What She's Made Of Ch. 01

Gentle Reader,

The following is my very first submission to Literotica! Be warned: this story is a slow burn. This first chapter is all set up, getting us ready for the debauchery to come. And believe me, it's on its way. Besides- I think the hottest scenes involve characters with some substance. So please give this a shot and stick with me. I promise it'll be worth it.

Your supplicant,

MaryCatherine

*****

Layla breathed a sigh of relief as she dug her hands through the rich soil. It would have been easier to use the trowel in the pack by her side, but she needed the comfort working the earth never failed to provide. Crumbling the dirt with her fingers helped fill the emptiness, if only for a little while. The scent of growth, potential, and bounty was a much needed balm for her broken heart.

Work has always been her escape. It was the perfect justification for her preferred solitude. No one could comment on her "otherness" or criticise her failure to assimilate despite having lived within the Palace walls for over a decade. There were no sideways glances, snide smiles, or vicious whispers.

Layla had grown a thick skin shortly after her family's arrival, but every so often if she was exhausted or otherwise vulnerable, it got to her. At first, the abuse was as confusing as it was hurtful. As a child, she struggled to understand why her friendly overtures were only ever met with suspicious disdain.

Finally, her parents explained. One evening, they sat her down on the family's shared sleeping mat.

Mama smoothed her daughter's hair away from her face and said, "It happened again, didn't it?" Layla nodded and struggled to hold back the tears welling in her eyes. "Who was it this time?" Mama asked.

"Namira and Djamira. And their friends. It's usually them."

She pictured the sisters, with their shiny bangles and carefully plaited hair. Namira and Djamira's mother even allowed them to wear kohl, and the dark pigment made their cutting glances even more obvious. Everyone knew the two ringleaders were promised to the Sultan's harem, and as such they were above reproach. They were beauty personified- glossy black hair hanging to their waists, warm golden skin, sparkling violet eyes, and petite figures well suited to the layers of silk the Sultan provided. Around them, Laya felt like some kind of freak.

Of course, that was nothing new. Even back home, before everything changed, she had stood out. She had her father's height but her mother's delicate features. She was developing soft, feminine curves while maintaining strong, lean muscles from the hours she spent working beside her parents in their greenhouses.

After their forced relocation south, even her coloring set her apart. Instead of the turquoise and purples of the locals, her eyes were brown. It took several burns for her skin to adjust to the merciless sun, but freckles still insisted on dotting the bridge of her nose, and she never developed that ideal glow.

Layla's only pride was her hair. She had inherited her mother's mahogany tresses, and, unlike with the rest of the population's soot black hair, the sun brought out glints of copper and gold. But hers was a private joy. She opted to keep her lovely hair pulled back in a knot on top of her head rather than draw any additional attention to herself. And, when she worked alone in the Palace's dozen or so gardens, she succeeded. She was a quiet and unobtrusive presence amidst the trees and flowers she tended daily.

It was a different story when she ran into any of her female age mates. Then, she was painfully aware of her height, her body, her skin, her face- everything that set her apart. She did her best to lengthen her stride and pass the other girls as quickly as she could, but they typically moved in packs and as such her efforts were usually unsuccessful.

Regardless, thanks to that conversation with her family years before, she always held her head high, unafraid to meet every stare.

After Layla finished telling her parents about her latest run in, Papa decided it was time to treat her like the adult she was becoming all too soon. He took her hand.

"Dear heart," he said, "this... transition... has been very, very hard. Your mama and I had hoped it would be easier for you, that your peers would accept you as I know you would have if your roles were reversed. Sadly, this has not been the case, and we know how much this hurts your gentle heart, how painful their rejection is, and it pains us just as much to watch you try to make sense of it all. But it's time for you to understand the truth of our lives now."

As he spoke, he seemed to grow older, more tired, but he continued. "They will never see us as equals, because we are not. We never will be. We may live in the same compound and be bound to the Sultan by the same laws, but the fact is we did not come here by choice and everyone knows it."

Layla frowned. "But we don't have to stay here forever. Five years and we can go home. That's what they said."

"Yes, that is what we were told, Layla. But if we decided to leave, we would have nowhere to go."

Layla pulled her hand from her father's. "What are you talking about? Of course we do! It'd be a really long trip, but-"

"What your father is trying to say," Mama said, "is that our land, our home, is no more. Like the rest of the continent, it fell to the Sultan a year ago. Only our botanical expertise has kept us from the Indoctrination Camps."

The very thought of the Camps made Layla freeze in terror. She never imagined they were real. They were just propaganda, a way to scare the masses into obedience. Knowing they actually existed changed everything.

"Does that mean everyone we know is... in one of those?" She finally asked.

Mama shook her head and rubbed Layla's back, trying to comfort her. "No, dear heart, not everyone."

Papa cleared his throat. "A few of our colleagues at the university are in positions similar to ours at some of the more prominent officials' homes."

"Then why are we here? Why aren't we at one of those other places with our friends?"

"It was the Sultan's mother." Mama said. "She became ill around the same time our home fell and only the gardens offered her any respite." She flashed a grim smile. "Ironically, it was love that brought us here. The Sultan heard of our success with hybrids and claimed us."

"Oh."

Layla was torn. On the one hand, she was painfully relieved they had escaped the Camps, and she was sure the Sultan's claim offered some kind of protection from eventual deportation. On the other, she wished they were anywhere but the Palace. Surely somewhere without such a large, competitive harem would be home to warmer hearts.

"So you see, Layla, we will forever be the conquered, resented for our value to the Sultan and, despite our skills, inherently less than." Papa said. "For you, it is even worse. Here, girls your age have but one concern- placement in a harem, the more affluent the better."

"So? What does that have to do with me?" Layla asked.

"To them, you are the 'other', and that which is different is feared and considered a threat. It doesn't matter that your life will be spent caring for the gardens. Your very presence puts them on edge, and until the competition for placement has ended, I doubt that will change." Papa said.

"It doesn't help that you turn heads wherever you go." Mama chuckled.

Layla rolled her eyes. "Yeah, because I'm some kind of weird giant next to the other girls."

Mama and Papa exchanged knowing glances.

"Not all the whispers about you are cruel, especially the ones between the younger groundskeepers and their friends." Mama said.

Uncomfortable, Layla made a face. "That's just because they're my friends. They're just being nice."

She was half right. While Layla was always at odds with her female peers, she had no problems with the boys she worked with on a regular basis. She even thought some of them might be her friends one day.

Her parents shared that look again.

"And even if they are saying anything nice, it's probably how they like that I carry my own weight at work and don't bug them all day for help on stupid little thing!" She was alluding to the way certain housegirls tasked with collecting blooms for the Palace floral arrangements would refuse to touch anything with a thorn lest they blemish their soft hands.

"If you say so, Laya." Mama said, patting her daughter's hand and smiling. Layla grinned back, glad to see that familiar twinkle back in her mother's eye.

"But will you take a look at these!" Mama grasped an offending hand and held it close to her face. "You'll have potatoes growing from your fingertips unless you wash up right away!"

Layla giggled at their game and rolled her eyes again. "Okay, Mama. And I'll set the table for dinner." She got to her feet and set off across their tiny living space to the kitchen.

Once they were sure she was fully occupied, Papa and Mama embraced, squeezing each other as if their lives depended on it.

"She is too good for this world, Galel. Sometimes I can't bear it." Mama whispered into her husband's shoulder.

"I know, beloved, I know. But she can be strong. We'll teach her how."

Meanwhile,her hands freshly scrubbed clean of any trace of grime, Layla considered what she had just learned. It was a lot to process for an eleven year old, but by the time she finished setting the table, she had made up her mind.

She would not let anyone convince her she was in any way less than them. She was smart, she knew things no one else did, and she used that knowledge to bring beauty to the world, beauty far more precious than even the most expensive silks and jewels. Her parents, who she admired more than anyone in the entire world, were proud of her, and that meant something, something she would hold onto no matter what.

So it was she found herself, years later, feeling like that confused and hurt little girl. But this time there was no one to stroke her hair or make her smile. Her papa was a good, kind man, but he lacked her mother's humor and easy laugh.

Mama was gone. It hadn't taken long, and for that Layla was grateful. They were spared the pain of watching her waste away. At the end, she looked just as she had the week before, if a bit pale. That was the nature of her illness. It appeared out of the blue, and not even Papa and Layla's desperate attempts to develop a cure were enough to stave off the inevitable.

Layla knew she should be by her father's side, sharing his grief, but there was work to be done and he was in no shape to undertake any of it. So she had left him sitting in his chair, staring out the window at the little rattan bench Mama had loved so much. Layla had woven it for her as a birthday present years before, harvesting the reeds in secret over four months, careful not to alert the other garden staff to her illicit project.

With her hands buried up to her wrists in the earth, she could see a rattan vine climbing around a palm tree out of the corner of her eye and suddenly it was too much. She yanked her hands from the soil and scrambled to feet. She rubbed her palms on her trousers, trying to rid them of the once comforting dirt, but to no avail. Staring at her fingernails and the dark rings around them, she couldn't hold back a sob.

"Potatoes," she whispered and let the tears flow.

The sound of approaching voices told her she wouldn't be alone for much longer. She gripped her pack, preparing to flee to her quarters so she could grieve in private, but two young men came into view before she could.

"Thank god," she breathed, relieved to see it was Madhi and Rahim, two of the garden staff and her truest friends. She waved a greeting and they rushed over.

"Layla! There you are- we've been looking for you. Are you okay?" Madhi pulled her close for a hug.

"Of course she's not okay," muttered Rahim. He stood behind Layla and wrapped his arms around her, sandwiching her between the two brothers.

It didn't take long for her to feel uncomfortable from their sudden outburst of affection, so Layal pulled away, cleared her throat, and said "Hey, guys. And I'll be fine." She saw Rahim open his mouth to argue. She decided not to give him the chance. "So what's going on? Aren't you two supposed to be working the southern lagoons today?"

She knew for a fact they were because she had written the schedule herself, but she wanted to see what kind of excuse they'd manufacture. They had grown increasingly creative over the years and she could use a good laugh.

"You haven't heard?" Madhi looked at her like she had grown two heads.

"Heard what?"

"It's over. The Sultan surrendered."

"Wait, what? Surrendered to whom?" Layla said.

"To the Sheik and his forces at Nazir. Haven't you been paying attention?"

"Umm, I've kind of had a lot on my mind lately." Layla glared at Madhi.

"Of course you have," Rahim soothed. And he glared at Madhi.

"Sorry," Madhi said. "I don't mean to be a jerk, but it's huge news!"

As the weight of the situation dawned on her, Layla did her best to focus. "Okay. The Sheik's in charge, no more Sultan. So now what?"

Rahim shrugged. "We don't know much, but the entire Palace is under house arrest."

"Right. The Sultan's head councilman was sent back with the Sheik's Premiere Guard to spread the news and get everything ready. They're moving through the Palace right now. That's why we came to find you." Madhi said.

"Why? What's the big deal? I've been through a regime change before, remember? It was a while ago, but I think I know the drill." Layla shifted the supply bag at her hip, nervous. She was getting the distinct feeling she wasn't going to like what she heard next.

"Layla, they're rounding up the women. All the women." Madhi said.

"Okay..." She picked at the bag's various buckles and straps, her sense of foreboding increasing by the second. "That's pretty standard, separating the women from the men."

"No, Layla, don't you get it?" Madhi grabbed her shoulders. "These are the Sheik's men! They're Khobarans!"

For a moment, it felt like her heart stopped beating. Then there was a deafening rush and all she could make out was the pounding of her racing heart.

Madhi and Rahim looked at each other, concerned. The Premiere Guard was getting closer. They couldn't waste any time.

It took a hard shake to bring Layla back to reality.

"Thanks, Madhi," she said.

"Hey, what are friends for?" Rahim joked and tried to smile, but it was more of a grimace.

"Layla, you need to hide." Madhi said.

She shook her head. "It'll just go worse when they find me, and you know they will. No, all I can do is prepare myself."

"No, you can't! At least let us try to get you over the walls! Maybe with the change in the guard-"

"Rahim, no." She placed a hand on his arm. "There's no point. I stick out like a sore thumb wherever I go, you know that. I'd be turned in before anyone noticed I was gone." Layla met her friends' gazes, calm in her resolve. "You know me- I can do this. It's just my body. No matter what they do to it, they'll never get inside my head."

Madhi and Rahim looked doubtful, and they opened their mouths to argue some more but Layla's fierce smile stopped them.

"It's been fifteen years and those harem bitches haven't broken me yet. What makes you think a bunch of stupid old men will have any luck?"

For a moment, they believed her. Everything was going to be okay. It had to be.

Then the heavy sound of armored boots drifted across the garden and the moment ended.

"Time for you guys to get out of here. If they find me with you, it'll go bad for all of us."

They knew she was right, and the brothers pulled her into another Layla sandwich. This time, she clung to them, shut her eyes, and tried to burn every detail of the moment into her memory. It took everything she had to push them away.

"Go. And tell my father I'll be ok."

"Yes, ma'am." Rahim said, trying again to smile, to be brave for her.

Madhi had better luck. "Show them what you're made of, Layla."

She bared her teeth in another grin. "You know I will."

Once they had cleared her sight, Layla took a deep breath. Knowing she'd be forced to her knees anyway, she knelt and dug her hands through the earth. Again, it calmed her. As soon as she saw the familiar flash of sunlight on armor, she bowed her head, pretending to be engrossed in her work. When they were only a few paces away, she looked up, her expression a fixed mask of harmless and polite neutrality. She reluctantly withdrew her hands from the cool, comforting soil, laid them on her thighs, and awaited her fate.