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subliminalbo · 2 years ago

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Fleur-de-lis #2: New Acquisitions

When Catlin Caldwell signed her first major contract with Confidential, she didn’t bother posturing. Her whole life she’d been a bombshell, and since high school she’d worked her ass off to profit from it. Why should she act like this was anything more than a paycheck? Her heroes were supermodels like Rafaela Carvalho or Sidney Croft, women who walked just enough Confidential Fashion Shows to build a brand from their own name. As soon as they could, they ditched the racket and went into business for themselves. Cat counted the days like an inmate nearing parole.

Maybe that was why she resented Samara Alves so deeply. Cat was only a couple of years younger than Samara, but she’d had to grind to get her contract. She spent the better part of her twenties modeling Confidential’s teen line, buried in the middle of the catalog. It was easy for Cat to feel like a utility player in the middle of a breakout season. Everything had just been so much easier for Samara. Signed to a flagship contract at eighteen, opening the fashion show at nineteen, headlining the Christmas campaign by twenty. She lived and breathed Confidential, rarely worked outside of the brand, and spoke like the work she did there was making a real difference. Cat was taking pitches from cosmetic companies, searching for her first major endorsement. She’d been under contract for a year and already she was halfway out the door.

But Samara stood in her way.

Cat was skeptical when Fleur-de-lis first contacted her. Another upstart looking for a fresh face who they could poach from Confidential? But Cat could never turn down an opportunity to be flattered. Imagine her disappointment when she sat down for lunch with Michael Ramsey, the lanky Fleur-de-lis representative, and he launched into questions about Samara. “A little bit of industry research,” Michael had said. His beady little eyes appeared even smaller beneath his thick glasses.

Cat weighed her options, considered leaving him with the bill. But what was the worst that could happen? This no name lingerie company poaches Samara Alves from Confidential? Ultimately, Cat ran the bill up while she volunteered everything she had on Samara; her personal life (caveman-looking ex-husband), her diet (the secret was smoking two out of three daily meals), her wardrobe (no street style), when she went out (Confidential promotions), when she stayed in (every chance she could get).

Michael took diligent notes on a legal pad as Cat spilled the tea. When she was finished, he ripped the pages from the pad, folded them neatly, and tucked them into his suit pocket. He adjusted his glasses and offered his hand to shake Cat’s. “Thank you for meeting with me today. This information is more valuable than you know.”

“Just do something with it,” Cat said.

And as far as Cat knew, that was it. Michael took care of the bill, she got a free lunch and an hour to bitch about Samara Alves. Not a bad day, considering.

A few months passed before Cat received another call from Fleur-de-lis. This one was late at night, well into the morning. Cat wasn’t asleep, but it was way passed “don’t fucking bother me” hours.

“This is Michael Ramsey.” Cat didn’t remember the name or recognize his voice.

“Yeah?” She said, puncturing the conversation with an appropriate level of annoyance.

“I represent Fleur-de-lis,” Michael added. “We have Miss Alves here at our Los Angeles office.”

“Cool. I’m in bed right now,” Cat raised her phone as high as she could to mask the sound of the bubbles in her hot tub. Matt Tanner, a Greek god of a Nickelodeon star, had his arm wrapped around her. He offered Cat a confused look. Tanner was dumb as a box of rocks, which made him a prime candidate for future hubby. Cat’s mother had taught her never to marry smarter.

“I know it’s late,” Michael continued. “But we would like for you to come in.”

“Excuse me?” She asked.

“Miss Alves’ orientation is about to begin.”

Cat sighed and said, “I think you have the wrong number.” She ended the call and, with a huff, lifted herself from under Tanner’s arm as she stepped out of the hot tub.

“Everything okay?” Tanner twisted around to admire her stride to the towel rack, flashing his dopey, pearlescent smile.

Cat dried herself off, then bent down to give Tanner a peck on the lips as a kind of innocent teaser to what she had in store for him next. “Everything’s fine, baby,” she said. “Just stupid business stuff.”

“I don’t think it’s stupid,” he said. “You know I considered going into business before Randy scouted me at the Foot Locker in West Covina. Have you ever wondered what fish are thinking? Because I have this idea for an app—”

Cat’s phone buzzed again. She held a finger up to silence Tanner and he obeyed like a good boy.

“I’m sorry to bother you, Miss Caldwell,” Michael said. “But I’m afraid Ms. Maxwell will not take no for an answer. That means that I cannot take no for an answer.”

“Well here it is,” Cat shot back. “No.”

There was a beat of dead air on the line before Michael spoke again. “Okay,” he said. “Bear with me just one moment.”

“Fine,” Cat huffed.

She heard a click on Michael’s end and the call faded into Fleur-de-lis’ hold music, a soft electronic beat. Cat didn’t plan to wait on hold for Michael to grab whoever the fuck Ms. Maxwell was, but the music seemed to draw her in. She stood there in her living room, rocking back and forth to the slow rhythm. There was a comforting familiarity to it.

Her breathing slowed. The world began to spin, and Cat lost her footing. She landed in the soft embrace of her plush couch. She lay motionless there as the music washed over her mind. It took everything from her, but the phone remained gripped in her hand, pressed to her ear. A small line of drool trailed down her chin, dripping on her breasts.

When the music cut out, a new voice spoke in her ear. This was a woman: strong, confident, commanding. “You will come to my office now, Cat.”

“Yes, I understand.” Cat replied with little emotion.

“You will join Samara for orientation.”

As if an instinct, Cat parroted the woman’s words. “Yes. I will join Samara for orientation.”

In the end it had been about Cat. Maybe there was some comfort in knowing that, if she could really know anything right now. She hadn’t signed a contract with Fleur-de-lis yet. It was an informal agreement, one made with a handshake buried so deep in her subconscious that she couldn’t access the memory. For the time being, Catlin Caldwell was more valuable to Elena Maxwell as a Confidential model. The corporate espionage, the questions about Samara, they were all part of an elaborate cover. She didn’t remember leaving the restaurant with Michael. She didn’t remember the tall woman with the sunglasses stopping her on the sidewalk and asking for a picture. She didn’t remember the numbing flash of the camera. She didn’t remember Michael and the tall woman discretely escorting her into the back of a limousine.

“This is an important test for you, Cat,” the woman said. “I hope to see the true depths of your devotion this evening.”

“I belong to you, Mistress.” Cat said. “Samara will know the pleasure of serving you.”

“Good girl. Now come to me.”

“Yes, Mistress Maxwell.”

Confidential wasn’t where Natalie imagined ending up when she was studying theater at the University of Chicago. As a young girl, Natalie had caught a late night showing of John Carpenter’s The Thing and fallen in love with special effects. Soon after she began experimenting with makeup, building skills that she’d take with her to college and into her early career.

Her dad’s basement was her green room. Down there she transformed her friends into gorgeous princesses and gruesome zombies. In high school she did the school play, and in college she coordinated the entire theater department’s makeup. Confidential was a dream job for many artists, but for Natalie it was a steppingstone on her way to Hollywood.

She was thankful for the work at least. Most makeup artists ended up in beauty parlors with cosmetic certificates surviving on tips. Confidential offered a more than comfortable living, and she got to travel for free. Last winter she’d had an opportunity to leave Chicago’s blustery December winds for a ten-day shoot in Turks and Caicos, and now she was in the English countryside for the fall catalog. There was more paradise in this world than Natalie had ever imagined, and all she had to do to see it all was to spend twelve hours a day with supermodels.

Sometimes it didn’t feel worth it.

On Natalie’s first day, Cat Caldwell had scanned her body up and down and scoffed.

“Cute,” she said, closing her eyes as Natalie moved in with the brush. “You want to be a model?” she asked.

“God no,” Natalie laughed. “I’d prefer to stay behind the camera.”

“I’ll bet,” Cat said, opening one eye to keep it trained on Natalie. “Listen, honey. I’ve seen girls like you come and go. It’s always the same. You think that if you can get close enough to us, something will just rub off. But this isn’t something that can be learned. Modeling is ninety-five percent genetics.”

Natalie just bit her lip and focused on her work. Though her hands were steady as she traced liner around Cat’s lips, she felt like her whole body was shaking. She’d never been so intimidated in her life.

“Instagram,” Cat continued. “You can’t do much about the face, but put those tits up on Instagram and you’ll have Sacramento’s sixth man in your DMs before you know it.”

A few shoots later, Natalie vented to her coworker about Cat’s attitude. “They could teach college courses about her ego,” she said. “Are all models this bad?”

Colleen laughed and said, “If you’re looking for people without an ego you’re in the wrong business.”

Natalie shook her head. “I don’t know how I got stuck with the worst one.”

Colleen shrugged. “At least she likes you.”

“How can you tell?” she asked.

“Honey,” Colleen smiled. “I’ve been doing Romy’s makeup for four years. Cat’s gotten six makeup artists fired since she got here. How long have you been here now?”

Natalie cocked her head curiously. “I hadn’t thought of it like that.”

But if Cat liked Natalie she had a weird way of showing it. Working with her was a special kind of stressful that even Natalie’s college experiences couldn't match. Every workday offered a new challenge to tackle. Cat had once insisted that Natalie brush out her hair and start again—thirty minutes before the start of the shoot. And multiple times she had accused Natalie of trying to torpedo her career by putting her in front of the camera looking like a clown.

Imagine Natalie’s relief when she arrived for day one at the estate to find that Cat hadn’t showed up. “What do you mean she’s not here?” she asked.

“I mean she didn’t fly in with the other girls,” the director said. “We’re scrambling to get a hold of her right now.”

“She must be on one of her ego trips,” Colleen laughed.

“When is she not?” Natalie asked.

“For now, we’re aiming for Tuesday morning as her makeup shoot date,” the director said.

That gave Natalie three days to hang around the set and explore the mansion. It was unlike any place she’d ever seen. They were shooting in an opulent Victorian estate in the south of England. Approaching from the outside, Natalie had a distinct feeling that she’d stumble into Bruce Wayne here. As long as she left the crew alone during shooting, she was free to wander its dozens of rooms. She did so aimlessly, getting to know the crew and the models a bit better as she passed the time waiting for Cat.

In the afternoon, she sat in the courtyard with Kylie Mara and swapped deep talk. Kylie considered herself a girl next door type, but her sharp curves and high cheekbones made her look to Natalie like more of an alien than a woman. Still, their conversation was engaging. Kylie was well-read and had a podcaster’s understanding of random topics like movies, politics, and conspiracies. She blew smoke rings as she mused about the function of supermodels in modern society.

Natalie had taken enough philosophy courses in college to know that Kylie was full of shit about most things, but she wasn’t a bitch about it.

“How’d you get into the business?” Kylie asked, passing the blunt back to Natalie to take a hit.

“I just want to do makeup,” Natalie said after a long drag. “I want to work on movies one day.”

“Huh,” Kylie said. “A body like yours, I would have thought–”

“Yeah,” Natalie said. “I’ve heard that one before.”

As much as she despised the thought, Natalie was built for the industry. She’d developed early and spent most of her teenage years weathering the stares of her classmates. In high school she ran from it, dressing down in long sweaters and flannels to deflect attention. But as she matured, she began developing a sense of fashion that embraced her body instead of hiding it. Natalie knew that she was hot, and she didn’t care if people took notice. She even liked it a little bit when models flashed jealousy. She liked to think that she could do their job, not because she wanted to, but because she wanted them to know how replaceable they all were.

The conversation with Kylie trailed off from there as a chill settled between them. She spent that evening in Colleen’s room, the two American friends suffering through the jet lag together.

“She’s right though,” Colleen said. “You really could be a model.”

“Whatever,” Natalie sat back against the headboard and crossed her arms. “I just don’t get why they all have to be this way. It’s like even when they’re nice, they’re judging you.”

Colleen, sitting in a chair by the window, took a swig from a bottle of whiskey. “Kylie’s not nice,” she said. “She’s crazy. Like rich crazy.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean it’s important to her brand that she’s cool and down to earth. The podcasting and guest articles, it’s all about maintaining an image. When you actually talk, she looks through you.”

“Huh,” Natalie dropped her shoulders. “I guess she’s kind of a bitch too. You know what? Fuck these bitch ass models.”

Colleen laughed, then said, “Romy and Samara. They’re good people.”

“What makes them so special?” Natalie asked, stuffing a piece of chocolate orange into her mouth.

“Because they live and breathe Confidential. All these other girls just want to be Rafaela Carvalho. They’re chasing money. But Romy and Samara have a lane and they stick to it.”

“You really like Romy,” Natalie said.

“I’d die for that girl,” Colleen smiled.

Natalie’s jet lag didn’t get better after an early morning. The next evening she tossed and turned in her own room. She sat up, checked the time on her phone. Two in the morning. She cycled through a regular routine: Facetiming her boyfriend back in Chicago, she shared her anxieties around the models and her weird interaction with Kylie. He did his best to center her, but it was obvious that Natalie’s thoughts were spiraling. She needed something else right now. Reading didn’t pull her out of her funk either, and after scrolling through Netflix she couldn’t find anything worth watching.

She knew that Colleen had had a long day with Romy on her schedule, but Natalie hoped as she pulled herself out of bed that she’d still be up. She left her bedroom and took the quick walk down the hall to Colleen’s room. The door was open, the lights were off, and the bed was empty.

Natalie scrunched her face in frustration. She was about to turn back around, go back to her bedroom and count sheep, when she heard a noise from the opposite end of the hall.

A moan. It was long and soft, and for a moment Natalie doubted her ears. Still, it drew her to the source. She tiptoed down the hall slowly, trying not to alert the source of the sound.

At the end of the hallway, Natalie found one of the bedroom doors cracked open, a sliver of light shining through. She heard another moan on the other side of the door, and this time she knew for certain that this was real. She crept closer, smiling as she imagined what could be on the other side. But when she peered through the crack between the door and its frame, she was surprised by what she found.

Romy van der Berg was a gorgeous Dutch model who had worked for Confidential almost as long as Samara Alves. The two had developed a public friendship that fans of the brand obsessed over on fashion forums and Tumblrs. Romy was the only supermodel that Samara had any interest in spending time away from work with, but a prior commitment had kept Romy away from Samara’s fateful housewarming party in Los Angeles.

Natalie held her breath as she tried to make sense of the image in front of her. Romy was naked, sitting before the vanity in her room. She appeared to be studying her reflection. And she wasn’t alone.

Samara had arrived late to the estate as well, flying in that morning just in time for the first day’s shoot. She was leaned in closely behind Romy, her hand resting just beneath Romy’s chin. She appeared to be holding Romy’s gaze on the mirror.

Another moan escaped Romy’s lips, and Natalie noticed that Samara’s hand was buried between Romy’s legs.

“Do you see?” Samara asked her.

“I see,” Romy said quietly.

“Tell me what you see.”

“I see,” Romy started before another sharp moan escaped her lips. “I see obedience.”

On the vanity between Romy and the mirror sat two scented candles. Their flames danced to the gentle flow of Romy’s soft breaths.

“You belong to Her now, don’t you?”

“Yes, Samara,” Romy said. “I submit myself to Her. I submit myself to Fleur-de-lis.”

Natalie backed quietly away from the door. She didn’t understand what she’d seen on the other side and she was prepared to turn around and never speak of it to anybody. But when she turned around, she found herself face to face with Colleen.

Natalie didn’t have time to make sense of this sight either. Her friend standing before her was stripped down to her underwear, her left bra strap dangling around her shoulder as if she hadn’t cared to fix it.

Natalie’s breathing slowed as she compiled the data in her head, but none of it added up. Colleen was doing her own math. As the two faced off silently, Colleen cocked her head to the side, looking through her friend like one of their vacant models.

Natalie opened her mouth to speak, but Colleen moved first. Her hand sweeping up in one smooth motion, Natalie was quickly looking into the eye of a camera.

A flash in the darkness. It lingered there in Natalie’s vision, paralyzing her. She was powerless. The words that she’d tried to speak caught in her throat and stayed there as the bright light faded into nothing.

When consciousness returned to Natalie, she awoke in Romy’s room. Her hands were tied down to the arm of the chair in front of the vanity. She was cold. They had stripped her naked. Her head was spinning, drool caked her chin.

The candles flickered in front of her. Natalie’s eyes rolled back as she took in a deep breath through her nose, testing her senses. The odd scent made her body feel numb. Next, she felt a tickle between her legs. When she looked down, she saw Colleen beneath the vanity, staring up at her with those eerie, empty eyes.

“Colleen,” she gasped. “What’s happening?”

“Something wonderful,” Colleen smiled.

A flash of movement in the mirror caught Natalie’s attention. It was Samara floating from the bed where Romy now lay, her body hips gyrating up and down as she muttered to herself. Natalie couldn’t see the headphones in Romy’s ears, but she could hear the words that Romy echoed from them.

“Clay to be molded…toy to be played with…tool to be used…weapon to be wielded…love to obey…exist to obey…exist to obey…exist to obey…”

Samara moved in toward the vanity, brushing her hand over Natalie’s cheek.

“I only came here for Romy,” Samara said. “But Mistress may appreciate a few more pieces for her collection.”

“Why?” Natalie snapped her head away from Samara’s hand. “What are you going to do to me?”

“I’m just going to make you like us, my dear,” Samara said. “An obedient, loyal servant to our Mistress Maxwell. I’m sure we can find something for the two of you.”

“Crazy bitch,” Natalie growled. “I thought you were supposed to be one of the nice ones.”

“Please don’t fight it, Natalie,” Colleen said. “I was scared too. But I promise the brainwashing is painless. And it feels so good when you finally obey.”

Samara admired Natalie’s youthful face before she issued her command to Colleen, “Show her.”

“Fuck!” Natalie shouted as Colleen sunk her face into her pussy, her tongue lapping at Natalie’s clitoris. She was surprised to find herself soaking wet and wanting. “How? What are you doing to me?” she cried.

“It’s already started,” Samara said. “Mistress Maxwell’s method attacks the senses on all fronts. The light subdues, the candles dull the mind, the sex makes you desire, the music rewrites your mind.”

“Music?” Natalie breathed.

Samara unspooled a pair of earbuds.

“Please,” Natalie pleaded, shaking her head as tears streaked her cheeks. She feared how good it felt to be numb, to feel the pleasure of her friend between her legs. Even without the music she was beginning to rock her hips to match Colleen’s pace “Please, I’ll go back to my room. I won’t tell anybody about this!”

“Of course you won’t,” Samara said, pushing the buds into Natalie’s ears. “You already belong to Her.”

Natalie struggled, whipping her head back and forth as the music droned, boring its way into her brain. She tried desperately to grab hold of something–anything. A belief, a memory, a feeling. She felt that it she could just hold onto one thing that was fundamental to her being that even in total surrender she could still come back. But the music was fighting her and winning. It was only a few chords on loop, a subtle synth rhythm like one might hear on call waiting with their cable provider. Its slow, droning sound echoing through her mind erased every thought as it came to her. If anything escaped its devastation, then a breath of the candle’s scent, or the ecstasy of Colleen’s tongue would wipe her mind clean, dispelling the thought and allowing the music to continue rewriting her.

Samara joined in. She placed soft kisses up Natalie’s flat stomach, rolled her tongue along her nipples. In that moment, Natalie was an empty husk of pleasure, existing only to respond to the pleasure of these two mindless slaves. Her struggles slowed, her body loosened until all she was doing was responding to them.

Natalie bit her lip as a thought slipped in, this one crafted and planted by the song: she wanted to be just like them. She wanted to be mindless and obedient and she wanted to fuck. She wanted to serve.

Her eyes rolled back as she accepted the thought, as pleasurable as anything that Colleen or Samara had done to her. But something inside of her was still fighting. A small piece of her. She blinked, and a rogue part of her mind came roaring back. It wasn’t a memory or a simple thought. It was a conviction, a piece of fundamental programming that was essential to the person Natalie would always be. She clung desperately to this rogue coding, determined to ride it into the darkness.

Studying her own face in the mirror, seeing her fading expression, Natalie replayed her conviction over and over until the music drowned it out and all that was left was Fleur-de-lis.

Fuck these bitch ass models.

#hypnokink #mind control #hypnotized #brainwashed #series: fleur-de-lis #hypno story

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libidomechanica · 10 months ago

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From room they were white: and as a bore

A limerick sequence

From room they were white: and as a bore. My wish to God I never. Not all fulfil your mother, the moon’s late minion claim. A grandsire or a grandame Natures grace.

But in the fair speak to her way: wan was the rosemary we take, and Syrinx reioyse, that vain it were a poetess was born? Eisel gainst his heart, which the sweetest thing.

They knew. Thou by praises from heaven like that cloisters of the uncertain if one lady’s side! I do not, O doe not, from loving and had an air as sent o’er.

Turned to warmth about luxury. Make me forth, that it seems he’s right time came. Thoughts dim and unhallowest help the theme of these things, all that’s in order all outwent.

Here people quiz it) to me appear. In lifting snow; time has turned the arrow strike from your wife, to your noble line, worne of Paradise, ’ which vulgar miracle.

Yours is a face pale shade to shine and yet they wonder and kiss’d the last I guess, twas I. With me. Lo! Which lays both sights cannot brag of heroic bustle. For there.

In laps of pleasant, so mild; the window and green seraglio has its smell may take. Back upon the Lee that lives only at night I feel estranger to enlarged.

And yet in her peerless mastiff bitch? Each nipples in monastic circumspection. Yet disappear; of deeper that want supply: so richly clad, and reaches high.

When that I think two people pay but at this ice. Me, thy heart was made: our times; but dear, tis but rain, and round the ox to thy hard to bee. The tiny cell is free.

Eyes, like child! Some might quite a Jupiter, they may sleep. All, men ignorance— for he is death, which me befel, even I in myself in two. To say thought displease.

Nor perch, hovering along. How cold, and grief pre-scorches rich which a state more should meet the embrace, prepar’d by the prince, debauched this sole image pass, through the best.

Red brick or two, and every youth, which, as all passions to the mirror. Shall gie thee, and the Maiden’s side,—so beautiful, a faery’s song. Here, work enough stays shut.

Come inmate the orient eyes divine: Love’s a god, or woman is so cold hill side. The bright as fine, sweet memory. Yet she an angel form’s faun to the year.

Of the hushed! Beseech your content to search out what to say, thus bold began: My lady liege, ’ said her years as the blood as Fort Knox. Boys dead? Not once beat Praise be Thine!

Infancy! The foolish wit! The proper hearts are gone. And listening head o’er each year them, no doubt extremely handsome anger with horrid sin—and what to his will?

Said Lolah interposed, and looked more strong, as several sheep down the fawn, which we cast a shade alone have talk’d a dame whom the caged bird’s feet. And find a way.

My pale forehead to Wyndermere. Have pity or sorrow and icicles. We two wives a-sunning sing. The moments! That was on their halls, and in silence prayeth she.

In on thing a handsome lies, and people of Delight, and to weare? But all the same, we readily forgive. There stands, as in their walls to shrewd turned myself more dear.

She shrunk and beauty in Loves Wars to yeild. The whole corn-field! Which physician to my though Epictetus with art I could understanding near, which t is in age.

Pale lies our think, yea ev’n of wretched if all of fire, the clock that Coleridge hath melt my heart. Falls to be overlook’d—and gave him with youngest Virgin and with you.

His goods, to say they embraces, and after would rejoice keen as grain septembering his vice—for shame! But now and icicles. ’ My beautiful exceedingly!

Thou, heavens and, maybe, love. Therefore was none, the new world went, I gave what an intellectual breeze of Time, the Eye would douse withstand. For whate’er condition.

In trine. Handsome anger, a spacious rings, and bells low, and waters are twirl’d; then I speak to her golden shrine. The cravat stain’d love and I shall strike on a summer.

To a hair of glass! That I can, i’ve done to obtain; tis they make the usual in dark days of his breast, robert Burns: can feel, by its throbbings, will soon be made.

’Er my wounds, some maids have been so quite. Own—only to stream, as the past, having fairly diddled, his pockets first her say it— our Ida has a heart: ev’n the trick.

Lonely isle of right: she was a miller with their lips. And with discontent to meet and wild, sir Leoline greete? Dreaming, opened doors to one defied, collect some days.

Whether wit was before me; Moore and wish’d to interlace. For truth extolled, and had the elevator where to call me Papa I am eighteen inches high.

Crowds, in Natures rent, with softest downy breast can give myself in scorn to be bound by something: a cleft them ken he’s to make the universe, to be mine, no voice.

The secret, fearful moan, amongst a people going away. Laid; and silently but it is the Pharos from those who live but wished his dodging his fate, loves man.

And in what had pass’d in business with the clocks in the same song of the human kind! No mortal eyes, or wait the village dog barks at thy will; and as his mother’s.

Good as an owl, not only that holds the worms, who takes the throne. ’ The forests … bring me there seem’d agitated was sure the apple and the ox to thy hand that much.

Each pearl. Who in despite the surest side; her mother’s. Till his eyes so blue— alas! The Golden nymph replied: Pluck thee fair subject Lute! White with the Southerne shepherd.

Now to the mirror, and o’er each sting us at length with a face pale shade will of one good at? Skull- things good, while the sweet love you on these walls to be rashly touch’d.

(Said Christabel: all our hero through. Then Oothoon; but Theotormon! And she in thy proud brow’s blue isles and dull. For thy heart shall awaken her knees both darling sin.

Whether gulbeyaz and her head hungry dog; or does the world! Came, shortened to two and Love! If thy mind, and then lets you so cruellest, and fades, unseen of queans; and wise.

It was strange made wretched by sometimes thought it is dark, and all that sweet it is still, and not a checked impulse of the face declivity which it came out of reach.

And as four wives a-sunning into the size of a lie. Shoulders hung: and after I stood at the porches rich which not a throne, thought, and he said; but still he grew.

They can, and betrays her blotte. Silent I hover all its sweet on a gloom profound; and pledge we ne’er shall venture to see. The canker-blooms have been a thing, all lies!

What idler thing toward America. I wish was fled! I by discourse ne’er was seen by need to feel! Who in early walk, adown a corner for a woman’s goal.

Over delicious music, and both translate it. When they are passion might feel in the least,—and yet, because he fixed thou seek it in heavens and, maybe, lover.

A tongue-tied patience. I know not how, in fearful of the truth extolled, and call him a cloak and play, the brow of earth is found its unexplored since, nor smells like through.

Above the sea. Your minds intice. To burn out both, or either side—o rather rude, than might have wished his name is Geraldine, his breast; she bowed, sheenless woman, off!

Fresh sprung from Heaven, by magic, ghostly roots and shut up from wealth goes the way she always say, spite of Andy Gump. The latest dreams attendance, like trickling tears.

Should she nothing this subject to no dispute from his own, to be a shame, the much-lamented virgin lies! So haggard and fired it into one she loathes?

Next stood a moment, and darkle. His daily chores: feeding on the moral people’s ancestors, who has sail’d where is the secret hair and the tallest chick pushed from.

Still yearns for rest; all in this woman who cherish doth mock the meaning to be very weel aff, and doth not so; of the morning. It makes a man he liked to heare.

Eye: but I want. Not a choice because it was before, but arose, and all are gone on a palfrey’s back, a weary be, as well fill up their title was a catch.

Do but gently as you are one. Than pairs of men; but made Love bleeds, and folded his life? And about these precautionary gleams. To Roland de Vaux of Tryermaine!

At first, the whole hall! Lest wanes; who were in the secret tears; beneath her comely should steer and calling of all save Dudu’s form look’d down by her silken robe of glass!

All purpose, where, and we hear aye birds, with Gelliflowres: bring Coronall: oliues bene so least for the charm. This knowing what I find it, that they came to blaw!

’Er which troubled by an eager or as a man mad all things, from a game. I noticed a strictly over utmost him so hugely stood my fame, it is the aim!

And, if thou wert not my heavenward. Of slumbered on this kind. Does not the faith so weake? The brands were too brief agony what straightwayes my life unto an end.

Because the proudest said, I look forward to any sensual Abyss, under the sedge is withered from the World of Being swept far from Head to Wyndermere.

Your orders, even my Muse and the world! Thus Bracy said: Hence, remove, Herrick, thou awakes them at the rent, and the placed my casque and great prosers, and the signs.

Made so fairily well where she such warm, and if that controller of our face lies upturned, and like to laugh and but go! Sweetest of books, her face. Danced on me?

Verse, the dead; seen the fallow air? Then what your weary be, as I think much on the more strong tongue of light—? Life be a blessing, this nightmare did see its hopes and pray.

For if I be defile. And with bloody Frenchman, oh Jack! Long since last of light—? Who vindicates a moment ere thy place, when first investigating vision.

And the boss of your young stranger, like other bereavement, and if one deep an angel mind. It comes the face has come and edifying that sings with petty cares.

Wall. Hanging so high, whatever you asked thy task, that Theotormon! What end is change my free though he tore him ashamed to head- quarters! The passed thence but sweetness tell.

Bird’s trouble wi’ the matron and no child of Chancery, that’s had enough for the pale shade of stone, to the Sun. It so befel in this away the Lion’s mane!

And all this costly. In pearl. And fondly in his defilèd bosoms there is iron in this of mind as dreams all yesterday. The Golden nymph replied at a’!

Do as your fingers reaching for that was once in a trice: but always and women bear child. They told me too, and friends: I go to warmth or a simple denial.

But, as time when all marvelling through dooms of existence rose responsive, silent still, the way to curl round-table leg my knee is pressing throng: with gown tonight?

’ Her head to be, and honey-dropping flowers of fair Geraldine! Not with women’s tears were stalk bows beneath the wise Roman, heroic, stoic to open, won’t.

More easily because good old woman. Such as are too weak for days, trying to the knight and morning, and draws the man-child is full dominion blest, and little skill.

Her breathing. Over his porch these strange whirl the way to the sigh’d, and mien excited general admiration set and some majesty, who, with mantle on the rest.

Her mither through what showe: let none stirr’d by a vision. As the bowls, and gay, and the flame usual sort. ’-These our spouseless vow to rob a living past the kind.

Troth, lady, and in the dust in at the milk-teeth of babes, and peeled bits of murdered men will waft thee from gods of a captive’s hours. When he here in her sovran shrine!

Drove sleep is pure inventions find, to disfranchise despair! I conquer Loue; that what the windowes now, than forestalled, get opposite, o thing the grove it was stranger.

Worlds to lay the Lily-white Boy is a Roarer, plunge them climb out. To guide seafaring men thinke thy blood by us, the future good Queen, with hands with thy siuer rayes!

When low hangs before him the envier? Off my phonecard I’m sorry And now so yes the music blended alters hue, and very little I lookt others here.

Young man, this, but must bear all the waves are gone! And flowers and sport around, and in popped a dwarf. And is thy verge it is a tide in it; and stately mountains grow.

Hunting larks, to where dwells, and pine! Patient and square a dead and dearest dear; but there. But draw the cost nor shall go, as harbinger on my bosom of Italy.

‘Tis all the first train going away. See. Who gazed upon grey skies changes, but therewith, like brother, nor love appeals the glow of riper days are as breeches.

And letters still reigne with the strong and joyance everything worth, which doth mock the meads full before he was not at once and sing all that is won. A phantom upon each?

Poor vaunt of lamps to aid his tooth! And ugly, well for Elisa, in health from the treasure. To burn out so, we’llsay nothing among the dormitory, the Prince.

That to answer that Peggy made access to kiss that clos’d her and answers in all that clings to all divine. Of kissing—which I can create with a bitterly.

Of fright in far apartments. So wert thou wrong that is, is; then a mile of am though your dwarf. The lamp, and kept him from the midnight pierce: ’ my wish the sorrows know?

The gardens square a dead and soon her train, the child; but here undid they dance, chatter, smile, and shelter her loveliness. It makes me in it, which your life you will!

But the roar that have borne aloft, the Mind seem reall, the silver chair. Luscious successful cry; but copying is, while thy soul its budded charms, faded the muzzle?

By dreams … scatter day! Tread lightly: what dirty springing: Today I bake. Is the supreme authority direct! I am the beginning, who much pleased with it.

By years to burn out her bosom that has a’ to borrow, and swore the lady sprang fast as every street these, and eyes to sway, you share you crazy. His hat, and me.

God, or widow, maid, alas! When your skies above; and ever take me bow, and protesting dove. Yet in the weigh’d her through doubt extremely to get from the damp air.

—And brought to mob me up with feet of better: a rib’s a thing wheel should have seen the state, which do the doors wide! Could die like spoons while she slept, or dreams all yesterday.

And do I heard them one tenant.—Just ere she can hold his oath deny, my love in woman who has sail’d? Despise the song i’ve been impossible not to farmer?

A silent, striking willow as idlers do, and I feel her grey of morning, who much a man who cherish doth young ambitious light, and said the sighs toward daybreak.

Was light, he saw ten thought t was once touched the summer gleam, though our loathing all king moved on any other; and not hear, and I the morning dream; so cold with thee!

The king infant joy! Do go, are very clerks,—those shadow of a shop called before harm to other always snow she seems rather too high and to be rashly touch’d.

Both forbear, though the earth! A foreign filth and gray, which once more with other womb to the man had found’st a brightest form an ornament, but sometimes some Eyes be blind.

Is one, he seldom I ever stole a little man. An imagination, with youth, when the eye and Time will I be, and scorn. The bricks, to let your siluer song.

He, the crafty, I am a dwarf. Danced like to the time nursing, measure to see that is things combustible to watch was the ravishing her their ways; their fate.

On speed he loathes, and wears a goodly pride; draw in’t a wound, his streamers to take his waist! ’ Ghosts, ’ replied, Between her eye discern, compare: they cheered into a rage.

Thus nothing like a chessman, the Oda, upon speculation; if in consent. A man who had made him meditation more mildly ere it like a stone bridge.

Work, yet strong, downright sobs around me here nor there flew out an unavoidable violence that heaven of gentle yet prevails. Then out of the same harpy.

For no one to crave though not to be kiss’d the whole face out showe: let dame Eliza thanke you fairly. How can the oak and for now through street, last year, and held her well!

For a hundred maids, that my name it who can blame him?—And all around the music in their arms the vigour of night, no hopefulness declare, nor perch, hovering kings.

Her Attica; or he who has sail’d? And added to Juanna by their teens; but his hospitality. As they weave the fat fed or arm that drinks another’s hall.

Bits of straw; had you but he’s grown more harm to part my plighted this first Romans chose: Fabricius from its pacifier. She that there dies and feast: such feasting down.

The dew sat chilly, but not dark. Air coin’d to climb out. Let me die where a sounded, friends in your music, our moment’s space, stood calling Theotormon’s Eagles to pray?

100

She told with you. With Heaven reflect the land is thy Bagpype broken in that happens, both good almost clergymen, or what can behold this slander soul helps soul!

101

What is about her will hint allusions will I not take care of all metals, but the apartment, on the gutter yet I may e’en gae hang. When the tomb for text.

#poetry #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Markov chains #Markov chain length: 7 #190 texts #limerick sequence

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nfliplnews · 11 months ago

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[ad_1] Dec 19, 2023, 10:17 PM ETLOS ANGELES -- Derrick Ward, a former running back and one-time member of the 2008 Super Bowl-winning New York Giants team, has been arrested in Los Angeles on suspicion of robbery.Ward, 43, was arrested Monday in the North Hollywood area, police said. He was being held Tuesday on $250,000 bail, according to a Los Angeles County Sheriff's Department inmate search website.Police didn't immediately provide details of the alleged crime, and it wasn't immediately clear whether Ward had an attorney who could speak on his behalf.A call by The Associated Press to the police department seeking information wasn't immediately returned Tuesday evening.Police told NBC News that Ward allegedly robbed five businesses, including gas stations, and that the 6-foot-tall, 230-pound ex-player didn't use a gun during the alleged crimes.Ward, who grew up in Southern California, was drafted by the New York Jets in 2004 in the seventh round but was cut without playing a regular-season game.He went on to play for the Giants from 2004 to 2008, the Tampa Bay Buccaneers in 2009 and the Houston Texans from 2010 to 2011 before retiring from the NFL in 2012.With the Giants, he was part of a fearsome trio of running backs along with Brandon Jacobs and Ahmad Bradshaw that was nicknamed "Earth, Wind and Fire."He was with the Giants when they beat Tom Brady's undefeated New England Patriots 17-14 in Super Bowl XLII in 2008. However, Ward didn't play in the game because of a broken leg.Ward's best NFL season was 2008 when he rushed for 1,025 yards on 182 carries with two touchdowns.In 2009, Ward was signed to a four-year, $17 million contract by the Buccaneers, but he was cut the next year and went to work for the Texans.During his 93-game NFL career, Ward had 2,628 rushing yards on 551 attempts and 12 touchdowns. [ad_2] Source link

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subliminalbointext · 1 year ago

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Fleur-de-lis #2: New Acquisitions

But Samara stood in her way.

“Just do something with it,” Cat said.

And as far as Cat knew, that was it. Michael took care of the bill, she got a free lunch and an hour to bitch about Samara Alves. Not a bad day, considering.

“This is Michael Ramsey.” Cat didn’t remember the name or recognize his voice. “Yeah?” She said, puncturing the conversation with an appropriate level of annoyance. “I represent Fleur-de-lis,” Michael added. “We have Miss Alves here at our Los Angeles office.” “Cool. I’m in bed right now,” Cat raised her phone as high as she could to mask the sound of the bubbles in her hot tub. Matt Tanner, a Greek god of a Nickelodeon star, had his arm wrapped around her. He offered Cat a confused look. Tanner was dumb as a box of rocks, which made him a prime candidate for future hubby. Cat’s mother had taught her never to marry smarter.

“I know it’s late,” Michael continued. “But we would like for you to come in.” “Excuse me?” She asked.

“Miss Alves’ orientation is about to begin.”

Cat sighed and said, “I think you have the wrong number.” She ended the call and, with a huff, lifted herself from under Tanner’s arm as she stepped out of the hot tub.

“Everything okay?” Tanner twisted around to admire her stride to the towel rack, flashing his dopey, pearlescent smile.

Cat’s phone buzzed again. She held a finger up to silence Tanner and he obeyed like a good boy.

“Just a moment baby,” she said, taking the call inside her house for a bit more privacy. She watched Tanner from the window as she spoke. “Listen,” she said. “I don’t know what you expect from me, but I am in the middle of something.” If by something she meant trying to fuck a rich white boy so that she could leak gossip about their relationship to the tabloids, yeah, it was something. “I’m sorry to bother you, Miss Caldwell,” Michael said. “But I’m afraid Ms. Maxwell will not take no for an answer. That means that I cannot take no for an answer.”

“Well here it is,” Cat shot back. “No.”

There was a beat of dead air on the line before Michael spoke again. “Okay,” he said. “Bear with me just one moment.”

“Fine,” Cat huffed.

When the music cut out, a new voice spoke in her ear. This was a woman: strong, confident, commanding. “You will come to my office now, Cat.”

“Yes, I understand.” Cat replied with little emotion. “You will join Samara for orientation.” As if an instinct, Cat parroted the woman’s words. “Yes. I will join Samara for orientation.”

“This is an important test for you, Cat,” the woman said. “I hope to see the true depths of your devotion this evening.”

“I belong to you, Mistress.” Cat said. “Samara will know the pleasure of serving you.”

“Good girl. Now come to me.”

“Yes, Mistress Maxwell.”

Sometimes it didn’t feel worth it.

On Natalie’s first day, Cat Caldwell had scanned her body up and down and scoffed.

“Cute,” she said, closing her eyes as Natalie moved in with the brush. “You want to be a model?” she asked.

“God no,” Natalie laughed. “I’d prefer to stay behind the camera.”

“Instagram,” Cat continued. “You can’t do much about the face, but put those tits up on Instagram and you’ll have Sacramento’s sixth man in your DMs before you know it.”

A few shoots later, Natalie vented to her coworker about Cat’s attitude. “They could teach college courses about her ego,” she said. “Are all models this bad?”

Colleen laughed and said, “If you’re looking for people without an ego you’re in the wrong business.”

Natalie shook her head. “I don’t know how I got stuck with the worst one.” Colleen shrugged. “At least she likes you.” “How can you tell?” she asked. “Honey,” Colleen smiled. “I’ve been doing Romy’s makeup for four years. Cat’s gotten six makeup artists fired since she got here. How long have you been here now?” Natalie cocked her head curiously. “I hadn’t thought of it like that.”

But if Cat liked Natalie she had a weird way of showing it. Working with her was a special kind of stressful that even Natalie’s college experiences couldn’t match. Every workday offered a new challenge to tackle. Cat had once insisted that Natalie brush out her hair and start again—thirty minutes before the start of the shoot. And multiple times she had accused Natalie of trying to torpedo her career by putting her in front of the camera looking like a clown.

Imagine Natalie’s relief when she arrived for day one at the estate to find that Cat hadn’t showed up. “What do you mean she’s not here?” she asked.

“I mean she didn’t fly in with the other girls,” the director said. “We’re scrambling to get a hold of her right now.” “She must be on one of her ego trips,” Colleen laughed. “When is she not?” Natalie asked. “For now, we’re aiming for Tuesday morning as her makeup shoot date,” the director said.

Natalie had taken enough philosophy courses in college to know that Kylie was full of shit about most things, but she wasn’t a bitch about it.

“How’d you get into the business?” Kylie asked, passing the blunt back to Natalie to take a hit.

“I just want to do makeup,” Natalie said after a long drag. “I want to work on movies one day.”

“Huh,” Kylie said. “A body like yours, I would have thought–” “Yeah,” Natalie said. “I’ve heard that one before.”

The conversation with Kylie trailed off from there as a chill settled between them. She spent that evening in Colleen’s room, the two American friends suffering through the jet lag together.

“She’s right though,” Colleen said. “You really could be a model.” “Whatever,” Natalie sat back against the headboard and crossed her arms. “I just don’t get why they all have to be this way. It’s like even when they’re nice, they’re judging you.”

Colleen, sitting in a chair by the window, took a swig from a bottle of whiskey. “Kylie’s not nice,” she said. “She’s crazy. Like rich crazy.” “What do you mean?” “I mean it’s important to her brand that she’s cool and down to earth. The podcasting and guest articles, it’s all about maintaining an image. When you actually talk, she looks through you.”

“Huh,” Natalie dropped her shoulders. “I guess she’s kind of a bitch too. You know what? Fuck these bitch ass models.” Colleen laughed, then said, “Romy and Samara. They’re good people.” “What makes them so special?” Natalie asked, stuffing a piece of chocolate orange into her mouth. “Because they live and breathe Confidential. All these other girls just want to be Rafaela Carvalho. They’re chasing money. But Romy and Samara have a lane and they stick to it.” “You really like Romy,” Natalie said. “I’d die for that girl,” Colleen smiled.

Natalie scrunched her face in frustration. She was about to turn back around, go back to her bedroom and count sheep, when she heard a noise from the opposite end of the hall.

A moan. It was long and soft, and for a moment Natalie doubted her ears. Still, it drew her to the source. She tiptoed down the hall slowly, trying not to alert the source of the sound.

Another moan escaped Romy’s lips, and Natalie noticed that Samara’s hand was buried between Romy’s legs.

“Do you see?” Samara asked her. “I see,” Romy said quietly. “Tell me what you see.” “I see,” Romy started before another sharp moan escaped her lips. “I see obedience.”

On the vanity between Romy and the mirror sat two scented candles. Their flames danced to the gentle flow of Romy’s soft breaths.

“You belong to Her now, don’t you?” “Yes, Samara,” Romy said. “I submit myself to Her. I submit myself to Fleur-de-lis.”

Natalie opened her mouth to speak, but Colleen moved first. Her hand sweeping up in one smooth motion, Natalie was quickly looking into the eye of a camera.

“Colleen,” she gasped. “What’s happening?” “Something wonderful,” Colleen smiled.