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Farhad gave a final sharp, cruel tug on the demeaning chain leash, and Princess Jasmine stumbled the last few steps into the Royal Throne Room, still awkwardly trying to cover her tits and groin with her hands.

As Jasmine had feared, the simple design of her father’s throne was gone. The clean white walls and grand-but-unthreatening elephant motifs that Jasmine had adored as a child had vanished, replaced by sinister red and black dyes. The throne itself – plated in gold – was shaped in the likeness of a rearing cobra. The flickering fire in the royal braziers made the throne cast long, threatening shadows.

Jasmine hated it – almost as much as she hated the man who sat upon it.

“Ah, Princess,” drawled Jafar, his voice dripping with honeyed mockery. “At last you grace us with your presence.”

In the brief, horrid sequence of hours in which Jafar had controlled the magic lamp, the traitorous vizier had used a wish to make himself “the most powerful sorcerer in the world”, and the change had come complete with a new outfit – a black turban set with a red jewel, a flowing black-and-red cape, and menacing black robes. It was this ensemble that Jafar wore now – and Jasmine immediately understood that it boded ill for her – and for all of Agrabah.

He was flanked on either side of the throne by two figures. To his right hovered the luminescent blue form of the Genie. In her short acquaintance with the strange magical spirit, Jasmine had always known the Genie to be cheerful, energetic and dynamic – but here his posture was slumped, his attitude submissive, his expressive blue face melted with misery.

On Jafar’s other side, on a tiny stool, sat Jasmine’s father, the Sultan. He seemed unharmed, and he still wore the white robes and turban of the Sultanate – but his eyes were glazed over, staring at nothing, and Jasmine immediately understood that he was fully under the sway of Jafar’s sinister hypnosis.

Farhad gave Jasmine a push – sharp, hard, in the small of her back – and Jasmine tottered forward a few more steps. She came to the end of her chain leash, and felt the metal collar choke her – and then lost her balance and fell to her knees.

Jafar laughed. “I see you have learned to kneel before your Master, princess.”

Jasmine looked up at Jafar with fury in her eyes. “You monster!” she snarled. “How dare you sit upon the throne of Agrabah! Stand down this instant and throw yourself upon my father’s mercy, and you may be lucky enough to escape a public execution.”

Jafar laughed again – a loud, insane sound that echoed frighteningly around the throne room.

“Do you not remember your situation, princess?” he asked. “Let us ask your father whether I need his mercy, shall we?” 

He turned to look at the Sultan.

“Now, now, Jasmine,” said the Sultan, still staring into nothing. “We are very lucky to serve Emperor Jafar. Agrabah should be proud to be the first vassal of his empire – and you should consider yourself lucky to be his bride.”

“His bride?” protested Jasmine. “I will never marry this… this… worm.”

“Never is a very long time, princess,” said Jafar. “But I admit, while my power is extensive, it does have limits. Apparently, I am unable to compel you to love me…” He looked at the Genie, with an expression of disgust and contempt.

The Genie shrugged. “What can I say, boss? Rules are rules.”

“Are they, indeed?” spat Jafar, in tones of deepest sarcasm. “And apparently this blue buffoon *also* feels that I cannot simply *magic* you into being my wife, without either your love, or your consent.”

“It’s all strange to me, too,” protested the Genie. “I’ve never used a wish to turn a snake into a sorcerer before. Expect the unexpected, right? But I’m sure you’ll work something out. You know what they say.” His blue face morphed into a likeness that Jasmine didn’t recognise, with short curly black hair and spectacles. “Life finds a way.”

“Enough of your tomfoolery,” snarled Jafar, dismissing the Genie with a wave of one hand. “The point is, princess, that in case you had forgotten, it is I who rule Agrabah now, and one way or another, you *will* be my bride. If you refuse to love me, then I will simply make you so miserable that you will *beg* to marry me to make it stop.”

Jasmine wanted to cry – but she refused to do so in front of the villain on the throne. “Never,” she said again.

“Stand, princess,” said Jafar. “I want to look at my slave.”

Jasmine didn’t enjoy kneeling – but she would be damned if she would obey a single order from Jafar. She remained on her knees – and spat, in the direction of Jafar’s feet.

“It was not a request, princess,” said Jafar calmly. “It was an order.” He picked up his gold serpent-headed staff from where it rested beside the throne, and gestured at Jasmine with it.

Jasmine squeaked with surprise as she was plucked from the ground by invisible hands, and lifted into a standing position. She struggled, but the magic was irresistible. Soon she was standing in place, once again trying to cover her breasts and cunt – exposed by the transparent outfit she was wearing – from the view of the room.

“Hands behind your back, slut,” said Jafar – and the same invisible hands grabbed Jasmine’s wrists, and twisted them behind her back. The posture pushed her breasts forward lewdly.

“Legs apart,” added Jafar, and now the hands forced Jasmine’s thighs apart, leaving her standing spread-legged.

Jasmine’s face turned a bright red. The guards and Jafar were staring at her bare breasts and exposed pussy with cruel, avaricious eyes. To her shame, even the Genie was surreptitiously glancing at her exposed body.

To be stared at was humiliating. But what was even more embarrassing was that she was aware that, somehow, she was aroused. Her nipples were standing to attention, brushing against the gauzy transparent fabric of her top, and if anyone were to part her pussy lips they would see the thick, sticky lust-honey that was beginning to ooze from her fuckhole.

She mentally tried to command her body to be good – to be chaste – to not be aroused by this degrading treatment. 

It ignored her. If anything, thinking about it just made her wetter.

Jafar turned to the Sultan. “Your Majesty,” he said – and he had never sounded more sarcastic in using that term than he did now. “Why don’t you look at your daughter, and tell her what an eminently rapeable slut she is?”

The Sultan’s glazed eyes turned to look at Jasmine – and once again Jasmine had to fight back tears, as her own father stared at her practically-naked body.

“Oh, yes,” said the Sultan. “Very rapeable. You have such nice fuckbags, my dear – just like your mother. She used to look very pretty when I’d cum over her face and breasts. And such a pretty fuckhole. Ready for breeding, if I do say so myself. You’ve grown up into quite the fucktoy, my dear.”

Jafar smiled, evilly.

“In fact,” he said, “I expect you’d very much like to rape your daughter, wouldn’t you, your Majesty?”

The Sultan’s face turned red – and to her horror, Jasmine spotted a tented shape developing in the Sultan’s pants. “Why… yes,” he said, slowly. “I believe I would enjoy raping my daughter.”

“Well, if you’re very good, your Majesty,” said Jafar, as if talking to a child, “I may one day allow that to happen.” He looked back at Jafar. “That is, unless Jasmine chooses to marry me first.”

Jasmine’s face crinkled in misery. She had to turn her head away from Jafar – as far as the invisible forces holding her in place would allow – so that he would not see her struggle not to cry.

“Some days,” said Jafar, “I let your father stay in his traditional bedroom, and sleep in comfort and luxury. But other days, I keep him in the dungeon and have him flogged. Would you like your father to be flogged for what he has just said, Jasmine?”

“No!” protested Jasmine. “I know it’s just what you made him say. It’s disgusting – but it’s you, not him.”

“Well, then,” said Jafar. “If you don’t want him punished, how about you thank your father for his compliments, and tell him how you’d love to be raped by him?” He grinned. 

Jasmine did her best to wish Jafar dead, hoping that somehow she had some magic power to make that happen. This was all her wish, wasn’t it? Her stupid, slutty, subconscious wish. Maybe she had some control over it…

But nothing happened. So she turned to her father, and did her best to keep the tears she was fighting back from making her voice crack.

“Thank you for saying my breasts and pussy are pretty, father,” she said quietly. “I’d love to be raped by you.”

Jafar laughed again, and clapped his hands. “Good bitch!” he roared. “You are beginning to learn!”

“I hate you,” spat Jasmine. “I hope Allah strikes you dead.”

“You will soon realise that the only god in Agrabah is me, princess,” said Jafar. “I control everything here – including you. In fact, let’s drive that point home a little deeper. You could benefit from some – improvements.”

He waved the snake staff – and Jasmine felt a sudden pressure in her chest. She looked down, and to her surprise and horror she saw that her breasts were growing larger.

“Nothing too dramatic, I think,” said Jafar. “Barely even a cup size. Just enough to remind you that your udders exist for nothing except the enjoyment of your Master.”

Jasmine couldn’t help but moan. Jafar was right – the increase wasn’t dramatic, but it was enough to be noticeable. She immediately felt somehow sluttier, as if larger breasts inherently made her more of a whore. In addition, her breasts felt somehow *swollen*, and more sensitive.

“I think it’s appropriate that every time you look in a mirror, you remember that your body is not yours to control,” said Jafar. Then he looked down at Jasmine’s cunt. “And clearly your father never taught you how to properly display your pussy,” he continued. “Your pubic hair displeases me. Let’s remove it, shall we?”

And as he waved the staff again, Jasmine screamed. The same invisible hands that held her in place were now *pulling out* her pubic hair, one hair at a time, without pause or mercy. It took five minutes for the process to be complete, during which Jasmine writhed in her invisible bonds, and screamed, and by the end she could no longer hold back the tears, and she was crying freely, moisture streaking her face, sobbing with pain.

And yet somehow, despite the pain – *because* of the pain – her pussy had just kept getting wetter throughout the ordeal.

When it was done, Jasmine’s cunt was as smooth and hairless as a child’s.

“I suppose I could just stop the hair from growing back,” mused Jafar, “but it was such fun doing it this way, I wouldn’t want to deprive myself of a repeat performance in future, would I?”

“When I get free,” said Jasmine, staring at Jafar through a veil of tears, “I will have the guards cut off your manhood and feed it to goats.”

The only response to this was laughter from Jafar – and from the guards.

“Such spirit, princess!” chuckled Jafar. “Oh, this shall be fun. Next, let’s get to know you, shall we? Who is this whore who calls herself a princess?” He turned to the Genie. “Genie, tell me if the bitch lies, or tries to conceal the truth.”

“Yes, my Master,” said the Genie unhappily.

“First question,” asked Jafar. “Have you ever touched a man’s cock?”

Jasmine blushed. She looked at the Genie – and knew that there was no point in lying or evasion. Luckily, this question was easy.

“No,” she said.

“A virgin!” crowed Jafar. “Excellent. In fact, have you ever even *seen* the cock of an adult man?”

She blushed further. She didn’t know why it should be embarrassing to confess her lack of experience – surely it would be even *more* humiliating to answer in the affirmative – but she supposed that humiliation wasn’t a fully rational process. “No,” she said. “I’ve never seen a… man’s penis.”

“What about women?” asked Jafar. “Have you ever had a… sexual experience with a woman?”

“No,” blushed Jasmine – and bit her lip, rather than say more.

“That’s not the full answer, Master,” said the Genie dutifully.

“Do go on, princess,” said Jafar, leaning forward with interest.

Jasmine felt miserable. “My father once told me that if I had… urges… that I could use my handmaids to satisfy them. He said many princesses do that. I never did, though. I felt too embarrassed. But I asked one handmaid to teach me how to kiss, so that I would please my future husband… and another showed me how to pleasure myself…”

“Excellent,” said Jafar. “We shall have to find you a new handmaid – a sluttier one – who can train you more fully. Genie, can you find such a whore?”

“Let me just Google that for you,” said the Genie, producing a strange tablet shaped device. “Let’s see here – slutty handmaids to princesses. Arendelle – no, those princesses mostly ‘handmaid’ each other, if you know what I mean, wink wink, nudge nudge. Princess Belle – sentient wardrobe? Hard pass. Ah, here we go. Princess Ariel – lovely lady. Used to be a fish, traded her tail for some legs, then needed a little ‘delicate instruction’ in how to get the most out of her new equipment. Her handmaid actually comes from this part of the world, believe it or not – goes by the name of Parisa. I believe she can probably be lured away by a generous pay offer, Master.”

Jafar snorted. “Pay? A slut doesn’t need to be *paid*. Simply bring her here, Genie. A slave princess needs a slave handmaiden, don’t you think?”

“Yes, Master,” said the Genie, unhappily. “Your wish is my command.” He paused. “It might take her a couple of days to get here, though, even by Genie Express – the sea ain’t exactly close, if you get my drift.”

“A day or two should be sufficient,” smiled Jafar. “See, princess? I can be generous. Aren’t you excited to feel the pleasure of having your cunt licked by an unwilling pet?”

Jasmine’s pussy was so wet she was having trouble thinking rationally about sex. A large part of her mind was telling her that, yes, that did sound very good indeed. And the word “pet” made her suddenly grateful that Jafar had limited his embarrassing questions to “men” and “women”. But she was still able to remember who she was, and what was right and wrong.

“I don’t want anything from you, you toad,” she spat.

“We shall see, princess,” said Jafar. “We shall see. Now, though, I will have the guards escort you back to your room. I must make preparations… for your education.”

There was such malice in that word – “education” – that Jasmine felt her heart sink still further. Jafar was leering at her, his face filled with cruelty. Her father the Sultan was still staring at her hairless cunt with glazed, hypnotised eyes, and sporting a visible erection. Jasmine’s face was streaked with tears, her newly enlarged tits were throbbing in a distracting way, and she was very afraid that soon the nectar of her arousal was going to start visibly dripping from her pussy.

Things were bad – but she had a feeling they were going to get much, much worse.


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