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.
