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.
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
"People of Agrabah, my daughter has finally chosen a suitor!" the Sultan cried to the crowd gathered below.
Alana, jostling with many other girls, watched from a window in the harem. She saw Jasmine standing arm in arm with her intended on a balcony above the courtyard, next to the Sultan.
The assembly could not be called excited. Tense, anxious - those were more accurate terms. Rumors and gossip had been flying for the past several days. First, the boisterous arrival of Prince Ali, then gossip of Jasmine at last taking to a suitor. Then, sudden confusing tales of the prince vanishing, and the princess scandalously disporting herself the past two nights with the Grand Vizier.
So no one had known what to expect from this announcement. The Sultan continued. "The princess will marry Grand Vizier Jafar, four weeks hence!" He paused, perhaps expecting some cheers. Instead, there was a great susurration as citizens whispered and murmured to each other. Jafar was not well-loved by the populace; his policies on tax collection alone ensured that.
The Sultan continued, but Alana did not listen. She thought back on the crowd cheering at the arrival of Ali. There would have been a happy uproar if this had been an announcement of his engagement to Jasmine.
But 'Ali' was no more. He had become Alana, harem girl and concubine slave to Jafar. The schemer had used his serpentine staff to turn Jasmine against him. She, armed with its hypnotic power - and Aladdin's boundless trust in her - had compelled him to summon Genie and waste his final wish on becoming a beautiful woman.
Together they had played with the new girl's mind, making her crave submission and servitude. Compelling her to take pleasure from being used in any manner Jafar willed. Last night, he had forced those pleasures upon her repeatedly. Even in her heart, she had ultimately surrendered.
She could not be called happy about her fate. Reconciled, resigned - those were more accurate terms. Seeing Jasmine fawn over Jafar was painful. Even if she was doing it out of revenge for Aladdin's lies, to spite and humiliate the former suitor who had deceived her.
Jasmine this very moment was kissing the vizier before the crowd. Yet when she finished, it was not the throng, or her father, or even Jafar she looked to. It was to the harem window her head turned, knowing Alana watched. The slave girl looked to the ground, saddened and resentful.
Serving the evil vizier in such demeaning ways brought shame, as well. Yet the staff's suggestions had worked their way deeply into her being. That very shame and humiliation aroused her now. Aroused her greatly. Besides - trapped in this gorgeous, defenseless body - slavery was unavoidable. If she escaped the palace, she would find herself whoring in a brothel within hours. If that long.
Submitting to one mighty, seductively dominant Master was better than servicing the hundreds of grubby men that awaited her anywhere else. Last night, as he filled her kus with his seed, she had resolved to be Master's favorite. A meager measure of revenge upon the princess, for stealing all Aladdin had been.
"I am so delighted, my love," Jafar drawled as the various functionaries scattered at the conclusion of the announcement. "I count the days until we are united as husband and wife."
For once, he spoke the perfect truth. His victory was immensely satisfying. And also, the delays the palace officials had invented to stall the wedding were immensely infuriating. He would be required to keep the princess focused on her (staff-enhanced) rage at the former street rat... in order to distract her from considering the consequences of marrying him.
Once wed, he would be able to do with Jasmine as he willed. She was stubborn, but the staff could wear down anyone's resistance, given sufficient time and repetition. As his wife, he would have constant access to her. The princess would become as much his slave as Alana, eventually. Complaisant, servile - and lustful. Until then, he would be forced to exercise restraint.
"I think I want to change into something less stuffy," the princess said. Her dress was elaborate and formal, befitting a royal engagement. "Then I must continue Alana's training," she said, sporting an uncharacteristic cruel smile.
"As you will, my dear," Jafar purred. A much briefer kiss than the one outside, and Jasmine moved away.
Jafar made a brisk satisfied nod at the girl's back, then set off to the harem. Soon he arrived at the gate. The guard, long since cowed, allowed him entry. Shortly thereafter he barged into Alana's room. She had been conversing with her attendant Rubiya. The pair quite resembled any gaggle of gossiping young women, Jafar reflected in amusement... and triumph.
Upon her Master's entrance, though, Alana swiftly knelt on the rug and bowed her head. "How may I please you, Master?" she asked, with all evident sincerity, as Rubiya discreetly moved to the corner.
Triumph galore! He had sensed her internal surrender the past night. Even the staff could not have accomplished such a swift and thorough reworking alone. It had laid a trap baited with addictive pleasure; but he was certain that wilful street rat would have clawed his mind free of that before now, mandating further sessions under its gaze. Carefully-cultivated despair had been essential to his speedy victory. Genuine heartbreak and jealousy had eroded the once-prodigious will of the impudent boy. (Love was a vulnerability Jafar would never allow in himself.)
Now Alana did not even aspire to be Aladdin again. She had acceded to the life of a slave girl at her core. Distracting a broken heart with lustful games and sport, soothing sorrow with physical pleasures.
A slave, of course, needed commands. "There is to be a feast tonight, in honor of my upcoming nuptials." He fixed his gaze upon his delicious property. "You shall be there."
He spoke sternly. "You must be at your most tantalizing. And at your most servile." A true smile again, cruel and vain. "They must know that I possess the most beautiful slave in all the lands. And that she is entirely in my thrall."
Alana bowed her head, and pledged, "I will make every man in Agrabah jealous of you, Master."
"This is not for vanity, little mouse," Jafar reproved.
Not only for vanity, he means, Alana thought to herself. Surrender did not necessarily entail an end to all her wits. But her Master continued.
"When they see that not only do I possess the princess' regard, but that she is willing - nay, happy - to allow me a concubine such as you..." A satisfied smirk. "It will head off ever so much scheming. They will not bother to try to turn her against me."
He frowned down at the abashed girl. "Those concerns, however, are above your station." A stern look. "Even a slave may count to two," he sneered. "So, what are the two things all must see?"
The command was clear: "That I am beautiful, Master. And that I belong to you."
"Excellent." He left without a backward glance.
As Alana rose, Rubiya stepped closer. Her new mistress was such an odd girl. Many concubines acted submissive and attracted to their masters. It was a requirement of the position; a lack of apparent passion could lead to punishment, or worse.
Few - if any - drew such genuine pleasure from their owner's satisfaction as Alana clearly did. Rubiya had wondered several times if the vizier had concocted some love potion and used it on the girl. How else to explain such exaggerated amorousness and ardency for so wicked a man?
But that didn't line up, either. Surely he would have used it on Princess Jasmine if he possessed some tincture of passion. And she obviously only tolerated Jafar's attentions as a means of upsetting Alana. The princess behaved almost like a betrayed lover... yet Jasmine had never been interested in other girls!
None of these mysteries were Rubiya's concern, for more than gossip, however. She had been assigned to serve Alana as attendant. "What do you think the vizier will want you to wear?" she asked, doubtfully.
Alana wore an expression of intense concentration. "I have an idea," she said.
The girl kept surprising Rubiya. Her first day in the harem yesterday morning, Alana had trouble dressing herself, ignorant even of the names of various garments. Now she had ideas on fashion? Although, intelligence lurked within the slave. Rubiya had seen glimpses of it...
The attendant had relayed Alana's audacious descriptions and drawings to the seamstresses, and they were sitting idly before the polished brass mirror in her room, experimenting with arranging her lustrous hair. Alana was indisputably gorgeous, second to none. Jasmine alone could match her.
Suddenly the princess herself swept in. "Stand up, girl," she called harshly to Alana. "Your dancing last night was appalling. And your gait is much too manly."
Alana did as she was told, displaying no emotion. Jasmine looked her up and down. "The outfit last night suited you better. Even dressed as a normal girl, you look like a slut."
Rubiya was still shocked at the princess's attitude and rude words toward Alana, but she kept her face schooled to blankness. They both followed Jasmine to a small courtyard, where she took the slave girl through more dance and deportment practice.
Jasmine never praised her, quick to find fault. But as yesterday, Alana demonstrated much grace and agility. Rubiya could tell that the girl had never had dance training before her mysterious arrival in the harem. Yet with a bare two days of instruction she was already better than a few of the regular girls.
During a brief respite, while Alana drank greedily from a cup, another of the attendants passed by. "Rubiya, did you hear?"
"Hear what?" she asked.
"Prince Ali's elephant has gone mad! The creature is trying to climb the walls out of the guest compound, as if it were a cat or a monkey!" The girl shook her head in pity. "They are planning to kill the poor thing, since Prince Ali has abandoned it."
"Abu!" Alana cried, dropping the cup in shock. "No!" She looked so bereft...
Jasmine was croggled, staring at Alana. "Your..." She stopped, glancing inscrutably at Rubiya. She began again. "Ali's elephant is... Abu?!" she exclaimed.
The slave girl nodded, mute. Jasmine seemed very troubled.
As the trio of women tried to enter the guest pavilion, a guard waved them off. "Stay back, foolish strumpets! Do you want to be trampled?!"
Then his face blanched, as he recognized the princess. "Forgive me, your highness! Please, forgive me! The beast... I feared for your safety..."
Jasmine glared, imperious. "Out of my way. We will see him."
"I..." the man was pained. "The Sultan would be furious if I..."
"He'll be just as furious if I tell him what you just called his daughter." At that, she pushed him aside and moved on.
The great gray beast was rampaging about. Tables and benches were overturned and shattered. Men with spears tried to hem it in, but it moved strangely, evading them time and again. Trumpeting in anger.
Alana raced forward, stopping directly in front of the elephant. For all its agitation, it avoided bowling her over. "Abu?" she cried. The elephant frowned at her, turned away... then turned back, puzzled.
"It's me, Abu. It really is." She shrugged helplessly, and sadly. "Ma... Jafar tricked me."
When an elephant opens its eyes wide, they become wide indeed. It froze, and the armsmen started to run forward. "Back! By order of the princess, back!" Jasmine shouted. The men, after a pause, dubiously retreated a little ways.
Alana was crying. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I ruined everything."
She hugged his leg, head barely coming up to his chest. The elephant wrapped his trunk around her. They stood still for many minutes, tears leaking down the girl's face.
Jasmine was troubled. Alana deserved to suffer... but this poor creature had done nothing. She couldn't help but think - what would happen to Rajah if she disappeared? Who would care for him?
"Take this beast to the menagerie," she told the attendants, gruffly. "See that he is treated well," she said pointedly. "I will be checking on him."
The elephant turned its head to look at her. Alana favored the princess with wide eyes and an open mouth. But she swiftly recovered control of her demeanor, looking down bashfully. "Thank you, your highness," she said quietly.
She turned from the slave to the attendants and armsmen. "Do not harm him, and he will cooperate." She glanced at 'Abu'. "Right?"
The elephant regarded her carefully... then nodded, to the amazement of Rubiya and the men. He followed the stunned guards toward the royal menagerie.
"Thank you," Alana repeated softly.
Jasmine's lips pursed. Then she snapped, "It's time to go back to the seraglio. You need more training."
Priyat felt as though she were in a constant state of agitation now. Managing preparations for a wedding was complicated enough, but it was much harder for one she dreaded. The fact that Jasmine was taking no precautions at all about her reputation was causing enormous headaches as well. On top of which, she was not helping with the wedding planning, spending her time in the harem with the new slave girl.
Sure enough, when she came to the courtyard, the princess was hectoring the courtesan about her posture, making her sit and rise from a bench over and over.
"Like a yak with indigestion!" Jasmine exclaimed. "You need to soften your movements to please Jafar!"
Exasperated - the princess was quite unjust, Alana's clumsiness was greatly reduced - the Haseki Sultan broke in. "This is not like you at all, being so mean to the poor girl!" Priyat scolded. "What would your mother say if she could see you?"
Jasmine whirled, more harshly indignant than usual. "This has nothing to do with her!" She waved at a cringing Alana. "She knows what she did!"
Rubiya was at a loss. She had thought to see a bit more kindness from Jasmine after the incident with the elephant. Instead, she'd been even more strident and cruel through the afternoon. She exchanged a bewildered glance with Priyat.
The woman angrily shook her head. "It's time to get dressed for the celebration tonight." Then she extended an open hand toward the princess, ironically. "Unless you'd care to cancel the wedding?"
At that, Jasmine looked sharply at Alana. "Never," she hissed. Then she turned and led a frazzled Priyat out of the room.
There was a pause, as Alana sat with slumped shoulders, looking at the door where the princess had left. But after a few moments she stirred, and turned to Rubiya.
"Do you think they have the clothes ready?"
Jafar paced down the halls of the harem, barely glancing about, preoccupied. It was time to retrieve Alana and proceed to the feast. As anyone could tell from his clothes, the vizier was a man much concerned with appearances. He was regretting not giving the slave more explicit direction.
She could not wear something overly scandalous to such an event. The dancer's garb of last night, for example - that would be... excessive. 'Tantalizing' had perhaps not been the most specific of terms. Could he really expect sartorial sophistication from a transformed street rat?
He stepped into her chamber, glanced past Rubiya standing discreetly in the corner - and stopped. A wintry smile appeared. "Ye-e-e-s... that will do nicely."
Alana knelt in the center of the room. On hearing his words of approval, her bowed head lifted. A gratified smile blossoming, as fresh and joyous as springtime.
On her feet, dainty slippers. A curl at the toes, the tops of her feet uncovered. Pantaloons bunched at the ankles, flowing up to a second bunching at the waist. There, a hem of a different shade, dipping in the center to expose a fraction more belly. Between waist and shoulders, only a halter across her breasts; loose hanging sleeves brushing her biceps, midriff and shoulders exposed. Large, solid, triangular earrings.
In other words, an outfit strongly resembling those favored by the princess. But Alana had made the look her own. There were differences.
First, of course, the color. Orange fabric save for the yellow hem at the waist, and the bright yellow earrings. Colors suggestive of heat, fire. Too, the pantaloons fit more snugly than those Jasmine wore, and the halter was so thin as to be very slightly translucent. Leaving no doubt where those nipples were on her magnificent breasts.
Her hair was not bound into a tail like Jasmine, either, though two similar bunches pulled it away from her face. Behind, it hung in gentle curls over her shoulders down to her lower back.
There were two further - more significant - alterations. Of course a slave did not sport a jeweled tiara in her hair; merely a yellow ribbon. And around her neck...
No thick, solid necklace for Alana! She wore a collar, as for an animal. A leash draped in a line from her neck to the floor, pointing at the door where the vizier stood. Inviting him to take hold of it.
"How may I please you, Master?" the harem girl asked gently, still smiling.
Master had detached the leash, deeming it "not in the best of taste" for a public celebration. But he had tucked it away in his robes; Alana felt sure it would be used later. Indeed, to a disturbing degree, she hoped so.
As they moved through the guests gathered in the great throne room, they created a little pocket of quiet. As people caught sight of her, they fell silent. However, there was a deal of intense whispering in their wake. They reached the Sultan fairly quickly. Alana felt shamed and embarrassed; just days ago she had impressed this man as a handsome and powerful prince. Now she was a slave. A concubine...
"Good evening to you, sire," Jafar said, bowing. Slightly.
"Oh my..." A royal gulp. "Good, good evening to you, too." The Sultan was distracted, staring down from his throne at Alana.
The vizier smiled. "Ah, your highness, let me introduce Alana. She is the slave we spoke of earlier." He spoke sharply to the girl. "Kneel, slave, before the Sultan." She dropped to her knees at once; an odd blush colored her cheeks.
The Sultan looked from Jafar to Alana. He seemed very doubtful. "Oh. Um." He chewed his lip. "Has... um... has Jasmine met her?"
At that moment the princess swept up. "Of course I have, father." She turned and looked down at Alana. Her expression curdled as she took in the slave's outfit, so reminiscent of her own. Indignation warred with wrath for dominance, momentarily. Then she gathered her self-control, and her face became neutral.
She continued, "I think it's very kind of Jafar to take charge of her." Her jaw was not quite locked, but there was a definite tension as she said, "There is much she needs to learn."
Alana did not smile. But somehow, she gave off a sense of amused satisfaction. There was a pause. Then the Sultan said, hesitantly, "If you're sure, my dear..."
"Oh, I am." Then Jasmine moved forward to kiss Jafar - with a shade more passion than decorum would ordinarily condone.
Aside from the stares and whispers, there were no further incidents before the dinner commenced. The large throne room had been filled with tables, and nobility and prominent citizens had been invited. There was much murmuring when Jafar had Alana kneel next to the couple's table, though.
Jasmine was ignoring her, almost pretending she didn't exist. In her heart, however, Alana treasured that expression when the princess first caught sight of her. I may be a slave, but I have some power. Maybe it was unwise to taunt Jasmine, but...
The bride-to-be was the only one ignoring her. The way every male stared at her, greedy and covetous... I love to excite men. I adore being pretty and alluring. More of the phrases drilled into her by the snake's eyes. Thoughts that felt so authoritative, unarguable. Instinctive.
Those feelings helped her ignore the scorn and disapproval of the women. Their disgust, in truth. In their estimation, she was obviously a contemptible harlot. But oddly, it bothered her less than she would have expected. Aladdin had been scorned and underestimated all his days. Why should Alana be different?
Jafar was enjoying himself. The servants and guards and administrators who came to offer their congratulations after the meal were already showing him much greater deference - in anticipation of his rule. And the rivalry between Alana and Jasmine was delicious. So long as they were wrapped up in that feud, they would scarcely have attention to spare for resisting him.
Then he noticed Qadir approaching; the commander of the garrison in Agrabah. They had clashed before, over many things. Such as how much tax money should be allocated to the country's defenses versus the opulence of the palace.
The soldier stepped up to the table and paused, surveying Alana in detail; it might even have been called a "reconnaissance in force". Her blush had barely faltered the entire night, and it did not fade then. He glanced toward Jasmine a few tables away, surrounded by noble ladies and their attendants. Finally Qadir turned to the vizier. "Fortune smiles upon you," he murmured, shaking his head slightly.
"Fortune favors the clever," Jafar replied. A boast and a warning.
"A pity that fortune did not smile upon Ali," Qadir said thoughtfully. "First those guards attack him - and disappear. And then the boy himself."
"Fortune does not favor the unwise," As he said this, the vizier brushed a finger along the slave girl's cheek, smiling as if at some joke. The girl's beautiful face betrayed dismay for a moment. Possibly even resentment?
The emotions of females were of no concern to Qadir. "I cannot help but question the wisdom of this marriage," he said, unflinchingly meeting Jafar's sudden frown.
A pause. "You object to our union?" the vizier asked coldly.
The commander was equally cold. "I object to the security of Agrabah being subject to the whims and fancies of a flighty, spoiled girl."
Jafar's thin smile held little humor. "Your objections have been raised before. And overruled by the Sultan before."
The commander did not bristle, but a slight tension betrayed his frustration. His voice was even, though, as he said, "A crisis has a way of forcing decisions to be revisited."
Jafar sighed. "Well, as I was just saying, fortune favors the clever."
"We will need more than luck to survive if war breaks out," Qadir snapped.
The vizier frowned, irritated. "We have more than luck. Why, we have you and your mighty scimitar!"
Qadir scoffed. "You might bewitch girls and doddering old men," the soldier murmured, "but your sorcery is no use on a man in his prime."
For some reason, the slave flinched at that. Jafar noticed, and his smile, perplexingly, became more confident. "You would be astonished at what is within my power, Qadir."
Qadir bowed slightly before retreating. "A blade has a power all its own, vizier. As you were just saying."
Master was irritated for several minutes after that conversation. Alana came in for some baseless scolding.
Jasmine returned to her place at the table next to Jafar shortly after, as dessert was being served. She had witnessed the vizier's conversation with Qadir from across the room, as a consequence of keeping an eye on Alana's public humiliation. To see Jafar snap at the girl made her heart glow.
A flagrant kiss, and she sat down. Just then one of the servants came up; he attempted to pour the vizier some more wine. Unfortunately Jafar, head turned to sneer at the kneeling slave girl, did not see this and reached for his cup; some of the wine spilled onto his sleeve.
"You dolt!" Jafar barked, lip curled in anger. "You will pay dearly for that!" The servant paled, babbling apologies.
Jasmine paused. She was inclined to mercy, and feared what the vizier might do to a servant who had made a simple mistake. But she hesitated...
"Master," Alana said suddenly.
"What?!" Jafar shouted at her, whirling, enraged.
Alana flinched but did not look away. "Surely I am more entertaining to punish than some silly waiter?" As she spoke she leaned forward, pulling in her arms, pressing her breasts together with her biceps. The trampish halter made them hard to miss, prominently showcased.
The display definitely caught his attention. "And what have you done to deserve punishment?" Angry, but... intrigued.
Sly and humble all at once, her eyes wide in not-quite-innocence: "I have interrupted my Master."
Sly but very proud indeed, eyes narrowed and mouth curled up in a malicious grin: "Perhaps you should do something more useful with that mouth, then."
Jasmine jerked her head, shooing away the servant. With luck, the 'offense' would be forgotten in the coming disportment.
The princess was irritated... and a touch ashamed. By all rights, she should have been the one to restrain the vizier's anger. On the face of it, she had much more power. Instead the slave girl had applied what little power she had.
Applied most adroitly, in fact. The girl now licked and suckled the vizier's sleeve, extracting the wine with her mouth. If the highborn ladies had been scandalized before, they now were appalled. The princess relaxed, amused at the degrading spectacle.
Yet her hesitation to intercede preyed on her mind. What did it say that she felt afraid to challenge her intended? What did that augur for her marriage?
Once again, the trio entered Jafar's chambers together. They were not so tangled as the first night. The vizier and the princess walked hand in hand. The slave girl followed, led by the leash in Jasmine's other hand.
A dark wooden chest a few hands high sat in the middle of the bedchamber. Both girls squinted when they caught sight of it. It must have been stored away somewhere before, gathering dust; it had not been visible the last two nights. Yet it had been polished to a gleam tonight.
Once again, Jafar and Jasmine clinched - passionately, most observers would say. Much of their clothing was removed over the course of a few minutes. Jasmine even gently prodded at Jafar's groin once his robes were set aside. But when things were becoming more heated... the Grand Vizier broke away and turned to an Alana grown sullen.
"Ah, little mouse," he almost sang, "you have been naughty." The slave looked nervous - and a trace intrigued. Jafar nodded toward Jasmine. "Twice over." At that, the girl's apprehension came to the fore. "You should not disrespect the princess so. A harem slave's attire must reflect her station."
His words gave Alana a chill. She had thought Master liked her clothes! I want to be the best harem girl for Jafar. Disappointing him was not just dismaying, but grievous... and perhaps dangerous. Some deep part of her - the part that knew the magic of the scepter was responsible for her attitudes, that she shouldn't think this way - was shocked at how upset she had become. It did not help fight the feelings at all, however.
Master took hold of the leash, and drew her close, staring down into her timid gaze. "We must punish you appropriately." A drawn-out pause, then... "Dispense with that insolent outfit." Alana skinned out of the garments as quickly as she might, impeded by the leash - and slight tremors of her hands. She had pictured stripping gradually before her Master, enticing and arousing him - and distracting him from the princess - but his commands, perforce, overrode her plans.
She worked to calm herself with resonant mantras. A harem girl is submissive. I am obedient. Jafar owns me. They did not help completely. She had been naughty, Master said so...
Jasmine saw the apprehension in the slave girl, and was satisfied. For the moment.
Once Alana was naked, Jafar pulled her to the bed by the leash, and tied it to the headboard. Leaving just a few inches of slack, so she could turn her head, no more. Then, he unlocked the mysterious chest, and from it produced soft leather straps. Slowly, theatrically, he lashed her hands to the headboard as well. His slave was clearly nervous now, but he could also see the dewy moistness at her kus. Things were going even better than he'd planned. He'd anticipated having to invent a flimsy pretext for punishment. In annoying Jasmine, the little mouse had pleased him better than she knew. Better than she should be allowed to know, certainly. So he maintained a mild frown.
Alana watched in roiling uncertainty as Master reached back into the coffer and extracted a dark, wide ribbon - along with a strange contraption. An ivory egg, with long leather straps dangling from either side?
Its purpose was swiftly revealed. The egg shoved in her mouth, the straps tied at the back of her head. A gag that made speech impossible. The last thing she saw was Master stretching the dark ribbon across her eyes, blinding her. In reality, she could not have overcome Master, with his superhuman strength. But like this, she had not even the illusion of possible resistance. Entirely helpless now - listening intently, striving to ascertain what might be happening. What might be coming...
The slave was badly frightened. For all that she was inexorably devoted to obeying her Master, she understood how cruel, selfish, and evil the man was. And yet... how could she submit him more completely than this? Her nostrils flared as her breath quickened even more. She knew her nipples were pointed, could feel her zambur flushed and aching.
Jafar placed a finger across his lips, cautioning the princess to silence. Then he located a switch, and showed it to her. The cruelness of Jasmine's smile surprised even him. He turned to Alana, stepped closer.
A whisk through the air, next to her head. She jerked, and stilled. Her breasts rocked in waves with her urgent breaths.
Jafar whipped the switch past the girl's rump, causing a slight breeze she could feel. Then he tapped one cheek, far too gently to cause any pain. Alana nevertheless flinched and made a squeak around the gag.
She heard the laughs of her Master and his intended. "Her conscience assails her, princess," the vizier declared. "She knows discipline must come, and so every moment, she fears it has arrived." He sounded almost magnanimous. "We shall soothe it with proper chastisement."
This time the switch was used conventionally; the girl shrieked around the obstacle in her mouth, hands gripping the headboard with white knuckles. Another blow, and another. Measured, of course; only the proper amount of pain. Too much might start to unravel the webs he had weaved in her mind.
Jasmine stared with fervid, almost febrile attention. She was not even thinking as such, just feeling. The scene was preposterously arresting. The pretender Aladdin, now a restrained naked girl, punished in the manner of a child for the amusement of her owner. He could scarcely be brought lower...
Jafar noted the hunger in Jasmine's gaze. She longed to chasten Alana, too. That hunger was excessive, however; given the chance, the princess might well use the switch too ferociously. He would not care for Alana's smooth, rounded bottom to be tainted by scars. Unfortunately that urge might well be too strong to contain much longer. He would need to redirect it, and soon.
Quick-wittedness was his pride. In moments, he knew the proper course of action. That it would be enjoyable in itself was a congenial bonus.
He broke off his caning. "Perhaps that is enough." He winked at the princess, who seemed dazed. He turned to the pinioned girl, gently weeping, head sagged against the headboard. "What say you, slave? Do you promise to behave properly now?"
With pathetic fervency, she roused herself, nodding in animated fashion. "Mmmm-mmm, mwhuthm," she pleaded, unintelligible.
"Mwuthm, mwhuthm!" cawed Iago. Even Jasmine could not suppress a slightly hysterical chortle.
The vizier set the rod aside. The princess was just shading to indignance - no more swats on that rump? - when she noticed Jafar removing his remaining clothes. "You are prepared to serve your master properly, then? With your whole heart?" he asked.
Alana's head had turned, seeking the voice of her Master. "Mmmmmm! Muwhu, mmm mmummuh!" she wailed, nodding still, tears continuing to flow.
"Hmmm," the vizier mused. "I suppose this can be tested." He was soon nude, and his manhood was revealed to be quite stiff. He approached the bed. "Remain still, my little red-cheeked mouse." The girl froze in place; only a slight trembling visible. Her breaths were spaced very close together.
Alana was lost in a tempest of emotion. Anxiety, lust, devotion, fear, submission, excitement, humiliation, and more, chaotically whirling in her mind, leaving no room for thought. Exquisitely focused on sound and touch, lacking any other inputs. So Master's fingers suddenly probing her kus came as a thunderbolt.
Wet as expected; sopping, in fact. Just what he was aiming for. He withdrew his fingers; any more stimulation and the girl might climax then and there. He hopped onto the bed, positioned himself behind her, and plunged into that inflamed kus with no further warning.
Jasmine would not have been surprised if that zubb were a red-hot poker, so frantically did Alana convulse as it entered her. The princess was unable to look away, flashing back to girlhood, when she had caught glimpses of animals mating. He was taking her just the way the dogs and rabbits had done. Not face to face as man and woman, but in the manner of mated beasts! Alana's moans were damped by the egg, as though she wore a muzzle like some untrained bitch.
To Alana, it was as if great irresistible waves were carrying her away. The whole world was pushing its way into her, a vise gripped her hips; there was no sensual input she could process except touch, and that poorly. Flashes of discomfort that did nothing to interfere with the intense, ecstatic pleasure. Helpless before her Master's might and will, and joyously grateful for it. She screamed her subjugation.
Jafar was having a grand time; the only slight blemish on his pleasure the fact that he could not completely concentrate on plowing this delightful furrow. It would be such a relief when he did not need to take the princess' thoughts and feelings into account. Still, the performance was definitely holding Jasmine's attention. And Alana - her throat must have been sore, to force such sounds past that obstruction.
At last he was sated enough to finish the meal. He drove harder, and felt himself fill her up. He wasn't sure if there was any change in the harem girl's sounds or motions in response to this; but she did collapse when he pulled his zubb out. Wind whistled through her nostrils as she fought for air.
Jafar moved off the bed, keeping an eye on Jasmine. She was clearly at a fever pitch, overexcited. He did not dare let her use the switch, let alone the whip still hidden in the chest. Fortunately, it contained another utensil that would help channel that vehemence in safer directions.
The blindfold slipped off over Alana's brow. The light from the lamps burning in the corners of the room hurt her eyes, and she blinked repeatedly. "You should see this, my pet." His tone was full of dark promise, causing her skin to flare into goosebumps.
Again, a trip to to the chest, where the vizier rummaged about for a moment. Both girls stared in wary, breathless curiosity. He rose from his stoop and turned to the princess.
"Alana has been quite well humbled and tamed. Thanks to your efforts." Jafar held an odd arrangement of straps and... she felt her mouth drop open slightly. That looked like...
Jafar stepped forward and - politely - passed some leathers between her legs. "Surely you most of all deserve to give our gentled mount a ride?"
Jasmine stood, still and uncertain - and increasingly excited - as Jafar tightened buckles about her hips. She looked down to see the false zubb jutting from her crotch. It, too, was carved from ivory. Differently shaped from Jafar's member, but of similar daunting size. A leather bag containing two marbles hung at the base.
Jafar had picked up that chest from a trip to the Hindu lands. This tool had been part of the set, and he had almost thrown it away, at first, seeing no call for it. He had since discovered that it came in handy for occasional games with two or more whores. He had learned some interesting techniques, in fact, observing them ply each other with that instrument. Many women found it tempting to play the bull, for once.
As he had suspected - been certain of, actually - Jasmine was one such. The dark excitement on her face was charming to behold. A fine show was in the offing...
Jasmine chewed her lip; she looked every bit the uncertain princess as she stared down at the tool at her groin. A delightfully ironic, wicked contrast, in Jafar's opinion. Yet, she was able to gather her determination sufficiently swiftly. She smiled the most roguish smile as she turned toward the bed. The mixture of fear and curiosity in Alana's eyes was like ambrosia to the princess.
"You wear the collar of a dog. I, too, shall ride you like one. Like the animal you are." Alana's mouth was already open - thanks to the egg - and the now-widened eyes made her the picture of astonished trepidation. She looked to her Master; he rested on a settee, smiling broadly, one hand casually toying with his member. No quarter there; he clearly expected her to cooperate.
So (a harem girl is complaisant) Alana gathered herself and presented her rump for the princess, even then clambering onto the bed.
This was a view of a girl Jasmine had not had before, certainly not so close. For a moment, she was tempted to breach the harem slave's anus, as the vizier had done that first night. But... the bottle of oil was on the dresser, out of reach. It would spoil the moment to backtrack for it. So, the kus it was.
She fumbled the operation a bit, never having to manage such a job before. But the ivory instrument was slipped into the slave girl promptly enough.
To Alana, it was not so different. A subtly distinct feel - less supple, a marginally dissimilar articulation compared to Master's rod. Yet the intrusion felt curiously familiar. And, as always by now, enjoyable.
To Jasmine, it was in some ways revelatory. She understood so much now; the slipperiness, the tolerances of a woman's vessel; yielding, but bounded. Much the way you could probe the ground with a stick and tell so much about its texture. She felt a rush of... of energy. She thrust again, and again. Pushing into Alana, and she powerless to stop it.
"Did you imagine doing this to me?" Jasmine asked, panting. "Did you want to plumb the depths of my kus like... this? Did you imagine me making the sounds you are making now?"
Alana had thought herself far beyond embarrassment anymore... but Jasmine's words made her realize the moans and grunts she was making. Sounding just like a woman enjoying being conquered and taken. Her face flushed anew... but she couldn't stop whining and gasping. She looked to Master again; his zubb at attention like a palace guard (I love to excite men) as he ran his fingers along it.
The princess cavorted with her new toy, experimenting and evaluating - and relishing - the experience. She forced two climaxes upon Alana before desisting. (And if the slave girl imagined that it was her Master that used her, the princess did not need to know.)
She sat back, admiring the carved phallus, now glistening with the harem girl's juices. She looked to the vizier. "That was fine... but I want to look her in the eyes when I do that. I want her to see me."
Jafar was startled, but avoided showing it. He stood and came forward to help. "Nothing simpler, my dear!"
Alana was untied from the headboard... but only long enough to flip her onto her back. Then her hands were brought together and strapped to the top of the bed once more. Jafar produced more wondrous things from that chest; a belt with odd attachments went around the slave's waist, cinched tight. Then, more straps and attachments; her thighs pulled to her waist by rings of leather, then long tethers pulling her ankles up. Trussed and exhibited, legs splayed, everything at her crotch displayed and defenseless.
Jasmine, while Jafar and Alana were occupied, surreptitiously retrieved the bottle of oil from the dresser. Once the slave's preparations were complete, she moved in, reached down, and untied the egg. "You shall call me Mistress."
Alana's eyes were very wide. After the slightest hesitation, working her jaw... "Yes, Mistress."
Jasmine remounted the bed, and shuffled forward on her knees, getting close to Alana's most tender flesh. Imitating Jafar on that first night, she used the tool as a tool. Rubbing the lips, opening, and zambur of Alana's kus with the tip. Before long the imprisoned courtesan was gasping and panting.
The princess evinced no leniency. "Beg for it."
Alana was silent for a moment. A tickle of her zambur forced out a moan, and she broke. "Fuck me, Mistress! Fuck me, please!"
"I shall. But as I choose." She showed Alana the bottle of oil, let her watch the white zubb being anointed. Alana was speechless.
Jasmine looked at that kus, and almost changed her mind... but then aimed lower. She could not help being a bit more gentle - but inexorably, she entered the girl where she had intended.
Alana was confounded, overturned. She could not pretend that it was Master within her kus now. She... Aladdin had pictured being with Jasmine so intimately many times in the days after that morning in the market. But not in this manner. Not being invaded, and certainly not there! Instead of a loving gaze, the princess looked so roguish - untamed and wild. Taking pleasure in her dominance over a slave.
Jasmine moved in and out, smoothly. She savored Alana's groans, glad she had removed the muzzle. Drinking in every little vibrato and shift of pitch.
Alana was in utter turmoil. Some part of her still loved Jasmine, despite everything. She had her own revelation, finding a measure of involuntary happiness in seeing this amazing girl so passionate, so alive. But then she remembered what the girl was being passionate about... Alana fled from uncertainty and perturbation along the route she had taken before. She recalled how good it had felt to submit to Master (a harem slave is submissive) as he took her this way. "Oh, Mistress..."
And then Jasmine stroked her zambur with gentle fingers and Alana exploded.
Jasmine's own kus was untended, the closest thing to stimulation being the straps to either side of it between her legs. And yet, seeing Alana shudder and jerk beneath her, she felt her own release appear, born of sheer triumph.
Jafar did not like the look of speculation that the princess favored him with in that moment. It was the look of an ally - reconsidering their alliance.
Jafar had sent the girls away in the morning. He sat in his room until the sun was well above the horizon, thinking. He knew what he wanted to wish for. The ifrit had granted his first wish just as asked; but it clearly had no enthusiasm for service. Many legends warned of wishes taken too literally, twisted in the granting to become curses. He would have to be careful.
Too, the conversation with the garrison commander was... concerning. Plus, Jasmine was becoming increasingly restive, and it had been but three days! Keeping her under control for an entire month until the wedding... 'difficult' was an understatement.
It took more an hour before he was certain of the wording. Wracking his brain to guard against any loopholes. Once he was satisfied, however, he sprang into action. His clothes were donned in haste, and his stride was brisk as he crossed the palace, making for the Sultan's chambers. Shortly, he stood before the guards at the heavy iron doors.
"The Sultan is resting." The man's tone was respectful, without overt resistance - wise enough to see which way the wind was blowing. Hesitating to disturb the current ruler, nevertheless.
"He will see me." He allowed just a trace of annoyance to leak into his tone.
The guards looked to each other. The wise one shrugged. The other pulled the key from around his neck, and unlocked the doors.
Sultan Hamad was shaken awake. "What? What? Oh..." he mumbled, sitting up. Jafar inwardly groaned at the man's preposterous striped undergarments.
He recognized the Grand Vizier. "Oh, Jafar. Is something wrong?"
"I come on a matter of great urgency. A splendid opportunity has come to us... to you, rather."
"What is it, Jafar?" The Sultan's voice was peevish. "I was up late..." He had a headache. He had sipped a bit too much wine at the celebration. Especially after his daughter retired early with her betrothed... and that striking slave girl. Of course he was glad that Jasmine had finally declared a suitor, and seemed certain of her choice. A father could ask no more. Yet... he had not pictured Jafar as a son-in-law. Nor Jasmine in such a strange mood...
"I have made a profound discovery, your highness." The vizier extracted something from his robes.
It was... a commoner's lamp. Old, and shabby. The Sultan looked down at it quizzically, then up at Jafar just as quizzically. "I don't understand," he said. He used that phrase often with Jafar.
Jafar seemed a bit peevish himself. "I know it is hard to believe, my lord, but... this lamp contains a powerful djinn. One that can grant three wishes to the one who holds it."
Another look at the lamp. "Are you sure?"
"Positive, sire. I have seen the genie myself."
Hamad's eyes grew wide. "But... but this is marvelous! I must think what to wish for!" Jafar had something in his other hand. His staff. Something made the Sultan feel unsettled; but only for a moment. The jeweled eyes were so marvelously colored... almost, they seemed to swirl...
"Wishes on a genie are very important." Jafar's voice came from a long distance away, but echoed through the Sultan's head just the same.
"Very... important..."
"You must think of your posterity."
"Must think... of posterity." That made sense...
"You must ensure your son-in-law is best positioned to protect your daughter, and Agrabah."
"Son in law... protect Jasmine..." Jasmine must be safe...
"With three wishes, you can guarantee her happiness." Urgent, profound words.
"Guarantee... Jasmine... happy..." His daughter, safe and happy...
"Yes. Listen carefully! Here is what you must say."
"Must say..."
The Sultan blinked. What had he been thinking of? Suddenly he saw Jafar, and the lamp. "Oh my!"
Jafar's smile was broad. "Are you ready to safeguard your daughter and your kingdom?"
"Oh, yes. Very ready!"
Jafar handed the lamp over, not without trepidation. But surely there was no chance the doddering fool would resist the influence of the staff. Surely... "Just rub the side, your highness."
The white-bearded man did, and the river of blue magic coalesced into the djinn once more. He looked about, and that expressive face made a disappointed squint at the slightly glazed expression of the Sultan. But he quickly crossed his arms, and intoned, "What are your wishes, O Sultan?"
Jafar glared. The genie acted more respectful of that addled dolt than of Jafar. No doubt deliberately, intending more irritating impudence.
"By Allah! A real genie!" Hamad turned to the vizier, bright-eyed. "This is wondrous, Jafar!"
He reached out and poked the genie in the belly; the ifrit tittered slightly. "Marvelous, marvelous. I must make my wishes at once!"
Jafar smiled, relieved. "Indeed you must, sire."
The genie interposed himself between them; Jafar was pushed back, tripping to the ground. "Better be careful, o mighty one! You sure about those wishes?" the genie asked, still acting deferential - but with an edge.
"I wish... wait a minute, I just had it. I wish that none..." He paused in frustration. "Oh, bother. You're right, djinn, I need to be careful. I wish I could remember what I'm supposed to say."
Jafar was utterly stunned, unable to do anything but stare, jaw agape. That... that idiot had...
The genie's smile was bizarre and infuriating. His head changed - still blue, but with a wide, gap-toothed grin. Low, protruding ears, freckles, misaligned eyes. His pointing finger puffed out the merest hint of magic, barely a flicker.
"My goodness! That's much better!" the grey-haired... dotard declared in evident delight. "Thank you!"
Even last night, Jafar had been congratulating himself on his quick wits. Now, so profound was his crogglement - his sheer dumbfounded astonishment at the breadth and depth of the Sultan's ineptitude - that he missed the chance to interrupt him.
Thus, the elderly ruler confidently prattled on. "First, I wish that none of my wishes can ever bring harm to Jafar. Second, I wish that all of my wishes provide their maximum benefit to Jafar."
At that moment, the vizier had finally recovered from the shock enough to speak... only to choke in despair. Too late, too late...
The Sultan continued blithely on. "Finally, I wish my soon-to-be son-in-law become the most powerful sorcerer in the world!"
There came a pause. He turned to his vizier, whose face was drawn and pale. Jafar's fists trembled. "Is everything all right?"
"Is everything all right?!" Jafar's pet bird squawked. Not a good imitation; he sounded outraged rather than confused.
The genie was smiling. "Yeah, Stretch, didn't he do good?"
For several seconds, the vizier stood frozen, unable to speak. Then he took a deep breath, and put on a pained smile. "Well done, sire." He plucked the lamp from the Sultan's hands, rather forcefully. "Back in the lamp!" he shouted. The ifrit disappeared.
Several deep breaths from the vizier. Then, "I must retire to my rooms. To meditate on how best to ensure the princess' well-being."
"Oh, excellent! You're a mighty sorcerer now, it should be easy!"
"Speak to no one of the genie," Jafar urged, barely managing to keep from snarling.
The wise guard took one look at the vizier stalking out of the Sultan's rooms, and became as a statue. The other guard was not so wise, but had learned to imitate his companion. So they escaped Jafar's wrath. A serving boy down the hall was knocked off his feet as Jafar passed, though.
Jasmine lay in the pool in her chambers. Rajah stalked restlessly, circling her. A bath every morning, for the past three mornings! Such sweaty work...
Memories and images of last night danced in her head. Images, scents, textures, sounds. It was a shame Alana wasn't here right now. She had a use for the girl's mouth.
Then she recalled Jafar, last night. Handling his own equipment. Well, if the vizier could do it, why couldn't she?
She rubbed that strange place she had lacked the courage to truly explore before. Her kus. Her zambur. Words she had hardly dared think before, and had never spoken.
"This is my kus," she said out loud, smiling a wicked smile. "And this... mmmm... this is my zambur." The tiger whined uncertainly, ears flicked back.
Her fingers moved, turned, pressed, flickered under the water. Strangely unfamiliar territory, for a part of her own body. She recalled looking back to the palace on that fateful morning she went to the market, and finding it appear so different, alien. A new angle of view could change everything. She now saw her body, her self, her life from a different perspective.
A sheltered, protected, coddled princess. Never allowed to do - or even learn - anything important. Anything real. Barely allowed to dress herself.
Everything in her life had been about pleasing others. Duties, commands, restrictions. She had been outside the palace twice - and one of those trips had required a magic carpet to be possible at all!
She was tired of being a good girl. That sense of power as she had worked her will on Alana last night - forcing pleasure upon her, seeing her reduced from brash masculinity to feminine submission. She wanted more of that.
She was not a slave. She was royalty. And she wasn't going to blindly accept duties and commands and restrictions anymore. Rajah paced as Jasmine moaned and panted.
Jafar raged about his laboratory, kicking over tables and bellowing in fury. "A lesser man might waste a single wish. Only a Colossus of Incompetence could waste three in a single breath! With nothing to show for it!"
"Colossus of Chump!" Iago cried.
At last the vizier stood panting, even his magically-enhanced endurance temporarily spent. He looked about the room with regret. Rather more of a mess than he should have allowed himself. But the situation was so infuriating...
He pulled out the lamp, stared for a moment. The wording was as foolproof as he could imagine...
Bold steps. As always. "If I must do it myself, so be it!" In moments, the genie was summoned.
"Hey, dude!" the blue ifrit called, insolent as always. Despite a lack of legs, he suddenly had a lap of sorts, and a strange wooden puppet sat on it. It resembled Jafar. Its mouth - a flap of wood - opened and said, "Found another dummy?"
"Silence! Not another word!" Jafar bellowed.
The genie pulled something across his mouth, making a peculiar buzzing sound. Gleaming metal sealed his lips - a weld of some kind?
Not important. Carefully, but with infinite malevolence, the vizier spoke. "My second wish - make me a greater wizard than any sorcerer in history!" The genie again looked sorrowful, as he pointed a finger at Jafar.
Two serving girls passed the Grand Vizier's tower from the courtyard below. An ill-omened place - strange smells and sounds emanated from it at odd hours. Sometimes there was the crack of lightning without a cloud in the sky.
The flashes of eerie light from the windows were unnerving... but the rich, malign, and inhumanly loud laughter caused them to flee.
Jasmine frowned. "No! Look, you've smeared it again!"
Alana meekly reached for a wet cloth, and began brushing at her cheeks. She had made dramatic progress in dance, bearing, and general conduct. She was now extremely feminine in demeanor and comportment. Rubiya had noted her mushrooming facility for fashion. Her skills at cosmetics lagged, however - it had only been three days.
Her attendant had been doing her face. The princess, upon learning this, had decided to remedy that at once. In as stern a manner as ever; Rubiya wished she could do more to shield her mistress from the princess' wrath. At least she and Alana had had nearly a full day with just each other, before Jasmine arrived in late afternoon.
Alana peered into the mirror, trying to judge how clean her skin was. "Lazy slave, keep going!" Jasmine snapped.
Rubiya couldn't help herself. "Please, your highness, let me show her..."
The princess whirled on her. "I do not wish to hear from you at all! Be careful or I'll have you dismissed from the harem!"
Rubiya quaked in fear. Anywhere she might be sold to was worse than here. Much worse...
Alana spoke gently, but with anomalous mettle. "She has done nothing wrong, Mistress. Not to you, or anyone. Save your wrath for me, I beg you."
Jasmine gaped at her for a moment, thoroughly shocked. (Rubiya was hardly less amazed.) For another moment, royal fury mounted - but then she faltered. The princess took a few deep breaths, and a bit of consideration appeared in her expression.
Long moments passed. Then the princess turned to the attendant, contrite. "I am sorry. My anger at this trollop got the better of me." A deep breath, and a glower at Alana, shrinking with her wonted meekness. "I shall keep it focused where it needs to be."
Out of nowhere, a male voice broke in. "Ah, you're both here. Excellent." All three girls spun, startled to find the vizier suddenly in the room with them.
He looked subtly different. His headdress had twin projections like horns, the pointed shoulders of his robe stuck out further, the sash at his waist was different. So much, Jasmine and Rubiya noticed at once, clothing occupying much of their upbringing. Alana first noticed the staff; the mouth was now open, fangs displayed. She had difficulty looking away from it; not entranced, but fearful. She dropped to her knees. "Master!"
"Jafar!" the princess exclaimed. "I... didn't hear you come in!"
His smile was insufferably smug. "Naturally not. I did not come by the door, after all."
"I - I don't understand," Jasmine said, cautious.
He laughed broadly. "The genie has granted my second wish - incredible sorcerous power!" All three girls gasped.
A flick of his wrist, and suddenly Alana's clothes climbed off her body, leaving her naked. The silks then seized her wrists and ankles, pulling tight, taut though attached to nothing but air. She was suspended above the ground, spread-eagled, a look of astonishment on her pretty face. Rubiya shrieked and cowered. Jasmine's look of incredulity was almost a twin of Alana's.
He nodded toward the princess. Her garments suddenly felt heavy; she looked down, and now was clad in tight gold mail. A princess's ransom, in the form of a princess's dress.
The wizardly vizier eyed Alana for a moment... then shook his head in mild regret. "That shall have to wait for later. You will need decent clothes for the throne room." A snap of his fingers and the silks flowed back onto her. Just in a very different form.
Ironically, they actually covered somewhat more of her skin than before. But they were unladylike nevertheless. A dark red sleeveless vest, golden-hemmed and far too small to actually close in the front. A translucent pink halter not covered at all by the vest, revealing a scandalous amount of cleavage. A bare belly and lower back, of course.
Pink translucent pantaloons, well-displaying her legs. Dark red panties over the pantaloons; with oval, gold-hemmed cutouts revealing the gauzy pink fabric below. Her hair was gathered, and flowed up and through a fez of sorts - in that dark-red-and-gold-trimmed style of the jacket and panties. A pink veil ran from the fez to surround her face on the sides and under the chin, but did not cover her face at all.
Jasmine had never seen such an outfit - technically decent, yet manifestly improper and indecorous. Something only a slave courtesan would wear... and only the most shameless of those. Alana looked dazzled, examining herself.
"Come, we have an appointment," Jafar said. Jasmine was struck by the lack of "my dears" or "darlings" as he addressed her.
"Yes, Master," Alana breathed.
Jafar led his fiancée and slave girl into the throne room. They met only another trio; the Sultan, Priyat, and Qadir. All others had been sent away.
"What is the meaning of this, Jafar?" Qadir did not bother to hide his irritation. "Why a private meeting?" Priyat said nothing; her squint was irritated, too, yet also suspicious as she examined his altered outfit.
Jafar gave the Sultan a sharp glance, then spoke. "My esoteric researches have recently borne great fruit. I have learned much powerful magic." Far safer to keep knowledge of the genie from spilling out. No one could try to steal what they did not know he possessed.
He made a notably shallow bow to the Sultan. "Agrabah shall be even wealthier." He waved his hands; the light in the room took on a distinct reddish hue. A stream of gold coins began to drop from nowhere in front of the throne, creating a swiftly-growing pile. The throne itself shifted and flowed, morphing from an elephant to a giant snake, disturbing the Sultan. "But we shall not become a tempting target thereby."
He nodded ironically toward Qadir. "Blades have their own power, I am told." Suddenly a ring of swords fell from the air, the tips of their blades penetrating even the stone of the floor. The startled commander was fenced in by steel. "Agrabah's troops shall be well supplied. I can lay curses upon any army that opposes me." A venomous smile. "We shall have more than luck to protect us, should war break out."
Finally, he glanced at Priyat. "Why, I believe that with my new resources, we may even be able to hurry the wedding along."
"Well, this is splendid news!" the Sultan said. Even his happiness seemed a bit muted, however, in the shadow of the vizier's manifest power. The pile of coins kept growing, now three hands high.
"Let us celebrate, with a meal!" Jafar waved his hands, and tables laden with food appeared in a swirl of glittering sparks. The swords dissolved into smoke, freeing the commander. He cautiously took a seat alongside Priyat and the Sultan.
It was a very quiet supper.
Another night in the vizier's rooms. He was in a grand mood as they entered. For once, he did not start with Jasmine. He looked at both girls, and contemplated the possibilities his new powers unlocked. Jafar's gaze focused on Alana, whose face betrayed some misgivings.
"Ah, little mouse," Jafar almost sang. "Perhaps we should see how mouselike you can be."
A stream of light shot at her from the staff. Alana's clothes vanished. Which made it easy to see as her body flowed like water, shifting and changing. Her ears grew round and prominent, emerging from under her hair and becoming the size of saucers. At the same time her nose and mouth protruded somewhat, suggestive of a muzzle without becoming unappealing. The tip of her nose darkened. Her feet lengthened and reconfigured, now suggestive of paws, even as a thin tail emerged from the base of her spine. As all of this was happening, fine gray fur sprouted all over her skin, shading to white on her belly and breasts, contrasting with the dark hair on her head and between her legs. Her fingernails became short blunted claws.
She looked at herself - then, in shock, twisted to look behind her, at the tail. She ran her hands along her flanks, feeling the soft fur. Then she looked to the vizier, at a complete loss. "Master?" she said, almost pleading - in a voice so high-pitched it squeaked. Her hand darted to touch her throat.
"Now you are Little Mouse." Master was laughing. She glanced at Jasmine; she seemed as though she disbelieved her own eyes. Yet, she did not seem wholly displeased by the sight, either.
Jafar got hold of himself. "Come closer, Little Mouse. No, slowly." Alana moved toward him carefully. Her walk was strange, animallike. He wanted the chance to appreciate it.
At last, Alana reached him, and fell to her knees. She looked up at him, abjectly servile, obviously at sea. He moved his hand forward. Within it...
"Gaze into the serpent's eyes, my pet." He saw her shiver in realization of how apropos the appellation 'pet' was. "I have some special instructions for you."
Alana hesitated. The staff had made her a fawning, servile harem slave. Taking pleasure in her own subjugation. If he used it on her again, he could do... anything he wanted to her. Make her do or want anything. Shape and control her utterly.
The ultimate submission...
She was afraid. But her kus was suddenly dripping at the thought of surrendering herself so completely (a harem girl rejoices in being submissive), being so totally enslaved and dominated (a harem slave delights in submitting to her Master).
She stared into the jeweled eyes. The colors... swirling, dancing...
Jafar was surprised, seeing her yielding cooperation. He was used to fighting through resistance to plant suggestions. It had never occurred to him that opposition might be disarmed in stages. By now Alana was deeply conditioned to crave submission; she enjoyed being compelled, manipulated. She wanted him to ravish her mind.
The thaumaturge vizier felt a great surge of lust. He could make her do virtually anything!
He would have to think on this later. For now, his current plan was sufficient. "You shall be a mouse. No thoughts, no words, no memory. Until I call you by your name - until I call you Alana - you shall only know who your Master is, and that the honey from his zubb is the sweetest nectar of all."
Her blank expression was profoundly arousing. He withdrew the staff, watching for her to wake.
The mousegirl stirred, blinked. She looked around, eyes wide and uncomprehending. She darted about with quick, rodent-like movements, eyes darting. She backed away, on hands and knees, agitated. Then suddenly she appeared to catch sight of Jafar, and her tail stood up. She moved forward, suddenly nuzzling his groin, sniffing excitedly.
Jasmine could not look away, entirely enthralled. She had not imagined that Aladdin could be more ignominiously abased than when she was bound and spanked. Now, the boy who had dared gull and delude her was almost literally an animal. A she-creature mindlessly satisfying the lewd desires of a man.
Jafar laughed, and shooed her away. She retreated only a bit, tail flicking back and forth, eyes barely moving from her target, nose sniffling. He proceeded to take off his robes and his leggings, then sat on a divan, legs spread. The entranced Alana darted forward, focused on his zubb. Her tongue flickered; no slow strokes. She was a mouse through and through, lapping like an animal.
He had engaged in such games along similar lines with a few whores... but none had played the part so well. Alana had the percipience, the imagination to act out a role. Admittedly, the sorcerous transformation helped with the staging - but that had not touched her mind. He knew this was not thoughtless behavior; it took intelligence to put on such a performance.
Out of the corner of his eye, the wizard noticed Jasmine's busy hand, taking pride of place between her legs. He was pleased at her bawdyness - and very mildly surprised. He had consciously avoided encouraging such behavior in Alana. Best the slave be trained to seek her reward from the stimulation of others. Yet the princess had discovered self-pleasuring independently, as it were.
Presently Little Mouse succeeded in her aim, and greedily licked up what he spurted out, not excluding the drops that landed on the floor.
Alana whined liked a bitch in heat... which she closely resembled. The mouse had become a canine. Jasmine, wearing the false zubb, was taking her like one. Alana's tail curled up over her back. Jafar's lip curled in a tight smile; the princess was almost as entranced by the experience as Alana. Boundless magic made for diverting bedroom games, and this night was far from over.
The most powerful sorcerer in history sighed, almost wistfully.
Keeping the princess entertained and distracted had been a challenge. Maintaining her in unthinking outrage - or lust - for an entire month would certainly have proven impossible. Jasmine, though passionate and headstrong, was cunning, and also fundamentally kindhearted. It had been necessary to carefully introduce new degradations upon the slave - and balance the amount of suffering. Else he risked arousing her pity. He had sensed they might be approaching that limit.
With his wizardry, he could cut the preparations to a few days. (Physical resources were not a problem, but some social roadblocks could not be safely ignored.) That timespan would prove no difficulty, given his newfound powers.
Watching the girls at their debauched play, he shook his head in reminiscence. He was not dissatisfied with Alana, not in the least. Her eager complaisance was most enjoyable. Still, that first night of conquest had possessed a certain spice and piquancy. Methodically breaking down resistance, corrupting her in stages, forcing her into new and progressively more humiliating experiences - it had been quite stimulating.
And it had riveted the attention of the princess.
He sighed again, with a certain wry amusement. His triumph was almost too complete, too final. He couldn't very well start over with Alana. Some things could only be experienced once. A girl couldn't lose her virginity every night.
And then he stilled. His eyes slewed to his staff again.
Or could they?
"You will see what she tells you to see."
"See... what she tells..."
"Feel what she commands you to feel."
"Feel... what... she commands..."
"Believe what she orders you to believe."
"Believe what... she orders..."
Aladdin stood on the magic carpet, hovering outside Jasmine's chambers. He had managed to talk her into a ride - and the carpet turned out to be a showoff. It had taken them halfway around the world! Despite the dizzying speed, they had been shielded from the wind and cold.
He was feeling better than he ever had in his whole life. Jasmine had seemed charmed, and interested. And they had even kissed! He stood, staring like a fool, watching her return to her room. He finally understood the word 'overjoyed'.
Then suddenly, halfway through the curtains in the latticework door, she turned back. His hopes rose... but he noticed a slight frown on her face. "Ali... could you come here for a moment?"
Curious, he hopped down from the carpet onto the absurdly large balcony, and walked toward her. Stomping mentally on the part of himself hoping for an invitation to her bedchamber. Rushing things would be the height of stupidity. Although, another kiss would not be a bad thing...
Jafar, invisible to the eyes of 'Aladdin', smiled. It was remarkable. Such an unmistakably female form, moving with such masculine assurance. Bravado, almost.
Alana believed herself Aladdin, the past days forgotten. She perceived nothing odd about her form. Which was amusing, because those princely clothes did not flatter her form very well. Still, to her, she was tall and male. And the vizier's room, to her senses, was Jasmine's balcony.
"You say you dress as a commoner sometimes," Jasmine said, thoughtful.
"Why... yes. Sometimes. Get a feel for how the man in the street lives. You know." He deepened his voice slightly, to cover his nervousness.
"Those guards seemed awfully familiar with you, though." Jasmine squinted at him. "Like they'd known you a long time."
Aladdin felt a chill. "Well, I... I came a few days before my, my retinue. To check the lay of the land."
Jasmine was acting more and more certain. "And the people in the crowd - they knew you too."
"I... make an impression." It sounded lame, even to his ears.
Jasmine was impossibly stern. "You have been lying to me again! You have never stopped lying to me! Admit it!"
Almost against his will, his tongue moved. "I'm sorry. I had to be a prince, to see you..."
"And how did you become a prince?" she asked, low and dangerous.
"A... a wish from a genie..."
Towering rage. She seemed taller than him, all of a sudden. "You are nothing but a worthless street rat!"
He realized it was true. He was worthless. He was nothing. People had been saying it to him for years; it took a princess to finally make him understand it. Shame filled him.
"On your knees, dog!"
He fell to his knees. She was so far above him. Royalty, exalted. And he was just street trash. Pathetic.
"How dare you lie to me?" Like the fury of a goddess crashing down on him.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry," he babbled. "I fell in love with you when I saw you in the market. Before I even knew you were a princess."
Jafar squinted. Jasmine seemed taken aback by this. The street rat spoke on.
"Then I got the lamp, and I... I thought I could..."
"Could lie to you," Jafar said quickly.
'Aladdin' could not hear him. Jasmine seemed uncertain, but repeated the vizier's words. "Could lie to me."
The 'boy' wept. "I'm so sorry... I never meant to hurt you..."
The princess was definitely hesitating now. Clearly her hatred was not as unwavering as Jafar had believed, nor her affection as extinct. This was turning out to be a grave mistake. He thought quickly, and a little desperately. Well had he marked Jasmine's newly-discovered enjoyment of humiliation and domination. Hopefully he could distract her from pity - "But she did hurt you. And pays the price in the harem..."
Jasmine looked him in the eye for a moment, then down at the entranced Alana. "You are not worthy of those clothes." She waved a hand.
Unseen, Jafar waved his own. The white princely robes shrank, becoming worn and patched. Alana now wore the garb of impoverished Aladdin. It looked quite ridiculous, especially her large bare breasts exposed by the vest.
'Aladdin' was amazed. "What... how..." 'He' stared at his clothes, but could not see the absurdity.
"Never mind that!" Jasmine snapped. "I have ways of finding the truth." She glared down at 'him'. "Now, you must apologize."
"I'm so sorry! Please, I..."
"Not like that! I don't want to hear any more of your lying words!" She smiled, so cruel... "You'll apologize by your deeds. Take off my slippers."
The dreaming girl leaned forward, and extracted Jasmine's dainty feet from the expensive slippers. A tear or two leaked from the corners of her eyes.
"Lick my feet." 'Aladdin' looked shocked... but complied. How had it come to this? Why was Jasmine being so... dominant? And...
...why did it make him feel so funny? To submit, to do as she ordered?
After a time, the princess lifted a foot, pushed Alana's face away. As 'he' sat back on 'his' haunches, she laughed, malicious. "You dreamed I would marry you? Your breasts are larger than mine!"
'Aladdin' looked down at himself in horror, able to sense his bosom now. "I don't..." His hands grabbed them, confirming their reality by touch. "No! This is impossible!"
Jafar was concealing his relief. The princess was becoming wrapped up in her game. Her pointed nipples betrayed her arousal, mercy forgotten...
...for the moment. He would have to consider his next moves carefully - but move he must, obviously. And soon. Tomorrow.
Jasmine wore a spiteful grin. "Take off those clothes!"
Wondering, dazed, 'Aladdin' shrugged off the vest as he stood. Then he slid down his pants. Oddly wet at the crotch. Leaks from the tip of my erection. He couldn't understand why he felt so aroused, despite his distress and bafflement. Soon he stood, naked, exposed. At her mercy.
Mercy which seemed in short supply.
She looked him over. "You're not a man. You don't deserve to wield a zubb. I take it from you now." She reached down between the girl's legs, and grabbed air. "Don't worry, it won't even hurt!" She pulled the imaginary member away.
Aladdin's lungs locked in sheer unadulterated horror. She held it in her hand, mocking him. He reached for it desperately...
"Don't move!"
His whole body seized up, paralyzed.
Jasmine mimed taking off her pantaloons. Even in the depths of dread, he could not help looking between her legs, at the lips he had nervously wondered about.
The princess scoffed. "You will never have that! How dare you even look at it!" His eyes tracked to her face. "No, no, look back. See, now I have your zubb!" His gaze snapped down as her hands pulled away. An erection jutted at his face. From her hips.
"It suits me better, don't you agree?" Aladdin had not wept in a very long time, but helpless tears were leaking. How was this possible? How had he come to this nightmare?
Jasmine, wearing the tool from the special chest, turned her hips, enjoying how his eyes could not help but track it. "A street rat who dreamed to fool a princess." She looked down, smiling. "You wanted to use this on me, didn't you?"
Aladdin could speak, given the question. "Please... give it back! I'm so sorry, I never..."
"Answer the question!" A furious shout.
"Yes, princess." he admitted, involuntarily, truth squeezed out of him.
A snarl. "You don't get to call me princess! To you, I am your Mistress!"
"I'm sorry, Mistress! Please, Mistress, forgive me!"
"Answer the question properly. And in full."
Resistance popped like a soap bubble. "Yes, Mistress. I wanted to use my... my manhood on you."
"That was the wrong word."
How could his cheeks flush any redder? "Yes, Mistress. I wanted to use my zubb on you."
Jasmine sniffed. "Well, you shall be punished for your impudence. I shall use it on your kus."
Alana could now perceive her true sex. Jasmine giggled at the shocked expression on the face of 'Aladdin', at the questing fingers that confirmed its reality.
"Lay down here!" Jasmine pointed. A couch Aladdin had not noticed before. He - she?! - moved slowly over to it. "On your back!" the princess commanded.
Wide, fearful eyes stared up at Jasmine, a delicious cocktail, as she stalked toward her victim. "Beg me, worthless street trash. Beg me to punish you properly."
It did not even occur to 'Aladdin' to disobey. "Please, Mistress! Please use me! Take me, punish me for daring to want to be with you!"
Jasmine's teeth were visible. But it was not a smile; it was a rictus signifying malice and conquest. "If I do this... you will be a girl entirely. And forever."
Aladdin tried to muster resistance this time. Desperate, feverish. He couldn't... he didn't want...
But her eyes. And his... his kus, almost throbbing... "Please, Mistress," he whispered. "Please, take me."
"I shall do as you ask," Jasmine said lightly. She pounced, and thrust into the entranced girl. "You may thank me."
Alana still remembered only Aladdin. But she could feel her true body now, beautiful and utterly lacking in masculinity. And she could feel the pleasure as she was inwardly parted and stretched by what she believed to be the princess' true zubb. "Allah preserve me! Thank you Mistress, please Mistress, please, more, please..."
"You enjoy this, then? Being a slut, fucked by a zubb?" Jasmine's scorn was harsh.
It burned... on his face, in his... his kus... the shame was crushing, but... Mistress had asked. "Yes, Mistress! It feels so good!"
"You know nothing of pleasure, girl," the princess crowed. "Let me show you..."
Her hips did not desist their thrusts. Her fingers found Alana's zambur, and began to rub and press it.
Aladdin was sucked into a vortex, an earthquake, a monsoon. Her true nature could not be denied; she was a girl, being ridden by a zubb. Her body heaved, completely beyond her control, as tidal waves of pleasure flowed through her.
Jasmine stood up, grinning and energized. 'Aladdin' was spent, limp, motionless beyond sharp breaths. "Pathetic. No man at all."
Aladdin was cowed, defeated. Embarrassed and humiliated at a level... she had never before imagined. How could any of this have happened? Had Jasmine found Genie?
"You are nothing but a simpering girl. A slave forevermore." A toss of her head, and Jasmine said, with mock solicitousness quite reminiscent of the vizier, "A pretty girl like you should have a pretty name."
'Aladdin' looked up at her, irrationally fearful. What more had she to lose? How could a girl's name be worse? Yet, she feared it just the same...
A malefic wink. "I name you... Alana."
Alana's blood chilled. The full weight of memory came crashing down, the past days crowding in. The illusion of the princess' balcony dissolved, and she knew herself to be in the vizier's quarters. And there was Master himself, chuckling quietly, greatly amused by the spectacle. Zubb arrogantly upright.
The slave girl's emotions were a tangle. Grief, mortification, fearful resentment at being so degraded and used. And a hateful satisfaction at the same time. A harem slave exults in pleasing her Master.
Another morning in the harem.
"Unbelievable! Can't you do anything right?" Jasmine declaimed, grabbing the brush from Alana's hand. She began working at the girl's hair, roughly. Rubiya barely kept from wringing her fingers, seeing her mistress' wince of pain.
"Is this truly who you wish to be?"
Jasmine spun, indignantly seeking the source of the interruption. Priyat stood at the door, unflinching in the face of royal anger.
"How dare you speak to me like that?"
The Haseki Sultan stalked forward. "I remember a girl filled with kindness. With ambitions to make the world better, through her husband. Who would never have mistreated a slave." Jasmine made to speak, but the Haseki Sultan overrode her. "A girl who was not eaten up inside with bitterness."
The princess inhaled audibly. "You don't know what she did!"
"It does not matter what she did." Jasmine gasped in outrage, but Priyat pressed on. "Will you let whatever injury she gave corrupt everything you are? Will you give her that power?"
Jasmine's mouth hung open. Never had Priyat spoken to her with such contempt.
"Besides, I do not think it's her that you are throwing away your self for." A glare. "You don't love the vizier. What do you imagine your life will be like as his wife?" A pointed sneer. "His chattel?"
"He... I..." Something was wrong, Priyat was wrong, marrying the vizier was necessary. She just couldn't remember why...
"He has vast power now. Rubiya says he spoke of a genie." She shook her head. "How long do you imagine your father will live, once Jafar's grip on the Sultanate is assured?" She threw her hands in the air. "Do you think his ambition will be lessened, when the throne is one old man's death away?"
Jasmine shivered. Something was wrong... She felt like her thoughts were wading through mud.
"He has always had strange powers. He has bewitched you. And her." Priyat nodded to Alana, who cast her eyes to the floor. The Haseki Sultan shook her head. "You know the kind of woman Jafar desires." An embarrassed blush blossomed on Alana's face. "He has shown you plainly."
She turned back to Jasmine. "He has remade you already. Married to him, he will surely remake you again."
Jasmine fled from the room, tears beginning to flow.
The princess paced all through her chambers until noon, restless, Rajah pacing beside her. She felt as if she were struggling to wake from a dream, but she couldn't quite open her eyes. Or perhaps it was a nightmare that held her. The princess' mind seemed to falter each time she thought about breaking with Jafar. And even if she managed somehow to say the words - how would she enforce them? The vizier was a mightier wizard than even the legends spoke of.
A flash of light, a cloud of swiftly-dissipating smoke, and that wizard himself stood before her. Rajah yelped and splayed his legs. Abruptly he growled, and charged the sorcerer. Jasmine did not bid him stop, hope and fear at war within her. A great leap, claws out...
A bolt of magic swept across the tiger, and he shrank. A harmless kitten landed on the marble floor, well short of Jafar. It clumsily tried to stand, slipping on the smooth surface, mewling in confusion.
"Rajah!" She ran to pick him up. "Don't hurt him!"
"I have no need to, princess," Jafar said, smiling his cruel smile. He looked in her eyes, then, and frowned. "I am just in time," he muttered to himself.
"I'm... not feeling well. I want to lay down for a while." Jafar made no move to depart. "Alone," she said, tentatively.
Jafar shook his head. Firmly. "I'm afraid I have need of your assistance."
The princess nervously temporized. "Tomorrow. Tomorrow, I'm sure I'll..."
"No, dearest, I think now is the time." A wave of his hand, and a ribbon of magic energy gripped her like iron. Rajah was hurled away. His magic brought her closer, hanging in the air.
"Let me go! Put me down this instant!"
The vizier chuckled. "But I have something to show you, my love..." His voice was full of malice, and mirth. He raised the serpent staff. A shadow of memory rose; he had done this before -
"You like to humble arrogant men." Jafar's voice reverberated, as if she were in a large cave.
"I like to humble arrogant men." Especially lately.
"Turning men into women pleases you."
Shameful to admit, but... "Turning men into women pleases me."
"Agrabah's borders may soon be invaded."
"No!" A terrible thing. Was she dreaming? She tried to wake...
Smooth, and soothing. "You can stop it."
"Stop it..."
"If the invaders have no armies, there will be no war."
"Don't want war..." Children orphaned, women abused...
"Yes. You can make a wish."
"A wish? What wish?"
"Tell the genie. Wish for all all their men become beautiful women."
"Wish... all the men?"
"Yes. If they are all women, there will be no armies."
"All women..." She frowned, dreamily. "But... no army. No protection."
"Just so. They shall fall to my armies."
"Don't want war." Something was wrong...
"You will make that wish!"
"Don't want... that." She had to wake up...
Jafar wanted to curse. The stubborn princess was fighting the staff. He was so close...
It was such a grand vision. Without men, the nations that were now such a threat would be trivial to conquer. Jafar would have all the support of the populace.
After all, every man of Agrabah, down to the lowliest of camel-drivers, would have as many brides and concubines as he could manage. The genie made beautiful women indeed.
And all that stood between him and conquest was one pigheaded girl!
He resumed the battle. "You will do as Jafar says!"
"Will..." She stopped. Not able to fight free of the staff, not when held in place with bonds of magic. But fighting still, holding the influence at bay with all her considerable will.
It was enough to make a sorcerer scream.
Jasmine blinked. She had lost the trail of her thoughts. She felt tired.
"Come, dearest," Jafar said. "We have one more announcement to make." Mechanically, she rose, only then realizing she'd been seated on her bed. She heard a mewling sound, and looked to it. A kitten clawed at the bars of a little cage. Rajah was a kitten now. Jafar had done that.
Jafar had...
Jafar had used the staff on her. Again. She held onto that thought, even as it kept trying to slip away. Her feet moved by themselves and she followed the vizier mage.
They passed by Alana's room on the way out of the harem. When they came in, Alana and Rubiya were deep in conversation at the mirror. Alana knelt as Jafar entered; before she could say anything, he snapped, "Come with me. I want you to see this, slave," Jafar said. He glared at Rubiya.
"Yes, Master," Alana said, giving her attendant a quick hug. She seemed concerned when she saw Jasmine, but did not speak.
Jasmine felt as if she were floating, almost. What her legs did seemed disconnected from the rest of her. The throne room. This was the way to the throne room. Jafar had used the staff on her. In some corner of her mind, a spark. Not even anger, but... resentment.
As they walked the halls of the palace, Alana looked very unsettled indeed, stealing glances at Jasmine. At one point, she murmured "Mistress?" - but a glare from Jafar kept her silent thereafter.
The three arrived at the throne room. It was not crowded beyond the usual bustle. Jafar rapped the end of the scepter on the floor when they got close to the throne, attracting the attention of all present.
"Everyone leave us with the Sultan." His head sought, and found a target. "Except you, Priyat. Stay, I pray you."
There was a brief hesitation, as several retainers and advisors peeked at the Sultan for guidance. Looking rather intimidated, Hamad nodded. Very shortly, the large domed room was clear. Another tap of the staff, and opaque reddish curtains of magical force sealed the doors. There would be no aid from outside the chamber. Jasmine's thoughts were flowing now. Not quickly, but her formidable will was stretching the bonds laid on her mind.
Jafar had used the staff on her. He had tried to work his will on her mind. She could not remember...
Jafar addressed the Haseki Sultan. "Perhaps you have been wondering what the source of my new powers was. Or, perhaps, you already suspect."
Priyat's face gave nothing away.
"I had planned to keep it between myself and the Sultan. But then I recalled that, in my excitement, I may have said something unfortunate in the harem, when I met these two." A backhand wave at Jasmine and Alana. "Careless of me to have mentioned a genie in front of a slave." He glared at Priyat. "Who no doubt spoke of it to the Haseki Sultan."
Priyat's face was as stone.
"The Haseki Sultan can keep secrets. All the palace knows this. I am not concerned - at present - with that." A sniff. "I may have to take steps regarding the attendant, however." A horrified gasp from Alana. Again, a quelling glare for her.
Jasmine felt another flicker. Guilt. She had threatened Rubiya, who did not deserve it. The girl did not deserve Jafar threatening her either. Another flash. Brighter. Shame. The bonds worn just a bit further.
"But be of good cheer, Priyat. Your knowledge admits you to a great show. You can see my greatest triumph."
"My" greatest triumph, Jasmine thought, distantly. Not "our" greatest triumph, or "Agrabah's" greatest triumph. More flares of umbrage. Brighter. Hotter. The bonds fraying.
He turned to Jasmine's father. "You have used up your wishes, Sultan. For which I thank you." Jasmine was puzzled at the undertone of anger in his voice. He sounded more cheerful, at least, when he continued. "But I have spoken with the princess, and she has agreed to make the wish that will secure Agrabah's preeminence. Indeed, this throne shall rule a land with much larger borders than presently." A chuckle. "And perhaps all, in time."
You didn't say the Sultan would rule, the princess realized. Just the throne... which you will occupy. There was fear... but also, finally, a kindling. A burst of ire that remained. It helped.
"Here, princess. Summon the genie." He handed her the lamp. "Secure our future."
She looked at the lamp in her hands. She dithered for a moment. Another. Then... she rubbed it.
A fountain of sparks, of light, of magic. A huge blue ifrit, hovering in front of her.
On a face that size, a huge smile was huge indeed. "Hey, Jasmine, amiright?"
A small orchestra had appeared behind him, playing odd instruments in a foreign style. "Sounds like 'jazz hands', doesn't it?" The genie danced in front of the band, shaking his upright hands in the air. "You sure made Al dance through some changes!"
And then, he swirled over to Alana. "Hey, Al, sorry about all that. A wish is a wish, y'know." A glance over at Jafar, who was turning red in the face. "I wish I'd spotted that Staff of Apep when we first got here."
Jafar had used the staff on her. Mounting rage caused Jasmine to breathe a little faster.
"Silence, you immense blue dolt!" Jafar cried, firing a bolt of magic at the spirit. It brushed the sparks aside, casually.
Suddenly, the djinn was eye to eye with the wizard. "Yo, dude, shut it!" He pointed at Jasmine. "She's holding the lamp, she's in charge." Then his finger pointed at the scepter in Jafar's hand, staring at her meaningfully. "Or are you?"
Jasmine struggled to gather her wits, thinking as quickly as she could. Remembering Priyat's words... her own misgivings... Alana's kismet... Rajah... and the eyes of the staff. If she made the wish on the tip of her tongue, she would be lost... along with everyone and everything she loved. Just as Aladdin had been lost, had betrayed himself with a compelled wish.
She would become another plaything, in time. Jasmine had always hated life as a powerless prize to be won. Becoming a prize that had been won was an even more loathsome prospect. Familiar anger - and abhorrence, aimed at the hated vizier - emerged. A blaze that charred at the cords binding her thoughts.
Jafar squinted. Her hesitation was concerning... "Master," Alana suddenly said. He whirled to face her. His fury was incredibly intimidating, but she spoke on, mustering a smile. "May I dance for you?"
"Not now, idiot slave!" His rebuke caused Alana to shrink in on herself. Jasmine's mind was churning. Alana strives to buy me a little time, she realized. Her gratitude created a large fracture across the spell on her mind, already straining against her awakening fury and terror. Love, once twisted to hatred, now uncoiling and rebounding.
But the sorcerer was turning his attention back to Jasmine. The princess saw his frown gathering, his fingers twitch, and knew there was no more time. Rapidly: "I wish that all the wishes upon Jafar be transferred to me!"
The genie whooped and grinned and did that strange thumb-cocked pointing gesture - this time with both hands. One beam of magic struck the vizier, and the other the princess.
"No!" Jafar cried. He tried to strike her down with a bolt of power... but it dissolved like smoke as his genie-enhanced sorcery was drained away. A wave of weakness washed over him as his supernatural vitality fled.
By the time he had recovered, so had the princess. Jasmine glowed with health, almost literally radiant. Jafar leapt forward, swift despite his surprise, clutching for the lamp.
Jasmine grabbed his arm and held it back. Easily. She grew not so much a smile as a victorious snarl, and threw him to the ground with supernatural force.
Jafar was dismayed by this, of course - but he had a moment to think on how she must possess his wizardry, as well. Which she proved at once, as a swirl of mystical force created ropes binding his arms and legs, cloth covering his mouth. In a trice he was trussed and gagged.
The wicked smile of the princess was familiar - and horrifying when aimed at him instead of Alana. But suddenly it collapsed in dismay. Her hands fled to her crotch. She said 'all the wishes upon' me, Jafar realized. Including a manhood of great size and power...
Another moment of bewilderment... and then suddenly, the princess exuded determination. She glared ferociously at Jafar.
"You desired power and dominion over me. Like all the others, you knew the path to the Sultanate wound through my kus," she hissed. "No more. No more! Never again shall I be a tool to be manipulated." She turned to the genie. "I wish to be the Prince of Agrabah, heir to the Sultanate in my own right!"
Priyat, Alana and the Sultan all made identical choked gasps.
Sounding only a little dubious, and greatly amused, the genie said, "Your wish is my command... master." Another whirling torrent of sparkling supernatural energy enveloped Jasmine.
Jafar's eyes bulged. Shock filled him - and a certain bitter regret. It was not wise to tempt her with a false zubb...
The princess was bulging, too - and with more than wizardry and vitality. Her arms, her shoulders expanded like a wineskin pumped overfull. Her legs lengthened. The first instants of the change were easily visible - but her clothes grew, too, becoming looser and gaining much more fabric.
For a crazed moment she wondered if she were turning to stone. Soft curves firming up to hard muscle - especially intense at her breasts - bones becoming thicker. Hair crawling into her head. It was wrenching, yet not entirely unpleasant. In seconds, a strapping young man stood where a girl had been. Broad-thewed and tall, dressed in an outfit such as 'Prince Ali' had once worn, but in a pale blue color scheme echoing that of Jasmine.
She... he exchanged glances with Priyat, and the Sultan... and longest with Alana. Finally the muffled angry grunts and growls at his feet drew his attention back to the vizier.
"Sleep, usurper. Sleep while I ponder your fate." He waved a hand, and Jafar collapsed. He picked up the staff, and examined it - very deliberately not looking in the eyes.
"You wanna be careful with that thing," the genie said, small enough to sit on the prince's shoulder and look at the staff himself.
Jasmine looked to the lamp in his other hand. It was all too much. "We will talk later. Please, for now, can you go back in the lamp?"
The genie nodded, not too surprised. "Don't take ten thousand years, okay?" He dissolved into a stream of sparks and plunged back into the end of the lamp.
It looked so ordinary now, in his hand. The Sultan approached. "Jasmine? Is that you?" He sounded like a lost, confused child.
"Call me... Jabari." 'Courageous'. And why not? Had he not had the courage to take control of his fate? To escape the bonds the world laid upon Princess Jasmine? He tucked the lamp into his robe for the moment. But he did not let go of the staff. Never would either be far from his person until he puzzled out what to do with them.
Priyat was staring, too. The Sultan looked down at Jafar. Still puzzled. "He was using this scepter to control you, father," Jabari said. "And me as well."
"Jafar, a traitor?" The Sultan sagged. "Oh, my child, I am sorry." A wondering glance. "You are still my child?"
Jabari smiled. "Always, father."
"That's all right, then." The Sultan looked up at the tall boy in front of him, weeping. "I... have not been at my best. I have been afraid I would lose my throne, or my mind, or both - before I could make sure you were safe, cared for." He blinked. "But if I have a male heir..." He looked up again, with growing joy. "I can abdicate! You shall be Sultan by day's end!" Then he paused. "No, no, that won't do. There must be announcements, and, and ceremonies, and..."
"That sounds wonderful, father," Jabari said indulgently. "Go with Priyat. I'm sure she can help." He looked at the magical barriers at the doors, and realized he had the power to dismiss them. A tap of the staff on the floor, and they vanished. Then, an urgent look at the Haseki Sultan and she gently led the Sultan away, planning a grand transfer of power. Priyat glanced over her shoulder, clearly expecting more answers later.
For the first time, Jabari had a chance to think. The burgeoning magic within him overwhelmed and washed away the suggestions of the staff. A clarity of thought he had not experienced in many days emerged. Shock and guilt and triumph made an almost nauseating blend of emotions.
The past intimate touches of Jafar, never more than tolerated ere now, became fully hateful and infuriating. To have cooperated with such a monster...
And for such petty reasons! Shame filled him as he recalled the humiliation heaped upon 'Prince Ali' - driven partly by a fury he now saw was quite overblown compared to the offense. Punishing him more for the sins of that endless parade of puffed-up suitors than any offense of his own.
He resolved to master his temper in the future. Especially if he were to be ruler. The tantrum of a princess was as a passing thundercloud. That of a Sultan could bring a nation to woe.
And further embarrassment. Only partly driven by rage at being tricked. The perverse pleasure he... she had taken at degrading Ali... at turning him into a compliant, debased plaything... it had not been compelled by the staff. That wickedly arousing urge to dominate and humiliate had not been imposed from without, it had lurked within. Awakened, recognized, and nurtured by Jafar - to the schemer's ruin, and Jabari took much pleasure from that thought - but not created by him.
He looked to Alana, now kneeling by the unconscious vizier, with remorse. The perplexity and distress on her face was pitiable. "Master?" she asked plaintively, almost despairingly, shaking Jafar's shoulder as tears leaked down her cheeks.
He spoke, gruffly to hide his confusion. "He is no longer your master. You never need submit to him again."
Her confusion - and dread - increased, however. "I am a harem slave. If I have no Master..." She looked up at he who had been her tormentor the past days - and nights. "You will throw me onto the streets!"
"No, have no fear," Jabari said. "I suppose I am master of the harem now." It dawned on him that was the plain truth. "I promise you my protection." Her expression hadn't changed. "Have no fear," he repeated.
The doubt on her face was well-earned, he realized in sorrow. "I... know you can see no reason to trust me. But I swear, I will do right by you." She stared at him, uncertain.
Then, some of the fear in her mein was replaced with fragile hope. "Thank you... Master."
He coughed, feeling like a small mouse had taken up residence in the front of his pants. Then, an instant of alarm - that was big enough to be a rat! The understanding came as a shock. It was his new zubb, beginning to stir at the sight of the puzzled and awed slave girl kneeling before him.
He swiftly turned to the retainers and guards who stood in disarray at the door. "The vizier is a traitor. Take him to the dungeons to await my justice."
They only stared, at first. Then the Sultan called out, just before vanishing around a corner with Priyat, "Do as he says! That's my son!" He sounded gratifyingly happy.
The men then obeyed with gratifying urgency, if a substantial amount of confusion. They did not question the orders of a prince the way they had often deliberated and pondered those of a princess.
He looked again to Alana, barely risen to her feet. He noticed the painted toes on those feet, her gauze-enclosed legs, the curve of her hips... He forced his gaze to her face. "Go to the harem. I guarantee your safety. We'll speak later."
She appeared so bereft, still, glancing toward the door that Jafar had been carried through.
"I have much to do, but I will visit tonight. I swear it." A gentle nudge toward the women's quarters, a glance at another retainer. The man instantly leapt to take the slave girl away.
Vast magical upheavals, incredible changes forced upon Agrabah. Yet Priyat, as ever, was practical. She found the new prince in a small audience chamber, meditating on his next moves. She braced him immediately. "We shall have to look to your marriage as soon as possible."
Jabari looked up from his chair at her. It was different, but Priyat thought she could see a faint echo of the princess' sullen expression as he exclaimed, "I just escaped life as a breeding sow! Now all at once I have to become a stud bull?"
"Marriage for royals is about the future of the realm! The desires of the bride and groom scarcely enter into it," she snapped. "At least now you are not simply a conduit for power, but may retain it for yourself." A carefully blank expression that was as good as a roll of the eyes. "Perhaps you might deign to be less choosy."
He was a man now. He could ill-afford to pout or sulk. So he sighed, picturing a new parade of suitors to be endured.
Yet Priyat spoke truth. An unwed heir drew scheming and strife like spilled honey drew flies. Look at how close Agrabah had come to ruin from one stubborn princess! But care had to be taken - dynastic alliances were no small matter.
Thus, Jabari would be immersed in a great political struggle at the start of his reign. He could see no way to avoid it. The best solution was still to marry a royal from a distant land. That would pose no direct threat to Agrabah's neighbors.
And yet... Jasmine had feared just that: ending up locked into unwilling servitude as a brood mare, far from homeland and loved ones. Could he bring himself to do that to some poor girl?
He had sought the Sultanate. He would have to develop the necessary ruthlessness. But no more than that, I pray...
Priyat was already working on the next steps. "We shall have to send out messengers to the nations, soliciting princesses instead of princes." She shook her head. "I don't know if any of them will believe this..."
Jabari stood up. "It is time for me to go to the royal council. I doubt they will believe this." He shook his head. "I barely believe it, and I lived through it."
Many pairs of suspicious, doubtful eyes stared at him around the table. Jabari had told the story of Jafar and the genie... a version that glossed over exactly how he'd disposed of Prince Ali. Obviously it did cover how Jafar had been using his staff to attack the minds of the royal family. And it very prominently featured the way the vizier had been defeated... and by whom.
The Sultan had just announced his impending abdication - and who he intended to abdicate to. The genie's power let all who looked upon him know his identity at a glance. It did not compel acceptance of the implications, however.
Such acceptance was hard in coming. Indeed, resistance raised itself at once. "I will not submit to a princess in a costume!" said Qadir, the commander of the garrison. Jabari was not surprised. Princess Jasmine had attended many council meetings, until her thirteenth year. Once she began to blossom, the commander had insisted that Hamad keep his daughter away. To "avoid distraction".
"This is no façade," Jabari said sternly. "I'm now as you see me, through and through."
"I see a girl, pretending to a station far above her nature," Qadir sneered. "You haven't the spine for ruling. No woman does."
Jabari's heart pounded in his chest, but his voice was measured as he said, "Careful, Qadir. You may find your own words to rest on illusion."
"If you are a man, then I challenge you to a duel!" The commander stepped away from the table, to a clear space, and drew his sword. Challenging royalty was against the dueling code - even this was another calculated insult.
The new prince came around the table, drawing his own sword. "Have a care. You don't know who you face."
"I face a kus on stilts," the commander sneered. "Come, princess. I've no doubt you wield a strong arm. But when did you practice swordsmanship?" His voice dripped contempt. And his guard was expert as he extended his scimitar.
Jabari smiled grimly. "I don't - yet - have your skill. But my arm isn't merely strong." With a ferocious speed that shocked everyone present - even Jabari himself, a little - he swung a sudden mighty blow at the advisor's sword. Both weapons shattered at the impact, and the hilt was dashed from the man's hand. "It's swift as well."
The man gaped down at the hilt, laying next to the shards of blade. When he looked up, the prince had taken a step forward. The fist caught him in the jaw, and he tumbled, stunned, to the ground.
When Qadir could see again, he looked up. All the pairs of eyes at the table were staring at him. They moved to the prince, who stood calmly, gazing down at the bruised advisor. He turned to the others. "This 'costume' is real enough to defeat any of you in a duel." His jaw clenched momentarily, then he spoke on. "You all have had a measure of power. You take it for granted."
Bitterly: "I had none. You develop an appreciation for power when it is used upon you." He held each man's eyes, in turn. "My might is no illusion, I assure you. Not physical" - he glanced at his awed father - "or political."
Qadir sat up. "That is not enough to subdue all of us! Come, brothers, let us end this madness!"
Jabari let out a brief, mirthless snort. "Then it's well I possess other powers, too." He waved his hand, and Qadir felt his clothes writhe across his body. He looked down in alarm, and realized he was clad in the silks and brocade of a harem girl.
A second handwave conjured a mirror out of nowhere. Qadir stared into it - his cheeks were rouged, his eyes darkened with khol like a whore! It looked ridiculous on his bearded face; his zubb was obscenely outlined by the tight garments.
Tense laughter from someone at the table, swiftly choked off.
Qadir stared up at Jabari's pitiless expression in horror. The prince bit out, "That is a costume. Shall I teach you the difference between a masquerade and reality?"
Though he didn't let it show, the prince was chastising himself. His powers were vast - born of Jafar's monstrous ambition. Jabari could make this stubborn advisor into a donkey, or a frog, or even a puppet. But he could not actually change the man's sex. He had not intended to bluff; he shouldn't have needed to. His impatience and anger - and, he admitted to himself, lingering insecurity - had baited him into overplaying his hand.
If Qadir did not concede, at once... the whole situation might become much more difficult.
Fortunately, the commander's face had paled; the contrast between the makeup and his bloodless skin was pronounced. "Forgive me! Mercy, please... Prince Jabari," he breathed.
Jabari, internally relieved and resolving to master his impetuousness, held the man's eyes for a breath. Then he nodded and stepped toward the table. A backhand flick of his fingers dismissed the mirror and makeup, and Qadir's clothes shifted back to robes of state.
The prince addressed the gathering. "I am not a fool. I will take advice soberly, I will consider your words carefully. I will reward loyalty and good service as it deserves. I will strive for the good of Agrabah and its people, always." His eyes narrowed. "But I will rule."
Flatly: "If any of you cannot accept this, you may be dismissed from my service, as Qadir shall now be. There will be no vengeance, and I will even provide a stipend for you to begin a new life." Deathly serious: "Somewhere far from Agrabah."
He folded his arms across his chest, and spoke firmly. "That is the choice you face. Serve me as you served my father, or be banished." Then, a pause, and a wry smile aimed at a shaken Qadir. "I suppose there is a third choice. Swear falsely, move against me some other time... and discover what a sorcerer's wrath looks like."
The men were exchanging glances among themselves. Some blankfaced, a few betraying cowed fear.
"Now choose."
Jabari stepped through the seraglio gate. He had checked on the disgraced vizier in the dungeon. The prisoner was woken from enchanted slumber - but sealed in a cell fenced round with magic. There would be no secret passage to freedom for Jafar this time. The vile imprecations of the overturned schemer still echoed in the prince's ears.
The halls of the women's quarters looked so strange - so much smaller. He almost hit his head at the top of the doorframe walking into his rooms, he was so tall now. He glanced around for a moment. He would rest here for tonight, perhaps. By the morrow he would need a new suite in the men's quarters - decorated much more suitably. He was a princess no longer.
Priyat herself brought Alana in shortly. "Thank you, Haseki Sultan. Leave us alone for a while, please. We have a lot to talk about." The woman eyed him speculatively for a moment, then wordlessly bowed and retired.
The anxious uncertainty that filled Alana's demeanor brought forth his guilt again. It reaffirmed the decision he had already made. If he was to be a man, he would be a man with honor.
"I have one remaining wish," Jabari said slowly. "I was under Jafar's evil influence when I... made you as you are now." He sighed. "But I'm guilty, too, for what happened to you."
He placed a strong hand on the slave girl's shoulder. "I will use my last wish to make you Aladdin again. In body and mind." The girl's mouth made a little 'o' of astonishment. The prince continued. "As Sultan, I can make you rich. You could have whatever new life you chose."
Alana did not meet his eyes. She stared at the tiles of the floor for many moments. Then, she spoke softly. "Most of all, Aladdin hoped to be with the Princess." Her eyes alighted upon Jabari's manly hand on her soft, graceful shoulder. "But the princess is no more."
Jabari felt uncomfortable. He tried to reassure her. "Aladdin was... is handsome and quick-witted. A man like that, with money, might even manage to marry some other princess..."
Her hand lifted, warding. "I ask something else." Those lovely shoulders dropped in shame. "My last wish - the wish that made me a slave girl - was truly wasted. I had promised Genie I would use it to give him his freedom."
Jabari's eyes widened in surprise. The girl, still gazing at the floor, spoke on unknowing. "I could have used it any time. But I wanted to save it. In case I needed it." A brief, sad laugh. "If I'd done what I promised, when I had the chance, everything would have been different."
The prince could hardly disagree. What might have happened in some other world where Aladdin, or Jasmine, or Jafar had made other choices?
She looked up, finally. "I got what I deserved for being a coward. Help me keep my promise. Set Genie free."
Jabari hesitated. "I only have one wish left. I can free you or him, not both." A pause. "Are you sure that..."
Seldom indeed came the times a slave girl might interrupt a prince! "Aladdin dreamed of a thousand things, growing up in the streets. Then he met a princess, and only had one dream." A wan smile. "Not even a wish from a genie could grant that now, I see."
Jabari felt even more guilt. And yet, Alana spoke truly. His resolve to remain a prince was as steel. He could not go back to that soft, gentle prison of girlhood.
A shake of Alana's head set her beautiful hair to flowing. "I had only one dream, too, in this strange new life. The most a concubine might hope for: to delight my Master and be the dearest in his heart." A cloud of... strangely mixed anger and longing. "Even if I served a Master I had reason to hate."
Then a sly grin crinkled the girl's lips. (Full, pink lips, he noticed for some odd reason.) "Of course, I wanted that as much to annoy his betrothed, as from devotion to... him." A pause; then, sadly, gaze downcast: "The betrothed I had tricked and lied to."
"I... am not so angry as I was." He was a man now; he must not cry.
Her lovely eyes lifted again to Jabari's face. "I'm glad to hear it. And so... my dream hasn't changed."
In confusion, he cried, "What do you want from me, if not your manhood? If it's in my power, I'll grant it, I swear!"
"The harem will have a kinder Master, now. One I've already loved." Limpid eyes stared into his. "You'll make a fine Sultan, but it will be a life's work. I want to spend my life making up for my mistakes." A dainty hand upon his forearm. "Let me be your delight. Your respite, your joy and ease at the end of each day." Anxiety blended with the faintest of hope, a whispered plea: "If you'll have me."
Again with his zubb! The wretched thing seemed to have a will of its own.
He covered his bewilderment with action. "It'll be done as you ask. I'll free the genie. Right now!" He withdrew the lamp from his robes, went to rub it and summon the genie.
But Alana, a sultry look in her eyes, stilled the motion with a gentle hand. "He's waited thousands of years. Surely he can wait one final night..."
Jabari stared, taken aback. She took the lamp from his suddenly uncertain grip, and set it on a small table. He realized that in any hands but hers, the lamp posed a dire threat. I truly do have to free the genie. So long as he's enslaved, he could bring me to ruin. Just like I did to Jafar...
Alana had turned to him. "Master?" she said. "May I use my mouth to please you?"
His mind was thrown back to that fateful night. She had used just those words in her first submission to the vizier.
"You don't have to demean yourself anymore," he told her, stepping back, bumping into a couch. It took effort; she was very beautiful... but he had to do what was right.
She approached. She was kneeling before him anyway. "I choose this. Nothing done in love, that harms no one, can be demeaning."
"How can you still love me, after all I've done to you?" She had reached for his trousers. He tried to push her back.
Yet she batted his hands away easily. His supernatural might seemed to have fled. Drained into his zubb, stiff as iron. It looked like a tent at his crotch, the cloth pulled tight.
"I loved you from the moment I met you in the market." The drawstring about his waist was coming undone by her clever fingers. Her voice was sweet and soothing. Its feminine warmth stirred something deep within him. "You were kind and clever, brave and beautiful."
Jabari shook his head, weakly. "I've been none of those things, since that day." He looked down at the top of her head, shamed. "I've been small and spiteful and stupid."
Alana was entirely serene as she pulled down his trousers. The silk sliding over the tip of his zubb almost made him shiver. "You were kind to an elephant, even if it made your betrayer happy. Then you forgave that street rat, who'd lied to you to steal your heart. You offered to trade a genie's wish for his sake!" A nod, firm despite its gentleness. "You are still kind."
Her hands were doing something he at first did not understand. The muddled impressions suddenly resolved - those were his balls she cupped! "You challenged and outwitted the vizier. You fought off the spell of his staff, as I could not." A pause, then more softly, "You beat the man who defeated me." A whisper. "The man I surrendered to."
She continued to tickle his scrotum with one hand, a confusing but not unpleasant sensation. The fingers of her other hand slid along the shaft of his zubb. Now he did shiver. "You are still brave and clever."
She looked up from his manhood. Nothing but love could be seen in her eyes. Except perhaps a trace of amusement. "I am a woman now. When I say you are the most handsome man in the world, I know what I'm talking about." Her eyes returned to where her hands worked. "You are still beautiful. More beautiful than ever."
She did not have to lean forward very far. She took him into her mouth. Jabari inhaled sharply. In some ways, it felt similar to what the princess had felt, when her zambur was being licked. Yet, it was profoundly different in other ways, disorienting. He was surrounded, as if he'd been turned inside out, drawn into Alana's mouth. Everything focused on her smooth slippery ministrations.
The confusion didn't go away, but the pleasure mounted apace.
Alana worked passionately, using everything she'd learned, heard of, or even imagined about fellatio. It was important - it was crucial - that she please this man. And, very soon - sooner than Jafar had ever lasted - she drank his semen. It could not be said to be sweet. But she enjoyed it very much. It tasted cleaner, somehow, than the vizier's. A harem slave exults in pleasing her master. True words, indeed - especially this Master.
Jabari sagged onto the divan. Leaned back on one elbow. This, too, was strange and different. Now that the storm had passed, it had passed entirely. After Jasmine had found release, some excitement had remained, even after a great earthquake of a climax. He instead felt a wave of weakness and langour; as if he had truly emptied himself completely, down her throat.
So he watched almost in a torpor, as Alana stood. Her smile was bright and happy, lightening his heart. She was not tired. "May I dance for you, Master?"
He waved the question away. "Do as you like. I don't wish to own you. You should be free."
With a saucy, raffish grin, she said, "I will change your mind, Master." She glided away from the bed, to the center of the room. She raised her arms, and stood still for a few moments. Then, she began to move.
Jabari's eyebrows raised. This was not a dance Jasmine had taught her! She remained in one place, barely moving across the floor. Her torso twisted, shoulders moving one way, hips moving another. Her upper body froze, yet her hips wobbled with scarcely a tremor of her chest or arms.
He sat up. "When did you learn that?"
She smiled wickedly. "Does it please you, Master?" Suddenly her hips stilled, knees slightly bent. Her chest and shoulders now moved in a percussive pattern, breasts jiggling, though her lower body hardly budged.
"Very much." It was truly fascinating to watch.
Just a touch breathless from the effort, Alana spoke, still dancing in that curious style. "Rubiya was friends with the Almeh of Egypt as a child, before she was sold to the Sultan's palace." An eye-opening twitch of her hips. "She taught me some of their moves." She turned, hips undulating like waves in water. Suddenly she twirled away and dropped the skirt to the floor. Naught but a thin strip of silk covered her rump now. That rump rocked back and forth, forward and back, as her arms swept about leisurely, and her head leaned back, causing her dangling hair to gently sway.
That pert bottom seemed to speak directly to his zubb, inviting and inspiring. The lassitude was fading with haste, replaced by animation and interest.
Though her behind kept up its amazing display, Alana turned her head, gazing over her shoulder. "I had intended to surprise you. To upset you. To entrance Jafar some night when you didn't expect it." A seductive smile. "This is so much better," she said as her eyes traveled to his zubb, already climbing into the air afresh.
She danced until Jabari could stand it no more. He rose and stalked forward, gathering her up in his arms, pressing his zubb against that tempting rear. Alana squealed and gasped, but did not stop smiling.
He could not help himself. He toted her to a table and bent her across it. He tore the silk of her panties with his magical strength - first one side of her hip, then the other. He threw the cloth away, carelessly. He clasped her hips with one hand, and felt for her kus with the other. There!
It was as if his zubb had taken control. Turgid, insistent, urgent. He felt the tip find that moistened receptacle, and had to restrain himself from pushing forward too hard. He felt a deep, almost instinctive need to bury himself in her. At last he was in. It was phenomenal; incomprehensibly satisfying and yet inflaming his desire at the same time.
"Oh, Master!" Alana moaned. He began to pull out, only so he could push in again. "Yes, yes, yes... please, Master, take me!"
To be called 'Mistress' had been intoxicating. To be called 'Master' was... fulfilling. He was pumping now, over and over, not sure when he had started. It didn't matter. He had to be inside her. There was simply no choice. The free girl, who insisted on playing the slave, whimpered, "Yes... Oh, Master, yes..."
He knew something of what she felt. Especially in the past few days, Jasmine's kus had received much attention. Yet, her maidenhead had been jealously guarded, as suited the virginity of a princess. Naught but the slenderest finger had ever sneaked into her passage. How might it have felt to be used as the scabbard for such a proud sword as he now brandished?
Alana seemed to find it most thrilling, judging by her moaning cries - now wordless, impassioned. Whatever she feels, how could it possibly compare to my own pleasure? Tight but yielding, warm and wet... truly these parts were made to fit together!
The girl shrieked, a cry betokening sensation beyond pleasure or pain. As her back arched, he felt his climax materialize. A complete unleashing, as though a second heart in his loins was pumping out his lifeblood. A release of an intensity he could scarcely compass.
He was not sure how long it was before he became aware of anything beyond sensation. The slave girl had slumped onto the table, panting, exhausted. He was still inside her, a last twitch of his manhood expelling just a trace more. His lungs were like bellows, filling and expelling by themselves.
From that unnatural wellspring the genie had bestowed, vitality flowed into him. Sooner than he would have imagined possible, he could stand straight, withdraw his softening zubb from within Alana's kus. She began to slide back off the table, her legs unsteady; he caught her, and lifted her up.
He cradled her in his arms like a child, and carried her to the bed. He laid her gently on the silks, then stood up and examined her. She panted, lips parted, pearly teeth and that agile tongue just visible within. Her hair spread like a halo about her head. Her strangely fascinating bosom gently heaving as she breathed deeply. Her waist turned slightly, hips rising and falling into her graceful legs. A shadow at her groin, where the hair was visible.
Jasmine had thought her beautiful, before. She had appreciated Alana's form, and taken sensual pleasure from forcing womanly submission upon it. And yet... as the princess had grown into womanhood, she had felt the stirrings of interest and curiosity about the bodies of men; those of women had not held such intrigue. Not even Alana's body, really - not that way. It had aroused for what it was not anymore, rather than what it was in itself.
But now, Jabari regarded a female form with male eyes. Princess Jasmine had felt those gazes upon her, all her days; she had found them amusing at best, annoying at worst. In this moment he truly understood what they had been seeing. He found it profoundly amazing, arresting. It was as if he had never really caught sight of a girl before. Everything about her was riveting, alluring, exotic and fascinating and tempting. A greedy possessiveness rose in him; he wanted her exclusively, entirely. Every bit of her to himself.
Jasmine had forced pleasure upon Alana - to diminish her, to punish her, to enslave her, to humiliate her. Jabari would give her pleasure, offer it. Simply because she deserved to feel good.
She who had been a poor commoner, a boy whose heart was bigger than his station. A boy who would come across a genie, and wish to be at the level of his love. A boy who had lied - because he had believed he knew what a princess would want. That unworthy princess who never gave him a chance to explain, never even asked about his true feelings, just viciously reached in and turned his whole being inside out.
Then, transformed into a girl who had despaired of ever knowing love again, who had accepted utter defeat - and still worked what little she could for the good of others. Who had accepted an alien, sorrowful new life yet retained a spark of soul. A girl who somehow, impossibly, could forgive the unforgivable. Who would embrace a lifetime of slavery for herself, if she could free her friend from it instead.
Jabari would offer that girl... everything. Because... because he loved that girl. He needed her. This beautiful, precious, perfect diamond...
He got onto the bed, gently turned her hips, spread her legs. He looked at her kus; for all that he had sported one until this very day, it seemed unfamiliar and foreign. Yet not distasteful - no, never that.
Except... a bit of milky fluid oozed from those lips. His own emission, he realized. The idea of tasting it was... admittedly a trifle offputting. Fortunately, that posed no obstacle to his intent. He was a great sorcerer now. A wave of a finger, a tiny spell, dissolved the remnants into nothing. Leaving her clean, unsullied. He suckled her kus greedily, then.
She puffed, and let out a groan. It was slippery and musky and unlike anything he had encountered before. But it had a strange allure all its own, and the little hitches of her breath were encouragement indeed. He pressed further, moved closer.
His zubb was stretching out again, pressed onto the silks as he labored with his tongue and lips. The smell was earthy and animal, awakening some fundamental, essential yen within him. His resolve to offer pleasure, and not compel it, was crumbling; he wanted to hear her wail in ecstasy again. He needed it. It was compulsion of her, domination of her, yes - and yet, it somehow impressed him as a purer, healthier impulse than Jasmine had experienced. He drove on, implacable.
Her hips bucked, and she screamed. Her hands clutched his hair, her nails dug into his scalp painfully - but he was smiling triumphantly through it all, even as he ceaselessly tormented her tender flesh with his mouth.
Eventually, she fell back, slack and enervated. Jabari desisted, and rose to his knees. Filled with a pride such as he had seldom experienced in his life. Truly, finally, he felt like a man.
And almost instantly, he was overflowing with anxiety. Alana was weeping.
"What's wrong?" he exclaimed, reaching out hesitantly, suddenly afraid to touch her.
"Nothing is wrong, Master," she whispered, even though tears leaked down her cheeks into her hair. "I'm happy." Her hand lifted, weakly, taking hold of his hovering one. "I'm so happy."
Dumbfounded, Jabari hesitated for a few seconds. Then he leaned forward, and kissed her. He started gently, but Alana kissed back, more and more intensely. Suddenly he felt her hips rubbing his belly... and his zubb. He pulled his head back, just a few inches - their faces close, as he shook his head slightly in wonder.
"Again?" he murmured. "Truly?"
Her grin was shameless. She continued to wriggle against him, pressed against that staff. A staff at least as magical as the snake scepter leaning on a nearby dresser. "I can feel it will be no hardship for you, Master."
It was the work of moments to reposition himself. Entering her again was... at least as keen a sensation as the last time. Again, the rising intensity, the impulse for greater and greater penetration...
Alana had come to greatly desire submission.
Now she writhed under a Master she could surrender to utterly. Giving not simply body and mind, but heart and spirit as well. Loving submission, she discovered, brought more than pleasure to the flesh. It brought joy to the soul. She saw his pleasure, his ardor, his intensity. She felt him inside her, assertive, grasping, conquering - but somehow giving, supplicating as well.
Once, she had imagined she had surrendered to Jafar. It was astonishing how much of herself she had actually held in reserve. Made clear by her gift of herself now. She was Jabari's - gladly, completely, and forevermore. "Master! Oh Master I love you I ahh ahh ahhn ahhn aaaiiieee!"
They played for a timeless time. Jabari was astonished anew at his boundless potency. Jafar had wished greedily indeed. A particularly intense exertion shook not just the bed, but the dresser next to it. The serpent staff fell and clacked on the floor.
Alana was on top of him, panting, a light sheen of sweat making her glisten like some enchanted houris. Her eyes brightened as she regarded the scepter. "Oh, the games we'll play with that, someday!"
Jabari frowned and shook his head. "Your mind has been toyed with too much already. Both our minds." Gently, "I find you perfect as you are..."
The slave giggled. "I'm not sad about where the staff has brought me!" At Jabari's dubious expression, she giggled again. "I said games, Master, not assaults."
He looked embarrassed. Gruffly: "You need not call me Master..."
Again, a slave interrupted a prince. "If I am free, as you say, then I am free to call you Master." An impudent smirk. "Master."
Jabari pursed his lips, but could not gainsay that. He rolled his eyes. "What games?" he asked, with a highly doubtful mein.
Alana's mein was highly wicked. "Just imagine! Aladdin discovers his beloved Jasmine is now Jabari... yet finds himself still attracted to the prince. Realizing a strange new urge to become Jabari's catamite." A giggle. "Picture his confusion!"
Jabari shook his head in amazement. "You want to put yourself through such distress?"
"It'd only be a game, a dream." Her smile became puckish. "And I'm sure you'd teach him well, and use him as gently as me, no?" She tossed her head, moving a strand of hair from before her face. "Let him wear the false zubb, and think it's his own. He could even return the favor..."
The images Alana was painting had an undeniable appeal. Even if he had become male, he retained a certain fondness for Aladdin's handsome form. And he definitely still enjoyed the thought of gentling and humbling men. With his sorcery, Jabari could make many cunning illusions. That lunatic fantasy of the night before - truly only a night before? A Jasmine bearing a zubb entering an Aladdin possessed of a kus... he could make it seem real.
Of its own will, he felt his manhood twitch, trying to rouse anew.
"Aha!" the girl crowed. "You're a man now! You can't hide those feelings anymore!" She brought her face closer, licking her lips. "I could... but have no desire to."
She took the princely zubb in her smiling mouth, and began to work. Presently, her labors met with rousing success... in many senses. Merciful fate, could that thing be exhausted?
In the deep of night, they lay entwined on the silken bed. Her head nestled at his shoulder. She appeared as content as a kitten after a bowlful of milk.
A dark shadow passed briefly across her face, however. "What'll happen to... the vizier?"
Jabari sensed a suppressed 'Master' in her hesitation, the product of habit. "For his crimes, his treason, I'll have his head."
Alana shifted, thoughtful. "Seems a shame to waste his final wish," she mused.
The prince tensed, inhaling sharply. "That's a chance I will never take! I can't even imagine what that snake might wish for if he got hold of the lamp again!"
The slave girl was untroubled. "You can convince a man to wish for the most amazing and contrary things," she said archly as she shifted, displaying her bosom. It was surprisingly distracting to his new male eyes. "If he's convinced it will get him his heart's desire."
It could have been an accusation... but Jabari, despite a flicker of guilt, sensed no malice. She seemed entirely at peace.
For a moment, he pondered, though with no great enthusiasm. "What's closest to that monster's heart?" he muttered to himself.
He had not actually sought an answer from her, but Alana spoke at once: "Ambition. And treachery."
He squinted - then confidently asserted, "You have a plan." A girl who could bring such pleasures... and retained the wit to give advice? How... interesting.
Her eyes lowered, the very image of diffident female servitude. "I am but a humble slave. How should I come up with a plan?"
"Speak, or be punished, slave!" But his tone was light as he casually slapped a rounded buttock. It jiggled in charming fashion.
Her nipples had crinkled. "May I speak and be punished, Master?" she asked, eyes still demurely downcast... but her smile could not be hidden.
For his part, he could not help a brief laugh. "If you earn it!"
Her hand had crept to his zubb somehow... and it was rising again, magically indefatigable. She spoke innocently enough - belying her wicked, stroking fingers. "It's not even my plan. Jafar can't complain - he showed the way himself."
Jafar sat against the cell wall, dejected and frustrated beyond endurance. The manacles itched, and the window - magically shrunk to a bare handspan - let in too little air or light. The fallen vizier's mind whirled in furious circles, trying vainly to come up with some scheme, some scrap of a plan. He did not even hope for any kind of victory by now. He merely sought to escape before the new 'prince' turned his attention back toward his former vizier.
"Pass me some water." The light dimmed even further. Someone had paused outside the window. "It is another thirsty day."
"There is much to do," another voice replied.
The first voice smacked his lips after a pause, evidently slaking his thirst before replying. "Too much! It is to be not merely a princely wedding, but an abdication and coronation, too! All in the same day!"
Jafar was envious - he was quite thirsty. The second voice replied, "The prince asks much."
The first voice sighed. "At least he provides much! Arranging such a feast should take weeks to prepare. But he revealed a hidden storeroom - food from distant lands, banners and decorations."
A pregnant pause. Then, the second voice: "No one knew of that storeroom before yesterday."
Another pause. Then, another sigh from the first voice. "Sorcery, yes. A small thing, given that we now have a prince instead of a princess."
"What is to be done?"
"To be done?" A resigned laugh. "Our work is to be done!" Then, musing. "I do not think he will be a bad ruler. And if a Sultan be also a mighty wizard, I would prefer he be on the side of Agrabah, rather than some invader."
The light brightened. Jafar could not make out what was said as the workmen walked away.
Reflecting on the overheard conversation brought two surprises. The first surprise was great. He means to marry that slut? he thought. That will not satisfy the surrounding principalities! Only marrying a princess would quell their ambition. He smiled, bitter. Marrying a courtesan is guaranteed to be taken as an insult.
The other surprise was mild. He would have expected an execution, too, to round out the day's ceremonies. Apparently 'Jabari' had no rush to dispose of 'his' former betrothed.
In truth, Jafar realized he posed little enough threat to the ascendant princess, thanks to the power the genie had bestowed up on her. Power stolen from me! That was a bleak thought. He drew what comfort there was in the prospect of Agrabah ravaged by war.
The two workmen rounded a corner, and bowed ingratiatingly. "Your highness," one said, "was that satisfactory?"
Jabari smiled at him. "Quite satisfactory. You will find your wages more than satisfactory, I hope."
The men smiled just as ingratiatingly. "A thousand thanks, your highness!" they said as they backed away. Yet, they could not keep their eyes entirely on the prince. His companion was very hard to ignore. Such a wench!
Alana bowed her head, to all appearances shy and demure. Only the sand saw the grin she allowed herself. I adore being pretty and alluring, she thought, no longer caring if the notion came from herself or the staff. It was true either way.
"I still think we're taking too big a risk," Jabari mused.
Alana, displaying a confidence quite unusual in a harem slave, merely shrugged. "We'll make him so angry and desperate he can't think straight. Let him marinate in rage and despair for a full day." Her smile, though beautiful as ever, was impish. "He will become a fertile field for the seeds planted with your staff." She nodded at the snake scepter in the prince's hand... but her eyes roamed elsewhere.
Despite his misgivings, the prince had to chuckle. "That's the hope, anyway." The two walked off, arm in arm, to inspect the preparations for the triple gala.
"You desire to be Sultan." The staff in Alana's hand held the prisoner's eyes raptly.
"I desire to be Sultan," Jafar agreed. Fire and ambition burned even behind the glazed expression on the fallen vizier's face.
"You need to marry into the royal family to become Sultan," Alana said. Jafar would never have accepted suggestions from Jabari; his hate and rage were incandescent. But he would not perceive the same threat from a contemptible slave girl.
"I need to marry into the royal family to become Sultan." There was another way, wasn't there? He couldn't remember...
"You need to marry into the royal family."
"I need to marry into the royal family." Years of planning reminded him of that truth.
"Again."
"I need to marry into the royal family." No hesitation.
"Again." She spoke with unaccustomed firmness and command, finding it remarkably easy to steel herself against submission to this man. She had a better Master now, and gladly served his will instead.
"I need to marry into the royal family." Complete certainty.
"You will do anything to marry into the royal family."
"I will do anything to marry into the royal family." That, too, had been true for years. Jafar had never lacked determination.
"To accomplish your goals, you will dare whatever is necessary."
"To accomplish my goals, I will dare whatever is necessary." The central truth of his life. Not even a suggestion, simply a reminder.
A pause, then: "What do you need to do?"
"I need to marry into the royal family."
Alana purred, "But now the princess is a prince."
"A prince..." Despairing.
"He thinks he has outwitted you."
"Outwitted? Never!" A snarl. Furious. He very nearly struggled free of the serpent's gaze then. No one made a fool of Jafar!
The slave girl spoke quickly and soothingly, calming the storm just enough - while redirecting it. "But there's still hope."
"Still hope?" Confusion... and a hint of desperation.
"Yes, there is still a way to outmaneuver him! One he will never expect." Gentle reassurance in a warm, comforting tone. Even more soothing from a lovely girl's voice.
"But how?" Jafar's thoughts, dulled by the trance, spun fruitlessly.
"You can still marry into the royal family." Alana smiled. She could not know it, but it resembled the vengeful smile Jasmine had worn, days ago.
"I need to marry into the royal family." Jafar knew that was his true goal. He would do anything to marry into the royal family!
"There is just one way. You can defeat him utterly."
"Defeat him," Jafar murmured in anticipation. "But how?"
"A clever trick."
"A clever trick." Jafar prided himself on cleverness. Anticipation and ambition rode him as he desperately waited for the plan that would solve his problems at a stroke...
"First, you must get hold of the lamp..."
Jafar came back to himself. What had he been thinking? So strangely fuzzy... the last thing he remembered was... was the little slut entering his cell at dawn, and... the serpent's gaze!
The false 'prince' - even more false than 'Prince Ali' had ever been, a quim in disguise - stood before him. Handsome and virile, by the genie's stolen magic. The staff nowhere to be seen... but he knew it had been here moments before.
You dare to try to bewitch me? he thought in fury that bordered on frenzy.
Even the wily street rat had succumbed to the influence of those jeweled eyes... but Jafar was made of stronger stuff than other men. He had only to hold onto his wits. There was no doubt that he possessed the will and cunning to resist its power - especially when he knew to guard against it.
"I should thank you. I would not have thought to seize this chance, without your nightly teachings." The sorcerer prince, lips curving up in amusement, waved a hand. Steel manacles fell from the prisoner's wrists.
Jafar was free - but he forbore from attacking. He well remembered the incredible strength and wizardly might that this 'young man' before him now wielded. Strength and might that will be mine again, somehow! Stall, stall...
If only he could get hold of the lamp! He had one wish left. He felt certain there was some way (a clever trick) to turn this predicament about, if only...
The prince reached into his robe, and pulled something out. Jafar's eyes became fixed on the prince's hand. A hand that held the lamp. It was the center of his world now.
The 'prince' spoke with authority. Unearned authority, Jafar thought bitterly. "I will grant you mercy... if you make the wish I want upon this lamp."
Jafar's thoughts were full of malevolent calculation. You proved the unwisdom of letting others wish on your behalf. But you did not learn from your own example. I shall teach you. "Agreed."
The prince's fingers spread, relinquishing their grip. Jafar clutched the lamp to himself, trying not to smile. He rubbed the sides, and the genie appeared.
The djinn saw who was holding the lamp. "Whoa, hey, this doesn't seem like the best idea, you know?"
"Shut your mouth, fool of an ifrit!" Jafar shouted, at once. The genie's lips pursed, but he continued to expostulate toward Jabari. "Mmmm mmmm mmm mmm mmmmm!"
The vizier thought quickly. What should he wish for?
"You were about to wish good fortune and prosperity upon Agrabah, weren't you?" The prince had the full measure of temerity and imperiousness the princess had possessed. Jafar's blood boiled. You cannot control me! No one can, even with the serpent staff! I shall serve myself, as always!
The schemer saw that the genie had created some kind of banner, reading, "GET THE LAMP! DON'T LET HIM SAY ANYTHING!" Already the 'prince' frowned, suspicion growing. Bare seconds - if that - remained before this last chance would be plucked away. Swiftly, swiftly! How best to...
The idea sprang into his head, fully formed and perfect. He would still be able to marry into the royal family! And the prince would never expect it! He would be completely outplayed! Bold steps, as always!
Laughing, triumphant: "I wish to become a beautiful young princess, betrothed to the prince of Agrabah!"
The genie's jaw dropped, and bounced once or twice off the floor. Then, inexplicably, he smiled. Magic shot from his extended finger, swirling around and into Jafar's body.
For a moment, pure exultation. He had finally defeated that arrogant pretender! Then: Wait. What did I just...
Bones shrank and shifted, muscles dissolved. The hairs on his face were being sucked inward... even as the stubble on his skull was leaping outward. At his groin, it felt as if his zubb was climbing into his body, like a tortoise pulling into its shell. There was no pain, but that did not reduce his dread and panic one whit.
The changes to his body finished, and his sagging robes began to wriggle and transform. Pulling in tight - around the chest and hips in particular. A dress with a high, stiff, red-lined collar, open in the front. The opening continued to a very low-cut bodice. Pointed shoulders; loose, flowing, gauzy red sleeves emerged from them, and bunched at the wrist. A skirt hugged closely down to the knees, then puffed outward. Bright red slippers. The dress was black at the top and bottom, shading gradually to red, where a sash with a floral texture clinched tight at the waist.
The elaborate headdress had become a small rounded cap, atop flowing midnight-black hair. The cap, at least, was still black. It still sported a ruby at the forehead - but a bright red feather stuck up from the gem as an accent.
The whole transformation had taken mere seconds, though Jafar felt every moment intensely. The aftermath was overwhelming. Those hands holding the lamp - thin, delicate fingers. The swellings on that chest, the cleavage revealed by the alien clothing. A wordless, high-pitched moan of terror was coming from somewhere. It halted at the realization of exactly whose throat and mouth it emerged from.
The djinn was now seated at a table as if he were eating outdoors in the bazaar - whistling at Jafar like a man catcalling a passing girl. "Ooh, I like it! Such an 'evil stepdaughter' vibe going on, very 'young Grimhilde'!" He spoke the infuriating words in an unrecognizable accent.
Jabari's laughter, rich and deep, trailed off. "I think I'll call you Jelveh." ('Loveliness'.) He waved a hand and an ornate mirror appeared, letting the new girl see herself. "You must agree, it suits you well."
'Jelveh' stared into it, uncomprehending. "No! Noooooo! This cannot be!" The outfit denied the words, outlining and emphasizing a shapely - and entirely feminine - form.
"You should be happy," Jabari said, laughing. "You have saved me a great search, and endless plans and scheming. And then a forced alliance at the end of it." A smile. "You've saved an entire region from war." He chuckled once more. "You even rescued some other girl from a loveless marriage. So much good, all from a single wish!"
"You tricked me!" Disbelief and rage dripped from the words. Jelveh was still trembling in shock.
Jabari scoffed. "Oh, no, it wasn't me! The web that caught you was spun by someone else."
Alana stepped through the door, awkwardly carrying the serpent staff; it was not much shorter than she was. Her attire, though flattering, was revealing enough to make her station as a courtesan unmistakable. A monkey perched on her shoulder, glaring at the new princess with undisguised menace.
Jelveh bellowed, and leapt for Alana. "I will flay the skin from you while you still live!" But red magical streams surrounded the fresh girl, and yanked her back to the cell wall. The manacles writhed like cobras, striking her wrists and binding them again. Jabari lowered his hands.
The captive princess turned to the princely wizard, straining against her shackles. Manic hatred twisted her lovely features. "You! I shall cut the heart from your chest! You will..."
Barely a flicker of an eyebrow, the merest hint of Jabari's magical power, and 'Jelveh' fell mute. Her mouth moved soundlessly. Fury filled her eyes - but that gave way quickly to fear. "You're speechless, I see. A fine quality in a wife," Jabari purred. Those were words Jafar had spoken in the past to a guard. He had not known Jasmine had been about, to hear.
Though she clutched it with all her might, the prince yanked the lamp from Jelveh's hand effortlessly. He looked to the genie, who said, "So, Jasmine. Looking good, if I say so myself."
"It's Jabari now," the prince noted.
"Jabari, eh? Suits you." Suddenly the three humans were lined up in a darkened room, seated at a long counter. Behind it stood the genie in yet another outlandish outfit. Behind him were shelves stuffed with colorful bottles. "Maybe we can head to the bar after this, jabber a bit, buy some drinks for the ladies?" He was handing a large glass cup full of fruit and brown liquid, with a little umbrella on top, to Jelveh.
Face curdled in fury, she picked up the glass and threw it at the genie. But the entire vision faded before it could land.
"Actually, I think there's a debt that needs to be paid." Jabari's smile was subdued, but genuine just the same.
The genie looked to Alana. "Yeah, I still feel bad about that. Let's fix this kid up!" He began to inflate, puffed up with magic. Sparks glittered about his hands.
Jabari spoke firmly, a princely declaration. "Genie... I wish for your freedom!"
"Here comes our boy Aladdin! Straight from..." The djinn froze. So quietly it was nearly a whisper, he said, "Wait. What?"
He stared at Jabari, and then a smiling Alana, utterly stunned. The lamp began to glow, and this time the whirlwind of magic enveloped the genie. Suddenly the manacles on his wrists snapped open, and vanished. The lamp fell to the ground with a dull clank.
Jelveh would have wailed, if only she could. No more wishes... no chance to escape this horrible fate...
The genie stared at his wrists for a moment. "I'm free," he whispered. "I'm free," he said, picking up the lamp. Urgently, he handed it back to Jabari. "Quick, wish for something ridiculous. Wish for the moon! Say 'I wish for the moon'!"
Jabari, dubiously: "I wish for the moon."
"Not a chance, sucker!" the ifrit shouted, and laughed hysterically. "Wow, did that feel good!" He was catapulting about the cell, casting glowing light everywhere as he literally bounced off the walls.
Suddenly, he came to a halt, looking at Alana. "Oh... Al, I'm sorry. I..."
"Everything's fine. It's all right," Alana said, still smiling joyfully. "I'm just sorry it took a while to keep my promise."
The genie's expression was so skeptical that one eyebrow lifted up off his head, attached to nothing. He glanced at Jabari, who confirmed, "It was her idea. Her choice." He took Alana's hand and they smiled at each other.
The genie was nodding, a sly smirk on his face. "You know, I had a feeling right from the start about you two crazy lovebirds. But I didn't know it would be that kind of love story! I figured even PG-13 was a stretch!" Three large X's floated about Genie's head.
Genie made many bizarre comments; his phantasmagorical transformations were often incomprehensible. Yet they understood enough. Alana blushed most fetchingly, and the silks enclosing her bosom gained two new puckers.
The djinn came close to Alana, who took him up in a hug. "I'm going to miss you, Genie," she said, tears sliding down her cheeks.
"I'll miss you too, Al," Genie's voice was gentle, on the verge of tears. "Been a heck of a week, huh?"
"Yes, it has," Alana agreed with a ragged giggle.
The genie circled to clutch Jabari's hand, shaking it vigorously. "You take good care of this little lady. You won't find another like her in a million years!"
The prince nodded seriously. "I'll treat Alana well. Like the most precious diamond. She'll be happy in my harem, I swear it!" A sidelong glance at the former usurper. "Even Jelveh may find some pleasure, in time."
Genie grinned so widely it went out past his shoulders. "You two have fun with that. I'm gonna see the world!" Suddenly his arms pulled everyone together, even a squalling Abu. "Group hug! Hey, baby, give me some sugar, huh?" He gave Jelveh a very forward, moist kiss, then turned away coughing. "Yikes, morning breath!" Jelveh could not speak, but her face declared everything about her disgust and horror and fury.
Another dizzying transition, and the genie was clad in a singularly ugly multicolored shirt. "Well, I can't do any more damage around this popsicle stand. I'm outta here!" He swirled through the tiny window of the cell, shooting off into the sky, exclaiming joyously until he was lost to distance.
Jabari and Alana looked in each other's eyes, radiating love and happiness. Jabari pulled her close and they kissed chastely. Or at least, as chastely as a young couple in delirious love can. One more moment facing each other... then they turned to regard Jelveh. Their smiles lost not a whit of happiness... but gained significantly more menace.
Jelveh quailed inside, but refused to flinch. A wave of the prince's hand restored her voice - unleashing a torrent of abuse. "Foul dog! Unclean pig! I shall destroy you, though it take to the end of my days!"
Jabari was unfazed. "Why, Jelveh! That's no way to speak to your intended! Especially on the eve of your wedding!"
Jelveh's horror could grow no larger. But it took on an even darker hue. The wedding tomorrow - he planned it for me all along! He has intended for days that I become his war-warding princess bride...
"My magic is powerful," - the prince chuckled - "as I'm sure you remember. An elephant to a monkey is no trouble." He nodded at the furry beast on the shoulder of the slave girl as he stalked toward the new princess. She tried to back away, only to fetch up against the cell wall. "But not as powerful as the genie's. I couldn't give you a kus as he did." Jelveh made an outraged yelp as his hand prodded that new kus through her skirts. She hit him... and he barely noticed the blow.
A terrifying smile. "Fertility, though... that I can guarantee. With me as sire, our sons will be strong and brave. With you as dam, our daughters will surely be great beauties."
Jelveh snarled. "Never! Bring your counterfeit zubb near me and I shall pluck it off and stuff it down your throat!"
Alana's loving, worshipful smile toward the prince was frightful to behold, under the circumstances. The slave spoke gently: "My Master's staff is true and genuine. You will come to treasure it above gold, as I do." The smile she gave to Jelveh was much more wicked. "We'll teach you together. As you once taught me..."
"I shall never submit as you did, whore!" Jelveh heard the note of hysteria in her voice, spoiling the protest.
A mocking, singsong tone had crept into the prince's voice. "How shrill and unbecoming you can be! A sultry beauty like yourself ought be demure, seductive, a sensual delight for all to see. Eager to serve her husband."
The new princess shivered, recognizing more sharp words that the vizier had spoken to Jasmine in years past.
The prince took one step back, eyeing Jelveh up and down. With a puff of smoke, the snake staff appeared in his hand. "You wished to be a princess. And you know how a princess should think and act. You lectured me about it again and again." A hard stare. "All I need to do is... remind you."
Jabari felt a definite relish. Perhaps I do enjoy humiliating and emasculating men rather too much. But I could scarcely find a more deserving outlet for my tastes...
Jelveh saw the delectation in the prince's eyes, recognizing the twin of the princess's ardor for domination. Her fear rose to a towering peak; there was time for an instant of utter, wrenching despair. They have already proven skilled in applying the staff... and they shall have all the time they need to batter down and reshape my will as they please... I shall be made docile, tractable...
Then all concern melted away as the serpent's eyes captured her attention. So pretty...
End