Tag: jasmine's wish

Chapters:
One | Two | Three | Four | Five

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Jasmine had never felt such deep, intense humiliation as she did, being led through the streets of Agrabah in her lewd outfit.  The guards had once again attached their leash to her nipples via clamps, and, compelled by Jafar’s magic, she had submissively allowed it to happen.

It was bad enough that her tits were bound and the base and exposed to public view – and that her wrists were trapped behind her back, forcing her to thrust her chest out even further.  Everywhere they walked, people stared at her.  Some of them gazed in blank confusion.  They did not recognise her, because she looked like a whore, and it simply didn’t occur to them that any woman in such slutty attire could be their royal princess.

Others, however, realised who she was.  Of these, some turned away – perhaps in disgust, or perhaps (she hoped) out of love for her and deference to her current embarrassment.  But some – and particularly men – hooted and cheered, surprised and delighted that they were seeing the princess of Agrabah led by her tits like an animal, displayed to all like a common whore.

This was what Jafar wanted, she knew – for the people of Agrabah to stop seeing her as their ruler, their saviour, their beloved princess, and instead come to understand her as a piece of dehumanised fuckmeat.

She blushed, and tried her best to look regal and dignified as she was tugged through the muddy streets by her sex-balloons.

The shame was compounded by the ever-present knowledge that she had made this happen.  She had wanted this, all of this – or thought she had.  Some part of her had *wanted* to have her tits leashed.  Some part of her had *wanted* to be paraded half-nude in front of her subjects.  This was all her fault.

On top of all that was the effect of Jafar’s obscene magical tentacles.  The tentacle-dildos inside her were deeply distracting.  

Prior to today, Jasmine had never had so much as a finger inserted in her anus.  And now there was a *tentacle* in it, attached to her crotch strap, and the tentacle was thick and slimy and actively *wiggling*.  It felt unbelievably lewd, and gave Jasmine a confusing feeling of being sexually aroused, and at the same time like she needed to use the toilet.

The one in her pussy was even more active, and it seemed to have found a particularly sensitive spot on her vaginal wall that it was – well, the only word she could think of was “licking”.  And with each lick she felt her pussy throb with need, and her knees weaken, and she was very much afraid that if it kept licking her there that she would collapse to the cobblestones and orgasm in public.

And finally there was the tentacle in her mouth, held in place by a ball gag.  It, at least, was less animated than the others, although it did pulse and stir from time to time.  Mostly it lay across her own tongue, wide and flat and muscular like a tongue, but throbbing and exuding moisture like a cock.  If she didn’t concentrate on keeping her mouth perfectly still, she would find herself unconsciously sucking on it like a lollipop.  And with each suck, she got another mouthful of liquid that tasted exactly like her own cunt juices.  It felt like she was tongue kissing someone – or sucking their cock – or licking her own cunt – right there in public, and she hated it.

After what seemed like an age, the guards finally brought Jasmine to her destination – a busy tavern, in the backstreets of Agrabah’s poorer districts, and the sign above the door advertised it – for those who could read – as “The Collared Whore”.

“Mistress Delbar,” called the guards.  “We’ve brought your bitch for you.”

An attractive buxom woman in her 40s, wearing cheap red silks, pushed her way through the mass of customers inside to reach the front door.

“Is this the ‘special package’ that Jafar promised me?” she asked.  She looked at Jasmine, and then grabbed Jasmine’s chin to tilt her face upwards.

“Âkh, it truly is the princess!” she exclaimed, and laughed.  “Not so high and mighty now, are you, your highness?”  She slapped one of Jasmine’s tits with her hand as she spoke, and Jasmine jumped, and squeaked, although the sound was muffled by her gag.

“You’re able to take custody of her?” asked the guards.

“Oh, don’t you worry,” said Mistress Delbar.  “The princess bitch and I will have a wonderful time.”  And then she slapped Jasmine’s tit again – harder.

Suddenly, Jasmine’s legs were folding beneath her, and she was sinking to the ground.  Her mouth filled with a salty taste, that she knew from tasting Jafar’s cock – the taste of cum.  And then her eyes rolled back, and she was orgasming.  She was cumming from being violated in her ass and pussy by tentacles.  As she fell, her tit leash pulled painfully on her nipples, and she didn’t care, it just made her cum harder.

What a slut she was, she thought.  What a slut she had always been, to have created this world.

“Disgusting,” spat Mistress Delbar.  “Why is she doing that?”

“The Grand Vizier arranged for her to have something special attached to her crotch strap,” said one of the guards.  “Living tentacles.”

Mistress Delbar made a face.  “That Jafar is a handsome fellow, but he does have some damn fool notions from time to time.  How is this bitch supposed to work if she’s orgasming every five minutes?  Help me get them off her.”

The guards looked uncertain.  “Jafar said…”

Mistress Delbar looked at them sternly.  “Jafar trusted *me* to humiliate the royal bitch in the way I knew best, and he doesn’t want you getting in the way of that.  And I’m telling you that I can’t do what he needs with this girl while she has *tentacles* or what have you tongueing her G-spot.”

And so, together, Mistress Delbar and the guards pried Jasmine’s legs apart, and disconnected her crotch strap.  Jasmine would have cried with relief when she felt the tentacles slide out of her pussy and anus, had she not been gagged.  And a moment later, the gag was coming out too.

“You can go now,” said Mistress Delbar.  “I’ll look after her from here.”

The guards looked dubious, but they passed Jasmine’s tit leash to Delbar, and then departed, leaving Jasmine alone in the doorway of the tavern with the older woman.

“Come with me,” said Delbar, and she led Jasmine quickly inside the tavern, past a throng of loud customers, so quickly that they barely noticed the bare-titted princess in their midst, and then into a dingy back room.

“Tell me, princess,” said Delbar, once they were there, “do you know how to pour a drink?”

Jasmine did not.  “I can learn…” she said, dubiously.

“No,” said Delbar, “you do not know how to pour a drink, or do anything else of value, because you are a spoiled royal brat, isn’t that right?”

Jasmine blushed.

“Say it,” said Delbar.  “That you’re a spoiled royal brat.”

“Please,” said Jasmine, desperately, “I don’t know what Jafar has offered you, but I can put this whole city right again.  My father is the Sultan.  When this is all fixed, we can pay you…”

Delbar slapped her across the face.

“Do you think I *want* you on the throne, bitch?” she sneered.  “Jafar is good for business.  Jafar isn’t interested in forbidding alcohol on holy days.  Jafar isn’t interested in raiding taverns just because some shady deals get made on my premises from time to time.  Jafar knows how to treat a lady right.”

Jasmine felt like she might cry.  She didn’t want to cry in front of this woman.

Delbar slapped Jamine’s tits, making Jasmine squeak.

“Say it,” she said.

“I’m a spoiled royal brat,” said Jasmine, quietly, looking down at her feet.

“That’s right,” said Delbar.  “And that means you’re practically useless, which means you are *not* pouring drinks at my bar.  You’re going to be waiting tables, do you understand?”

Jasmine flexed her wrists, which were still bound behind her back by the belt.  “I can do that,” she said.  “If you release my hands…”

“Oh, no,” said Delbar.  “No hands.  You can’t be trusted.”

She reached behind a barrel, and extracted a metal tray, with some chains trailing from it.  She walked to Jasmine and fixed one long edge of the tray to the front of Jasmine’s belt, by a kind of clip.  Then she took the chains, which trailed from the far corners, and lifted them to Jasmine’s breasts, and – CLIP – attached them to Jasmine’s nipples with strong clamps.

Jasmine squeaked again.  These hurt even more than her nipple leash had.  The tray now jutted at right angles from her belly, its weight supported by her nipples.

“Here are the rules,” said Delbar.  “When you go to a table, you introduce yourself as Princess Jasmine, and you say something degrading about yourself.  Adjective, then noun.  Do you know what adjectives and nouns are, bitch?”

“Yes,” pouted Jasmine, a little surprised that this tavern wench knew what they were.  “A descriptive word, and then a thing.”

“That’s right,” said Delbar.  “So – ‘Hello, I’m Princess Jasmine, and I’m a spoiled brat.’  Or ‘stupid cunt’.  Or ‘horny fucktoy’.  Don’t ever use the same combination twice.  Understood?”

Jasmine did not want to tell people who she was, and she definitely didn’t want to insult herself, but she did understand, and so she nodded.

“You take orders and bring them to the bar,” said Delbar.  “The barmaid will load the drinks onto your tray, and then you take them back to the table.  Simple, right?”

Jasmine realised that the heavy drinks were going to be placed on the tray that was currently hanging from her tits – and that her nipples were going to be expected to bear the weight of multiple full glasses of alcohol.  She whimpered, but nodded.

“And you do not ever, ever correct the customers,” said Delbar.  “If they call you names, you thank them.  If they disagree with you, you thank them for correcting you.  If they grope you, you let it happen.  In the event that they actually stop you doing your work, a bouncer will spot it and intervene.  It is not your job to protect yourself.  Do you understand?”

“Yes,” whispered Jasmine.

“Yes, mistress,” correct Mistress Delbar.

“Yes, mistress,” said Jasmine.

And she was sent out to do her new job.

It was vastly humiliating.  The barmaid and the other waitresses were showing a lot of cleavage, but they weren’t nude – only Jasmine.  And Jasmine realised that here, in this tavern, no one would normally have recognised her as the princess.  They didn’t expect to see the princess with her tits out, and her wet cunt exposed, with her hands behind her back, serving drinks.  When they looked at her they saw her udders, and her fuckhole.  They saw a slut.

She heard crude laughs before she’d even made it to her first table of customers, and a hand briefly slapped her bare ass as she crossed the floor.

When she made it to a round table, where four burly men sat, she found them all staring up at her, at her tits and her blushing face.

“Hello,” she heard herself say.  “I’m Princess Jasmine, and I’m a stupid cunt.  Can I take your orders?”

“Fuck, are you really the princess?” said one man, with a tattoo of a tiger on one arm.

“Yes,” said Jasmine, blushing and looking down.

“It seems like even princesses have cunts,” said another man, who had a skull tattoo on his face – and without any warning, he reached out and pushed two fingers into Jasmine’s wet fuckhole.

Jasmine’s mouth fell open in shock, and she went pale.  She was a virgin, in the technical sense.  She had never had any part of another human inside her pussy before.  And now a man whose name she didn’t even know had shoved his fingers into her twat in public.

Her urge was to jerk away from him, or slap him – but a self-preservation instinct prevented her from doing so.  Delbar had been clear that she wasn’t to defend herself.  If she disobeyed, Delbar might – what?  Jasmine didn’t know, but she had a sudden vision of being bent over this table while the men took turns raping her royal pussy from behind, while Delbar watched and laughed.

So she held still, and let the skull-faced man finger her.

“There’s a good cunt,” purred the man.

“We’d like another round of wine,” said Tiger, holding up the long, narrow carafe they’d been pouring from.  “And this empty can go back.”

The man next to him, wearing a bandanna, took the carafe from Tiger, and giggled.  “Back,” he repeated – and then he reached around behind Jasmine, and pressed the mouth of the carafe against her anus.

Jasmine squeaked again.  “Sir,” she said, “you can place the bottle on my tray.”

“No,” said Bandanna, “I can shove it up your ass. Can’t I?”

She felt a tear trickle from her left eye.  Delbar had told her not to correct the customers.

“Yes, sir,” she whispered.  “You can…” 

She choked.  She had never had *anything* in her ass before making her wish.

“I can what, bitch?” asked Bandanna.

The other men were watching and laughing . Skull-tattoo was still fingerfucking her.

“Maybe… some lubricant?” she begged.

Tiger pointed at Skull-tattoo.  “Lubricate her,” he said.

Skull-tattoo took his fingers out of her fuckhole, dripping with her fuckhoney, and smeared them along her ass crack.  He probed at her sphincter, pushing wet cunt juices into it.  Then he went back to her vagina for another load of sex-goo, and pushed that into her anus as well.

“What can we do, bitch?” asked Bandanna again.

“You can shove it up my ass, sir,” said Jasmine, in a choked voice.

And just like that, the carafe was being pushed into her anus.  She squealed in pain, despite the lubrication.  

It didn’t go in far, but its flared neck worked like a natural buttplug, with the mouth held inside her anus, and the rest of the body wiggling out of her like a tail.

“Good bitch,” said Tiger.  “Now go fetch us a new one.”

Jasmine staggered back to the bar with the carafe up her ass.  It felt so terribly wrong, to have something penetrating her there – and yet, as the motion of her walking wiggled it inside her, it was doing something strange to her.  She felt her cunt getting wetter.  She felt that if she just wiggled it enough, for long enough, that she might cum…

By the time she reached the bar, she was flushed with arousal, and humiliation – and anger.

She looked at the barmaid – a pretty girl from the Far East, with dark skin, high cheekbones, and prodigiously large breasts.  She was wearing what looked to Jasmine like a slave collar.  She felt a brief moment of solidarity with another woman who was clearly being exploited here.

“Those arrogant jackals,” she whispered.  “How dare they treat us like this?  When this world is set right, and Jafar is cast down…”

Without a word, the barmaid reached out and unhooked the chains on Jasmine’s nipples at the point where they connected to the tray.  The tray dropped to rest against Jasmine’s legs, and Jasmine gave a brief sigh of relief…

.. but then the barmaid pulled hard on the chains, and Jasmine was tugged forward by her tits, until she was bent at the waist, her tits against the hard wood of the bar.

Then the barmaid used her free hand to get out a rolling pin from beneath the bar, and, before Jasmine could react, she brought it down hard on Jasmine’s tits – one, two, three, four, five times, each blow slamming Jasmine’s tits hard against the wood.

Jasmine screamed – loud.  Her breasts had never felt such abuse.

“Mistress Delbar says if you act like a bitch, I am to treat you like a bitch,” said the barmaid, her eyes cold.  “Are you going to keep acting like a bitch?”

“No,” said Jasmine quickly.  “No.”  She didn’t ever want to feel that pain in her tits, ever again.  She wondered if they would bruise.

“Thank me,” said the barmaid.  “Thank me for beating your tits, and tell me why you deserved it.”

“Thank you for beating my tits, mistress,” whimpered Jasmine.  “I deserved it for being a bitch.”

“Good girl,” said the barmaid.  “Turn around, let me get that carafe out of you.”

Jasmine turned, and the barmaid reached over the bar and pulled the wine vessel out of her ass.  Then she signalled for Jasmine to turn back, and the barmaid reconnected her tit-chains to the tray, and then placed a new full carafe of wine on the tray. 

Jasmine winced as her nipples took the full weight of the heavy bottle.

Her day of work was only just beginning, and Jasmine was already so abused and humiliated.  How was she going to make it through?

And more importantly, how was she going to find a way to get away long enough to look for the only person who could save her from this nightmare – Aladdin?

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Author’s Note: Welcome to another fanfic, this time based on Disney’s Aladdin. 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

Chapters (so far):
One | Two | Three | Four | Five

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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?

===

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.”

===

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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