Author's Note: Now that I've mortified (and scared away) my readers, here's a chapter you'll enjoy. What? You didn't expect me to be sadistic?

Freiza82: Don't worry, I wouldn't make Jasmine settle for Aladdin. #gross I do like using occasional dialogue from the movie though. It's interesting to me how words can mean such different things based on context, mood, etc.

Guest: I needed to break Jasmine a bit. She'll be more fun to write about going forward. And, who knows? Maybe there will be even more consequences to her actions…

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Spine straight, Jasmine kept her eyes forward, and exuded the poise required of the Princess of Agrabah. Even with her tattered clothing, matted hair, and beleaguered expression, she would not cower. Princesses in other kingdoms might've faltered or shown remorse for their poorly planned antics.

Princesses in other kingdoms, however, hadn't survived days on the street and desert thunderstorms.

Her father would be waiting for her in the throne room. Jasmine knew that he'd be overjoyed to see her and soon this entire misadventure would be long behind her. Her life would return to its stable – albeit boring – routine. Eventually she'd take a husband and years from now would reminisce about the week when she made every wrong decision. All she had to do was ignore how loudly her footsteps echoed through the palace halls, how many eyes fixed upon her, and how many whispers echoed behind her back.

But it wasn't her father waiting for her in the throne room; it was Jafar. Her breath caught as she watched him pace back and forth with Rajah at his side, something Jasmine never expected to see. Ever since the Sultan gifted her with the tiger cub years ago, Jafar maintained a healthy distance from the beast. In turn, Rajah left the vizier in peace. But in this moment, they moved as one. They even froze simultaneously when she stepped into the room.

Her legs moved of their own accord. She felt weightless, gliding across the ground. Jafar strode towards her as well, cloak billowing behind him. He moved like desert sand in a windstorm, swift and entrancing. Inches from each other, they came to a dead stop. Their bodies swayed, as if a magnet pulled at each of their cores.

"Princess." He reached forward and brushed snarled hair from her face. Relief emanated from him, so tangible that Jasmine felt lightheaded. She smiled, the last week melting away and taking with it the hunger pangs in her stomach and the ache in her heart.

Unfortunately, the moment was short lived.

"It pains me to see you reduced to this, Jasmine." Jafar pulled back and wiped his hand against his robes. He snapped his fingers and a servant girl appeared at Jasmine's side. "Have her made presentable for the Sultan. Her father would surely perish if he saw his only daughter in such a state."

Jasmine stuttered, blinking away the romantic delusion infecting her. "Wha- What?"

"Your condition is far too distressing for him to bear. I will assure him that you returned safely."

Weeks ago, Jasmine would've thrown a tantrum, using her rank as princess to force an apology from Jafar. That was a lifetime ago, before she had run away, lived as a commoner, and slept with an urchin. She instead clenched her fists, broken nails biting into her palms. "Know your place, Vizier."

Jasmine turned heel. With a dismissing wave of her hand, the servant stepped back, bowing her head. Rajah trotted after her, nuzzling his head against her hip and purring. He was all the reassurance that she needed. Even though frustration fogged her ears, she overheard Jafar turn to Razoul and say, "I would speak to you about the circumstances in which you found the princess."

Wonderful.

At least it would take a while for the situation to get worse. A hot bath was already awaiting Jasmine in her chambers. She stripped the filthy clothes from her body and sank into it, marveling in how the hot water heated her skin and soothed her muscles. Usually, one of her servants would massage shampoos and oils into her hair while another exfoliated her skin and a third tended to her nails.

Today, she relished the autonomy. And the silence.

Water lapped at her chin as she sank into the tub. It filled her nostrils, plugged her ears. She laid beneath its surface until her lungs screamed. If only this sensory deprivation could last forever.

Gasping for breath, she bolted upright. Her hair clung to her face, her neck, and her shoulders. Coughing, she looked at her bathwater, now murky from dislodged sand and sweat. Wrinkling her nose, she caved and admitted to herself an uncomfortable truth: it might have been impertinent of her to dismiss her servants so quickly.

But, if Jasmine was anything, she was stubborn. Dozens of crystalline vials were within her grasp, each scented with different flowers and herbs. She opened a few, settling for one that was a deep crimson and smelled of hibiscus. Instead of carefully measuring it into her hand, she dumped the contents onto her head and began scrubbing it through her hair. Her broken nails ripped, but the pain was exhilarating, validating.

Let each of her nails tear from their beds. Her memories would fade, but the scars would forever remind her of when she bucked tradition. She dipped her head beneath the water and tousled her hair as the shampoo pulled away grit and dirt.

Before she could reach for oils, hydration that her dried locks desperately needed, she heard the door fling open and crash into the wall. Rajah lifted his head, half-awaking from his nap. He stretched luxuriously, yawning to expose his dagger-length fangs as Jafar entered.

The vizier looked like the thunderclouds from the night before: dark, deadly, with barely contained rage. Jasmine settled deeper into the tub, unaware of her actions until he said, "Your attempts at modesty are hardly necessary. Soon there will be more people who have seen you disrobed than not."

Jasmine's lips twitched from side to side. "Get out."

"I require your version of events." He approached her slowly, hands clasped behind his back. "Razoul's tale was most salacious."

"Salacious?" She hated how her gaze gravitated towards him, how her back arched despite her arms folding across her chest. "That's an exaggeration."

"You deny the accusations?" Jafar's steps were measured, which was somehow more unsettling than if he would've charged her.

"You haven't accused me of anything."

"Allow me to clarify." He spoke slowly, his tone a low growl and words clipped. It was strangely reminiscent of Rajah when he stalked the songbirds. Her lovely beast who now slept in the corner, uninterested in the humans' argument. "You fornicated with a street rat. Razoul witnessed him finish on your back."

Bile stung Jasmine's throat. Instinctively, she picked up the now empty crystal bottle and flung it towards Jafar. He easily side stepped. The next thing she knew, he had grabbed her by the upper arm and pulled her upright.

Jasmine shrieked as her feet slipped, but his grasp kept her from falling. She struggled nonetheless, futile as it was. Her shoulder twisted in its socket and she winced as his fingers dug into her flesh. "Let go of me!"

He simply narrowed his eyes and jerked her forward. She yelped when her shins knocked into the side of the tub. Unbidden tears stung her eyes. Her lips curled into a snarl and she wriggled again, fighting to break his hold on her.

In response, he turned her around and locked her arm behind her back. His other arm wrapped across her chest, pinning him against him. "Tell me what happened so that I am prepared to counter any information that may leak from Razoul or the urchin himself."

Jasmine's mouth felt like sandpaper. She needed him to unhand her, now while she still had her wits about her. If she didn't keep the story short, she would give out far too many details, like how she imagined that it was Jafar behind her. Heat flooded her cheeks as she found herself wiggling again, trying to keep her hips away from his. "I met him in the marketplace, just before the storm."

"Were you willing?"

Jasmine nodded. A wave of relief overcame her as Jafar let her go. Carefully counting the seconds between each breath, she faced him and looked up. His expression was unmistakable, the look he gave prisoners when he decided whether a lawbreaker should be forgiven, jailed… or put to death.

He took her jaw in his hand and pulled her forward, locking her in an inescapable stare. "Did you achieve orgasm?"

There was a ringing in her ears, her entire body screaming at her to yell, to hit him, to do anything. She could only freeze. Apparently, that was answer enough.

His nostrils flared. Curling his lip, his breathing became heavy, rapid. For a second, a small voice in Jasmine's head wanted to call out his temperament change. The accusatory words were on the tip of her tongue, a rant about his selfishness. But words weren't enough; they felt subpar.

Something in Jasmine snapped. She had not spent five nights and nearly five days in the marketplace to crumble as soon as she stepped back into the palace. She did not run away from her life to find independence only to be at the mercy of the man who took her purity and broke her heart.

She slapped him. Hard.

Jafar recoiled and dropped her face.

"This is your fault!" Vibrations stung her palm. The pain was grounding and fueled her rage. It brought back the betrayal that chased her from the palace, and allowed another man inside her. Jasmine pushed Jafar roughly, both hands on his chest. She felt a week's worth of anger and betrayal boil to the surface and she pushed him again, although this time he braced himself and didn't stumble back. "I hate you!"

Jafar slowly raised his thumb to his lip and pressed lightly. He pulled it away to reveal a drop of blood. Was it wrong that this minor injury made Jasmine feel impossibly vindicated?

Truth be told, she didn't know if she jumped into his arms, or if he grabbed her. The next thing she knew, she was off of the ground with her legs around his waist. His hands were upon her back, clutching her to his body. Their kissing was fierce and passionate, furious and hungry. Jasmine's head spun, and whatever part of her recognized that this was a mistake quickly fell silent.

She arched her body into him, pressing her chest against his. Both her hands were on the side of his face, fingers scraping against his beard. She clung to him, lightheaded as her body begged for air. The last thing she wanted was to end this kiss, even as the metallic tang of blood crept onto her tongue. Her teeth bit into his bottom lip and, unless she was mistaken, his mouth twitched in amusement.

One of his arms tightened around her waist and the other traced along her inner thigh. She squirmed in anticipation, breaking their kiss as his fingertips brushed against her. She needed him to touch her, to feel how wet she was, to end the ache that this teasing built.

He must have felt similarly, for he plunged his fingers within her the second he found her core. His fingers curled, instantly finding the spot against her wall that made her mind go blank.

She threw her head back, mouth open in wordless pleasure. Her hips bucked against him and the sound that eventually left her was more of a purr than anything human. Clinging to the last shred of her sanity, she rolled her head down. Their eyes locked, his as heavy-lidded as hers. Between his rhythmic ministrations and the gravitational pull of his stare, she was lost. She came heavily, choking for air.

He set her down slowly, and she was tantalizingly aware of his arousal as she slid her body against his. The second her feet touched the ground, their mutual rage returned. He flung his cape off, his turban as well. She began pulling at his robe, trying to tear it from him, desperate to see what he looked like underneath.

But he grasped the nape of her hair and used his body size to force her backwards. In all honesty, Jasmine didn't want to fight back. She felt the cool marble of one of her vanities brush against her ass. Before she could shift her weight onto it, Jafar spun her around and pushed his frame against her.

Jasmine gasped as her breasts met the surface. Words died in her throat as she looked up, catching his reflection. His expression was animalistic, a look that made her weak. She couldn't stop herself from grinding her hips against him, against his cock. She may have imagined it, dreamed about it, while with Aladdin, but it was very different to feel it again now. Even with his robes still between them.

His lips were at the junction of her neck and ear, a tender contrast to how he tugged her hair and growled, "I believe this is your preferred position."

She felt cloth move behind her as he unfastened his robe and freed his cock. She looked over her shoulder, trying to get a look at him, but he only pulled her hair again, making her cry out. It took all of her willpower to not press herself against him, to welcome him inside her, as she felt his head rub against her wet opening.

So she watched his reflection again, biting her lip to fight back her moans. Leaning forward slightly, he pressed the side of her face against the marble. The only way she truly could move now was backwards, onto him. But even when she tried, he was acutely aware of the space between them, and just how far away he could stand while still keeping her pinned.

She wriggled again. It was a half-hearted attempt at escape. Even if his grasp upon her hadn't been so strong, so commanding, she wasn't going anywhere. Jasmine could have – should have – demanded that he unhand her. Instead, she could only squirm and hiss, "I hate you!"

"You have established that, Jasmine."

Before she could give a rebuttal, whatever that would've been, Jafar pushed forward just enough to spread apart her lips and press his head inside her. She didn't know what was more torturous: the pain from him beginning to enter her, or the hollowness she felt from him not sliding in deeper. At least now she could move her hips along him. She let out whimpered moans, gyrating against his head. She was so wet, and so little of him was inside her, that she kept slipping off him. With increasing frustration, she caved, "You proved your point."

"What point would that be?"

"Allah have mercy." She wanted to kill him, but not nearly as badly as she wanted to feel his length within her, to feel full and on the edge of breaking. Breathing heavily, from a combination of frustration, impatience, and desire, she said, "Jafar, please. Fuck me."

The victorious sound he growled in her ear was enough to make her legs twitch. He certainly hadn't been lying when he promised that he wouldn't be gentle a second time. With a single thrust, he entered her, plunging his cock deep inside her. She shrieked and shifted her weight onto her toes, swaying her hips to ease through the pain. He was everywhere at once, and her core tightened around him, reveling in the painful pressure of his head meeting her cervix. The pain only made the pleasure sweeter.

Jafar dropped her hair and held her by the hips. One of her arms stayed on her vanity, handprint pressing against the glass to brace herself against his thrusts. Her other hand went below her waist, fingers tracing circles over her clit. Her knees buckled in orgasm. She hardly recognized herself in the mirror. This young woman, face flushed, hair tossed unceremoniously to the side, couldn't possibly be her.

Then Jafar took her by the hair again and pulled her head back. "Let me hear my name leaving your lips."

She had long since lost awareness of what she was saying. It was nearly impossible to get the syllables out, but Jasmine obliged, first in a whisper, then louder as he fucked her faster. His mouth was on her neck, biting her lightly. By the time she was on the brink, she wasn't screaming his name, but a single command, "Harder!"

He came inside her and her body quivered and absorbed him. They straightened somewhat, although Jasmine was still pressed forward and Jafar still behind her, still inside her. He pressed his forehead between her shoulder blades, panting as he caught his breath. Jasmine slid her hands down her body until they met his. She entwined her fingers with his, squeezing them tightly.

She winced as he pulled out. Feeling empty, a wave of emotions she wasn't prepared for overtook her. She turned around and, lightheaded as she was, leaned against him. His large presence was no longer intimidating, but comforting. Even on her toes, the top of her head only brushed beneath his chin.

He traced the backs of his fingers along her jaw, where he had previously manhandled her, then kissed her forehead. "I am exceedingly sorry, Princess."

She laid a hand on his cheek, where she had slapped him, and turned her face so that their lips met. The kiss was soft, although there was still the tang of blood. She let out a breath of a laugh and pulled back, wiping the corner of his mouth with the pad of her thumb.

Now was the opportune moment for her to admit that she had thought of him each day, that she saw him even when she closed her eyes. If there ever was a time to confess that her entire being lit up when she saw him again, it was this exact second.

Instead, she painstakingly pulled away. Plucking a towel from its hanger, she kept her gaze forward, fighting to keep her eyes off him. She squeezed the towel through her hair, as if continuing her routine would negate their last actions. "This is the last time, Jafar."

He inclined his head in a bow, refastening his robe and cloak, and retying his turban. But he did look over his shoulder at her before he took his leave and she couldn't help but catch his eyes. He paused before making her yet another promise, "Your wish is my command, Princess."