh, provisos, addenda, a, a number of quid pro quos..."

"Such as?" Jafar bit out, dangerously.

"Well, the first one's gonna be a problem for you. I can't kill anybody." Suddenly two genies floated before the vizier; the rightmost one sliced the other's chest open with a sword. A beating - yet bloodless - heart fell to the floor, next to the 'slain' genie, whose eyes had become twin 'X' symbols.

"And second?"

"I can't bring anyone back from the dead." The fallen duplicate suddenly rose, green-skinned with swollen eyes, a moving corpse. It seized the 'living' genie by the neck.

"It's not a pretty picture," the risen genie moaned. "I won't do it! I won't!" He bundled up the blue genie and swallowed him whole.

Jafar was not perturbed. "And finally?"

The green genie was suddenly blue again, but with long hair, a frighteningly large bosom, and a gauzy veil. "I can't make anybody fall in love with anybody else," 'she' simpered. A pause, as the genie's face filled with exaggerated feminine revulsion. "Especially you."

"Love?" Jafar chuckled. "What use have I for love?"

The genie, now wearing his normal appearance, also wore an expression both weary and jaded. "Yeah, that sounds about right, Señor Psychopath," he muttered under his breath. Jafar chose not to notice.

"Is that all?" The part about killing was barely an annoyance. Assassins were easy to hire. The only person he would ever want back from the dead was himself, and how could he utter that wish in such a case? Love was a tool of manipulation, no more - and fear was more useful.

He shook his head, casting aside the irrelevant constraints. "Even yesterday, my first wish would have been to be Sultan. Long have I dreamed of that moment!" He laughed again. "But with the princess my bride, it will fall to me soon enough. No, I must take time to reconsider my plans, in light of recent developments." He turned to the apprehensive genie. "But the princess needs more breaking in. And I plan to extract full use of my new slave."

Perhaps melodramatically, he gestured at the genie, and solemnly intoned, "I wish to have health and potency and strength outstripping a dozen ordinary men, and that my manhood be of the size and power to satisfy many women, for hours."

"Like I haven't heard that one before..." the genie muttered. In sadness, he pointed at the vizier. The magic enveloped him, and swiftly dispersed.

Priyat realized how upset she was as she walked into the princess' rooms... uninvited. Technically she was in full charge of the women's quarters since the death of the Sultan's wife; she had the right. But once the princess had reached a marriageable age, she had extended the girl every courtesy. In truth, she loved Jasmine. And even if she hadn't, she had loved the girl's mother, and intended to do right by her.

If anything justified the breach of politeness, though... she went past the bedroom to the bath. The princess was emerging from the pool.

More beautiful than even her mother. (Astonishing, that, considering who her father was.) Priyat would have unhesitatingly called Jasmine the most beautiful girl in the world... had she not just come from meeting Alana. Impossible to decide, there.

Rajah, Jasmine's pet tiger, was prowling anxiously about, eyes searching his mistress. They turned to the Haseki Sultan and he mewled some kind of plea.

Priyat could not spare concern even for the agitation of a tiger; she had her own concerns about his mistress. "Is it true? Did you spend the night with that monster?" She had not intended to sound shrill, but...

The look Jasmine favored her with took Priyat aback. Cold, stern. The princess could be fierce, but she was always fiery. Never cold. "Indeed I did." There was no shame. She simply began to dry herself with a towel.

"How could you do such a thing? Does Prince Ali know? Is that why he has vanished?"

Jasmine scowled at the mention of her suitor, puzzling the Haseki Sultan even more. "Ali was a pretender, no prince at all! He is gone, and will never return."

Priyat blinked, and exclaimed, "Who but a prince would have such a procession, such wealth?"

"A liar. A foul deceiver." Jasmine seemed utterly certain. Rajah flinched, ears turned back, tail flicking.

Priyat put that aside for the moment, not wishing to confront the girl's obstinacy directly. "So you spent the night with Jafar?" She threw her hands up in exasperation. "You were seen leaving his chambers. With Ali gone, you will have no choice but to marry him!"

"Indeed I shall." The princess had dried herself off and was putting on a robe. Untroubled by the prospect of marrying a man she despised.

For long moments, Priyat was dumbstruck. Finally, she found her voice. "How can you say such a thing?"

Jasmine was brushing her hair now, agitated. "He discovered Ali's deception, and showed me the way to prove him false. Shouldn't I have a wise husband?"

Priyat blinked. Then she gathered her wits. Something was going on here she didn't understand. "What has gotten into you? Just yesterday you were overjoyed to marry the prince!"

"Yesterday I was tricked and deceived. Now I see clearly." Sullenly, but with an undertone of real anger.

There seemed no way to avert this catastrophe, but Priyat had to try. "Jafar is known to use his women harshly."

Yet Jasmine actually smiled at her words. "He will have Alana to use as he likes."

Priyat shut her gaping jaw. Never had she been so bewildered. "You always said that you would never allow your husband to keep concubines. You would be more than enough." She threw up her hands. "And now I hear you brought the girl to him yourself!" Then, unable to keep the exasperation out of her voice: "And spent the night with them both."

With shocking unconcern, the princess shrugged that away. "She well deserves the vizier's attentions." Her smile was uncharacteristically malicious. The tiger laid a pleading paw on the girl's lap, but she brushed it aside, irritated.

"Do you, as well?" Priyat snapped. "Did you spend the night in bed with him, too?"

Jasmine's glance was impossibly jaundiced. "Husbands-to-be are allowed to be with their betrothed before the wedding, often enough."

The Haseki Sultan could hardly believe that the sweet princess was talking about such things. Without even a blush! "For commoners, perhaps! Not for royalty! And not for an engagement that has not even been announced!" She had to ask, fearing the answer. So many inconceivable things had happened last night, it was not the impossibility it should have been. "Did you give him your maidenhead last night?"

"No," Jasmine said, far more casually than such a topic deserved. That cruel smile again. "Jafar was much occupied with Alana."

She would have to retreat, to try to grasp how things had gotten so out of control. Still... she should try to gather as much information as possible. "Alana is... a very strange girl. Who is she? Where did she come from?"

Jasmine did not answer. Instead, she insisted, "You must train her well! She will need a lot of practice. Don't hesitate to discipline her!" Rajah whined. He seemed to sense how strangely his mistress was acting.

Her hair acceptable, the princess stood. "I must see my father. I have to tell him about Prince Ali."

Priyat blinked. "And your betrothal, surely?"

"Oh, yes, that too," Jasmine said with startling absent-mindedness. She seemed entirely focused on Prince Ali's alleged perfidy.

Once Alana had finished eating, Rubiya took away the dishes. When she returned a few minutes later, the beauty was still sitting at the table, uncertain. "What would you like to do now?" the serving girl asked.

"I don't... I'm not sure," Alana admitted. She looked up at Rubiya. "I don't know what to do. What I'm supposed to be."

The odalisque thought for a moment; it was all very curious. It was obvious what kind of slave Alana was. Previously, Rubiya had never attended upon a courtesan; just wives and daughters of palace functionaries.

Contrary to what commoners seemed to think, most women in the harem, even the slaves, did not slake the sexual thirsts of the Sultan or other high court officials. (Not that the Sultan had ever had more than Jasmine's mother and Priyat.)

Rubiya was simply a domestic servant. Some of her fellow odalisques had ambitions toward concubinage; it could be a step up, as slavery went. Like Alana, they would get an attendant of their own.

"I don't know much about being a... concubine," the attendant admitted.

"Neither do I," Alana sighed. She looked so lost...

Rubiya felt badly for her. "When I was girl, I knew a dancer who became a courtesan." She shrugged. "I remember she said... how did she put it? She said it wasn't so hard. 'A man comes to me, he's not looking for a challenge. He wants a respite. A bit of joy and ease at the end of the day.' Like that."

Alana frowned. "That doesn't sound much like... Master."

"I suppose not." To most of the servants in the place, Jafar barely seemed human.

There was an awkward pause. Rubiya broke the silence. "Will... the vizier call for you tonight?"

The new girl paused, considering the question. "I think so," she finally said, to Rubiya's eye displaying very mixed emotions about that.

"Maybe we can find a pretty outfit for you, then." Diffidently: "And perhaps some makeup."

Alana was unexpectedly gripped with excitement at the idea. I ache to wear silks and lace and perfume. I love to adorn myself with cosmetics and jewelry. Weighty, indisputable words. Schooled into her by the staff, no doubt. But... why fight them? If her kismet was to be a harem girl, why not take what enjoyment she could from it?

Sultan Hamad Bobolonious was in a fine mood. Jasmine would at last be wed... almost at the last possible moment! And to such an impressive - not to mention wealthy - prince! His greatest, consuming worry had been that he would perish before he could make sure she was taken care of.

He sat on the great elephantine throne, tuning out the droning of an advisor, humming to himself. And then he caught sight of Jasmine herself, approaching. Almost marching closer, with a determined stride. Priyat followed behind.

"Oh, dearest one, I missed you yesterday! I was hoping to announce your engagement earlier, but we can do it this afternoon." The Sultan paused. "Where is Prince Ali?"

He finally registered his daughter's scowl. "He was no prince! He was nothing but a swindler!" Jasmine was often irritated, but seldom so furious.

"But he... but you..." He slumped. "I don't understand," he said plaintively.

"Ali was deceiving me. Us all. Jafar showed me his treachery. He confessed it himself." Both Priyat and the Sultan exchanged a glance at this non-explanation. The princess continued, vehement. "He has been banished forever! Never to be seen again!"

"But... but this is a disaster! Your birthday is days away. The law says you must be married by then, and we have no suitor!"

His daughter showed not the slightest worry. "No, father. For his service, I am betrothed to Jafar." She said this as though it made perfect sense.

"But he's so... old," the Sultan objected, faintly.

"Oh, not so old as all that," came a familiar voice from the north entrance of the throne room.

It was still Jafar. But as he strode forward from the archway, there was an energy, a vigor in his movements none present had ever seen before. His skin glowed like a stripling, his eyes had lost their trace yellowness, and he seemed to fill his robes more fully. The subtle tinges of gray in his beard had vanished.

The Sultan struggled through his confusion. "You look... well, Jafar."

"Love will give any man a spring in his step, highness." He took Jasmine's hand and kissed it. She made no move to retrieve it from his clasp.

Hamad stared for a moment, amazed. He had sometimes wished that the two would get along better, but... marriage? "Are you sure, daughter?"

"I am, father." She said it with all the determination a father could hope for... though perhaps not so much passion.

The advisor was very agitated. "The law says the princess must marry a prince!"

The Sultan frowned. "Doesn't it say...? Jafar, I'm quite sure you told me something about the vizier in that law..."

The Grand Vizier skated past the issue. "Be that as it may, sire, you may always change the law as you wish."

"That's right! Am I Sultan or am I Sultan?"

"That might be unwise, my lord," the advisor broke in. "You recall the reason for the law..."

Jafar did not want to confront those politics right now. The law had been intended to foster alliances. Realities had changed in the century since it had been instituted, however. The nations arrayed about Agrabah were all of roughly equal power. None could threaten the land Jafar would rule... on their own.

An alliance between Agrabah and any one of its neighbors would tip that balance. The others might well unite against them. That lack of a clear choice had allowed Jasmine to reject so many suitors - even her father's indulgence could not have overcome statecraft to that degree.

A threatening glance suppressed the advisor; then the vizier turned to the Sultan. "How soon may we be wed? I am eager to begin our new life together."

Priyat struck, deploying the only tactic left to her: delay. "A month. A royal wedding will take at least a month to prepare."

All three looked to her, surprised. "Come," Jafar said tensely, laboring to sound polite, "we were preparing to marry the princess to that pretender within the week!"

Priyat was firm. "We wanted to cement the alliance as soon as possible, not let the boy get away." She tossed her head. "Apparently, that is no longer a concern. You would not abandon her at the altar, naturally?"

"Perish the thought," he bit out. "Yet it must be possible to hurry that along? Jasmine's birthday approaches!" A deep breath. "Surely two weeks would be sufficient?"

Priyat said, sweetly, "A betrothal is as good as a marriage, by the law." She addressed the Sultan, heading off argument from the vizier. "Surely your daughter deserves the most spectacular of weddings? Not a hastily-prepared improvisation?"

The Sultan's face lit up at this. "Of course, of course! A royal wedding should be memorable. Take the time you need, Priyat. Everything must be perfect!"

Suddenly Jasmine spoke. "Yes! A spectacle that will make everyone forget about that fraud Ali."

A fraught pause, then Jafar said, "As you wish, darling."

The Haseki Sultan took what pleasure she could from Jafar's veiled dissatisfaction. And what hope she could from the veiled relief she thought lurked in Jasmine's eyes.

Jafar shifted his attention back to Priyat. He could not lash out at her directly, not here. "And how is my new slave?" he asked, in a saccharine tone. "Is she settling in nicely?"

"As well as can be expected." Pointedly: "Given that we had no warning of her arrival."

"Keep a close eye on her," Jasmine growled, sounding almost like her tiger.

"Who is this? What slave?" the Sultan asked, curiously.

The Princess appeared caught out for a moment, unsure what to say. Priyat noticed, and resolved to interrogate the bizarrely ignorant courtesan at the earliest opportunity. The sheltered princess had little experience with lying, but obviously wished to conceal something.

Jafar smoothly stepped into the gap and interposed, "A leftover from that rapscallion Ali. He abandoned the poor serving girl in his haste to escape justice." A magnanimous shrug. "I took her under my wing, so to speak, out of pity."

"Oh, that's very kind of you, Jafar," the Sultan said.

"It seemed the least I could do, sire." The vizier's unctuous grin made Priyat want to grind her teeth together. The story was complete nonsense - Alana had not been in the palace until last night. Prince Ali had been an enormous distraction... but that girl would be noticed in any situation. There would have been gossip.

"By your leave, sire, I shall go begin planning the wedding," the Haseki Sultan said. Casually, to Jafar: "I suppose I can check on the girl, as well."

"I shall come with you, to supervise her training myself," Jasmine declared.

Jafar's smile grew yet wider. "I am sure she is much in need of correction, Princess."

Priyat lost the battle; her jaw clenched involuntarily. Her last hope, just conceived, was to get Alana alone the moment she returned to the harem. Now, that would not be possible for a while.

Alana wrapped a rather indecent 'skirt' about her hips, feeling an unaccustomed - but intense - thrill. It was made of narrow strips of silk, down to her calves; any movement exposed her legs, and the embroidered panties underneath. It was meant for dancing... and not the kind of chaste shuffling-to-music that old married couples did at a celebration.

Rubiya produced a halter, then helped her put it on. Alana wasn't looking at her at all; she stared at herself in the polished metal of the mirror on the wall. The servant girl found it cute, in a way, the childlike wonder this concubine displayed at her appearance.

Although, in these clothes, she looked anything but childlike. No, her development was quite unmistakable. Rubiya might have felt jealous of her beauty... had it not been apparent that very beauty had closed off all options for the poor girl, save one. She decided she was glad to simply be pretty; she would have a husband one day, not a master like Alana.

For her part, Alana was in a very strange state of mind. I adore being feminine, alluring. She knew it wasn't actually so, but she felt as if a lifelong dream was suddenly fulfilled. And she experienced renewed humiliation at how much she loved wearing such girlish clothes.

But she was coming to realize that her enjoyment was not as harmless as she had supposed. Jafar had compelled her to feel this way. She knew that - however genuine, and natural, and intense the emotions seemed. Giving in to some of these feelings was giving in to all the others. They were all tangled together. Taking enjoyment from femininity meant also taking enjoyment from submission and obedience. From pleasing her Master...

He was an evil man, who had tried to steal Aladdin's life. Then he had successfully stolen his love, his manhood, and his freedom. And had already half-stolen his very mind! Maybe more than half; the idea of submitting to him was so darkly tempting... Being Master's slave in body and mind... The shame and embarrassment somehow increasing her arousal...

A girl of the type she now was would always belong to some man. It was disturbingly easy to picture it being Jafar. A man with real power, political and sorcerous. A Master who could protect and provide for - and make regular use of - her.

She shook her hips, experimentally. Her breasts jiggled, an alien but hardly unpleasant sensation. The silken panels rippled and parted, offering the promised glimpses of her hips... and her crotch. The fabric was getting darker there, damp from her kus. That bewildering new cleft between her legs was clearly outlined by the indecently tight silk; it reminded her of the toe of a camel.

It was good, she decided... but Master would like her better if her face were painted. And so would she. I love to adorn myself with cosmetics and jewelry. She did not even mark the resonance, so enthralled was she by the idea.

The new slave girl sat on a stool and let Rubiya use various brushes and sticks and sponges to apply wondrous substances to her eyes, cheeks, and lips. It felt weirdly sublime, and she gave herself over to the experience of being painted and decorated.

The emotions helped her remain still, despite her impatience and eagerness to see the results. As with the clothes, it was as if she had craved exactly this, for years. It came as not merely a joy but a relief to wear makeup. Both joy and relief increased when Rubiya clasped a pendant around her neck, dangling into the cleft between her breasts. Then, the bracelets!

Alana wasn't sure how long it had been since they had started. Far longer than it had ever taken Aladdin to get dressed, though she was wearing so much less than he had. (And Aladdin hadn't even been able to afford a shirt!)

At last Rubiya released her. When Alana stood up and took in the image in the mirror, she knew it had been worth it.

She beheld a gorgeous dancing girl, dressed in gauzy silks and fine jewelry, with her face thoroughly done up. Yet those silks were scandalously meager, the jewelry drew attention to her bosom and painted nails, and her makeup was that of a strumpet, a harlot. Save for the quality of the fabric and the richness of the gems, the garb would fit right in at any of Agrabah's pleasure houses.

Master will be so pleased! she thought. "Oh, thank you, Rubiya!" A moment later, she paused, reviewing her thoughts with alarm...

Suddenly, Princess Jasmine and Priyat came through the archway. Rubiya noticed the Haseki Sultan's closed expression and tried to become small and invisible. Something was bothering the mistress of the harem. She was not prone to pettiness, but it would be best to avoid causing her any trouble.

Fortunately, they both were paying attention exclusively to Alana. For her part, the slave girl was looking meek, though still flushed. Jasmine surveyed her up and down, a strange mix of satisfaction and resentment in her mein. Priyat's eyes widened, then narrowed, as she performed her own inspection.

"Well," the princess barked, "you wear the costume. But can you actually dance?" Rubiya was startled by the unwonted harshness in her tone.

Alana's mouth opened in surprise - and dismay. Then it closed in nervousness. Hesitantly, she began to move. Her hips swayed, she did a little twirl, her arms waved... and it was comical. In this, at least, she was fully childlike - having as little idea how to dance as she did to dress.

"Disgraceful!" the princess cried. "Always the pretender!" Hissing: "Is there anything true about you?"

Rubiya could not help but look to Priyat - who gave her a flat glance and a nearly imperceptible nod. She had noticed the princess' uncharacteristic vindictiveness. What could Alana have done to rouse such ire?

The girl herself had looked away, sullen, and... remorseful?

"We obviously have much to do to get you ready to meet your Master tonight," Jasmine said. The girl was not above using sarcasm - but seldom with so biting an edge. Again Rubiya and Priyat exchanged looks.

Rubiya schooled her expression; Jasmine had turned to her. "Girl, perhaps you should fetch me a switch."

Alana's eyes and mouth opened wide in fear. Fortunately Jasmine was watching this with a smile, since both Priyat and Rubiya looked scarcely less shocked.

Jafar sat in his laboratory, having banished the disrespectful genie back to his lamp. Alone save for Iago.

He considered the realities of national intrigue. His marrying the princess would avoid the difficulty of an unbalanced alliance with Agrabah. But it was likely to lead to the opposite problem - all the surrounding nations uniting against Agrabah, to carve up the land he had worked so hard to possess. Eschewing their princes to marry non-royalty could easily be regarded as insulting. At least it was a pretext for war.

This tangle was a key reason that a prince from a distant land had been so welcomed. An alliance with some far-off kingdom would not threaten the local balance of power, nor would it insult the honor of any neighbor. Prince Ali's arrival had seemed wondrous good fortune to everyone - except the ambitious vizier.

Many in Agrabah would regard their betrothal as impending disaster. Already the Haseki Sultan had caused problems. He could expect a great deal more covert opposition, and from more than her. Possibly even attempts at assassination; though he need not worry about such drastic measures until the wedding drew closer.

It would not come to that. He had resources beyond even nations now, and could defeat any problem. Jafar held the lamp in his hands, smiling as he pondered how best to apply its power.

Wishing to become a prince hadn't worked for Aladdin. It likely would have failed, eventually, even if the boy had guarded both mind and lamp. Jafar trusted his own power more than the fealty of others, in any case. Especially his sorcery - which had overcome even the master of a genie.

Had Aladdin used his last wish quickly, he would have escaped the trap in which he had been snared. Jafar understood his reluctance, now, however. Two wishes left. Keeping them in reserve, as insurance against the unforeseen... it was difficult to resist. Although that had instead left the street rat vulnerable to being tricked. Compelled to using his last wish on Jafar's behalf -

Suddenly the vizier laughed out loud, startling the bird. "Get a grip!" it squawked.

"Don't you see, Iago?" Jafar crowed. It was so blindingly obvious - the staff was the key to everything. Literally everything. "I never need run out of wishes... when I can compel others to use theirs for me!"

The bird echoed the man's peals of laughter.

Alana followed Jasmine through the corridors of the palace. It was a distorted echo of the night before.

Immediately after her transformation, Jasmine had whisked the fresh girl to the royal quarters. There, she had been dressed and made up. Though Alana could not clearly remember, she must have been subjected to the scepter at some point. Probably more than once. Everything was hazy.

Once prepared, she had complacently followed Jasmine to the vizier - just as she was doing now. At that time, she had been dazed, more than half in a dream, unable to ponder the future. Now, she was much more aware of what was going on. And this time she was crystal clear regarding what would happen when they reached Master's chambers.

Even in the fog of last night, she had marked how everyone regarded her so differently. Aladdin - and 'Ali' - had been greeted with disdain, or respect, or suspicion, or admiration. Alana received none of those; she was not important enough. Barely a person; just an ornament, a frilly decoration. She was regarded mostly with contempt from women, and - exclusively - lewd examination from the men.

She was much more... conscious tonight, and thus more fully aware of these responses. The women were disconcerting, but the men -

It was frightening, in some ways. Aladdin could have defended himself, or athletically evaded attack. Alana the mouse was no more than two thirds the size of the street rat; and much less of her was muscle. Virtually any male old enough to grow a beard was a potential threat. And if they had reached that age, they had reason to pursue her.

And yet, at the same time those looks were also exciting. Nearly intoxicating. Being a beautiful and enticing denizen of the harem was... exhilarating. Their attentive scrutiny proved that she was an attractive, bewitching slave girl - as she now greatly desired to be.

Again, despite the fact that she had only experienced such urges for barely a day... it had the flavor of fulfillment of a much-delayed aspiration. An itch scratched at long last. How could these... engineered appetites feel so unforced? So... trustworthy?

And as earlier, these new feelings were all intermingled. Feeling sultry and seductive - it was a heady sensation. And that made her want to be pliant and yielding. To obey and submit. The idea that she could be forced to comply, to surrender, actually excited her.

So she was off-balance and ambivalent as they came to the corridor that led to the vizier's rooms. A guard leaned against the archway. He came to attention at the sight of the princess. But his eyes wandered to the bosom and hips of Alana. She felt her nipples harden further. As she walked past him behind Jasmine (I love to excite men), she experimentally flashed the man a look, eyes half-lidded, and made sure her hips swayed just a touch more. A few yards down the corridor, halfway to Master's room, she glanced over her shoulder. The guard was staring at her behind, captivated.

She could not help her silly grin. To beguile men proved embarrassing, and a little intimidating... but also incredibly thrilling.

They arrived; Jasmine made a crisp knock at the door. Jafar had ordered the thick oak barrier installed when he moved in, long ago. He had always insisted on privacy. After a moment, she heard the lock disengage, and it opened. "Ah, my dear, how lovely you look tonight!" He gave Jasmine a kiss on the cheek, which she cooperated with. Then he turned to survey Alana. "What a tender morsel you bring me!"

The slave girl felt as if she were shrinking. Master was somehow even more imposing. Overwhelmingly masculine - aggressive and domineering. She told herself it was just the spell of the staff, warping her perceptions... but could not make herself believe it.

With exaggerated solicitude, he stepped back to wave Jasmine in. "Welcome, darling. You grace my rooms with your presence." Alana trailed behind, eyes lowered in shame and turmoil, hoping it came off as merely demure.

Once the door was closed - and locked - Jafar moved on Jasmine more aggressively. "I have missed you, my intended," he breathed, and hugged her close with one arm. The other hand importunately fondled her rump as their tongues twined. Jasmine moaned, possibly a bit too theatrically.

The arrow struck home nevertheless. Alana fought tears. Despite the tremendous changes she had undergone - the fact that she truly thought of herself as a 'she' not the least - it continued to sting, witnessing Jafar paw crudely at Jasmine. As the princess eagerly welcomed it!

Even with magic, how had it come to this? Their love had felt so true, barely a day ago! It made her want to weep. Or rage...

She felt so insignificant (a harem girl is submissive) as they clung to each other. Wanting to interfere, yet afraid to draw attention. She was only a slave. A total nonfactor.

At last they broke off. Jasmine glanced at her sharply, and that atypical vengeful smile broadened. Alana's guilt was mixed with resentment. Did she really deserve such treatment?

Just then, the vizier stepped forward. His gaze traveled all over her, possessively, imperiously. "Seldom have I seen so appealing a present so scantily wrapped," he remarked. He thinks I look good! she thought, with helpless satisfaction.

His hand came forward, and glided down from the side of her breast to cup the side of her hip. She shivered, unable to look away - eyes captured by his commanding stare.

She could hardly think, yet some response was called for. "I learned a dance for you, Master," she said, shyly.

"Then by all means, you must dance." He waved toward the center of the room. As Alana took her place, Master sat on a low couch against the wall; Jasmine placed herself close beside him.

She began. The bells on her feet jingled. I adore being girly, she thought to herself. The notion had that strange resonance that she now recognized as coming from the staff.

Whatever the source, the pleasure was real. It was a delight to be feminine and alluring. Why fight it? What choice did she have, anyway? So much easier to be guided, to accept. To submit...

Jasmine watched the girl with intense concentration. This imposter, this swindler - brought so low. He who had wormed his way into her heart, had deviously stolen her love - now dancing nearly naked, a toy for the whims of men. Ready to submit to any perversion, ardently. It was delicious... Suddenly Jafar's fingers brushed a nipple. All at once she was aware of how aroused she was, of how her kus felt swollen and moist. She flushed, but did not push his fingers away.

The dance finished, and Alana knelt on the floor before him, panting... not entirely from exertion. It was humiliating, how wet she was. How eagerly she degraded herself for Master.

Only the staff made her think of him as Master, though - right? She attempted to summon some resistance. She tried to look at... at Jafar... but could not hold his gaze. Her eyes lowered from Master's face. She felt... bashful. Timid. Like a little mouse, a pet before her owner. Then her eyes widened - at his groin, his pants swelled. Had she succeeded in pleasing him?

"What do you think, my dear Jasmine?" the vizier asked, with a certain mirthfulness. His arm wrapped around her shoulders, pulling her close. His hand dangled, though - casually cupping and playing with a breast through her halter.

"Shameful," the princess sneered after a moment. "She moves like a pregnant cow." Alana, wounded, peered at Jasmine as she sighed. "It was the best I could do with only an afternoon."

That was unfair, though the princess felt no guilt. She recalled the grace and speed and balance Aladdin had shown in the market; all those survived in Alana. The girl had learned quickly, especially with the light encouragement of the switch. (Jasmine had been careful not to mark the slave's skin. Yet a surprising sting could be managed even within that limit.)

"Oh, I thought it had a certain appeal," the vizier drawled. "Certainly in the view afforded." Alana couldn't help but look up, feeling a smile appear on her lips, unbidden. A harem slave exults in pleasing her master.

His own smile grew at her transparent pleasure. She looked down again, only partly from bashfulness. There was more than a flicker of shame, as well. How helpless she was! Once strong-willed, clever, ambitious - now taking joy in her own abject mortification. More - in the pleasure that brought her abuser. Her thoughts were dragged to that bulge...

Jafar rose from the divan. "To my bed, slave. I have a present for you, as well."

She stood and obeyed (a harem girl rejoices in being obedient), hearing him follow. Alana sat on the edge of the bed. Memories awoke - of what Master had done to her, right here, bare hours before. What she had done to him, gladly, with that captivating mix of submission and passion. Now she was looking up again at his face, so far above her... His disdainful, victorious smile making her feel tiny and exposed...

She realized that this was a tipping point. Last night, and even this morning, she had been confused and befuddled from the scepter. Not fully in control of what she was doing. Tonight, this very moment, she had a choice.

A mere fragment, a crumb of hope remained. Just possibly, she could somehow steal the lamp, and find someone willing to wish her back to manhood. A slender thread, indeed. Hardly possible at all; and then only if she held a grip on her own will, maintained a spark of defiance.

Should she give in again, here and now... if she allowed him to control and dominate her this night... she sensed there would be no turning back. The street rat would be defeated, gone forevermore. There would only remain the tamed mouse, the concubine slave. Letting Master willingly use her (fuck her) would be giving all of herself. She would be able to hold back her affection, her soul... but nothing of her mind and will. She wouldn't even want to be Aladdin again.

Did she still want that? Her kus felt incredibly fiery for something so damp. His eyes, so... masterful. So possessive, avaricious. A slave girl desires her owner. It seemed the plain and simple truth. What could be more natural?

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Jasmine sit up, smile that vicious smile. What awaited life as Aladdin, anyway? Heartbreak, and poverty. The princess forever lost, love turned to hatred. Even wishes from a genie had not improved his lot. Alana could look forward to, if not love, then at least safety and pleasure...

Jafar saw the indecision in her face, in her tense shoulders. It had been a calculated risk, forgoing the staff this morning. Yet he was encouraged; he had more than half expected outright rebellion before this point.

Had it been only the staff, Alana would unquestionably have revolted already. But Aladdin had been smitten by the princess. The loss of Jasmine's affection, and her present loathing, must be affecting him - her - deeply. Jafar had seen lovelorn men succumb to despair; watched them flee to ruin in drink or opium or brawling. It stiffened his resolve to avoid the weakness of love.

The slave girl now had but one avenue to escape that suffering. Her residual opposition was a desperate, rearguard action. If he pressed sharply, it would collapse.

He slipped a flattened hand under her rump; she yelped, but didn't pull away. Then, he lifted. She squeaked as he picked her up. He was suspending her with one hand at shoulder level, with nary a tremble or sign of effort.

The vizier's grin was impossibly smug. Jasmine was staring in awe - and alarm. "The genie has granted my first wish: vitality and strength," Jafar boasted. His mouth curved in a very self-satisfied manner. "That I might enjoy you more thoroughly."

To Alana, it brought little if any bodily discomfort - his hands were wide, and her rump well-padded, after all. Emotionally, however... it brought roiling, turbulent upheaval. Apprehension and unease at how utterly outmatched she was, physically. Never had she felt so intimidated, in this life or the one before. Yet that reaction mixed and mingled with excitement, curiosity, and... undeniable lust. He was so formidable, so puissant, so... irresistible!

He tilted his hand, tumbling her onto the bed. She yipped only in startlement, unharmed from a fall onto so soft a surface. Alana, on her back, stared up again at her Master. She had felt small and meek beside him this morning. Now... she could not dream of defying him.

"But that is not the gift I have for you, slave." A flick of the eyes, a turn of the hip, made clear what he referred to.

Alana was eager - but knew her place as she knelt and bowed on the bed. "May I undress you, Master?"

"You may unwrap your present."

There was no fumbling this time, removing his clothes. Alana learned quickly. She was amazed by the muscles revealed as his robes and shirt came off. Not a great deal larger than before - but sharply delineated, and rock-hard to the touch. Then she gasped when his leggings came down. She had thought him masculine before...

The slave girl was small; she could not truly judge his member on an absolute scale, but it was much larger than it had been. Prodigious, marvelous. Not as big as a horse's tool, yet unquestionably of greater length and girth than the one Aladdin had wielded. She could not look away, but she heard the princess echo her gasp.

"You have served me with your mouth, with all your warm crevices," her Master declared. "I have taken pleasure from your bosom, as well." Memories of the dawn flooded her mind, causing her breath to come yet faster. "But there are other ways a woman can pleasure a man."

She tore her eyes from his zubb and looked up, uncertain. His gaze, boring into her...

"I am mindful of a manner I'm sure the street rat brought pleasure to himself," Jafar chided. "Let us see if I share his tastes."

Alana wondered if she would ever stop blushing in this strange new life. But she finally grasped her Master's intent. "May I touch it, Master?" she pleaded.

Upon his nod, she brought her hands forward, taking gentle hold of his manhood. Aladdin had liked to play with the tip with one hand, while gliding the fingertips of the other along the shaft, at least at first.

She was rewarded with a near-immediate animation of her target. Quickly, it became rigid and rampant.

So focused was she on her task that rough fingers at her crotch came as a surprise, pushing silks aside. She gasped and shuddered. Already, Alana had been aroused. As his digits probed her nethers, there came an embarrassing moist sound, as of stirred porridge.

She was a slave. It was of utmost importance that she continue her ministrations. Disregarding any diversion, however pleasurable. So her fingers kept moving, and her eyes were locked on his zubb, now huge and unwavering. Then her Master spoke: "Do you remember, slave? What the Guardian of the Cave of Wonders called Aladdin?"

"Yes, Master," Alana admitted. It was necessary to listen, to attend his words. Despite her fascination with his member, so proud and... and beauteous, in its own strange way...

"And what was that?" the vizier demanded as his other hand insolently groped a breast. The sensation threatened to distract her. That could not be allowed. She applied her will to focus on the pleasure of her Master.

A particularly agreeable pressure disturbed her resolve. She gasped, then almost moaned, "It called... him... 'The Diamond In The Rough'."

The vizier chuckled as his fingers moved from her breast to slide through her long hair. "Do you see a single thing 'rough' about our Alana, Princess?" Encouraging her obsession with humiliation and feminization was vital.

"Nothing at all," she murmured, smiling. The former male was entirely, completely feminine now. Eager - enthusiastic - to please her master. Submitting fully. It was extraordinarily... provocative. It was shameful how much Alana's abasement excited Jasmine. Aladdin had been such a proud, manly specimen - now a girlish slave working diligently to pleasure a zubb!

Jafar lifted the slave's chin with a finger, held her eyes with his - as his other hand did things to her zambur. Prudently supplying recompense for her capitulation. "No, indeed. All has been polished away save that which is pleasing and winsome. The fate of this 'diamond' is to be the jewel of my harem."

And then, through her fingers Alana sensed a swelling; a burgeoning tension. With unconscious - and entirely unfeigned - devotion, she brought her lips to that slit at the front of his zubb. Moments later, she was drinking as if through a straw of hay. It would have been unacceptable to let her Master's issue dribble about...

Once it was over, Alana sat up, dazed. A harem slave exults in pleasing her master. The exultation was there, unalloyed. She had definitely given pleasure to her Master... the taste on her tongue somehow - gratifying.

Jafar cast a sly nod at Jasmine, lips curled. "Naturally royal hands can outshine those of a slave..."

Jasmine hesitated, yet... phrased that way, how could she refuse? She shrugged off her momentary pause, approaching the seated vizier. Jafar had needed many minutes to recover, last night, so it would be a little while before she was faced with an... erection. She wasn't sure how she felt about that. What she did know was that she'd never let Alana see her uneasiness.

She sat and took his manhood in a gentle grip. It was... strange. Soft, limp as a rope, but she sensed a - resilience. The princess began to move her hand up and down, gently, running it across her palm. In seconds, to her consternation, she felt it stir.

Jafar smiled. "The genie gave me potency surpassing that of ordinary men." Both girls clearly were somewhat confounded by this, to his concealed satisfaction.

Jasmine discovered he did not lie. It was growing in her hand at a startling rate. In a few breaths, it was firmer than she would have believed. And had reached a disconcerting size. She continued to stroke it. There was some give, but she understood now how it could so deeply penetrate a woman. Nipples might become as stiff, perhaps - but they were unanchored. This zubb seemed rooted deep in his body.

She had seen veins under the skin like that - on circus musclemen, trim and lean, surface pulled tight with no fat beneath. Was this a muscle, then? She could not deny a certain impression of strength...

Jafar marked her intense study, not unexpected in a virgin. "You see, princess? This snake is friendly. And his venom brings life, not death." It surprised her; she had become so focused she had forgotten that it was attached to a man.

Seeing her eyes widen slightly, Jafar regretted his last words. Reminding Jasmine of the prospect of pregnancy was perhaps not the wisest move right now. In fact, he might well have doomed any chance of deflowering her before their wedding night. Well, no matter. Her umbrage against Alana was sufficient for the present. "Ah, such a gentle hand. Excellent, princess." A brief glance at the slave shored up the princess' resolve. She went to work on his tool with intent.

"The tip is not unlike the zambur, my dear," Jafar murmured, after a time. Jasmine moved one hand further, onto that head. The fleshy skin that usually covered the tip moved with her, then fell back. Such odd textures...

Lacking experience with males, his release took her by surprise. He made a soft groan, and then... Fascinated, she watched it spurt, emitting little globs of greyish fluid. When it was done his legs, belly, and zubb were decked with glistening drops. Even her hand was slick. She let go, started to pull back... then gave Jafar a tentative glance. Her fingers moved forward, reluctant...

Jafar spoke quickly, solicitous, gently warding her hand with his own. "Oh no, princess! That is a task for servants." Once they were married, he could compel her to minister to him properly. For now, best to avoid anything too objectionable.

Alana took her cue obediently. She slid forward, first licking Jasmine's hand clean, to the princess' surprise - and disgusted pleasure. Then she edged out Jasmine, almost possessively, and began lapping at the vizier with her tongue. She displayed no evident hesitation. He was cleaned most thoroughly and diligently.

She saved his member, and especially its tip, for last. By then, his magical fortitude had brought him to readiness once more. Erect, his member was nearly as long as her forearm. As she nuzzled his scrotum, it stretched across her face from chin to the top of her forehead.

Jafar could not keep a sigh from escaping. Such skill, developed so quickly! The ambition and intelligence of the street rat had been inconvenient - dangerous, in fact. Victorious now, Jafar relished the marvelous prospect of all that passion and cunning directed exclusively to his pleasure.

On that note... "But this is unfair," he murmured. "Here my present to you girls is unwrapped, while both of yours stay hidden, teasing me."

The slave and the royal exchanged looks, and quickly stood before him. It took great effort to keep from laughter. These two, once united against him, now competing with each other to please him best! Marvelous, truly.

It was an interesting contest. Jasmine had significantly more garb to remove - but less concept of what a man would wish to see. Alana was wearing little indeed - yet better understood how a male might enjoy to be teased. And both were magnificently endowed, in varying ways.

Jasmine had too many curves to be called slender, exactly - but she displayed a coltish trimness nevertheless. The build of a dancer or acrobat... save for breasts a fraction large for tumbling, unless bound. In contrast Alana's hips were wider, and her bosom even more pronounced. There was more softness to her; a pillowy plushness. Not that anyone could call her 'fat' - the slave's figure quite resembled that of an hourglass.

So, an interesting contest. And as it turned out, a somewhat comical one. Jasmine had been extensively trained in dance... though in much more innocent styles than she was currently attempting. Alana exhibited a definite poise and dexterity - legacy of the agile street rat - but her experience with dance was obviously no older than this day.

Only their earnestness to entice him enabled him to hold back guffaws. Besides, if there was little erotic skill on display, certainly the flesh on display - progressively more of it - held his interest.

At last, there was no more cloth to remove. He beheld two naked beauties, posed and panting from their undertaking. Alana knelt, Jasmine stood - and both searched him for response.

"An excellent first effort, my dears." He felt how smug his smile was, and had no desire to tamp that down. "I am tolerably pleased."

His "dears" seemed ambivalent about this faint praise. While he needed them concerned for their position, too much pondering on their part was undesirable. So, he waved them closer. "Come, I would welcome a chance to play with my gifts." They scampered to him with entertaining keenness, and soon he was pressed against that exposed flesh, surrounded by delectable sights and textures.

Their competition had moved to who could best stimulate him. Jasmine had reached him first (benefiting from a standing start) so her hand was back on his zubb, trying to tickle it to life. Alana, after a fraction of a moment's consideration, knelt straddling one of his legs, and made sure her bust was easily accessible to his mouth. My breasts are bigger than hers, Alana thought with satisfaction. The princess seemed to pick up on the direction of her thoughts, and clung to Master more tightly.

After a most rewarding interlude, he managed to disengage slightly; both attended his words. "Let us make a bit of a rearrangement..."

Once they had fully untangled, he had Alana lay on her back in the bed. Then he positioned the princess squatting over the slave's face. Jasmine seemed gratified by the aesthetics of the arrangement. Then, in short order, she was gratified by Alana's tongue.

Though Jafar had enjoyed their hands, and planned to do so in the future, he was not drawing from a limited menu. There was no need to ration his desires. So he forced himself between Alana's legs and rudely checked her readiness.

There was plenty of lubrication. He still was astounded at how effective his plan had been. He wasn't sure if it was due to the power of the Staff of Apep, his skill in using it, or a lack of manhood in the street rat. But then, just perhaps... 'true love' really could make someone that vulnerable? So perfectly trusting that the suggestions could reach much deeper?

On the other hand, he had never had a djinn alter a victim's body at the same time.

Whatever the reasons, there was no resistance as he entered Alana, facing Jasmine. The princess spoke as Alana licked her below. "Oh, Jafar! Your beard is so... twisted." She pulled him closer and they kissed and caressed each other, each enjoying the slave girl in their own way.

Between gasps, Alana continued to explore the royal kus with her lips and tongue. The task was far from disagreeable, but it could not match the pleasure of her own kus being filled by her Master.

Just as she had known - and, not so long ago, feared. A balance had been overturned. She could no longer imagine being Aladdin again. She had difficulty remembering what it had been like to be other than she now was. Servant... slave... (Jafar owns me) property. Submitting ardently to the whims and desires of a powerful Master.

Even so, she retained some resentment at being so reduced, so degraded. Shame and humiliation endured. Escape was impossible, resistance hopeless. But she could still pursue certain goals, however limited.

Jasmine would be Master's wife. That was inevitable. Even leaving aside the royal daughter's beauty, such a man as Jafar would never pass up a chance for the Sultanate. He would marry her and make the current Sultan a puppet. Unless she were barren, he would no doubt sire many children upon her.

Alana could never have such a place of honor; she could only be his concubine. So be it. She resolved to be his favorite. A princess might give him a throne, and heirs. She would give him pleasure and delight (I want to be the best harem girl for Jafar), and be highest in his heart. The diamond of his harem.

Concluded in Part Two

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Jasmine's Last Wish (1/2)

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