Standing as far as her humiliating slave chain would allow Prime Minister Jasmine stretched her neck to look outside the window of the Agrabah palace. The angry black blue of the sky seemed to reflect the mood in her soul and of her Cause. The wind kicked up sandstorms in a wild flurry. As if Agrabah truly was cutoff from the outside world. As if her fate since the fall of the Feminist Republic was just some hazy erotic nightmare. A nightmare that's what this was. This didn't seem like something that could happen in the modern political sphere. How could Jasmine have ever imagined that her political career her attempt to bring Agrabah into the 21st century would end as some strange dreamlike erotic fantasy? A nightmare fantasy. It just hadn't computed in her mind. She had been prepared to be a martyr for her cause. To die heroically on the barricades for the feminist revolution. Capture was a risk she had braved. She knew as both the leader of their hated political enemies and a beautiful young women she had faced a special sexual vulnerability if ever captured by these misogynist brutes. But she had never expected to be dressed in slave lingerie. To be a victim to all of Jafar's cruel and erotic mindgames. Trying to turn her tragic political defeat into a dirty filthy kinky porno.
A harsh tug at her chains interrupted her reverie. Feminist intellectuals were no longer allowed to think in her former capital; now Jafar's pleasure palace of enslaved feminists.
"You need not fear the storms anymore, Jasmine my sweet kitten" Jafar said in a mocking superior tone of a Master to his pet
Jasmine gave him that pout of defeated humiliation, with just a hint of internal defiance that she had come to master. That invited abuse if Jafar was in the mood, but gave her a small moral victory if he relented. Some victory if it was just the mercy of his whim. But Jasmine would take what she could get. A tiny spark in body language. A volcano of fiery hatred in her soul bubbling to the surface in just a cute bratty princess pout.
The strategic chess game she played as a lingerie slave was once again interrupted by Jafar as he continued with his gloatingly villainous monologue.
"My desert rose you will never see the outside of this palace again, and you need not concern yourself with it. The world outside can all burn, and all that need occupy your womanly little head is how to please⦠and pleasure me, your master".
Jasmine hated these games Jafar played with her. It was not enough that he had defeated her, he had to play this slow psychological torture. Of course she had also been physically tortured the more traditional, brutal way. But Jafar had ensured no actual harm could come to his beautiful property. Her physical torture couldn't compare with what so many of her feminist sister-comrades had, and were still suffering.
Screw it she thought, if he wanted to hurt her, he would find an excuse anyway. Maybe this was part of the game where he wanted to bait out the Marxist-Feminist revolutionary, the Prime Minister. To feel her defiance, to not entirely extinguish her fire. That was the fun in it for him. What made her such a prize, not just some harem slave girl. It was a delicate balance playing his games. She relished the chances to speak up, to show some defiance. But she knew it was bait, walking into his traps everytime. Being the character he wanted as a slave. But what was the other option? To be meek, weak, loving and submissive to him? Would that show him?
"Jafar" she said in a voice that somehow mixed all her experiences of the past weeks, the weary exhaustion and the angry defiance.
"Jafar, all I know is that in this little war of yours, you are the winner and I'm the loser. I'm standing before you in chains and the underwear you picked out for me because it turns you on and lowers me. I'm just a helpless woman in her underpants. Not even my underpants. Even the lingerie I wear on my most private intimate parts are just a torture device. You can kill me, you can ravish me, you can parade me nude across the streets of Agrabah. I'm clearly no political threat to your regime anymore. What more do you want from me? If you just want to show you are in a physically more powerful position than me, you have won a thousand times over".
Jasmine waited at the conclusion of her little outburst. With a mix of satisfaction and fear. She had gotten off her chest what she had to say. But now she was once again totally at the mercy of Jafar's will. Her only escape from punishment being him being in a playful mood. A cat toying a mouse before devouring it.
"I wish for Prime Minister Jasmine to fall desperately in love with me".
"Never!" She shouted in a fearful defiance. "I will never love you, no matter what you do to me. The more you hurt me, the more I will hate you to the core of my heart. You have done nothing but harm me and cause me pain. We women aren't all the masochistic painsluts you think we are from you're medieval magic guides; that probably think women have seven lungs, bleed green and have blue menstrual blood".
Jafar chuckled. "It seems my superstitious science of the Dark Ages has vanquished all your modern Feminist theory".
Jasmine was confused at exactly what Jafar wanted from her, which made her more frightened. In both an emotional and physical way she didn't know where the next blow would strike. She was sure it would have to do with stripping her of any last remnants of her self-respect and dignity.
With a sudden change of tone Jafar purred "how about a movie pussycat? I had a special movie theater installed just for the two of us. Well and a hundred of your enslaved leftist feminist sisters who will be obediently in the hall with us. But you need not notice them, for they are now mere background decoration objects."
"After all" Jafar said with a laugh, "there are 20 of your sisters in the room with us right now, and you have hardly taken notice of your half naked comrades".
To Jasmine's shame it was true. In her weeks of slavery she had learned to have conversations with Jafar like she was alone in the room with him, oblivious to 30 or 100 of her former sister-comrades standing at obedient attention, hands behind their heads, in nothing but their slave panties. Of course once Jafar mentioned it, it was impossible not to look and stare. The soft rise and fall heaving of their bare bosoms. Their perfect object-like still obedience, which is what Jafar had successfully reduced them to. Intelligent feminist women, her best friends, the silent observers to her every humiliation and compromise. It embarrassed her to notice but the elegant design, stitching and colorful schemes of their slave panties, their only garment also caught Jasmine's attention. Of course it did not compare to the gold lining of her own red lingerie. But then they had even less to cover themselves with.
"On your knees slave" Jafar barked cruelly
Jasmine hesitated only to have Jafar swiftly knock her feet from under her with his snake staff.
"Ugggh" Jasmine cried out as she fell to her knees and began the humiliating crawl to the perverted movie theater Jafar had installed in the palace. The proud revolutionary Prime Minister was forced to crawl like a dog on all 4s, as Jafar dragged her by her chained leash and collar.
Finally they reached the movie theater, Jafar leading the collared crawling Jasmine. It was more of a command center than a theater. There was an extreme large movie projector screen. But then on the side walls was hundreds of TV-sized screens playing various scenes from Jasmine's life. It was like a perverted biography on screen. The whole story of the Rise and Fall of Prime Minister Jasmine was told in those hundreds of screens. Time and space melted away. There was no past, present and future. Her whole life has a singularity at this moment. At this degrading debasing moment. In nothing but her bra and panties on a chain to Jafar. While the scenes of her sexual humiliation were very traumatic, in some ways being reminded of what she once was, was even more soul-crushing. Seeing herself in her proud baby blue and purple business suits making inspiring Feminist revolutionary speeches, raising the women of Agrabah into a new era.
"wwwhat is all this for?" stuttered Jasmine in shock
"Its your life pussycat" Jafar gloated "It pains me to see you reduced to his condition. I thought I would raise your spirits by reminding you of your triumphs".
"And some HD footage of me showering while Prime Minister" said Jasmine sarcastically. Meanwhile her mind was racing, the wheels spinning, trying to figure out how Jafar had all this intimate footage of her BEFORE she had come under his possession.
"There is a special beauty in seeing a strong powerful political woman, a woman turning power upside down in Agrabah bared underneath" chuckled Jafar sinisterly "but don't worry my sweet, in your new form you will far exceed that old beauty, you will reach new peaks I promise"
"But how how did you get all this footage?" Jasmine asked, her mind racing. Her shock, her reminder of her old life had made her let her guard down. Something she had learned almost never to do in her weeks here. To be so vulnerable and stunned. Stupefied. To let Jafar know he had won a complete ambush over her.
Just as her brain was racing towards a solution, doing the detective work narrowing down the only possible suspect, Jafar cut to the chase.
"Hakim" he boasted with a cruel smile.
Hakim! Of course! He was; had been, the head of Prime Minister Jasmine's Palace security. Razoul, Fazahl, Hakim and Zagoolien had been her security team. The rats had went over to Jafar's side and betrayed her. Judging by the shower scenes, it seemed like Hakim had been violating protocol privacy and decency long before the coup. Turning the Feminist Prime Minister into his private voyeuristic pornography.
"I will make you submit to me Jasmine, and your own biography will make you do it. We can spend hours and hours here reviewing the rise and fall of the Jasmine Empire. Don't you wish to recall the better days? And then you will kneel before me, as you already do, but you will learn to love it. I don't even need to use any violence against you."
Rubbing her soar whipped behind, Jasmine begged to differ.
"Those are but love spanks my dear" chortled Jafar
Is that what he called them? It had been extremely painful.
All the horrible things Jafar had done to her since her capture, it was not enough that he had done them. Now he wanted to do a play by play with her as his captive audience, gloating at his every win over her. And then he could contrast it with footage of her as Prime Minister in power. Both her public face, giving those rousing speeches in her smart pantsuits. And even the most private intimate details of her personal life in the palace. Every undressing and showering all in vivid high definition footage.
"And not just your own life" crowed Jafar continuing "we can watch the past present and future of all your subversive feminist political prisoner friends".
Jasmine gasped at this taunt. It was bad enough to hurt her, but all her friends, her entire cause. She knew some of them, all of them, had gotten much harsher treatment than her. She was racked with guilt over their fates. She had lead them into this. They had trusted and followed her Cause. All their suffering was on her hands, they suffered for her. And now the sadistic Jafar would force her to watch all the suffering first hand.
"Of course we need not watch only in movie, since their torment is happening as we speak, we will make many field trips down to the dungeons and observe and participate first hand" continued Jafar
