S./The Bearer of STATE - a book by Karin Arink

Chapter 8: Schneider's and 3rd vision (red)

17:21 p.m.
Though dead tired himself, the Captain had convinced Her Grace that she does need new clothes for the Bearer’s Test tomorrow. So, the Captain and the Bearer step into the wide up-market dressmaker’s shop of Schneider’s. The limo is parked somewhere out of sight, the Guards secure the back doors and watch the street.
When he sees the Captain, Schneider leaves his last lady client to look at some fabrics, while he comes to them, rubbing his long hands. “My dear Captain! It has been such a long time…! I was almost afraid we had disappointed you with your last purchase…”
“No, no, they just tend to last in such a perfect condition, as you are well aware!" the Captain says. "But listen. Could you please help Her Grace, I will shortly rejoin you.”
As it is almost closing time, Schneider is not too happy, but he cannot refuse the Captain. While the Captain already moves to depart, he says lightly: “Certainly, certainly! Don’t you worry, Captain.”

Schneider looks at the woman: clothes incredibly cheap and very dirty, her hair on end, her face covered in brownish specks. ‘What had the Captain called her, Her Grace?!’ He had not looked like he was making a prank, yet Schneider cannot imagine why on earth the Captain had brought this person into his shop.
Then, he stops moving as the day’s headline news connects with the Captain’s ungainly looking guest. ‘What! The Captain must be out of his mind, to bring that terrorist here. The traitor! He’ll be dead before the day is over, what a pity for his suit... But... when the President finds out Schneider’s has catered for that thief, that terrorist... That would be disaster! I should get rid of her as soon as possible, the securiCam’s memory will have to be erased, and... I'll have to have a word with the Countess, she has seen what's happened... Or...’
Schneider wipes his hands, frowns as another thought occurs. ‘But... What if the woman really does become the next ruler...? Legally, she already has the rights... Uhmn... But then... In that case.... We cannot afford to lose such an important client...’
Before he can decide about what to do, the woman walks from him. In a fluid way, she moves straight for Maria, his trainee shop assistant, who had just re-entered the shop and was looking for a client. ‘Ah, yes, that would solve the problem, at least for now...’
Schneider turns to his client, the Countess, who is looking at him impatiently.
Maria welcomes the disheveled woman, offers her a seat.

From the first, S. definitely prefers her to Schneider. This large shop is a dead end, smelling of the President and his friends. Her Mark tickles painfully and she cannot help but notice she is sweating, a cold sweat. She is an alien here. As a Marked one, she would never be allowed into this shop, had the Captain not introduced her. And also now, it is dangerous... the President’s eyes are here as well. But STATE is at ease, somehow, and the whole city is covered with securiCam’s eyes, and still they had not seemed to function when they were hiding in the old chapel, or when she was walking to Headquarters... There are powers to STATE she would have to investigate into, later...

Maria looks briefly at the woman’s face, concerned, then asks: “How can we help you?”
“I need a suit, and maybe some more items. Simple, with long lines, nice fabric.”
“OK, let’s see…” Maria jots down a few swift lines.

‘Not too bad,’ S. thinks, ‘maybe if…’
Their heads bowed together, they work on the ideal suit. Over the next minutes, a drawing emerges: a suit both stark and comfortable, like an Asian battle dress.
S. is content with the result.
“So… When would you like to have it?” Maria asks.
“Tomorrow morning, 10 a.m..” S. says.
Maria gasps: “Excuse me?!
But… I’m afraid… we are about to close… and there’s almost no fabric on the premises… I am sorry, but I don’t think…”
S. freezes. Why did the Captain bring me here, for this waste of time!?
Seeing her anger, Maria quickly says: “But... eh... Maybe it’s better if we discuss this with Mr. Schneider… he can assess the possibilities more than I can! In the mean time, would you care for some tea?”
Gracefully, S. accepts.

When the Captain returns, he sees to his dismay that Mr. Schneider is still talking with the Countess, looking like they’ve chatted the past ten minutes.
“Where is she!?” the Captain spits.
“There, there, my dear Captain! Do not worry..!”
The Captain turns from him and with angry steps, he crosses the length of the dressmaker’s shop. To the left, near the back wall, he spots Her Grace, waiting. He stops short, and Schneider almost bumps into him. The Captain salutes the Bearer with his hand on his brow: “Your Grace! Thank God… Forgive us… This is most unsafe! Please…”
Fumbling for words to talk himself out of this, Schneider bows. The Captain straightens, disregarding him furiously. “Your Grace, I cannot express how sorry I am for this! This certainly is not befitting the Bearer of STATE! If it would please Your Grace to follow us to the Presidential dressing room…”
Schneider almost chokes on his rejection, but does not dare to go against the Captain in his face, not with that thief of STATE, that Bearer, looking on.

At that moment, it dawns on S. how clear the man’s thoughts are for her, audible in her mind above a continuous whispering and whirring and whining. She stands. “OK, Captain. Would you really suppose that that is more safe?” she says with a tight smile.

From the side, the Countess laughes, a delicate and delightful laugh. "Oh come, Captain... The Bearer requested Maria herself! Would you not introduce us?"
The Captain bows to the Countess, and turns to Her Grace. But she is not looking in his direction anymore, disregarding the Countess. 'Unwisely so,' he thinks and smiles apologetically at the Countess, who shrugs and turns towards the door. "We will meet again, some day, if we are lucky!" she says, her voice glossing over the threat. Schneider hurries to open the door for her and she takes her leave.

At that moment, Maria returns with a serving plate full of teapot and cups, cookies, milk and sugar and stares at the Captain. Impatiently, Schneider waves her away, gesturing he will take over from here. Coldly, Her Grace interrupts him by lifting two fingers. “No, Schneider. Maria will be needed! Bring the tea, Maria.”
The Bearer turns to follow the Captain, who has walked into the corridor leading away from the main shop. After a few steps, the Captain halts.
Schneider makes to squeeze himself forwards, past this Bearer, in order to open the password-protected sliding doors, thinking he could accidentally forget the code. ‘The President would never forgive use of his dressing room!’ But the Bearer blocks him from passing. She just holds her hand for a moment above the digits and the doors open instantly.
They enter a very plush suite, filled with mirrors and gold and dark red hangings.
“Maria, go and make tea in the silver pot!” Schneider orders, but the Bearer again stops her and sits down to allow Maria to serve the tea in the well-used porcelain cups.
“Now, now, let me seeee, “ Schneider is mumbling, “a dress, yes, a dress for the young Bearer of STATE… of course, something grand, with Style, some power…..”
He is bowed over a sketchbook while the Bearer, the Captain and Maria drink their tea.
“Yes…. Yeees, this would be quite imposing, yeeeesss… maybe just some details here, and there, yes, yes, that would make it more complete. By when would you like to have it, Your Grace?”
“By tomorrow we need at least one item, Schneider, I would think you could understand that!” the Captain says curtly.
“By tomorrow! Oh yes, of course, of course, well… we will have to see what we have in stock then, the textile shop is closed, of course, ehmnn…”
“Show it, Schneider!” the Bearer orders.
“Yes, of course, of course! Most certainly… Here you go, Your Grace!” and with a flourish, Schneider shows her the sketchbook.
“Who on EARTH do you think you have before you!?!
Some sugar Princess or WHAT!?”
The Bearer is seething and stands with hands clenched. STATE is protruding from her belly, grey and metallic, almost vulgar in its smooth curve.
“NO way STATE will be presented in that white lace contraption!
I am no frilly BRIDE!”
But Schneider will not be overpowered so easily:
“Ahhh… you may not be aware of it, being so new… buuhuut, it’s the height of fashion, Your Gr..”
Wham! A flash of ultra bright light emanates from STATE, blinding everyone.
Schneider is on the floor, very afraid and not able to see anything.
The Bearer is shaking with anger. She throws the sketch Maria made to Schneider. “This is what STATE will wear tomorrow at 10 a.m..
You have 5 minutes to find the right material!”
Schneider is hurt in his professional pride, but now too aware of her power to anger STATE more.

S. barely stands, trembling from fatigue. The white is there... It is near... And she cannot lie down here, not in front of that fool...
“Is there some rest room here?” she asks the ashen-faced Captain, then leaves for the directed room.
---Bearer of STATE for 7 hours, 44 minutes and 21, 22, 23---
A huge, very high, well-lit bathroom opens before her, a row of old-fashioned marble basins with golden taps in the middle, with three cabinets to the right. To her left, a closed door. S. spots herself in the many mirrors: white, blood-smeared, with dark greasy hair standing out. Snow White turned evil, she thinks and goes to look for a resting place.
The padded door on her left opens to a room upholstered in dark red velvets, a sofa on the right, a dataCorder with a messy pile of tapes opposite. She is sick immediately because of the smell. Old semen.
She closes the door as quickly as she can.
Instead, S. lies down on the bathroom tile floor and enters the white instantly.
But the white is not white, here.
It is red, a dark red, like the velvet she just witnessed.
Scenes of Presidential sexual pleasures invade her mind. In miniature, they flash by: the President forcing various girls in a repeating show of subjection, humiliation and mutilation, over and over and over and over...
She tries to pull back, to think of something else, something, anything…
Then, she slides deeper.
The same scene, but from a different viewpoint.
S. is the President. Reclining on the soft couch, s/he sees his erection, anticipation throbbing in the lid. In front on her/him, a small woman with gorgeous breasts, rubbing them through the expensive realSilk, the sharp nipples making the roundness more enticing. She is standing wide-legged, the soft perfect skin of her inner thighs framing his lid, slowly, very carefully drawing closer.
Ah... the small woman knows, she knows what will happen... But her perfume still masks her fear.
S/he feels the heat of the woman’s thighs, as they approach his sex. The woman knows she is not allowed to touch, on penalty of death, and she is afraid, very afraid.
Ah... there it is, finally s/he can smell her fear. It is rousing, oddly rousing.
His/her sex hardens and grows taller, almost touching the woman there. The thirst for her blood becomes a wave that S. had not expected, so strong, so full of lust.
The woman’s thighs are trembling: crouching in this position is hard to keep up. Almost, she almost bounces against the hard dick.
S/he feels the lust reaching inside, making the balls contract.
If only the woman would touch him, there.
Now.
S/he feels the order leave his/her mouth, the voice smoothly uttering the syllables. The woman’s eye whites show. ‘No! Please, no!’
But she has to obey, there is no other choice, no other end. She lowers herself, and the dick slides into the wet warm hollow.
The President does not move.
The woman slides down, still shaking because of the effort. The President’s dick is pushed into the tightness, until the woman pulls herself up. She descends again, slightly more at ease with the familiar proceedings, hopeful. Expertly, the woman uses her inner muscles to make the enclosure more pleasurable.
Again, the dick pushes through the warm and thrilling sides.
But something is lacking.
As the warm thighs make ready to descend again, the President signals.
One of the Presidential Guards approaches. Routinely, he slashes the woman deeply into her stomach. The blood spurts out.
Convulsing, the woman falls over, but two Guards pulls her upright, and force her down onto the President’s dick again. Her vulva is contracting with pain.
The President closes his eyes and grabs into her belly. It is slippery with warm blood.
S. wants to get out, from behind those eyes, from behind the dick getting harder and hotter, from the lust coursing through his/her veins.
Like a doll, the President moves the dying woman over his lid, helped by the Guards. Up and down, very roughly, while the woman screams and screams and screams.
It takes quite some time to die by a belly wound, and the President takes the time to enjoy the woman’s dying struggle. His/S.’ hands explore the wound eagerly, penetrating her there as well as below.
Again, the warm thumping enclosure, again the jerking muscles press, again the smooth slowly congealing liquid warms his/her hands, again, again, again...
Repulsed by the lust whirling through her/his body, S. tries to distance herself, but she cannot. She is roused as much as he is, and finds herself reaching inside the woman, pushing inside the soft tissues, pushing...
Everything gets stained red, the bed, the bodies, and even as s/he closes her eyes there is only red, red everywhere. There is blood, and more blood, thick dark slippery smelly warm blood, everywhere, the world is turning into a dome of blood and then… Yes… the spurt releasing his/her seed, contracting his/her body… thumping, thumping, thumping...
---

S. opens her eyes exactly 5 minutes later.
She is sweating and sick, her heart pumps loudly and when she blinks, she still sees the red, the red…
Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.
To force herself to calm down a bit, she drinks some water from the golden tap, the terrible taste diluting and finally washing away.
In the stuffy main dressing room, a very concerned Captain and Maria are waiting, looking anxiously at her pale face when she reappears.
Schneider bows nervously. On the table, a collection of precious materials, bright silks and satins, all of real or bio quality; embroidered with pearls, black pearls, white golden thread… Too cocky, S. prefers more subdued colors. But in the corner she spots the right material: mauve/grey, very smooth because of a special woven technique, warm and light simultaneously.

“There is only some of it here, eh, Your Grace,” Schneider bows very carefully, “but we will do what we can. By tomorrow morning, we will deliver Your Grace’s first suit. If I can only beg Your Grace’s forgiveness… Er...
Now if we might take your measurements…”
The Bearer allows only Maria to lightly and efficiently measure her. On Her Grace’s express wish, Maria also notes the exact position and size of STATE, protruding from the Bearer’s abdomen, so as to leave a hole at the right spot.
Then, as soon as she can, the Bearer departs with the Captain.

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