At Her Command {1/4} (Now with better counting)afterandalasiaJune 6 2011, 15:52:01 UTC
A/N: Smutty smut is smutty. Not quite sure if this is what you had in mind, ha, but there you go. Er... enjoy? XD
There was only one thing her father had not given her, Jafar discovers not long after his union with his new bride. Well, two, but he could not very well give to her the power to win in her arguments with Jafar. That thing had been freedom, the ability to go out beyond the fair walls of the palace.
In everything else, he echoes her father. In fact, he is if anything freer with his gifts. Fine silk or cotton clothes to gown herself in, beautiful gold jewellery inlaid with diamonds and rubies that set off her skin, so heavy that at times she can barely move her wrists for the weight upon them. Sweet perfumes from the orient, ittar from India that wreathed her in the sweet scent of rose, saffron, jasmine -- this amused her the most -- or lotus. They warmed with her body, clung seductively to her skin. Gifts and trifles: mechanical birds, plated with gold and capable of chirping little songs; carved ivory figurines from the dark, unknown lands to the south; sweet-smelling flowers replaced as soon as they even begin to wilt in the intense Arabian heat.
In the absence of friends, indolence will do, and Jasmine warms quickly to the increased luxury which her life affords her. Jafar finds it amusing to watch her, to see how easily she is disarmed, like a dragon lying upon its bed of gold. And should her sweet, youthful face draw towards anger, all that he needs to do is press the literal or figurative sweetmeats, covered in gold foil, to her lips and it will dissipate.
But it does not take him long to learn of the one thing that her father would never give her. The world beyond, ugly and dusty and away from the luxury of the palace; Jafar's lip curls at the thought of leaving his gilded rooms, but if it will win over his bride, he decides it may be worth the risk.
Wearily, he orders litters to bear them into the city. Jasmine is delighted; her eyes light up, she smiles, and kisses him sweetly and repeatedly and falsely, and it is close enough. Swathed in deep blue silk -- ah, the rarity of that colour, and how good it looks on her -- she is bourne up, veil lifted to cover her beautiful face from the outside world despite the cotton-silk shades that will hide them from the common people. Jafar watches her reaction with a smirk, tracing the outlines of her face through her veil, knowing that he and only he may look upon her.
She peers close to the edge of the litter as they are paraded through the streets, a little smirk upon her lips. The people of the city bow and scrape as the litter approaches, or back away into the shadows, or run indoors. Ah, what it is to cause fear.
Then something catches Jasmine's eye. He can tell from the tilt of her head, the pursing of her lips. Then her hand falls upon his arm and she looks round, seduction in his eyes. "Husband, stop the litter."
"What is it, my golden one?" he whispers, running his long fingers beneath her chin. They slip beneath her veil, but her skin is silk-soft as well. "Is there something that you desire?"
Perhaps the sweet, ripe fruit on one of the stalls, or the fish with their rainbow scales. It will please her for a moment, little more, but nothing in this place will cost more than a coin or two. A sharp rap on the wood brings the litter to a halt; whispers spread around the people, a few fearful glance.
"Him."
The answer is simple, illustrated with an outstretched arm that almost parts the curtains around them. Jafar follows the line of Jasmine's gaze, past the pretty sapphires that sparkle on her fingertips, to the boy sitting on the roof of one of the low buildings. Unlike the others, he is looking at the procession with interest, curiosity, as he chews bread in that disgusting way which means one can see what it is being masticated. A frown crosses the new sultan's lips.
"Now now, my pet. We have servants enough at the palace. That... street rat... can hardly be of interest to you."
She pouts, her lower lip protruding most adorably and glistening most desirably. She reaches up to twirl one finger in his beard, tugging just slightly, and his resolve weakens as his manhood hardens.
There was only one thing her father had not given her, Jafar discovers not long after his union with his new bride. Well, two, but he could not very well give to her the power to win in her arguments with Jafar. That thing had been freedom, the ability to go out beyond the fair walls of the palace.
In everything else, he echoes her father. In fact, he is if anything freer with his gifts. Fine silk or cotton clothes to gown herself in, beautiful gold jewellery inlaid with diamonds and rubies that set off her skin, so heavy that at times she can barely move her wrists for the weight upon them. Sweet perfumes from the orient, ittar from India that wreathed her in the sweet scent of rose, saffron, jasmine -- this amused her the most -- or lotus. They warmed with her body, clung seductively to her skin. Gifts and trifles: mechanical birds, plated with gold and capable of chirping little songs; carved ivory figurines from the dark, unknown lands to the south; sweet-smelling flowers replaced as soon as they even begin to wilt in the intense Arabian heat.
In the absence of friends, indolence will do, and Jasmine warms quickly to the increased luxury which her life affords her. Jafar finds it amusing to watch her, to see how easily she is disarmed, like a dragon lying upon its bed of gold. And should her sweet, youthful face draw towards anger, all that he needs to do is press the literal or figurative sweetmeats, covered in gold foil, to her lips and it will dissipate.
But it does not take him long to learn of the one thing that her father would never give her. The world beyond, ugly and dusty and away from the luxury of the palace; Jafar's lip curls at the thought of leaving his gilded rooms, but if it will win over his bride, he decides it may be worth the risk.
Wearily, he orders litters to bear them into the city. Jasmine is delighted; her eyes light up, she smiles, and kisses him sweetly and repeatedly and falsely, and it is close enough. Swathed in deep blue silk -- ah, the rarity of that colour, and how good it looks on her -- she is bourne up, veil lifted to cover her beautiful face from the outside world despite the cotton-silk shades that will hide them from the common people. Jafar watches her reaction with a smirk, tracing the outlines of her face through her veil, knowing that he and only he may look upon her.
She peers close to the edge of the litter as they are paraded through the streets, a little smirk upon her lips. The people of the city bow and scrape as the litter approaches, or back away into the shadows, or run indoors. Ah, what it is to cause fear.
Then something catches Jasmine's eye. He can tell from the tilt of her head, the pursing of her lips. Then her hand falls upon his arm and she looks round, seduction in his eyes. "Husband, stop the litter."
"What is it, my golden one?" he whispers, running his long fingers beneath her chin. They slip beneath her veil, but her skin is silk-soft as well. "Is there something that you desire?"
Perhaps the sweet, ripe fruit on one of the stalls, or the fish with their rainbow scales. It will please her for a moment, little more, but nothing in this place will cost more than a coin or two. A sharp rap on the wood brings the litter to a halt; whispers spread around the people, a few fearful glance.
"Him."
The answer is simple, illustrated with an outstretched arm that almost parts the curtains around them. Jafar follows the line of Jasmine's gaze, past the pretty sapphires that sparkle on her fingertips, to the boy sitting on the roof of one of the low buildings. Unlike the others, he is looking at the procession with interest, curiosity, as he chews bread in that disgusting way which means one can see what it is being masticated. A frown crosses the new sultan's lips.
"Now now, my pet. We have servants enough at the palace. That... street rat... can hardly be of interest to you."
She pouts, her lower lip protruding most adorably and glistening most desirably. She reaches up to twirl one finger in his beard, tugging just slightly, and his resolve weakens as his manhood hardens.
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