Author’s Note: Welcome to another fanfic. Yes, I can’t sell it commercially, so yes, it is to some extent a waste of my time. But sometimes a story gets in my head, and I just have to write it, even if it’s as well-trodden a trope as “slave-girl Princess Jasmine”. So here it is. Sorry not sorry. <3

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Ah, good evening to you, worthy friend. You have travelled far to hear a story this night – a story of rulers, and princesses, and power, no doubt.

Come closer.

Welcome to Agrabah – city of mystery, of enchantment… and of lust.

I can tell you many tales of this city. I can tell you the tale of Aladdin, a pauper who became a prince. I can tell you how he used a magic lamp to gain three wishes from a powerful Genie, and used them to defeat the evil vizier Jafar, win the heart of the beautiful Princess Jasmine, and take the throne of Agrabah.

I can tell you…

Oh, you have heard that story already? Wait – do not go!

I can see you are only interested in stories that are exceptionally rare. I think, then, you would be most rewarded to consider the story of the Whore Princess.

Ah – do I have your attention now? You say you have not heard this story? It is the story of how the beautiful Princess Jasmine became Jasmine the Princess Slut. It is the story of how she learned to spread her legs for every man, woman and animal in Agrabah.

Perhaps you would like to hear the tale?

It begins where the tale of Aladdin ends. The evil Jafar – who had briefly made Princess Jasmine his slave – had been defeated. The magic lamp was once more in the hands of the brave Aladdin, and he had pledged to use his final wish to free his friend the Genie. 

Except – is that what he really wished?

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Aladdin burned with guilt as stood on the balcony. Beside him stood Jasmine – and her pure, radiant beauty only made him feel more guilty.

“Jasmine,” he began. “I’m sorry I lied to you about being a prince.”

The lie had come from one of his Genie-granted wishes. He had loved Jasmine – and only a Prince could marry a Princess, so he had become Prince Ali Ababwa, fictitious prince of a fictitious land. He had deceived Jasmine to win her love – an act no better than the lies of Jafar.

Jasmine looked at him with genuine compassion. “I know why you did,” she said, smiling wryly.

Aladdin appreciated the empathy – but it changed nothing. He wasn’t a prince. He couldn’t marry a princess – and nor did he deserve to. “Well, I guess this is goodbye,” he said. He felt choked with emotion. He had had a chance that no street rat from the back streets of Agrabah had ever had – and he had ruined it all.

Jasmine clenched her fists in frustration. “Oh, that stupid law!” she pouted. “This isn’t fair! I love you!”

Aladdin sensed a smoky presence at his shoulder, and the scent of cinnamon and myrrh. He looked up to see the glowing blue face of the Genie – yet another friend he had betrayed in his attempt to lie his way to the throne.

“Al, it’s no problem…” began the Genie, hesitantly. “You’ve still got one wish left. Just say the word, and you’re a prince.”

Aladdin could have cried. The Genie was offering to give up his freedom – that he had sought for more than a thousand years – for the sake of a master who had only ever put himself first. Aladdin knew he didn’t deserve such friendship.

“But Genie,” he said, “what about your freedom?”

The Genie shrugged. “Hey, it’s only an eternity of servitude. This is love.” The smoky blue face leant close to Aladdin’s ear, and stage whispered in a voice that could still be heard by everyone present. “Al, you’re not going to find another girl like her in a million years. Believe me, I know. I’ve looked.”

Aladdin closed his eyes. What the Genie was offering was tempting – but he couldn’t accept it.

“Jasmine, I do love you,” he said, “but I’ve got to stop pretending to be something I’m not.”

“I understand,” said Jasmine, her eyes shining.

The Genie’s shoulders slumped in sadness, as Aladdin gave up his chance for happiness – but then he straightened. “Then it’s my freedom?” he asked.

“In a manner of speaking,” said Aladdin.

“Then make the wish,” declared the Genie. “And I’ll…” He stopped, and did a double-take. “In a manner of speaking? Al, what are you doing?”

“I’ve thought of a better wish,” said Aladdin. “A wish that will make right everything that I’ve done.”

The Genie looked nervous. “Ah, Al, maybe think about this a little…”

Aladdin laughed. It was all so clear now. “Don’t worry, Genie. This is perfect.” He held up the lamp. “Genie, this is my final wish.”

The Genie looked alarmed. “Al – I’m no mind reader, but… sometimes I can read minds – all-powerful Genie and all that, and if you’re thinking what I’m seeing that you’re thinking…”

“I’m done with selfish wishes, Genie,” said Aladdin. “So I’m making the most selfless wish of all.”

“Al!” shouted the Genie. “Really, I think you should think about this!”

“Genie, I wish…” began Aladdin.

“Al! Kid! Think it over!” wailed the Genie.

“I wish for Princess Jasmine to have the world she desires the most,” declared Aladdin, looking into Jasmine’s eyes with deep, sincere love.

There was a crack of lightning, and a roll of thunder. Above the royal palace, dark purple clouds began to gather.

Aladdin felt uncertainty. The wish had been good, hadn’t it? What was happening?

“Oh, Al,” moaned the Genie. “I really wish you hadn’t done that.”

“It’ll be fine, Genie!” said Aladdin. “Jasmine likes you! In the world she wants, you’ll be free. And she’ll get what she wants, whether that’s me or not!”

“Oh, Al, Al,” moaned the Genie again.

Lightning and thunder cracked again. A wind came up, pulling at Aladdin’s clothes. He watched in horror as his Magic Carpet – waiting passively near the edge of the balcony – was suddenly blown away by the strengthening gale.

“You may know Jasmine, kid,” said the Genie. “But you don’t *know* Jasmine.”

The balcony began to shake. There was a cracking of stone.

Jasmine was staring at Aladdin, horrified. “I’m sorry!” she whispered. “Oh no – Aladdin – I’m so sorry.”

“What’s happening, Genie?” demanded Aladdin. The stone cracked again, and Aladdin staggered as the balcony suddenly skewed downwards at a drunken angle.

From somewhere he could hear laughter – the laughter of Jafar. Mad, powerful, triumphant.

“They call you a diamond in the rough, kid,” said the Genie sadly. “But did you ever think why Jasmine was *really* drawn to you?”

“I’m sorry,” said Jasmine again.

“Old Jafar gave her a taste of something today,” said the Genie. “Something she’d been looking for all her life, without even knowing it. She was a beautiful bird in a gilded cage – and as soon as someone put a collar on her neck and made the bars *real*, she discovered how right it felt.”

“Jasmine?” begged Aladdin. “What did you wish for?”

The balcony cracked again. Stones were raining down from the roof above as the palace began to reshape itself. Not just the palace – all of Agrabah. The world was remaking itself around them.

“I’m so, so sorry,” wept Jasmine, falling to her knees, clutching her face. The wind pulled at her, and as Aladdin watched, it ripped away her clothes. His mouth fell open at the sight of her suddenly bare breasts – but he had no time to appreciate them now.

“You’re a diamond in the rough, kid,” said the Genie again. “But as a princess, Jasmine had more diamonds than she knew what to do with.”

The world began to slowly turn black, and Aladdin felt his consciousness slipping away.

He heard the Genie’s last words before the world ended.

“What Jasmine wanted…. was the rough.”

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There was laughter – rough, uneducated, unkind. Maybe a little tinged by alcohol.

She had been sleeping – was asleep. Her eyes were closed. Her thoughts were blurry.

“Look at her,” said another voice – equally unrefined. A voice that saw women as objects – objects to be used, and mocked. “You can see her twat right through it – and she’s got her legs spread to give us a good look. I wonderful if all princesses are such sluts.”

The laughter stopped – and Jasmine was jerked awake by the loud clap of a man’s hands. “Wake up, princess!” bellowed the first voice.

As her eyes opened, she desperately tried to understand where she was. She was on a bed – her bed. Her bed in the palace. That was good – familiar. But she felt odd. There was something around her throat – hard, metal…

A collar. A metal collar. Around her neck – as though she were an animal! 

She was face down on the bed, her breasts crushed against the mattress, and her legs were sprawled open in an undignified way. There was no sheet over her – but at least she was wearing clothes – a top of some kind, and long pantaloons.

But they felt strange. She propped herself up, trying to bring herself to all fours – and as she looked down at her chest, she realised what was wrong.

The clothes were nothing but gauze. Filmy and transparent – with no underwear beneath them. Jasmine could clearly see the perky bud of her nipples through the fabric, and the darkness of her areolae. Which meant….

There were men in the room – behind her. The men who had woken her up. And right now, they had a perfect view of her….

Jasmine shrieked, and spun around desperately trying to cover her tits and pussy from view.

“What – who – “ she sputtered. “How dare you!”

The men were two of the palace guards, dressed in white pants, white turbans, and open chested black vests, adorned with a golden sash. Each of the men were large, muscular, and not at all worried by Jasmine’s outrage. In fact, it was making them laugh again.

Jasmine was suddenly aware that she was practically naked, in the company of two men who could overpower her in an instant, even if they weren’t armed with swords.

She felt an unhelpful, warm throb between her legs, and blushed.

“Get up, princess,” said the first guard. “Jafar wants to speak with you.”

“Jafar?” asked Jasmine. “But.. he was defeated. Imprisoned. Wasn’t he?”

Vague memories were beginning to return to her – of Aladdin making a wish. Of a wetness between her thighs, and overwhelming guilt and shame, and the knowledge that she had ruined everything, because she was a slut, because she was a whore…

That couldn’t be right. She pushed the thoughts away.

“Jafar, imprisoned?” chortled the second guard. “I don’t think so, princess. Now get up. I’ve got your leash here ready for you.” He dangled a length of chain in front of her, smiling broadly.

“If you think you are connecting that… thing… to a royal princess, you’re very much mistaken!” declared Jasmine, trying to back further away on the bed.

The first guard spat on the floor – a crude, menacing gesture – and said, “Look, princess, you should know by now that there’s two ways we can do this. You can be walked on your leash to the Vizier like a good little slut – or we can drag you there by your hair.” He chuckled. “Farhad there, he likes to look at you in the leash – he says rich cunts make the best pets – but personally, there’s nothing I like more than dragging a bitch by her hair. So it’s your choice.”

The men were serious. There was not a trace of fear or bluff in their voices. They not only sounded ready to drag her through the palace as though she were a common *slave* – but they were implying that they’d already done it to her, on some previous occasion.

The memories came back again. The wish – Aladdin’s wish. He had wished that Jasmine would have the world she desired most.

Only Jasmine had been confused. Only hours before she had been treated like a slave-whore by Jafar, and she had hated it – but at the same time, it had somehow made her confusingly, traitorously *aroused*. All the confusion she had had about her future, her husband, her destiny, had all been gone. Suddenly there had only been one opinion that mattered – Jafar’s – and it had felt *good*…

Not good enough for her to *actually* want it to continue. She wasn’t insane. Jafar was a vile, villainous madman. She hated him and everything he stood for. And if Aladdin had just asked her to *say* her wish, out loud, she would have wished to marry Aladdin, and rule with him, and love him forever.

But instead the wish had acted on her *desires*. And desires were a treacherous, embarrassing, *dangerous* thing.

She felt sick. What had she done? What had she wished for? Could she… fix it, somehow?

The second guard – Farhad – jangled his chain leash again. “Here, kitty, kitty,” he said mockingly. “Pussy needs her leash.”

The first guard only grinned, and cracked his knuckles.

Slowly, Jasmine stood – still blushing, still trying to cover her tits and pussy with her hand – and looked down at the floor in shame as Farhad connected the chain leash to her metal collar.

She would go to see Jafar. She would endure this humiliating trial. And somehow – somehow – she would find a way to set the world right again…

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