Jezz and Edge Ch. 03

By: Chrystal Wynd

words: 8100

mc mf fd ma hu

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Synopsis: Jezz- along with her sensei Edge- are recruited to investigate a talk show hostess with ominous abilities.

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Jezz and Edge 3- Tea Time with the Meta

"There is much ignorance in the world," said Edge.

The brown-haired, athletic-looking Jezz looked at the shorter, thinner Edge. Her sensei, master of Tae Kwon Heat, appeared to be perhaps eighty years old- although Jezz knew he was older- and she couldn't be sure where he was going with this. She replied cautiously. "Oh?"

"Yes," said Edge. "While watching the philosopher Kip Klinger..."

Jezz sighed. "You mean 'Crazy Kip', the tabloid talk show host?"

"While watching the philosopher Kip Klinger," continued Edge, "I observed as he espoused on the nature of different relationships."

Jezz looked at Edge. "Wasn't today's episode called, 'Keep Your Hands Off My Man, You Skank'?"

Edge nodded, pleased. "It was indeed. It is good to see you take an interest in the arts, Jezebel. There is perhaps hope for your development after all, faint though it may be."

Jezz rolled her eyes. "C'mon, Edge. I know you love your daytime talk shows, but *art*? Klinger's show is the talk show equivalent of professional wrestling."

"Explaining culture to one of your limitations is to explain color to the blind," said Edge. "Even I cannot make a diamond from mud. At any rate, the philosopher Kip Klinger did indeed engage in conversation with a number of persons in search of wisdom."

"In search of high ratings from the trailer park viewing demographics, you mean."

"And during this quest for knowledge," continued Edge, "many titles were awarded."

Jezz paused. "Titles?" she said, curious in spite of herself.

Edge nodded. "Indeed," he said. "One known as Clara awarded one known as Deana the title of 'ho'. I do not know if she was truly qualified to award titles to others, but Deana became quite animated by the honor and she gifted Clara with a title as well...the title of 'hoochie'."

"I see," said Jezz.

"Yes," said Edge, stroking his long goatee. "They were quite overwhelmed by the experience, however."

"Oh?"

"Yes," said Edge. "Quite overwhelmed. They began to do battle on the spot."

Jezz nodded wisely. "That happens sometimes when ho's and hoochies face off, sensei."

"It seemed quite fierce," said Edge. Then his face hardened. "However, the glory of their battle was dulled by ignorance."

"Ignorance, sensei?"

"Yes, ignorance!" said Edge. "Hoochie Clara attempted to strike Ho Deana with a blow she called a 'bitch slap'. However, when she struck Ho Deana, she was not properly balanced. And when Ho Deana attempted to return Hoochie Clara's blow, the angle of her arm was completely wrong, thus leaving her open to a counter-strike."

"Shocking," said Jezz.

"Indeed," said Edge. "Then Hoochie Clara stated she was going to utilize a blow called, 'cut a bitch' and Ho Deana invited the blow, stating she would counter-strike using a 'shank'."

"Wow," said Jezz, her facial expression failing to convey any sense of wonder or amazement. "Intense show today."

"Indeed," said Edge. Then he shook his head and said, "One should never talk their battle. Do or do not. Talking one's battle is the yapping of a small dog."

Jezz said, "It's a ritual called 'talking smack', sensei."

Edge said, "Why am I not surprised you are familiar with such a silly waste of pre-battle preparation?"

Jezz rolled her eyes. "It's no worse than some of the other stuff you watch, sensei. Like that talk show with the therapist guy..."

Edge said, "One assumes you mean Dr. X."

"Yeah," said Jezz. "What's his show called again? *The Casefiles of Underground Hypnotherapist Dr. X*, right?"

"Indeed," said Edge. "Dr. X is a wizened teacher seeking only to put his charges on a path to understanding."

"Try another story," said Jezz. "He puts his patients under and sends them out in public naked or knocks 'em up. You like Dr. X because he's every bit as pervy as you. And that other talk show you watch...Madman something something..."

"Maximilian Madcap."

"That's the one," said Jezz. "Mad Max."

"He is a brilliant artist."

"He's a loony."

"Perhaps you mis-spoke, Jezebel."

"Not at all, sensei. 'This week on *The Maximilian Madcap Madness Hour*...Gothic rappers who marry barnyard animals! Tune in!' Yeah, Mad Max is a gem."

"I'm sure you mis-spoke, apprentice."

"My wife is cheating on me with a carp!"

"I have no doubt you mis-speak, apprentice."

"Tune in later today to learn the dangers of boiling cabbage in a copper pot while a penguin stands on your television!"

"I am *positive* you mis-speak, apprentice. But fear not. Like Hoochie Clara and Ho Deana, you too shall now have a title."

It finally registered with Jezz- who had been warming to her topic- that Edge's voice had changed. Only slightly, but Jezz was sensitive to the slightest shift of resonance in her sensei's voice.

"You know, sensei, I think you're right," said Jezz, taking a step backward. "I mis-spoke."

"False modesty is unbecoming, Jezebel," said Edge, who appeared to be moving slowly, yet was somehow moving faster than Jezz. "You have earned your title."

"I have earned nothing, sensei," said Jezz, twisting, trying to avoid the reaching hands of Edge. "I am but a lowly student."

Edge caught the front of Jezz's top while reaching behind him and hooking a chair with his foot. In a sudden explosion of motion, he twirled and sat on the chair that was suddenly directly behind him while pulling Jezz over his lap and sliding her stretch pants past her rounded bottom and down her thighs.

Jezz's eyes widened as she suddenly realized her ass was bare and her legs were pinned by her teacher's leg. "No, sensei! I mis-spoke! I mis-spoke!"

Jezz tried to twist off Edge's lap, but her sensei pressed his fingers into a nerve cluster at the base of her neck and suddenly she had no control of her limbs.

"Your title, apprentice, shall be 'Red-Bottomed Playtoy'," said Edge.

And then Edge began spanking Jezz's bare bottom with the flat of his hand.

A spanking to one with Jezz's pain tolerance and ability to separate herself from sensation would normally be of little matter. However, a spanking from the master Edge was not a typical spanking.

Edge was short- only a few inches over five feet- and his hands were corresponding smaller as well. To Jezz, however, it seemed that Edge had gorilla-sized mitts on the ends of his arms. Every blow against her rounded cheeks radiated waves of heat and sensation throughout her midsection. He wasn't just spanking her bottom. He was using variations of secrets, drawing from his vast depths of knowledge, to work her overheated cheeks into a fiery red glow.

Jezz squirmed as much as she was able, but her master was pressing her the nerves that prevented her from using fine-tune movements. She was able to flop her arms around, but little else.

Then Edge shifted his spanking technique. It was a subtle change, unnoticeable to someone who didn't know what to look for, but Jezz recognized it.

It was a move from the hierarchy of heat, one of 32 steps. The molten spank.

Jezz was helpless to stop it. Edge's blows to her ass cheeks, while still causing a burning sensation, were now causing a different type of heat. A far more embarrassing heat.

"No, sensei!" said Jezz. "Not that! I'll be good! Honest!"

Her sensei ignored her pleas and Jezz could now feel her belly muscles twitching and jumping with each slap to her bottom. Her hips were squirming on Edge's lap and her bare, fiery ass jiggled and Edge continued an impossibly rigid spanking routine.

Sensation blossomed across her bottom and Jezz could no longer ignore the burning in her belly. Every slap from Edge's hand sent pulses through her nervous system, causing a buzzing from the tips of her fingers to the tips of her toes.

Jezz moaned. "Sensei...I'm...I'm going to..."

Edge brought his palm down against Jezz's fiery bottom one final time, then rolled her off his lap, tumbling her to the ground.

Jezz moaned again, her hand slapping between her thighs, her fingers helplessly seeking her clit. Edge's high-pitched laugh sounded.

"Mighty warrior?" said Edge. "Ha! Soft playtoy."

Jezz worked her clit desperately, legs splayed, hips bucking. Edge's high-pitched laughter sounded again. Then he turned and left the room.

Jezz hardly noticed. She was feeling the explosion of heat and pleasure in her belly.

*****

Four hours later, Jezz was still on the floor, helplessly working her clit. A molten spank left one in heated need for hours afterward, regardless of how many times one climaxed. Hips bucking, Jezz came again, her low moan echoing throughout the converted garage that served as their home.

Meanwhile, Edge sat on a chair watching a talk show. His focus on the small television was total. Then a shampoo commercial came on and Jezz spoke.

"The molten spank, sensei?" said Jezz, her voice raw. "That wasn't necessary!"

"As usual, apprentice," said Edge, "you miss the most important aspect of what occurred."

"What I miss, Master," said Jezz, "is the ability to sit in a normal fashion. But what is it I'm missing about the embarrassing spanking I received?"

"The fact that it gave me several hours of blissful peace, apprentice," said Edge. And then, as the commercial had ended, he turned back to his talk show.

Jezz opened her mouth to retort, but went silent when she realized his show was back on. One did not interrupt the master when his talk shows were on.

She moved to her feet in one motion, determined not to let Edge see how stiff she was. Or how aroused she still was. Only her extreme athleticism allowed to move as smoothly as she did. She began doing some light stretches in an effort to alleviate the muscle stiffness and to distract herself from her still ongoing personal heat.

Edge suddenly spoke. "There is someone by the front door."

"What?" said Jezz. "I'm closer to the door than you are. Nobody's knocked."

His eyes still on the television, Edge said, "I said *by* the front door, not *at* the front door. They have been there for eighty-two minutes. Or for the space of thirteen of your girl climaxes, if you prefer."

Jezz opened her mouth to retort, but realized Edge had completely re-engaged with his show. She closed her mouth, exhaled and then walked to the front door. Without preamble, she grabbed the doorknob and swung the door open.

Standing in front of the door was the nondescript man she knew only as Mr. Garage. He was dressed in his usual well-made but unremarkable suit and an unreadable expression on his unremarkable features. He appeared to be working on a bag of sunflower seeds.

"It's you," said Jezz in a flat tone. "Of course it's you. Any particular reason you're skulking around my front door instead of knocking?"

"There's an art to skulking, Legs," said Mr. Garage. "If I were truly skulking, you wouldn't have known I was here."

"Of course we knew you were here," said Jezz. "You've been standing out here for eighty-two minutes."

Edge's voice sounded from inside. "The space of thirteen female climaxes."

Mr. Garage looked at Jezz. Through clenched teeth, she said, "No idea what he's talking about. What do you want?"

"To discuss the metaphysical elements involved in adding ketchup to macaroni and cheese."

Jezz blinked. "What?"

Mr. Garage said, "I'm here about a job. Why else would I visit your lovely abode?"

Jezz gave Garage a look, then turned away and walked back inside, leaving the door open for Garage to enter. She said over her shoulder, "Keep the noise down. Edge is watching his talk shows."

Mr. Garage followed Jezz into the very garage he had used to create his working alias. He closed the door behind him and looked around until he found what he was looking for. He walked over to the empty swivel chair and sat down.

Jezz rolled her eyes. Then she walked over to the same area as Garage, but she remained standing.

Garage had what looked to be an amused expression on his impossible-to-read features. "Don't you want to sit down for our little tête-à-tête?"

"I'm fine," said Jezz, cutting a brief glare at Edge. "What do you want?"

"You're certainly in a surly mood," said Garage, "but fine. Let's cut to the chase. I want to hire you for a job."

"Shocking."

"I know," said Garage, "but you do get results sometimes, so I figured I give it a shot."

"Yeah, funny," said Jezz. "How about some details?"

"You got it, Legs," said Garage.

Jezz sighed. "Garage, I've told you before not to call me that."

Mr. Garage smiled. Then he turned to Edge and said, "Hey...is that *The Casefiles of Underground Hypnotist Dr. X?*"

A commercial had started, so Edge granted Mr. Garage an answer. "It is."

"Interesting character, that Dr. X," said Mr. Garage.

Edge nodded and said, "Indeed." He was obviously pleased with Mr. Garage recognizing greatness as personified by Dr. X, something he hadn't expected from the man who identified himself as an exterior storage space and car parking area.

"Nice guy, actually," continued Mr. Garage. "Pretty stiff and formal, but professional."

Jezz's eyes widened as Edge turned away from the television, even though there was no commercial. She had never seen that before.

Edge said, "You have met Dr. X? Personally?"

"Sure," said Mr. Garage. "I even know his real name."

Edge said, "You know the true name of Dr. X?"

"Yep," said Mr. Garage, popping a sunflower seed.

Jezz rolled her eyes and said, "Enough chat, Garage. Details."

Mr. Garage twirled around in the swivel chair once. Then he said, "All right, are you familiar with the talk show called *The Meta Power Hour*?"

"What the hell is it with talk shows today?" said Jezz. "Yeah, I've heard of it. Newer show, right? The hostess is a whack-job who thinks she's a prophet or something?"

"She thinks she's a messiah," said Garage, popping another sunflower seed. "Some sort of spiritual leader."

Jezz shrugged. "A religious nut. So?"

Garage said, "The problem is that she's very popular. Too popular. The show's only been around for a couple months, but she's gathering followers by the buttload."

Jezz said, "Who was she before she became a talk show slash messiah?"

"I'd give my favorite swivel chair to get that piece of information," said Garage. "Every time I've sent in an agent, they manage one or two reports. But as soon as they speak with the Meta, the reports stop and I get a message that they've found their calling and they're joining the Meta movement."

Jezz shook her head. "People like that don't just show up out of the blue."

"Brilliant analysis, Legs," said Garage. "She's attractive, charismatic and seemingly quite powerful. Even without knowing her name, how does someone like that stay off the radar?"

"Does she ever say anything about her past on the show?"

"No," said Garage. "Her PR people say she has no memory of anything before becoming the Meta. They claim she doesn't even remember the name she was born with. She goes by Evangelina Morningdew now."

Jezz snorted. "Sounds like they carried a big shovel to *that* press interview."

Garage popped a sunflower seed and shrugged. "It worked. Morningdew's followers are convinced she was born a week or so before the show debuted. I want to call them 'gullible', but it doesn't fit. And I know my agents didn't have strong religious leanings, but even they apparently bought into this bullshit. Therefore, survey says..."

Jezz sighed and said, "Mind-control".

"Got it in one."

"What's the plan?"

"Well, there's the catch," said Mr. Garage. "We tried to get you tickets to attend, but every seat for every show is sold out for the next six months. Working through a number of cutouts, however, we were able to present your teacher Edge as a wandering master of philosophy. You, of course, will be going with him as his humble, docile disciple. They felt it would be an excellent addition to their 'comparative philosophies' show filming this week. Because it's a sudden addition, you have to go in immediately- meaning tomorrow- to get vetted. It's just a cover story to get you into the office and next to the Meta, so you don't need to worry about appearing on television. It doesn't give you much time to prepare, though."

Jezz sighed. "All right. Let's assume it's a cult and go from there. What's the job?"

"Go in and find out what's going on. Get my agents back if you can. Try to leave something standing."

"The pay?"

Mr. Garage popped a sunflower seed, then named a figure.

Jezz said, "You'd have to pay me more than that to get me to even *watch* the show."

Without changing expression, Garage popped another sunflower seed and named another figure.

Jezz stared back politely.

Mr. Garage almost smiled. Almost. "That," he said, "and I'll introduce the old guy to Dr. X."

Jezz opened her mouth to refuse, then noticed Edge staring significantly at her still-smoldering bottom. She sighed, then took one of Garage's sunflower seeds and popped it into her mouth. "Deal."

"Sounds like a plan," said Mr. Garage, getting to his feet. He gave Jezz a nod and started toward the door. Then he stopped halfway and turned to Edge.

"By the way," said Garage, "I only counted eleven."

Without looking away from the television, Edge said, "The third and fourth ran together, as did the ninth and tenth. They were mountables."

Garage said, "You mean multiples."

Edge said, "Multiple mountains of female orgasms, yes. Once you turn on her soft body, she is impossible to turn off."

Garage maintained an unreadable expression as he exited through the door.

*****

They arrived at the Meta Power Hour offices early the following morning. They were escorted to the producer's office by a woman named Celeste, who identified herself as the producer's assistant.

"Seraphina's in a meeting right now," said Celeste, her clipped consonants giving her words rigid definition. "She'll be finished shortly. You may wait for her here. Don't touch anything."

Moments later she was gone.

"Nice lady," said Jezz. "Except for when she talks."

They sat in silence for several minutes. Then the door opened and four women entered.

The first woman in the office was the brown-haired, efficient Celeste. She was followed by what appeared to be an equally efficient blonde. Then a redheaded woman entered as well, exhibiting the same economy-of-motion movement displayed by the other two.

Then Seraphina entered.

At least Jezz assumed it was Seraphina. Well over six feet tall, with long black hair and terse body language, she had 'BOSS' written all over her, likely in several languages and probably even some local dialects. She appeared to be in her 40s and moved like a predator. Her tight leather leggings were tucked into knee-high stiletto boots. It was an intense look, but she wore it like a military uniform.

Seraphina walked behind her desk and sat down. Then she looked at Edge. "You're early," she said. "Good. I'm Seraphina. I'm the producer. My assistants here are Celeste, Jannah and Neveah."

Jezz looked over the trio. They didn't quite click their heels.

Seraphina gave Jezz a bored look. "You have a problem with my assistants, young lady?"

Jezz started, then cursed herself. She thought she had been subtle in her surveillance, but Seraphina had caught it. Jezz made a mental note to remember that the producer was far more attentive than she might seem.

"No problem at all," said Jezz. "They just seem to carry themselves in a very crisp manner."

Seraphina was silent for a moment, as if she were assessing. "Good," she said finally. "I don't have a problem with them either. But I'm glad they meet with your approval."