Please have mercy

Plead

Tw: rape
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"Take it off."

He waited as she raised her hands to her neck, undoing the knot at the back. It was difficult to manage without being able to see it, her fingers fumbling with the silky fabric until the clasp came loose and the ribbons untangled. The dress dropped from her body like water, now in a rumpled pile at her feet. She wanted to cross her arms in front of her chest to preserve the smallest fraction of modesty she could get, standing almost naked in front of the supreme leader.

Confused at the silence, she pondered the next steps to take. She had been told this procedure many times, and yet, this was not how it was supposed to go. She should've been accompanied back to the room by her handmaiden who would've helped her prepare, then she should've prayed and meditated and he would've come, taking her dress off himself. There should've been intimacy, there should've been an attempt to be kind, there should've been a previous contact before she was meant to lie down on the bed.

He was not supposed to be so distant, he was not meant to be so mean. They had warned her that it would not be easy, they had told her that he may be a little rougher than most, yet it was nothing like what she had imagined. She could barely picture herself under him, she could not picture him in her.

She didn't know how she had to kiss him if he kept his mask on, and now, she was petrified to touch him again. He didn't seem to be undressing any time soon, his stoic coat was still completely closed, the buttons invisible to her thanks to the well-crafted garment.

Not knowing what to do with her hands, she left them dangling at her side, her fingers curled up in fists, her nails digging into her palm to calm herself down.

He circled around her slowly, assessing her body, his mask coming right next to the left side of her face. She did not dare to move, afraid that she might knock into him as he came to stand behind her, lowering his head on her right side. From her peripheral vision, she could see the black strong lines of the mask and hear the distant sound of breathing hidden through the voice modulator.

She had passed the inspection. He was satisfied with what he was seeing.

His gloved thumb grazed the side of her hips, cold and rough against her skin, hooking against the side of her underwear and bushing it down. It slid off awkwardly, joining her wedding gown on the floor, she stepped out of them, turning slowly to face him, now only wearing her stockings.

She wasn't certain if her skin could regain color after being so cold for so long, not mentioning her terrified state that drained the blood away from her face, but if she could have some semblance of shyness, her cheeks would've turned bright red.

Her shoulders curved forward out of embarrassment, her body unconsciously keeping her limbs close, gathering a minimal semblance of protection as she cowered, trying to make herself appear smaller.

He kept looking at her, she hoped this waiting was proof of his reluctance to the ordeal. She wished he was pondering on his actions, weighing the effects it would have on this girl he had just married. Possibly, he was even considering abandoning it, the task at hand being too grand to accomplish without the consent of the bride.

He was experienced, she was sure of it. Rumors circulated about those who had seen his face and she could not fathom him showing himself to anyone but to those he had loved. Everything she had heard about him was in disagreement over the smaller details. Most said he had long hair, and red eyes, others said he had kept his padawan braid, some even went as far as saying he was bald. Although most knew he was young, considering how famous and well known his parents were, the girl was certain he looked as vile as he sounded.