Agrabah, 1000

Jafar clutched the edge of the table, his knuckles white. If he wanted a woman, there were slaves aplenty in the palace. He needed to be searching for the scarab, to be focused on the task at hand, and instead he was wasting the storm on some wretched girl pawing at herself.

Why couldn't he look away?

The scrying glass emitted no sound, but as the girl's lips parted, Jafar could have sworn he heard the faintest echo of a moan. She was not beautiful in the Arabian style, although her large dark eyes were arresting. But there was really nothing about her that should have so captivated Jafar's attention…not even the fact that her blue garment was lying on the floor, and a white under-robe was gaping open. Her skin was the color of the desert dunes, struck glaring white by the noonday sun. Blushing nipples peeped coyly out at him.

Damn it all, why couldn't he look away?

Nothing about this girl should have appealed. Jafar liked his women to have a brash sensuality, to breathe pleasure into his veins, and then be gone. He would never even have them perform for him, as he knew other men craved. Jafar was not interested in the women's pleasure; he was there for himself, and the women were there only for him. The fact that this girl's slender hand gently stoked her own stomach, the nimble fingers combing through the curly nether-hair, should inspire no reaction with in his mind.

Jafar realized his hands had paled from blood loss as he gripped the table, and tore himself away with a low growl. But his eyes never left the image of the girl. The room darkened to his eyes, and the sounds of the fierce storm dimmed down to a low hush. All that existed was this girl…and her innocence. Jafar let out a low bark of laughter. For all that she was carefully pinching a nipple, for all that her long legs had fallen open, revealing her hidden treasure to Jafar's greedy eyes; the girl had an air of undeniable innocence about her.

Jafar wanted that innocence. He wanted to see her flare into sudden passion as the heat of lust coursed through her. He wanted that foreign head thrown back, that pale mouth, with its faint echoing moans reverberating through his skull, crying out in glory. He wanted her to lose that precious innocence, and he wanted her to lose it to him.

Provincial France, 1769

Belle's head fell back against her pillow, her lips curving upward in a relaxed smile. All her clothes were in a heap next to her bed, but she could think of that later. For now, all she was thinking of was herself. And, perhaps, of her imagined watcher. As much as she had been initially horrified by the idea of someone peering into her privacy Belle relaxed into the thought as she traced circles along the backs of her thighs. Perhaps if it was someone she wanted, standing just out of view… well, there would be nothing wrong with that. She delicately stroked the tender crook of her knee, enjoying the tickling sensation.

She opened her eyes and looked down, across her body. She liked her breasts at this angle; they were soft and full and shuddered with every move she made, making her nipples stand proudly firm. Besides, when her breasts were like this, Belle could caress the sensitive, silky undersides.

Her lips compressed in a low hum of pleasure as she moved her hands up and down along her calf, then back up, up her leg, higher and higher, teasing herself. After all, it wasn't as if she was in a rush. Belle's smile broadened. Sometimes, it was nice to take time for herself. Her fingertips danced ever closer to her opening and Belle groaned. As wonderful as she could make herself feel, a part of her did wish there truly was someone behind the door…someone who would stride into the room, and see her, splayed and vulnerable, who would bury his tongue inside her…ohhhhhhhhhh. Thunder rumbled, as if the storm approved of her fantasy.

Belle finally allowed her hands to reach the jointure between her legs. With one hand she smoothed across the outer lips, luxuriating in the thick wetness that coated them. Moving with aching slowness, she spread the lips apart, and ran the tip of one finger around the flexed open entrance, across the smooth expanse of tingling skin, and brushed it ever so daintily across the tip of her now exposed pearl. Belle flicked the flushed nub a few times, and felt her jaw clench.

She needed this. For all that it would be wonderful to have a lover, someone who truly valued her as a person, sometimes she simply needed a physical release. She slid a single finger inside herself, and the storm raged. Curious. Belle normally didn't feel tired before she began. Perhaps a nap, and then she could wake herself with pleasure.

Lightning arced across the two skies, merging them.