Jezz and Edge Ch. 04

Almost on cue, the shadows left the changing areas and moved into the open. Kendra found herself facing four mimes. All female, all equally silent.

The battle commenced. Two mimes moved in on Kendra simultaneously, but Kendra defended successfully, driving the two mimes back and positioning herself advantageously for any follow-up from the other two. The other two mimes then stepped in and attacked, but Kendra again fended off both assaults.

It was an eerie, silent fight that soon became a battle of attrition. No more than two mimes ever attacked at once. Kendra was able to fend off the simultaneous assaults, but was unable to take the offensive herself. It was as they were trying to wear her down rather than take her down.

Finally, mentally tired and physically drained, Kendra backed into against a room divider, aware she was running on reserves at this point. And that was when the clown appeared.

She was tall and dressed head-to-toe in full clown regalia. Red body suit, big clown shoes, red wig, white face paint, even a big red clown nose. She looked like any typical clown, if clowns could be considered typical. But she emanated a sense of menace beyond that of even the mimes and Kendra knew she was the most dangerous opponent she faced.

For the first time, the mimes moved as one, forming a half-circle in front of her. Her back to the divider, Kendra looked for an opening where there was none. Then the clown was standing directly in front of her, two mimes on each side. She reached up and unbuttoned the top of her clown outfit, revealing the tops of heavy, lush breasts. Nestled in her cleavage was a gold coin hanging from a chain around the clown's neck. The coin glittered in front of Kendra's eyes and the clown's voice sounded.

*"Watch the pretty coin of gold, and you will do what you are told. You are relaxed, and now you'll find, your body and your will are mine."*

Kendra's eyes widened for a moment as she realized too late what was happening. The shadow attacks were never meant to take her down. They were meant to tire her mentally, to drain her, exhaust her mental resources, with the physical fight meant to do the same to her body without damaging her. She lacked the resources now to stop the sudden assault on her will.

She still tried to resist, to push the relentless force from her mind. But the hypno-clown was already too deep, moving past her defenses, filling Kendra's mind with her will. Kendra felt her body relaxing involuntarily, her facial expression easing, her eyes glazing.

Moments later, she felt the hands of the mimes moving over her body, sliding her clothing from her unresisting form.

*****

Greg entered the tented booth and closed the flap behind him.

The area inside was small, perhaps 10'x10'. A paint-smeared canvas tarp covered the entire floor. Two heavy wooden chairs faced each other in the center of the room. A tall painter's easel stood near the farthest chair, a blank board in place. Vivian stood by the easel, paint brush in hand, her opposite hand holding a thumb-anchored wooden paint palette. No other furniture or decorations were visible. Other than the tarp-covered floor and the wooden chairs and easel, the whole space was a consistent flat white.

Vivian van Gogh began dipping her paint brush in the various globs of paint on her wooden palette. She spoke without looking up. "Did anyone follow you to my booth, luv?"

Greg paused, unsure of her motivations. Then he shrugged. "No," he said. "But I did come with some friends. They'll be looking for me soon so we can get to our seats before the show starts."

She flicked the brush at the chair closest to Greg. "Sit down, luv," she said. "If anyone looks in, you're just a customer and I'm painting your portrait."

That made sense. Greg sat on the heavy wooden chair, his arms resting on the solid armrests. "So, Miss van Gogh, any relation to Vincent?"

"Yes, luv. Many generations ago, but he's in my tree."

Greg blinked. "Well, damn. It's hard to be a smart ass around here, isn't it? Any family secrets you'd like to share? Was he really insane?"

Vivian offered a tight smile as she mixed her colors. "You're cheeky, luv, but I'll tell you this. He wasn't mentally ill. He simply dabbled in arcane matters perhaps better left alone. Now sit still."

Greg became still. "Thank you for sharing, Miss van Gogh. Now why did you call me over?"

Vivian didn't immediately answer. Her brush began flying over the canvas board.

Greg raised his voice. "Vivian? Miss Van Gogh? May I ask why you got my attention?"

Without looking at him, she finally answered. "Before I tell you, luv, I must know something. Are you here for reasons other than entertainment?"

Her painting speed was astonishing. A picture was already forming on the canvas, a picture of Greg in the chair. The likeness was amazing, resembling a photograph more than a painting in many ways.

On unsure ground, Greg decided to stall before answering her question. "You're quite talented. Your ability to reproduce what you see is beyond compare."

Vivian didn't answer. Her brush continued flying over the canvas. The portrait was nearly complete, in fact. An exact reproduction of Greg sitting in the chair.

Alarm bells began going off in Greg's mind, although it didn't show on his face. "In fact," he said, "one might say your ability was nothing short of magical."

Vivian smiled. "I've heard that said before, luv."

"All right, Miss van Gogh," said Greg. "I know an art mage when I see one. What is it you're looking for?"

Vivian turned back to her painting, her brush again at work. "I just needed to get you into my studio, luv."

Greg felt a sudden surge of adrenaline as he realized his situation. He tried to leap to his feet, but it was too late. Iron bands appeared, clamping his forearms and ankles in place, securing him to the chair. He didn't need to look at the picture to know that the painting in front of Vivian would now show the exact same restraints in the exact same place.

"Hey!" said Greg, struggling against the bands. "You'd better let me go. My friends will be looking for me."

Vivian laughed. "I doubt that," she said. "Your mates are likely faring no better than you, luv."

Her brush went back to work on the canvas, moving with impossible speed. Rather than adding to the picture, however, her brush appeared to be erasing lines, rearranging color, creating a new vision.

Looking down, Greg suddenly realized he was now naked.

"Do your worst, art mage," he said, "but be aware that I will not be pushed, filed, stamped, indexed, briefed, debriefed and numbered. You would be best served by releasing me."

Vivian laughed, a surprisingly delightful sound. "You're cheeky, luv. Why would I let you go? I can do anything I want with you now. What if we added a bit here or there to you?"

Her brush flew over the canvas. Then she stepped back. "How about that?"

Greg looked down. His penis had lengthened by several inches. "I admit I might see an upside to this. Why don't you let me go so you can enjoy your handiwork?"

Vivian finally turned and locked eyes with him. "I plan to," she said, "but one thing you should know first."

"What's that?"

Vivian turned back to the painting. "I'm a lesbian."

Greg opened his mouth to protest, but the art mage had already painted a red ball-gag into his mouth. Now silenced, he could only watch helplessly as her paintbrush began adding long strands of thick locks to his hair. Every stroke of her paintbrush created new lengths of hair. Greg felt the unfamiliar sensations of hair growing over his bare shoulders and back, down to his hips.

"Mmmpphh! Mmmpphh!"

Vivian van Gogh flicked her paint brush at Greg, splattering his chest and belly with paint droplets. "Shush, pet. I'm not done yet."

Her paintbrush once again flew over the canvas painting. Greg's heart pounded as he felt his features becoming smoother, more feminine. He felt his chest muscles shifting, his nipples thickening as his pectorals swelled into breasts. He felt panic threaten to take hold as his waist cinched in, as his hips widened, as his bottom became more rounded. He jerked around in a futile effort to get free as he felt his legs shifting, becoming smoother, his bare feet more feminine.

"Mmmpphh! Mmmpphh!"

She flicked her paintbrush at him again. "I said shush, luv!"

For the first time she slowed down as she focused on details. He could almost feel the brush strokes as she worked on his belly button. He could feel his lips thickening into lush pillows, feel his fingers becoming slimmer, more feminine. He could only watch helplessly as she worked color onto the painting, his fingernails and toenails becoming bimbo red before his eyes. He didn't require a mirror to know his soft, full lips were every bit as red as the painting's.

Heart pounding, he looked at the painting. He was female from head to toe. Every bit of him. Except...

Vivian gave his extra-long cock a significant look. "Just one thing left, pet."

"Mmmpphh! Mmmpphh! Mmmpphh! Mmmpphh! Mmmpphh! Mmmpphh!"

Vivian laughed that laugh once more and then her brush zeroed in between the legs of the figure in the painting. Moving back and forth faster than Greg's eyes could follow.

Greg didn't look down. He didn't need to. The sudden lack of weight and substance between his thighs told him everything he needed to know. His penis was gone. He now had a vagina.

"Mmmpphh! Mmmpphh!"

Vivian gave him a disapproving look, then turned back to the painting, her brush flying over the canvas.

Greg's eyes widened as he felt his breasts swell larger.

"That's another cup size added, cutie," said the art mage. "I did warn you to shush. Now unless you fancy not seeing your toes again, I suggest you keep quiet."

Vivian took a step back from the painting and looked it over critically. Then next to the painted figure on the canvas, she painted what appeared to be a bare female bottom. On the left cheek, she painted the number '6'.

Greg didn't need a mirror to know his bottom left cheek was now decorated with a tattoo of the number six.

Vivian gave him an impish grin. "I wasn't able to push, file, stamp or index you," she said, "but I was quite able to debrief and number you. And now I'm going to brief you. You'll be adorable, luv."

Part 2

"Duck."

"But sensei..."

"I said duck. Do not make me repeat myself, apprentice."

Jezz, short for Jezebel, sighed. The brown-haired, athletic woman was in her late twenties and could name any number of food items she preferred above duck. A great number of items. But when her sensei Edge was in this mood, there was no deterring him.

"Yes, sensei," she said. "Of course we'll have duck tonight. Again."

Edge, master of Tae Kwon Heat, nodded, managing to make the motion seem regal, despite being only a couple of inches over five feet tall. Although he appeared to be around 80 years old- and Jezz knew he was much older- his hair was full and long, with a goatee that dangled several inches below his chin. He walked with the aid of a staff nearly as tall as he, although Jezz knew it to be a prop every bit as illusionary as any frailty the old man might claim.

"And rice, apprentice. Duck and rice work together in tandem, much like the jiggling cheeks of your soft bottom."

Jezz rolled her eyes. "Of course rice," she said. "Again. Who could possibly even consider duck without rice? After all, it's not a hamburger, right? A nice juicy hamburger. With french fries. And onion rings. And a soda. And-"

Edge assumed a lofty expression. "It is as the great philosopher For-Chun Koo Qi said: 'Each day, compel yourself to do something you would rather not do.' To sup on duck and rice is the path of wisdom for you, apprentice."

Jezz gave Edge a dark look. "The great philosopher For-Chun Koo Qi? Seriously? That's what you're calling the fortune cookie factory now?"

Edge walked on as if he hadn't heard.

Thirty minutes later, they were seated at a table at the Chrystal Heights House of Duck. Neither of them looked at a menu. The waitress approached.

"Good evening," she said, her Asian features courteous. "Welcome once again to the House of Duck. Would you like to try our special?"

Edge looked at the young woman suspiciously. "Does the special consist of duck and rice?"

The waitress shook her head. "No."

"Then no," said Edge. "We require two plates of duck and rice."

No stranger to this order, the waitress turned and headed for the kitchen.

Jezz stood then. "Pardon me for a moment, revered teacher," she said. Then she followed the waitress to the kitchen.

"One moment, miss," said Jezz to the waitress. "The gentleman at my table forgot a small part of the order."

Jezz spoke for a few moments, then turned and walked back to the table. When she got there, she was surprised to see someone sitting at the table with Edge.

The man was non-descript in every way. His suit was good quality, but didn't stand out in any way. He was average height, average weight, average looking. One could pass him in the street and have no recollection of having seen anyone. He blended into every background.

"Oh," said Jezz. "It's you. What do you want, Garage?"

The man Jezz knew as Mr. Garage smiled. "Good evening, Legs. What makes you think I want something?"

Jezz rolled her eyes. "I have told you repeatedly not to call me that. And of course you want something. You always want something. How did you know we were here, anyway?"

"How did I know you'd be at the same restaurant you've been at every night for the past two weeks?" said Garage. "Just took a great leap of faith, I suppose. Besides, I love this place. I come for the strudel. It's great."

Jezz sat down with a grunt. "Don't you have anything better to do?"

"Idle hands, yada yada," said Garage. "The bad guys never sleep."

Edge nodded. "This is true, apprentice. Did you not know that the busiest of persons has the largest amount of time?"

Jezz rolled her eyes again. "Ignore him," she said to Garage. "He only speaks fortune cookie these days. That's why we've had to eat here every night for the last two weeks."

Mr. Garage looked at Edge. "You follow the teachings of For-Chun Koo Qi? 'He who knows others is wise. He who knows himself is enlightened.'"

"I do indeed," said Edge, "but my apprentice is unable to appreciate such wisdom. But it is as Koo Qi says: 'He who expects no gratitude shall never be disappointed.'"

Garage nodded. "These kids today, right? Like Koo Qi said, if certainty were truth, they'd never be wrong."

Jezz gave them a flat stare. "What do you want, Garage? Let me guess. Lost agents. Mind-control. You want me to get them."

"Good work, Legs," said Garage. "I'm glad we had a chance to have this little talk."

"Funny, Garage," said Jezz dryly. "How about some details?"

"Ask and you shall receive," he said. "Are you familiar with Billy the Boulevard?"

Jezz shook her head. "No. Should I be?"

"All right, let's start a little simpler. Are you familiar with Chrystal Heights?"

"I'm losing patience, Garage, and interest as well," said Jezz. "Get to the point, please."

"Billy the Boulevard is a Chrystal Heights phenomenon," said Garage. "It's a city street several blocks long. It appears in a location and stays there for an undetermined amount of time. Then it moves and relocates to another part of the city."

Jezz blinked. "It just...relocates itself? An entire road?"

Garage nodded. "Yup. Entire boulevard, actually. It's a trans-street."

Jezz took a swallow of water. "A trans-street, you say? Please do go on."

Garage shrugged. "It used to be Annie the Avenue, but apparently it now identifies as a boulevard and goes by Billy. Still only runs north-south, though."

Jezz closed her eyes. "Garage, either tell me what's going on or go away. My preference is for you to go away."

The waitress arrived with their food. She placed a plate of duck and rice in front of Edge and another in front of Jezz. Then she placed a plate in front of Mr. Garage.

Jezz looked at Garage's plate. "What is that?"

"Strudel."

The waitress placed another dish in front of Jezz. Then she turned and walked back to the kitchen.

Edge looked at the offending dish. "Apprentice, what is that on your plate that assaults my senses like a rock disturbing the stillness of a pond?"

Jezz stabbed a fork into the plate and took a bite, her face taking on a dreamy look of pleasure. "It is chicken prepared as dictated by the great philosopher General Tso."

"I see," said Edge, his face expressionless. "And you find General Tso to be a greater source of wisdom than your instructor?"

"Nope," said Jezz, taking another bite. "Just tastier."

Jezz started sliding herself out of reach, but it was too late. Edge reached over and struck her in several places. He did not strike her with punches or kicks, however, but rather with a series of finger-pokes and light slaps in a very specifically timed sequence.

Jezz tried to move from her chair, but found herself dropping to a knee. Her heartbeat had shifted, pulsating with a slightly different cadence. The thumping was sending an electric energy throughout her body, causing her limbs to move in patterns she was unable to control.

"Sensei!" said Jezz, rising against her will to her feet. Her hips began swaying, rolling evocatively. "No, sensei! Not the dance! I'll eat the duck! I'll eat the duck!"

Garage looked at Edge. "The dance?"

Edge nodded. "Yes. The Dance of the Helpless Playtoy. It is what happens to one who better serves as a vessel of pleasure than as a mighty warrior."

Jezz clenched her teeth, but couldn't stop the erotic movements of her body. The Dance of the Helpless Playtoy was one of the 32 elements of the hierarchy of heat and she was now locked into the dance, unable to will her body to stop. Hips rolling, she felt herself kicking off her shoes, moving barefoot over the carpet.

She knew what would happen next and she tried to control her movements, to break the flow, but her arms moved straight up, removing her top and bra in one movement. Hips rolling, her bare midsection undulated as she danced topless, clad only in her stretch pants.

And the building heat in her lower belly told her that the worst was yet to come.

"One word, Garage," said Jezz, speaking through clenched teeth as she shook her shoulders side-to-side, causing her boobs to jiggle erotically. "Just one word and you will be found tomorrow with strudel stuck in places you couldn't dream of."

Absolute professionalism, superlative self-control and untold years of experience allowed Mr. Garage to maintain a completely innocent expression in the face of danger and bare boobs shaking within inches of his face.

Jezz twirled, her feet moving to unheard music, her body flowing to an unheard beat. Her nipples were hard now and she was lubricating inside her jeans. It was a hot, sensuous dance, and the longer the dance went on, the more overheated she would become. If she didn't stop soon, she'd be putting on an even more embarrassing show for the restaurant customers.

"Garage!" said Jezz. "Get on with it!"

Mr. Garage watched the topless Jezz dance for another few seconds, then shrugged. Apparently he'd done stranger things than talk to a topless martial artist doing a hoochie dance in an Asian restaurant.

"Anyway, Billy the Boulevard moves around," said Garage, resuming his presentation. "It's actually kind of a popular place. A lot of different clubs and businesses set up shop there because it's pretty much unregulated. And people like to party there for the same reason. You can do a lot of things there that you couldn't do in a more mainstream club in downtown Heights."

Jezz ran a tongue across her upper lip, then twirled. "Unregulated?"