Serving the Princess (2/4)
Note: I took some liberties with Mozenrath’s stone/skeletal hand. I didn’t remember the details of it well enough from the cartoon show, so I made up my own so this would work. Hope it passes muster!
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She lounged against a tall, cool, marble pillar, looking out over the city she ruled when Jasmine heard the door open. Her maiden ushered her visitor in and closed the door, and the sound of polished leather boots clicking on the marble floor carried across the massive chambers she used for her … amusements.
Her warm brown eyes drifted over to his, heavy-lidded, cat-like, filled with anticipation and indolence alike. Mozenrath stopped in the middle of the room and quirked an eyebrow at her, his lips curling in the ghost of a smirk. Eagerness swirled already in the pit of his stomach, mingling with lust and the few prickles of humiliation at being a mere service boy for the queen. But her luscious curves, sinful mouth, and devilish eyes were too great a challenge to resist, and it was anticipation that won out.
“You sent for me.”
“Indeed I did.” She made no attempt to move from the marble pillar, a clear sign that he should join her there. Mozenrath stepped past the impossibly large mattress that sat on the floor, piled with downy pillows and partially shielded by gauzy curtains, and didn’t spare a glance for her spacious throne with the gold arm rests and the velvet cushions. He moved past her feminine ornamentations and the grand fountain she used for her ablutions when she was in this room, and strode over to the pillar she leaned against.
Her mouth curved up in greeting, though she made no move to touch him. She was wearing red, his favorite color on her, and it brought out the mocha and bronze tones of her skin. The bodice was nothing more than a scrap of silk, nothing he couldn’t rip off of her with the mere flick of his wrist. But his queen didn’t appreciate such shows of passion and instead forced him to tame his arousal, to restrain it and control it and never give way to the powerful, pent-up rapture that swirled hotly in his blood and sang through his veins once she had him rock-hard and prisoner to her feminine wiles. No, his queen demanded a gentle touch and civilized ardor, and it amused her when he appeared to be holding on to that polished veneer by a mere thread.
He knew what was expected of him, and Mozenrath slipped his one bare hand around her waist, letting his palm barely skim the warm flesh of her tight, smooth belly. His hand settled there sweetly, chastely, and he leaned down with a gentle smile.
“I aim to please.”
His lashes fluttered as he closed his eyes and kissed her with the tamed, courtly devotion of a respectable suitor. His lips caressed hers slowly but ardently, nobly refusing to take anything she wouldn’t give. His lips caressed and teased hers in a bashful dance even as every other part of his body seemed to come alive at the innocent display. Her scent, the predictable jasmine and clean, sweet-smelling lavender, enveloped him, and her hair filtered between his fingers as he rested his hand at the small of her back, holding her close enough and yet still too far.
Jasmine purred happily, reaching up to slowly wrap her arms around his neck and bring her body closer. Those luscious breasts he loved to tongue and suckle pressed flat against his chest; that stomach he had often smoothed over with his hands until the delicate muscles quivered now was resting against his; and those hips he had gripped so many times as he pumped fiercely between her warm thighs were now pulled flush against his own burgeoning arousal.
She teased her fingers through his hair, easily drawing off his turban and tossing it aside. She loved his hair, but not quite as much as he loved hers. Forgetting himself for a moment, Mozenrath let his fingers twine through a few of the lush curls, feeling their silkiness and weight. How many times had he gripped this hair, tugging on it when he had her on all fours and was taking her from behind? How many times had this hair shielded them both, tumbling over her shoulders as she rode him hard, her body bowed and determined to take its pleasure from his? How many times had this hair rested on his chest as they both reclined on the cushions, sweaty and spent in each others’ arms?
Jasmine let her lips part slightly, and her tongue darted out to flick against his mouth. He resisted for a moment, knowing it was what was expected of him, what she demanded even though his body raged against the very thought of resistance, and she grew more bold, running her tongue along the seam of his lips and even nipping at his lower lip, suckling the bit of reddened flesh into her mouth to sooth the negligible wound she’d inflicted.
Finally, he let her in, and her tongue rubbed sensually against his, reminding him of the dance their bodies did once he was joined to her and thrusting deep into her wet, welcoming flesh.
As if of their own volition, his fingertips traced the band of her red pants, dipping underneath to skim along the tightly toned muscles until he once again cupped the plump curve of her ass. Jasmine must have been in a benevolent move because she allowed him the liberty, and Mozenrath didn’t push his luck, keeping his hand molded to the lush swell of feminine flesh.
They kissed deeply, and Jasmine made little mewling noises as he thrust his tongue into his mouth, simply because he was unable to keep himself from exploring the sweet cavern any longer. His self-control had grown by leaps and bounds until Jasmine had forced him into her harem and made him submit to her desires, but there were certain temptations that still posed insurmountable obstacles to his newfound sense of restraint.
Jasmine seemed to accept this and tilted her head back in submission, granting him greater access, and Mozenrath’s blood swirled with desire and urgency. His hands tightened on her bottom, squeezing his favorite part of her body like he was testing the ripeness of two firm cantaloupes. He pressed his arousal against her, letting her feel the bulge of his length and its hardness through his robes and her silky pants. Jason gasped and rubbed herself against him, and his breath caught as he trailed his lips down the narrow column of her throat, pausing to press a hot, open mouthed kiss to the little hollow there, flicking his tongue against it repeatedly.
She groaned and he pressed his advantage further, easing her up against the pillar until her lean body was pressed against it and she had nowhere to retreat from his advances. He rocked his hips against her, once, twice, three times, his mind whirling in delirium as he felt her heat through the layers of silk and cotton.
One hand - his good hand - skimmed up over her stomach and cupped the firm mound of her breast, squeezing and rolling the plump globe until one breast popped free of the delicate red silk top. He pressed his hips firmly against hers one more - just because he thought he’d burst if he didn’t - and then Mozenrath lowered his head and took her dusky nipple into his mouth, licking and sucking in a clever rhythm that made her tremble against the cool marble.
He lifted her plump breast higher, shaping it, and drew it deeper into his mouth, tickling the pebbled nipple with his tongue until she mewed and twisted her hips. Mozenrath groaned as the firm curve of her hip brushed roughly against his erection, and bit her very lightly to ease his frustration.
Jasmine tangled her fingers in his hair and pulled his head up until he was gazing into her fiery almond eyes, his lips swollen and forming his natural sulky pout. “Mozenrath.”
“Dearest.”
Her gaze flicked downward and returned, and his cock twitched at the pure deviltry he saw there.
Jasmine licked her lips and arched a perfectly formed brow. “Take off your glove.”
He stared at her for a moment before he registered what she wanted, and his mouth curved into a wicked smile. “As my lady wishes.”
She was the only one he took his glove off for - because she was the only one with the power to order him to do so. But they did end up having quite a bit of fun once his gauntlet was off, so he couldn’t be too irritable about it.
He gripped the middle finger of the glove between his teeth and tugged, working it off bit by bit, finger by finger, as Jasmine’s eyes widened in anticipation. He yanked the heavy gauntlet off and threw it to the floor, revealing the smaller, fitted glove he wore underneath, made of softest kidskin and filled with a substance that shaped the fingers like actual fingers instead of bones, and kept the delicate bones from rattling around without support. It looked like a real human hand, and sometimes that was almost enough to make him forget what he’d lost.
He rubbed his thumb and forefinger together, testing his slightly limited dexterity, and heard Jasmine’s breath quicken. He looked at her, studying the rosy flush in her cheeks and the way she drew quick, shallow breaths, her eyes never leaving his fingers. Eyes narrowing, he lifted his damaged hand to her face and placed his index on the full swell of her lower lips.
Jasmine’s dark eyes glowed with promise and without another word, she pulled his finger into her mouth, her full lips closing around the digit clad in exquisitely thin grey kidskin. He groaned as he watched her suckle, wetting the glove and sending lances of pure fire shooting straight down to his groin. She knew the effect she was having on him, the vixen, and she gripped his wrist, holding his finger firmly in his mouth, and let out a little moan. He felt the vibrations in his finger, all the way down to his cock, and Mozenrath gritted his teeth in agony.
She released his finger and he mourned the loss of the wet heat of her mouth, until Jasmine gently grasped his thumb and guided it to her lips. She repeated her ministrations as Mozenrath helplessly let his hips buck against hers, the hard ridge of his cock hitching in the cradle of her thighs and making her squirm.
She scraped her teeth lightly over his thumb and let him go, then guided his hand lower down her body. Mozenrath didn’t need further guidance. He grasped the band of her pants with his gloved hands and tugged them down hard, and the fabric slipped easily and pooled at her feet. He used his good hand to force her thighs apart and would have reached in to fondle her and see how wet she was for him, but Jasmine grabbed his hand before he could touch her.
“When I said use your glove, I meant it,” she said in a low, warning voice. Her eyes narrowed as his lips thinned in frustration. “Use only your glove, Mozenrath.”
He gritted his teeth and forced himself to pull his hand back. He wrapped it around her thigh instead, squeezing the firm muscles and reveling in the delicate feminine heat, and willed it to stay there. “As my lady wishes.”
He gripped her thigh and hitched her leg up, wrapping it around him so her knee rested on the curve of his hip. Jasmine purred and bent her knee out and down, widening the angle and giving him more room for his explorations.
Mozenrath delicately parted her folds with the wet tip of his index finger, swiping up and down gently to test the moisture gathered there. Jasmine sighed and placed her hands on his shoulders, her fingers pressing into the muscles there as he continued his exploration. He held her open with two fingers as his thumb began to move, searching the quivering flesh for her pearl.
He took his time, not in any particular hurry to brush up against the part where she wanted him most. His thumb swept over the tiny feminine muscles, tickling and probing and pressing and teasing without giving her what she wanted. Jasmine moaned and tipped her head back, her fingers tightening on his shoulders.
Mozenrath found the underside of her engorged pleasure center and gently pressed his thumb against it, a feather light touch, and kept the digit still. Jasmine tried to ride the motion, to force the contact and friction she craved, but he leveraged his hips against hers and used the hand he had high on her thigh to keep her still. With his thumb in place, resting against the bottom of the hooded pearl, he slipped his index finger deeper into her.
She was wet and ready and it wasn’t a challenge, though she was still quite tight this early in their lovemaking. He pressed deeper, past the clenching muscle, and Jasmine whimpered and tried to move her hips. Mozenrath kept her still, refusing to move his finger inside her until she had settled herself, and then continued his painstakingly slow exploration. He moved deeper, his long finger breaching the resistance. He flicked his thumb gently against her clitoris and Jasmine’s hips bucked powerfully, sending his finger even deeper until it was buried to the knuckle and he could move it no farther.
Starting to lower himself to his haunches, Mozenrath kissed her full, parted lips. “Let me use my mouth, too, princess.”
But her hands grasped his shoulders, halting his descent, and when he looked up her eyes were filled with warning and challenge. “I said, you are only allowed to use your hand. Straighten immediately.”
Growling with thinly veiled frustration, Mozenrath nevertheless did as he was told, pressing his thumb hard against her pearl in retaliation. Jasmine bucked and let out a keening cry, and Mozenrath crooked his finger inside her, massaging the searing hot flesh. Wetness enveloped his damaged finger, but he couldn’t feel it, and that was the greatest torture. She felt him acutely inside of her as he brought her pleasure, but he couldn’t feel a single thing his finger touched.
He couldn’t feel the heat and the wetness of her; he could only feel the delicate muscles that moved against him and the tightness, and it was enough to drive him mad. He wanted to wrench her from the pillar, throw her to the floor, and cover her small body with his as he drove into her with one full, long thrust with no preamble, making her scream and clutch him as he rode her into oblivion, but he knew what would happen if he gave in to that desire. He had done just that once, and the subsequent weeks, when Jasmine tortured him just to the point of release and then sent him away from her, refusing to let him finish, had been the keenest torture his body had ever known. He wouldn’t put himself through that again for anything, no matter how gratifying it would be to feel her surprised body clench around his rigid cock.
Instead he kept moving his finger inside her, crooking it and massaging little circles against a part of her that always made her come. Taking pity on her, he began to move his thumb as well, swirling it around her throbbing clitoris. His bitterness grew and his erection swelled even more as her cries grew higher and more urgent, and Mozenrath pressed his finger hard against that firm wall he’d been massaging in a sudden fit of inspiration.
That was what sent her over the edge. Jasmine let out a keening cry, almost a wail, and flung her body forward as it convulsed. Her muscles clenched tightly around his finger, holding it deep within her as her hips bucked and rode his hand, drawing out the last dregs of her pleasure as her release saturated the thin kidskin of his fitted glove. Mozenrath held still, resting his head on top of hers with an arm latched around her waist to keep her against him and just let the pleasure take her. He waited a long while as the tremors subsided and he felt her breathing slowly start to return to normal and only then did he withdraw his finger.
He lowered the leg he had hitched up around his waist, his good hand caressing her hip and taking advantage of her satiety to reach around and cup her firm bottom, squeezing the flesh and wishing he could give it a good slap just to hear her excited little yelps. With a sigh, he stroked her thigh and helped her lean back against the pillar.
He made no move to pull on his heavy gauntlet but instead reached over to the sash that held his robes together. He loosened it and was prepared to drop his trousers and cast aside his robes and cloak when she stopped him, placing both her hands on his arms. He froze and looked at her with slowly growing trepidation, wondering what she wanted now. Normally, after he pleasured her this way, she let him take her the way he wanted as a reward for his patience and resistance.
Her eyes were heavy lidded and glowed with contentment, and she shook her head. “My pants.”
His heart sunk and his belly clenched as he realized the glorious pain of desire unfulfilled, and Mozenrath tried to gain control of his raging erection enough to bend and do as she asked. Unhappily, he grasped the waistband of her pants and resentfully pulled it up until, inch by inch, her gloriously tanned legs, curvy thighs, and well loved womanhood disappeared under the red silk.
He was staring mournfully at her half-clothed figure as Jasmine lifted her bodice and put it on correctly, then adjusted her coiffure, taming the several lush strands that had escaped during his pleasuring. She took a deep breath and seemed to be herself again, and turned her attention to him.
Gently, she reached up and unclasped his cloak, letting it fall to the floor not far from his discarded turban. Mozenrath seethed inwardly as he looked into her eyes, large and almond-shaped and filled with secret amusement as her hips not-so-accidentally brushed against his rigid length. He bit back a groan, refusing to give his er the satisfaction of his denied lust, and closed his eyes as she pulled his robed tunic free from the sash he wore, slowly parting the cotton over his pale chest. She skimmed her fingers over the taut, lean muscles, appreciating the harsh lines and ridges she found underneath as he struggled valiantly to keep his breathing even so she wouldn’t see how her touch affected him.
Still smirking with some secret, womanly knowledge, Jasmine pushed the tunic off his broad shoulders and let it fall to the floor, leaving him clothed in only his cummerbund-sash and the billowing harem pants that did nothing to hide his swollen rod.
She gazed down at it in fascination, and damn, if it didn’t jump at the attention. Mozenrath gritted his teeth as she chuckled, and was helpless in preventing something that sounded humiliatingly like a choked sob escape as she gently skimmed her fingers down his jutting length, over the pants. Jasmine’s fingers continued their light caress and he thrust against them, desperate for some friction. She smiled and allowed it, and he did it again to press his luck, harder this time, his hips bucking into her hand. When she made to draw her hand away, he grabbed her wrist and forced her fingers to wrap around him, covered them with his own, and gave his cock a good squeeze with her hand.
“Stop.” Her voice was cold and he knew instantly he’d overstepped. “Let go immediately.”
He did as he was told, knowing she’d brook no argument, and Jasmine coolly pushed him back toward the pillar that he’d just loved her against. “Stay there. Do not move.”
Mozenrath scowled, and bent to the floor in an act of defiance, swooping up his cloak and wrapping it around himself. It lapped at his knees and hid his erection quite well, and both he and Jasmine glared at each other before she turned on her heel and strolled away toward her throne, pausing only to tug the bell pull.
She sprawled herself on the wine-colored velvet cushions, one foot dangling over the armrest, and toyed with her hair, occasionally spearing Mozenrath with a sharp look to make sure he stayed where he was. He scowled back and leaned against the pillar, crossing his legs and wondering what her next move was. As amorous and adventurous as his princess could be in the bedchambers, she could also be a cruel, manipulative lover, especially if she sensed that he grew too comfortable with her. She felt the need to constantly remind him of his place, and Mozenrath shifted uneasily as he wondered if this would be one of those times.
The door opened and a young handmaiden - in yellow, this time - stepped inside. “Mistress, as you requested.” She stepped to the side and Mozenrath straightened as another man entered. He was barely able to make out the tall, elegant figure of Jafar, clad in his usual black and red robes with staff in hand as he began to advance across the large room.
“The royal vizier.”
“Thank you, sweetling.” Jasmine’s full lips curved into a welcoming smile as she watched Jafar approach, and then flicked her wrist at the child. “Dismissed.”
The girl dipped into a little feminine bow before leaving the room and pulling the door shut.
“You summoned me, Princess,” Jafar murmured, his lips curling in thinly veiled disdain. But it was all for show as far as Mozenrath was concerned; he didn’t miss the way Jafar’s eyes gleamed as they fell on Jasmine, her lithe, scantily clad body stretched out on the throne as if solely for his perusal.
Jasmine didn’t seem to mind that he didn’t refer to her as the queen, or use the honorary ‘your highness.’ She swung her leg off the rest and sat, loose-limbed and graceful, before beckoning him further. “Approach.”
Jafar dipped his head in a barely passable bow before advancing, his movements long and self-assured. He glanced curiously at Mozenrath, who stood clothed and silently seething by the pillar, his hands now balled into fists, before looking back at Jasmine as if trying to ascertain what had just transpired between the queen and the young sorcerer. He could see the way Mozenrath fairly hummed with tension, his body vibrating like a tuning fork, and surmised that perhaps the princess had been less than generous with him.
He remembered how Jasmine had wreaked her vengeance on Mozenrath before after the sorcerer exhibited his typical defiance. He had displeased her somehow - Jafar wasn’t sure how, and as far as he knew it remained a secret between the two - and rumors had it that Jasmine had toyed with the boy for weeks, demanding that he please her and refusing to do the same. Mozenrath had never spoken of it, but it wasn’t that difficult to infer that something of the sort was amiss. From what he could tell, Mozenrath hadn’t rebelled since, and his relationship with Jasmine had improved tremendously. Jafar was rarely in the room when Jasmine was with Mozenrath, but Aladdin sometimes was, and he had insinuated that the princess and sorcerer had come to some sort of mutual agreement that also resulted in mutual pleasure.
As for Jafar’s own time with Jasmine, he could never be sure as to what the experience would be like. He didn’t like to talk to the others about their time with her, preferring not to know, but sometimes his curiosity would get the better of him, and the other men weren’t above that, either. During those times, they’d discuss their experiences in very general, euphemism-laden terms, each one implying just enough to give the others a good idea of what usually transpired.
From those conversations, Jafar had gleaned that Jasmine usually played a certain role with each of her suitors. With Mozenrath, she liked to be in charge and suppress the young man’s fiery passions and urgent desires. She liked to be dominant in the beginning but then once she was satisfied, she often let him do with her what he pleased. She enjoyed keeping the willful young man on a leash - not a literal one, Mozenrath had been quick to stress - to show him that he wasn’t in control, but that was rather typical of her relationship with all the men, so no one was surprised.
With Aladdin, Jasmine often liked to play the role of the young lover. She treated Aladdin with tenderness and some affection closely mirroring love, and liked to pretend that the two of them were romantic lovers. Because of this, Aladdin was almost never allowed to be rough with her. Their bouts of lovemaking were slow and sweet and involved some hollow facsimile of emotional fulfillment. Frankly, Jafar considered himself lucky that he hadn’t been expected to take on that kind of role. He’d have gouged his eyes out with his own useless staff before allowing himself to play the part of some lovesick pup.
Razoul was the only one that remained frustratingly tight-lipped about his time spent with the princess. He listened to the discussions between the other men but never participated. When prodded, he simply said that he did as his lady bid him to do, and left it at that. He refused to budge on the topic and that had always interested Jafar, who couldn’t help but wonder just what transpired in the bedroom between the small princess and the burly, coarse guard with the strength of an ox.
Even though the men were often frustrated with Razoul’s reticence on the subject, they appreciated Jafar’s candidness. He always answered the questions posed to him about his time spent in Jasmine’s bed, and made sure to do so with frank candor and bored disinterest, lest they start to think that he actually looked forward to being called in to service her. How humiliating, to be thought to actually enjoy being at the beck and call of the libido of a little slip of a girl.
Sometimes, he was afraid that they realized all too well how much he enjoyed being with her.
It was true that Jafar had often lusted after her while her father was sultan. Had he been less obsessed with taking over the kingdom, he would have put his staff to good use and made sure he was always welcome in Jasmine’s chambers after dark, even if the princess would wake up in the morning wondering why her hair was in such disarray, or why she was suddenly slightly sore in unexpected places, or how the little red marks where his fingers had gripped her or his mouth had suckled on her flesh had gotten there.
But he’d been too busy for play then, and now that seemed to be his only real responsibility now that Jasmine was in power. And being under the princess, or over her, surrounded by her wet warmth and her sweetly quivering feminine body, was frankly far preferable to spending time with her senile old father as he rambled and bumbled and seemed to grow moldy before Jafar’s very eyes.
While the other men seemed to have their roles with Jasmine - or she with them - the princess was rather unpredictable when the two of them were together. The others often said that they knew when they entered her bedchambers - the ones reserved for her use of her harem - what she wanted them to do. Jafar never did, because each time seemed different.
Sometimes, Jasmine was bold and brash, in a mood to control him. She’d tie him to one of the four posters of the low-lying bed and pleasure him until he was hard and cursing her to the depths of the oases wells, and then she’d ride him mercilessly, seeking her own pleasure. Sometimes she’d want to lie with him as lovers, insisting that he pleasure her for hours before he allowed either of them a penetration and blissful release. Sometimes she merely wanted him to service her, quickly and efficiently, and often more than once, claiming it relaxed her body and her mind and helped her sleep after a long day. Sometimes she played the kitten, insisting that he seduce her cleverly with words and gentle touches. And sometimes she was in the mood for something a little more wicked, and pretended to resist his advances, having instructed him beforehand that he was to force himself on her and take her despite her pleas and her tears.
He approached the throne, wondering what she had planned for him this time and how Mozenrath figured into it. Jasmine liked to spend time with Jafar alone, and this was definitely new. A little smirk curled the corner of his mouth as he wondered what would happen were he to inform the sultan that his sweet little girl entertained not only a young sorcerer, but him as well, and at the same time, too. Her father had absolutely no idea that Jasmine had an entire harem of men, with four clear favorites, to service her whenever she wanted. Jafar was certain the old man would have an apoplexy and pass away at the first mention of this salacious behavior.
He sketched a low, graceful bow. “At your service, princess.”
“Indeed you are,” she smirked, catching hold of his robes as he straightened and tugging him closer. Jafar’s smile remained firmly in place as he loomed over her, resting his hands on the edge of the cushions as she looked up at him.
Jasmine tugged him down again, bringing his lips down hard on hers. Jafar didn’t miss a beat, pressing his mouth firmly to hers and lifting his hands to cup her face, tilting her head back slightly so he could increase the pressure of the bruising, drugging kiss. Jasmine moaned and he took advantage of the moment to slip his tongue into her hot mouth, sipping her sweetness and engaging her tongue in a slow, intoxicating dance that made her moan again. He felt the vibrations in his body and eased closer, breaking the kiss to trail his mouth down her throat.
Jasmine sucked in a breath and wrapped her arms around his neck, neatly taking off his tall turban and tossing it aside. Her fingers smoothed through his hair, unexpectedly curly and silky for a man of his age, and her lips wandered over to his ear, where she took her time nibbling on the shell before whispering what she wanted him to do to her.
Even Mozenrath could see Jafar jerk a little in surprise, and he stood several yards away. But the vizier recovered instantly and went on kissing the princess, unmindful of the sorcerer’s seething displeasure. He knew it was irrational and that he was in no position to feel that way, but Mozenrath had always been the jealous sort. He knew he shared Jasmine, and that wasn’t the problem. He had no issue being with Jasmine while she was with another man - mainly because he took his pleasure with her while the other one did as well. Or while she took her pleasure with the other man. He didn’t quibble with details.
But having to stand aside, useless and forgotten, while she sought pleasure in another man’s arms without even sparing him a second glance … that was almost too much for his bristling and prideful soul to bear.
His eyes widened as Jafar unhooked the scrap of silk that Jasmine wore as a top, letting it dangle from his long fingers for a moment before he slung it carelessly on the arm rest. The princess’s full, round breasts were perfectly bare and Jafar bent, lowering himself to his knees on the floor, and Mozenrath gritted his teeth in a fit of rage and betrayal as the vizier settled his pale, bony hands on those firm, deliciously plump globes.
Jafar kept his gaze on Jasmine’s perfect tits as he encased them in long, spindly fingers. He strummed her pert little nipples with his thumbs and they quickly hardened under the gentle but insistent motions. Jasmine watched him play with her and bit her lip as Jafar squeezed and molded her breasts to his hands before leaning forward and fastening his mouth to the perfect pebble, sucking her into his mouth.
Her lashes fluttered as pleasure warmed her limbs, and she settled her hands on the back of Jafar’s head, feathering her fingers through his curls and holding him to her breast. She slitted her gaze toward Mozenrath and smirked when she saw him scowling balefully at the two of them. Jasmine smoothed her hands over Jafar’s neck and shoulders, rubbing and massaging and urging him on as he suckled and nibbled one breast and then the other until she was swollen and flushed.
“More,” she murmured, making sure her voice was loud enough for the sorcerer to overhear.
Jafar pulled back and gazed at her critically, admiring the vision she made. Her tanned skin was flushed and glowing, and her breasts jiggled with each panting breath she drew. He strummed her nipples once more before skimming his hands down admiringly over her trim waist and toned stomach and down to the band of her red silk harem pants.
He slipped them easily over the flare of her hips, and Jasmine lifted up off the cushions to let him slide them down to her feet, leaving her naked, and wiggled her bare bottom against the soft velvet when she settled back once more.
Jafar smiled slowly as he surveyed her body, and he tilted his face up and took her lips in a hungry, searing kiss. Their tongues dueled and Jasmine wrapped her body around him, anchoring him close to her. Jafar kissed his way down her throat, between the valley of her breasts, down over the flat plane of her stomach, and lower, past her mound and on to the wet slit that was so deserving of his attentions.
Jasmine leaned back and canted her hips, and Jafar wasted no time in pleasing her. His tongue parted her folds just as Mozenrath’s skeletal finger had parted her earlier. She rested her head against the wine red cushions and her gaze came to rest on Mozenrath, who was flushed with anger and arousal, his hands clenched into menacing fists as he was forced to stand back as Jafar made little murmurs and groans as he explored her feminine flesh.
Jasmine gazed deeply into Mozenrath’s obsidian eyes, knowing exactly what it was doing to him to have to watch Jafar pleasure her. She knew how badly he wanted to tear across the room, yank Jafar back and shove him aside before claiming her as his own. But she’d never let him do that - it was far more enjoyable to test him, to push him to his limits so that he knew - knew without a doubt - who was in charge.
Jafar separated her lower lips with his thumbs, his keen eyes examining the swollen red flesh he had probed and pleasured many times before. He knew her inner workings like the back of his hand and could draw out a climax with stunning ease and efficacy, and as he studied this most secret part of her, he wondered how he should bring her to climax. Quickly and efficiently? Or slowly and torturously?
Jasmine’s hips squirmed restlessly and he lowered his mouth to her, his tongue tracing her inner lips and then moving up to search for her clitoris in its hood. He found the sheltered pearl and laved it with the flat of his tongue several times, scraping against it until her little whimpers turned into a guttural moan. Then he treated it to little flicks and tickles of just the tip of his tongue before abandoning it completely, dragging his tongue in a clever zig-zagging motion all along her slit and back up again.
“Oh, God,” Jasmine moaned, her fingers clenching in his hair as she drew him closer, but Jafar would not be rushed. He continued that exquisite zig-zagging motion that had her seeing stars and rushing headlong for release. Even in the haze of passion, Jasmine opened her eyes and her gaze locked with Mozenrath, forcing him to hold her gaze as she climaxed into Jafar’s mouth.
But just before she could hit the peak, he withdrew, drawing a frustrated shriek out of her at the loss of his clever tongue. The vizier had the audacity to chuckle, and then his thin, bony hands were creeping under her, grabbing her soft cheeks and squeezing firmly as he dragged her forward and tipped her up, holding her spread in front of his lips like she was a goblet of wine and he was settling in for a long and delicious draught.
Jasmine fell back against the cushions as her hips spasmed, but with his hands holding her so firmly there was no space for her to move. Instead she was at his mercy as Jafar lowered his mouth once more and this time drove his tongue directly into her feminine core.
Her feet scrambled for the marble ledge at the base of her throne, vainly seeking for any kind of purchase so she could push herself up higher against his tongue, forcing him in deeper, deeper, but there was nothing for her to push against. Jafar kept a firm hold on her ass, his fingers squeezing so tightly she would probably have some light bruises the next day.
The vizier was relentless in his exploration. He moved his tongue up and down in her tight opening, pushing against the clenching muscles and tasting her deeply. His lips caressed her flesh as his tongue worked deep within her, and after pulling back for air and teasing her clitoris some more, Jafar decided to finish the job.
He thrust his tongue into her repeatedly, forcing the strong muscle in and out of her repeatedly as Jasmine screamed and clawed and urged him on. She lay back against the cushions now, her head tipped back and her hips striving upward to meet his mouth as his tongue pumped in and out of her body.
One of Jafar’s fingers reached nimbly between her cheeks, searching and searching until he found her small puckered opening. Jasmine groaned aloud, somehow managing to hold Mozenrath’s incredulous and simultaneously wrathful stare, as she felt him massage the opening in relentless circular motions, refusing to give her any quarter as his tongue worked her steadily, just like his cock had two nights earlier.
Her eyes squeezed shut as the fierce intensity of the moment overtook her, and Jasmine cried out Jafar’s name as she fell over the edge, her body impossibly tense for a terrifying moment before she relaxed and shuddered. Pleasure shot through every limb as Jafar removed his mouth from her and let her bask in the fierce tremors, his clever fingers underneath her drawing out the moment to make it last. She whimpered and finally relaxed, completely boneless, against the velvet cushions.
Jafar stood slowly and wiped his hand across the back of his mouth, staring down at the naked princess sprawled inelegantly and overwhelmed by the gift of pure satiety. He adjusted his robes and stooped - with some awkwardness, Mozenrath noted, to retrieve his turban. After perching it on his head, he gazed down at her again but made no move to help her retrieve her clothing and put herself to rights.
Jasmine didn’t seem to mind. Warm almond eyes opened slightly and gazed back up at the vizier. She murmured something to him that Mozenrath had to strain to hear over the rush of his own angry, roaring blood.
“Thank you, Jafar. That was quite well done. You are dismissed now.”
His naked princess settled back on the cushions with the grace of a cat, her knowing gaze meeting Mozenrath’s once more as he lustfully memorized every curve of her lush, naked body spread out on the opulent velvet. Jasmine’s lips curved up into a wicked, womanly smile.
“And do be sure to send Aladdin in momentarily.”