Jasmine's Last Wish (2/2)

"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

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I was not sure about this one

but the ending made the journey worthwhile

Jasmine's Last Wish (2/2)

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