I am in love with all of your wonderful comments. Thank you so much for reviewing and supporting me, it's inspiring and uplifting! I hope this is a smooth and enjoyable read for you all. Feel free to review, and as always I appreciate it!

{Also, I have updated Chapter One on 12/22/2016 for anyone interested in the parts I added and (I believe) made better}


"Holy shit! It's the little mouse! Samira look. This is the girl I was telling you about."

"Jas—Yasmeen will suffice, Peach," Jasmine couldn't help but smile. Other than her lack of virtue Peach reminded Jasmine of Zarah. Both girls resembling beautiful dolls with curly brown hair and beautifully carved bodies. It was a little sad remembering the servant girl who had been so kind to her, but Jasmine shook away the thought. She'd rather never see Zarah out on the streets in a place like this. Jasmine stepped up the wooden stairs standing eye level with the two women in the doorway. "Hi, I'm Yasmeen It's nice to—Oh. Or just walk away from me. That's polite." Jasmine spoke to herself, now, standing alone with Peach.

"Don't mind her mouse." Peach hollered over her shoulder, "Samira's just jealous there's someone prettier than her!"

Jasmine covered her mouth giggling, "Peach, don't do that. I don't need someone else hating me."

"Ah, little mouse, I don't believe that for a minute. Who could ever hate a delightful thing like you?" Peach took the new girl under her arm.

"Please, don't call me that." Jasmine leaned into her waist as they walked inside.

It was a pleasant surprise that Peach smelled of sweet poppies instead of booze and men, which was a reminder to Jasmine that she was still in dire need of cleaning up; not to mention a change of clothing.

The brothel was empty and tidied, much different to the ambiance she'd encountered last week. There were some shuffling noises and a couple of chattering women upstairs, but other than that, the building seemed peacefully still.

"Where is everyone?" Jasmine took a seat at the countertop as Peach went around the bar, setting down two glasses.

"Everyone who? You mean all the men?" Peach questioned pulling a cork from a dark bottle with her teeth, "It's closing time during the day. We only open our doors at sundown."

One filled shot glass was scooted across.

"And thank Allah too. We're a classier whore house, not like the ones you'll find upstate where they fuck around the clock. Besides, my back couldn't handle another pounding right now. I need a break."

Unnerving shouting made Jasmine feel on edge.

"Shut the fuck up and be happy you've been slammed against the headboard," some woman with dyed light hair appeared next to Jasmine, Peach sliding her a glass of liquor. She was awfully thin, with little curves to her body, and her makeup from the night before was smeared around the eyes.

"Still getting the little ones?"

Jasmine worried her bottom lip wishing she didn't have to hear this conversation.

"I can't tell you how much I'm in need of a real man. Someone to fuck me properly instead of laying back while I do all the work." Her glass emptied and Peach poured another shot for the woman. "These little boys start earning some money, and want to blow it all here. And I'm the one stuck with them.

For some horrid reason, Jasmine predicted Aladdin would be one of those boys.

"I could handle all of that. All of it, if they didn't cum in under two minutes!"

Peach sneered, "So be happy it's only two minutes of work then, lazy whore."

"Go fuck a rod, Peach." She gave a wink, finishing off the amber fluid then hopped down to leave.

Peach made a face noticing the untouched shot glass. When Yasmeen said, it was too early in the morning for booze, Peach shrugged and finished the glass off for her. Peach watched as Yasmeen looked after the blonde woman.

"That's Coconut."

Jasmine whirled around astounded, "Are you all named after a damn fruit?"

Peach chuckled, a few tears doting her eyes. "We call her that because of the hair. She's always dying it that white color, and her skin is so dark. She looks like the in and out of a coconut."

Jasmine cracked a smile herself, stifling another giggle. "And you're Peach? Because of…" Jasmine shot a glance downwards suddenly embarrassed. "What's your real name?"

Peach's smile dropped, hesitating before speaking, "Tahira…"

Jasmine beamed, "That's a beautiful name."

"Yeah, well it's also a lie. It means clean and immaculate. What kind of fucking whore has that name? Allah cursed me with such irony so he could taunt me every time I squirt on a man's cock."

What the hell was a squirt? Maybe another type of fruit?

Jasmine sucked her lips underneath the back of her teeth, trying to know what to say. She still didn't have friends and was unsure how to be one, let alone how to deal with someone in this situation. But she knew, at least to a degree, how it felt to be unworthy and cheated out of a life you wanted. All she could do was give reassurance that nothing was set in stone; or at least she hoped it wasn't.

"Tahira suits you. It's a beautiful name, for a girl with a lovely, immaculate heart."

The two shared a smile, but it was interrupted all too quickly, a large robust woman in a pink gown slapping one of the women with a broom. Making a weird noise that sounded like a goat in labor as she brought down the bristles on the woman's shielded face.

"Ummah…" Tahira said sternly but the woman kept on. "UMMAH!" Jasmine jolted in her seat nearly falling off, and the fat woman stopped, turning towards the bar top. Her nose looked like a swollen pig snout, and her eyebrows were unkempt and kissed in the middle of her wrinkled forehead. Her breasts were saggy, resting atop a round belly, and her knees were ashen and discolored. Jasmine thought they mimicked stubby tree trunks. Ummah glared for a moment longer, broomstick still clutched tightly in hand, and even the bricks of the building seemed to hold their breath.

"Peach, dear," Ummah lowered the broomstick, every person exhaling as she did. "I didn't see you there." Ummah and Tahira shared a kiss on the cheek, but it wasn't heartfelt. When Tahira directed madam brothel towards Jasmine, another strange noise emanated, cutting off Tahira's introduction.

"Oh, my Allah, who is this desert flower? Look at you… turn around let me see ya, let me see."

Jasmine blushed looking at her feet. She knew she was stunning; on her worse days, the strongest of men would fall weak with lust for her. But being spun around and analyzed by some random woman was awkward. Especially when Ummah made a noise that sounded like she was eating buttercream off her fingers, telling Jasmine she looked like an expensive treat.

Not hearing the question the first time, Jasmine had almost forgotten her lie, but quickly responded; Not wanting to get hit with a broom like that last girl. "Yasmeen Madam. My name is Yasmeen."

Ummah grunted like a hog, breathing heavily as she circled Jasmine like a vulture.

"Where do you come from Yasmeen? I haven't seen women this beautiful walk in to my business for years."

How was she to answer that? She'd never been anywhere but here—and even here had yet to be explored or learned about.

"Across the sea, Madam. No place I care to reminisce about."

Ummah crossed her arms looking the girl over once more and nodded. "I understand my child. Come, come, we must talk." Ummah took Jasmines hand pulling on her arm like she was a heavy Ox. Jasmine sped up trying to relieve the pressure off her shoulder.

Tahira was no longer behind the bar, Jasmine having searched for her before she had been pulled away, hoping to gain reassurance. When Ummah finally let go, they were inside a small alcove—Jasmine guessed it was an office—and there stood a large man in the corner. Powerful sculpted arms were crossed and his shaven head glinted from the open window's rays. If it weren't for the hateful look in his eyes, he almost reminded Jasmine of Razoul.

"Sit, sit, my child," Ummah plumped down at her desk as she shoved a piece of chocolate in her cow hole, "I won't bite my darling I promise."

Jasmine slowly sank down into a small seat, her eyes glued to the towering man in the corner. He wore a black vest with emerald embroidering along the sides. His harem pants were baggy and a thick forest green, with black shoes to match. A polished sword was attached at his hip, and he gave a brutal smile when Jasmine looked at it nervously.

"Allah yil'anek, stop scaring the poor girl!"

Jasmine cringed at the curse word. She'd said plenty recently, but never that one.

"Yasmeen, excuse the rudeness of my body guard. This is Dracul. He's Romanian so ignore his odd behavior. I do." Ummah and Dracul shared a look Jasmine couldn't read, but it didn't seem pleasant.

"I've come here to find work." Jasmine cut straight to the point interrupting the stare down. "And I don't mean as a sharmuta. I've never been with a man and don't plan on it anytime soon."

If Ummah's anger could be manifested into an essence, it would seep out of her pores like slime and suffocate its victims with a single touch. "A goddess, comes into my home… A virgin goddess no less, demanding she work outside of the bedroom? Ha—That is a funny joke."

Jasmine shifted in her seat.

"Fortunately for you, I have a sense of humor. Don't I Dracul?"

Dracul didn't smile but watched Jasmine hungrily. Not in the way Jafar sometimes did, but a different hunger. Like he wanted to chop off her head and scoop out the entrails for breakfast.

"Madam, I don't mean any disrespect. I only believe my services would be better put to use if I worked at a maid instead. I can cook, clean, help look after the girls when needed. Run any errands you might have. I'll wash the bedding, and— and whatever else you need." Jasmine couldn't help but stammer when glancing at the gargantuan in the corner.

Ummah chewed her chocolate covered lip for a moment, the sprouts of hair on her chin turning silver under the light. This was a ridiculous idea. All of it. Leaving Aladdin's home was a stupid choice; they could have worked things out if she didn't take everything so personal. Did it really matter if their future was shaky and unknown? That's what relationships were. Right? And no, they didn't know each other. At all. But that's what courting was for. At least Aladdin loved her. Or she thought he did. She couldn't recall him ever actually saying it back to her, but she knew what was in his heart. Or did she?

Why had it been so easy to give up on him the way she had? She should leap from this chair and run across the street and take him in her arms. She'd rip the vest off, shove her fingers into his pants, and take hold of his cock. As they would kiss, their tongues clashing in a wet hot mess, he'd harden, and she'd stroke him; Then Jafar would burst in. He'd kick the door down and pull her by the hair, tossing Aladdin against the wall as he threw her into the dirt. Crawling on his hands and knees he would bite into the meat of her thighs, her chest panting, knowing he would punish her but wanting it nonetheless. His digits would rub up and down her slit, climbing deep inside her. And the taste of him. Fuck, how she wanted to taste his lips so badly.

"Yasmeen…What the hell is wrong with this child? Yasmeen!"

The yelling forced Jasmine from her daydream, giving a guilty look of a child doing something wrong.

"Are you sure you don't want to work as one of my whores?" Ummah smirked nodding to where Jasmine sat.

Nails dug into curved handles, her legs pressed tightly together as if she were trying to keep something pleasant stuck inside her. It was undeniable she'd been fantasizing something sinfully delicious, and her two newest acquaintances had received a front row seat. Jasmine caught her breath releasing her grip and legs, muttering an apology.

"Listen, little mouse."

Fuck that incipit name again. She couldn't escape Jafar no matter where she went; apparently not even in her own daydream.

"I like you and all, but if you're not selling your cunt, I'm not buying. So, until your sense gets the better of you, I suggest you get the fuck out. And Dracul here better never see your face on these doorsteps again." Jasmine tried to argue, but cut it short when Madam's beef cake stepped forward.

Giving a nod, Jasmine stood, heading for the exit, when something came over her. Call it a demonic spirit, or the psychotic essence from being around Jafar too much, but whatever it was, it felt frightfully exhilarating. Her eyes felt like they did a 360 turn and the tips of her toes curled into the wood flooring. She was done allowing everyone to push her around. A fucking spoiled Princess was all she had ever been, taking a lax lifestyle for granted. Well no more of that. A warrior at heart, her fires always lashed out on Jafar because he was the only one to ever challenge her. And she loved that he did. Fed off of the fury he built within her.

But since the entire world started beating down her throat, Jasmine had stopped fighting for herself, cowering under every dirty look and crude comment. Never having fought for anything real before, Jasmine had still waited for her dreams to be handed over on a silver platter. But she was done being a little mouse. Fuck that scared little girl. Right in this moment, she would be somebody else, do what Jafar said, and take what she wanted, because life truly was fleeting. And if she would die out on the streets or here at the hands of Dracul it didn't matter. She would go down fighting, for once in her life.

"No."

Ummah paused mid-chocolate-popping. "Excuse me?"

"I said NO. You, fat, ignorant, greedy bitch." Jasmine slammed the door to the office shut, marching back up to Ummah's desk as she leaned with the heel of her hands. "Do you have any idea who you're dealing with? I could have you killed for speaking to me that way."

Dracul stood hand on his blade waiting for the slightest order from Ummah.

"Ha—So little street mouse thinks she's so bad? You have no power to do anything to me."

"Maybe not. But I don't need dictatorship, all I need is to catch you when you're sleeping. And when I do I'll gag your greasy hole so no one can hear you scream, not even Frankenstein here. And Then I'll cut off each of your fingers and shove them up your ass." Think like Jafar, think like Jafar. "Your disease-ridden tongue will be next, and I'll make you watch as I fuck my sweet virgin pussy with it." Jasmine lowered her voice embracing darkness like a well fit glove. "And when you beg me for death, and you will beg, I'll give it to you, cutting deep and slow; my blade ripping out your jugular. And I'll lick the syrupy blood clogging your lungs as it pours from your eyes."

There was a gang of women gathered outside the thin doorway all listening to the daring morbid threats. Dracul remained calculated, but his fingers itched hovering over his sword. Ummah didn't blink away from Yasmeen, searching for a weakness of any kind. But when Jasmine didn't waver Ummah spoke up.

"You're a sick crazy fucker, aren't you?"

"You have no idea." Mimicking Jafar was terrifying, but a little fun.

Ummah lit a cigar, sucking on it without grace. "You know… I need some sick crazy in my life…Alright, you have yourself a deal."

What on earth!? Are you serious? That worked? That actually worked?

Madam brothel swatted at Dracul's arm telling him to relax and get his hand off that damn weapon. Assuring that Yasmeen was no threat, only a crazy cunt.

"Lucky coincidence for you, I was in need of a new cook and maid. So, don't think I backed down to your threats, because I didn't."

"I wouldn't dream of it," Jasmine raised a shoulder to Dracul who kept watching her, giving him an I-dare-you-to-mess-with-me look, then followed Ummah towards the exit. A huddle of women broke off scurrying away like frightened mice as the door swung open and Ummah shouted for them to mind their damn business.

"Our last chef left a few days back."

"Oh? Where to?"

"With any luck, hell. The fucking bastard died. Right there." Ummah pointed to a stain in the floor just outside of the kitchen entrance. Jasmine shied away afraid if she got too close death would be contagious.

"We've only two large pots for cooking, so plan your dishes accordingly. We feed them lentils, bread, and fish."

"What about vegetables?"

"Once a month at the beginning of the month. So, next week you'll have a small arrangement to work with, which lasts only a few days."

Jasmine tried to keep up as Ummah walked around the kitchen speaking quickly.

"Goat milk is given twice a week, one glass per girl. And no more than that. Don't want them getting fat. Booze however, they can have plenty of. Helps them loosen up and work better. By the way—."

Ummah put up a large arm halting Jasmine.

"What payment are you wanting?"

Jasmine thought of all the things she wanted but none of them were things she needed. Except, "A room please. To sleep. That way I can be here around the clock, ready to work whenever you need me. And… A half a bronze coin."

Ummah stroked the line where her neck and jaw meshed. "Deal. Take the empty one behind the staircase. It's next to the storage room."

Jasmine thanked her, Ummah explaining more house rules and the expected hours meals were to be served. After reminding Jasmine to clean up anything she dirtied, Ummah left, returning to her office and closing the door.

Making sure she was alone, Jasmine crouched down on the floor, placing her head between her knees to regain composure. She'd never in her life spoken so sordidly to anyone, the bitter foul words clinging on every taste bud like acid. A few moments passed this way when she let out a puff of air, standing to smooth her wrinkled dress. Hopefully soon she would be allowed to bathe too and get out of this disgusting sack.

Until then, Jasmine would get to work preparing her first meal. Three hours spent in the palace kitchen wasn't enough time to learn all the skills necessary for cooking. But hopefully something would pull together and be edible. She knew lentils needed water, thankfully a water pump was inside the kitchen, and she would need to get the stove lit as well. But it was like looking at a peculiar clay monster; she didn't know what went where or how a fire was started. Aladdin had made a fire with some sticks, so she'd start there.

The oven was a triangulated cone, dug into a hole with an opening at the bottom to stoke fire. It was lined with clean pebbles at the base and it appeared there was a ventilation opening leading out through the wall. In a corner must've been a pile of wood, but a small bit of twigs were all that remained, and Jasmine searched the area for another source of fuel.

"You look lost mouse!' Tahira teased.

Jasmine rubbed the back of her head getting up off the floor having hit her skull underneath the table. "Tahira, don't call me mouse. Please. I hate it."

"Don't call me Tahira anymore and I'll take it into consideration. What were you looking for?"

"I need wood."

"There's plenty coming tonight mama. If you want, I'll share with you." She winked and Jasmine rolled her eyes.

Tahira led jasmine out the back door from the kitchen, handing over a shovel. "This is fuel for now until we can get more coal or wood."

"What exactly is this?" Jasmine dug into the pile.

"Dried animal shit."

"It's what!" Jasmine flung the contents overhead on accident, the solid waste falling to the ground barely dogging the screaming girls. Jasmine made an ewe face, prancing on her toes around the dung pieces, Tahira clapping her hands in enjoyment.

"Come on. Get a pile and I'll show you how to light it. Seriously, Yasmeen, it's practically stone now. Stop acting like it'll attack you."

The two women chatted as if knowing each other for years. They surprisingly had a lot in common and Tahira had so many exciting stories of far off places. As they talked Tahira showed Jasmine how to start the fire, prepare lentil soup and bake laffa, another type of bread. Jasmine was beyond grateful, promising to give Tahira her share for helping with the work, but the woman dismissed the offer, nudging Jasmine jokingly when she said to give her a second helping at dinner.

"But if I do that, Ummah won't get her fifth helping. And she might wither away." Jasmine made fun which delighted Tahira. The two giggling like they were best friends.

"Well look what the cat drug in. Another filthy rodent, although this one looks fatter than the others."

Their laughter resided, attention turned to the woman in jade. Jasmine instantly recognized her as the rude ass who walked away when Jasmine tried introducing herself.

"Cool your twat, Samira. No one likes a jealous whore."

Samira sauntered forward, tossing loose curls over her shoulder. "Jealous, of this dirty little witch? Not likely." Eyes locked with Jasmine's while inhaling dramatically. "You smell like donkey shit."

Jasmine was getting ready to knock her clean across the jaw when Tahira stood in front. "Go swallow a dick Samira, it'll be the last one you can get after your clients see Yasmeen. Even on her worse day you look like a dog in comparison."

Samira snorted through her nose, ignoring Peach. "Just keep out of my way, little girl. Or I'll bite off your lips—And I don't mean the ones on your face." Samira bared large white teeth snapping them at Jasmine like a crocodile.

It was barely noon and she'd already had a fight with Aladdin and Ummah, she didn't feel like duking it out now too with some random whore. Besides, Jasmine wasn't here to compete with anyone. All she wanted was a bed and a fucking bath. Getting thrown out for fighting on her first day didn't make any sense.

"Not everyone is like her, most of us keep to ourselves and just work." Tahira nodded towards the swinging door, Samira having left with her nose held high.

"I'm not worried. I've dealt with worse than her before."

Tahira grew quiet. "Is that how you were able to scare Ummah into letting you work?"

Jasmine avoided eye contact, ashamed as she stirred the lentil soup. Had everyone in the brothel heard the horrible things she'd said?

"Don't look like that. It's nothing to be ashamed of. No one here can judge no one else. Besides, it'll help your reputation as a bad ass no one can touch." Tahira elbowed Jasmine's side playfully, "Anyways. I need to go. There's a long night ahead and I still haven't rested up enough from the last shift."

"I'll make sure to sneak you double Tahira." Jasmine called ignoring how her new friend cringed at the name.

"Call me Peach…Seriously."

"I'll take it into consideration." She winked turning away to stoke the fire, then was alone once more.


The lunch and evening meals went rather smoothly, thanks to Tahira giving Jasmine a head start in the right direction. The rest of the chores were difficult, but Jasmine was a fast learner she discovered, and picked up on everything rather quickly. She stored to memory who needed what cleaned when, names of each sharmuta, and which ones were more picky and highly demanding. It was odd being at the receiving end of this role play. She had always been the Princess, giving orders, being bathed, combed, dressed, fed; you name it, someone else did it for her. Now she was someone no one noticed, unless they were commenting on her looks; everyone bossing her around as if they were royalty themselves. Fifteen. There were fifteen women in the brothel, two as young as fourteen. Which saddened Jasmine. It had been a month since her sixteenth birthday and no man had ever seen her naked. While the rest of these girls had their innocence taken long before. They were rather brave, Jasmine concluded, and their bravery was admirable.

After the first night Jasmine collapsed in the kitchen, customers crowding the loft and rooms upstairs as midnight rolled past. Jasmine heard a crashing sound from beyond the wall, and stood, exhausted but determined to not wimp out. With a bucket and a towel, Jasmine headed for the broken glass, when someone pulled her back from the crowd.

"No, you don't. Dracul cleans up messes from any brawls or drunken idiots. Oh, Allah's sake, girl. You look like a hot piece of"

"Horse shit—Yeah I know. I've heard that five times tonight, Ummah."

"Well take care of yourself woman. You've done enough today, go bathe in the room outback. Besides, your smell is going to scare away the clientele." Ummah handed Jasmine some soap, oil, and a towel from her office, telling her this one was free, but from here on she'd need to pay for her own toiletries and non-essentials.

Jasmine walked through the kitchen and out the back door, where a small connecting building hid in darkness. The door was unlocked, Jasmine hesitant to go inside, but after lighting the hanging lantern, relaxed knowing she was alone. The room held two tubs, one for men one for women she presumed. It was smaller than the one in the palace, but she couldn't complain and found a pile of coal for kindling the water. Of course. Dried dung was used to cook food, but they reserved the coals for dirty bath water. Jasmine exhaled failing to understand these weird customs of her own people. A blaze started fairly easily and before long Jasmine was able to step into lukewarm water. She bathed quickly, wanting to be out of the dark and cold room. She felt too vulnerable out here in the back of an alley naked where anyone could come in. Jasmine removed the twigs from her hair, and scrubbed under blackened fingernails, her hands working in a sudsy lather over her breast, belly, and legs. The water was already discolored, but after rinsing her hair and body, she could no longer see the floor of the tub. Jasmine hopped out into the freezing cold room, and doused the fire as when leaving. She could put oil in her hair once back inside.

Her reeking rags should be incinerated immediately, but Jasmine had no other clothes. The thought of slipping back into them forced her to shudder. Instead, she wrapped a thin cloth around her waist, her breasts left exposed as she held the rags against her chest. Maybe Ummah had something she could wear. Toes left little footprints as she ran across the wood floor, thankful everyone was too drunk to notice her sneaking back to the bedroom.

It was the first she'd been inside the room, a lantern had already been lit causing the walls to glow orange. There was a small bed, a dresser big enough to hold two outfits, and a small mirror above it. The room was cold, but she didn't care. It would be nice to sleep in a real bed, and under a thick comforter instead of the mangled sheet she used at Aladdin's.

Guilt struck a chord.

I'm sorry Aladdin, I don't mean to compare. I miss you and would rather be with you than here.

It wasn't his fault he didn't have much. He did what he could with what was given. Was this work any more honorable than his? It might not be. Even if she didn't sell her body, she still worked in a place of elicit actions and drunkenness. A supporter of the industry.

"We do what needs to be done to survive."

The argument came flooding back to her. She had been mad at him, not able to understand. But now she did, just a little bit. She would do what needed to be done. Even if it "may not be glamorous" and didn't "fall into a perfect code of morals." She'd earn enough money to pay off that man, and to hopefully one day get her own place. Until then she made a promise to herself not to bother Aladdin or give him any grief. She'd face him once able to prove worthy to live in his world. That would show him she didn't want the palace over the life he offered her. All she had to do was wait a little longer and bear through it.

A knock came against her back.

"Yasmeen, it's Peach. Let me in."

Jasmine quickly undid the lock and opened the door, still covering her bare chest. Tahira smiled drunkenly while swaying and let out a hiccup, "What happened to you?"

Her hair might be flat and stuck against her face, but Jasmine knew she didn't look like a train wreck. The beast before the bath? Now that was understandably a concern. "I bathed, Tahira. I just, don't have any clothes, are you okay?" Jasmine pulled Tahira inside, closing the door behind her, beckoning the sloshed woman to sit on the bed.

When she sat she sprang right back up on her feet like a playful kitten.

"Tahira, sit down. You're too drunk—." Jasmines lips twisted against a finger.

"Shh… Shh… they'll hear us talking. Ummah gets mad when I'm not working." She let her hand drop, and pulled out a small container from her breast pocket, throwing back more liquor. "Why are you naked, Yasmeen?"

Jasmine almost forgot too concerned with her new friend's state of mind, and briefly explained she didn't have a change of clothes. Before Jasmine finished talking Tahira stood before her completely naked.

"What are you doing!?"

"Take my clothes, you can have this dress. I don't need it. Don't worry, put it on, put it on. Go on then. It'll look better on you than me," Tahira smacked jasmines ass playfully, then went out of the room hollering, gaining attention from everyone in the loft who hollered back in approval as she cartwheeled naked, spreading her legs wide for everyone to see. Suddenly men started throwing cash at Ummah, everyone wanting to lay with the wild girl with brown curls.

Jasmine stopped watching from the corner, closing her door again after she knew Tahira was safe. Well, safe as could be given the circumstance. She allowed herself to be naked, dropping everything to the floor so it gathered at her feet. The gown was far more beautiful than she'd realized, and ironically, was her favorite color. A blue shade of turquoise. She stepped into the dress fumbling for a minute to figure out its unique design. The collar was fashioned out of bronze, clasping around at the neck where it held the fabric. Her breasts were slightly larger than Tahira's so it hugged tightly. Around her waist was a diamond cut out, giving her taut belly room to breathe, and it hung down to her ankles. It was shimmery, but less flashy than most gowns she had in the palace. The soft cotton of the dress tickled against the soft hairs of her mound, cool air kissing along her center as she twirled. Finally free from the itchy rags, it felt liberating and sexy to wear something so pretty. Too bad she had nowhere to go with all this pent-up arousal. The thought of running across the street to see Aladdin crossed her mind, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. She was a free woman, and could go wherever she pleased. But…he wasn't who she wanted.

Jasmine collapsed against the bed sheets, crawling under the blanket as she blew out the lantern.

"I'm sick of all these boys. I need a real man."

Jasmine relayed Coconut and Tahira's conversation from that morning. When the blonde woman said boys, all Jasmine thought of was Aladdin. How he was a boy, and childish in so many ways. Ways in which she even felt too grown for. Like his annoying excuses for everything and the way he kept making her feel like he wanted her and the palace. He had wished for her and to live in the palace. Once she'd left the palace to be with him, all he talked about was her returning to the palace. She felt a recurring trend building.

It started to feel like Aladdin wanted a get-rich-quick shortcut. That might not be the case, and Al might be doing all he could with what he was given. But that line didn't seem fair. He used her life against her in their argument. Labeling Jasmine as a spoiled brat since she was born in a life of luxury. But wasn't he doing the same thing? Lounging around, making excuses as to why he couldn't do any better, all while trying to find someone else to give him what he wanted? He acted like a spoiled brat.

Times were tough, she gathered that information quickly. But thousands of peasants found other ways to work hard for their survival and provide for their families. These women here were a testimony to that. It wasn't the life they wanted, more than likely, but they work hard every night and actually do what needs to be done to earn their keep. Now even she, a fucking Princess of Agrabah, who would never actually have to work and could run home, had spent all day shoveling feces, cooking, and cleaning. Breaking her back so she could prove to herself that she could do whatever she set her mind to. She earned this room and the meal in her belly. What the hell did Aladdin ever earn; or attempt to earn.

Jasmine shut her eyes trying to think of some way to excuse Aladdin, but an unintentional image popped into her mind. Jafar's speech today had been all about taking what he wanted, even though he'd come up from nothing. She didn't know his story, never thought of asking before now. But he seemed to know what he was talking about when he spoke of hardships and back breaking labor. Whichever way it happened, whatever his past, she couldn't help but trust that he had been telling the truth. He always told the truth, unless it was about planning to take over her kingdom, that part he hid. But he had been more honest than Aladdin had ever been. All Aladdin had done since day one was keep secrets from her. And Jafar came from squalor just like Aladdin and still found a way to work for what he wanted. And over the past sixteen years she'd known Jafar, he did work; very hard. Even now she knew that twisted bastard would be up in his chambers, throwing himself into his duties. She'd never once heard him complain, gripe, or make excuses. And Aladdin sounded like a whiny wind up toy on repeat; saying how trapped he felt in his lifestyle of swiping for food and ducking the guards. He was indeed a boy. And Jasmine was starting to itch for a man.