Part 1

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The memories themselves were compelling, too...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Her legs spread much further, hiding nothing.

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

Alana, eyes wide, remained mute.

“Name it, slave!” he said in a steely tone. The word ‘slave’ seemed to reverberate in her head.

“My ... my almahbal,” she whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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