Part of Cora Fielding wished it was a gray, rainy day. She was a private investigator, and on a stakeout - you just didn’t get the right noir tone without the rain coming down in sheets. Admittedly, the clear sunny afternoon obscured vision significantly less than rain would, and made it much easier to look across the street at the mysterious private art gallery of the famous sculptor Gloria Gordon.

She had been on the job for about a week now. Missing person’s case, and one of over ten in the last few months. The most recent victim was the kid of some lady with the money to get someone besides the cops on the job, and Cora had been hired on to find the lady. At first, she hadn’t realized it was the same at all - this last hadn’t been reported on. But Cora realized that the profile matched the other victims. Young, pretty, art loving, last heard to be visiting an unspecified exhibition.

The cases were clearly connected, and a bit of a news sensation since they started. Cora was following a hunch. Looking into some records, she’d learned that this private gallery had opened shortly before the disappearances began. It was a rich people’s art gallery, the sort that only people with an invite could enter - the sort of place that nobody would notice if someone walked in and never walked out. Gloria Gordon was rich, reclusive, and “eccentric” which was what you called nutjobs and wackadoos when they had the cash to pay you to use polite words.

To be honest, she didn’t strictly have any evidence. But as much as the movies and the cops themselves try to convince you otherwise, detective work is nearly as much or more guesses and luck as it is finding clues and evidence. At least when it comes to cracking stone cold cases like these, where there was absolutely no clues or evidence left behind.

Checking her watch, she stood up and left the cafe she’d been waiting in, walking across the street. She’d come early, watching for suspicious activity, but found none of it. So there was nothing for it but to actually go inside and look. As she knocked on the door, a hand unconsciously drifted to the pistol she wore on a holster hidden beneath her coat - it had been hard getting the concealed carry permit, but worth it given how her profession often found her sticking her nose into places she wasn’t wanted.

No reply. Cora tried the doorknob… and surprisingly, found it unlocked. She opened the door, just a crack, and peeked inside. There didn’t appear to actually be anyone on the other side of the door. Maybe she’d forgotten to lock up the previous day? Well, as said before, luck was as important as deduction in this kind of case.

The private investigator quietly crept through the halls, distinctly aware that she was, technically, trespassing. But, the not technically legal stuff was why she was being paid the big bucks and why she was better at it than the cops.

The quiet, seemingly empty gallery was a bit odd - there weren’t even security cameras that she could see, or any sort of security systems at all, really. The lights were on, but nobody was home. The gallery was lined with exquisite statues. There was lifelike, then there was this - if it weren’t for the granite and marble skin tones and unnatural stillness, you could have convinced her that they were real people striking poses.

From her swift patrol of the gallery, there didn’t seem to be anything overly suspicious. Not that she’d expected much; the open gallery was pretty easy to get into and you wouldn’t leave evidence of criminal activity right in the open. No, if there was anything it’d be in the back rooms.

Unlike the front door, the door into the back half of the gallery was locked. Cora sighed softly. Time to turn trespassing into breaking and entering, it seemed. A few moments later, and after some deft work with a couple of hairpins, the door clicked and swung open to allow her inside.

The back rooms were different from the front, obviously. The reason was twofold. One was that it was as posh as any rich person’s mansion you could care to name. The front half had been sterile and clean, like most people thought of an art gallery; the only decoration had been the statues themselves. The back half, on the other, was lined with satin and velvet, looking like some kind of high-class club for the wealthy. There were comfy viewing couches, plush carpets and lounge chairs, and even a fully stocked bar.

The second reason was that the statues in the back were, one and all, the raunchiest art she’d ever seen outside of outright pornography. There was a certain level of nudity expected in sculpture, usually done tastefully. This wasn’t that. Men and women captured in the midst of intercourse, in masturbation, in climax. The lewdest and most primal expressions and postures possible on full display, presenting themselves for anyone who cared to view. Excellently built, of course, but lewd enough that Cora was stunned just by the sight.

Eventually she recovered enough to think and breathe at the same time, and stepped into the room, searching more carefully than before. However, there didn’t seem to be any side rooms or passages, no blood or drugs left where they could be found. The room was empty but for the statues.

Against her better judgement, she stopped to look one over. It was a girl, bending over with her most private parts skywards, as if encouraging a partner to begin their lovemaking. Something struck Cora about her. She reminded her of a picture she’d seen…

“Enjoying the art, little rat?”

Cora whirled around, faced with a woman in the doorway. She was stunning, with long black dreadlocks, olive skin, and a black dress that clung to every curve. “I, uh, the door was unlocked, I thought there was a break in-” she said, swearing mentally.

The woman - Gloria Gordon, Cora figured - laughed at that, a sound that sent shivers up the PI’s spine. The sculptor strode into the room, her eyes roaming over Cora’s body in appraisal. Her lips curled into a sensual smirk, as if she approved of what we saw. “No need to lie, little rat, but no harm done… I was just looking for a model for my next work of art…”

Cora blinked. “I, uh, no, thank you, I appreciate the offer…”

“No, really!” Gloria said, walking close. She tilted her sunglasses down, revealing emerald green eyes that almost seemed to glow… “I insist…” she said, looking Cora in the eyes.

“You know… I have time…” Cora said. Why not? It’d get her out of the trespassing charge, right? Right… “Do I have to go anywhere…?” Her head felt all fuzzy, but it seemed fine. All she had to do was model.

“Right here is fine.” Gloria said cheerfully. “Strip.”

The word was said simply, casually, but it rang in Cora’s head as a demand. The clothes had to go. She stripped off the brown trench coat, the simple sweatshirt beneath it, the jeans, leaving her in her navy blue lingerie, smooth and pale skin exposed. She looked to Gloria, who waved a hand vaguely for her to continue. Off went the bra, letting her D-cups hang in the breeze, followed shortly by the panties.

“What I want to capture… is a moment of passion.”

Cora blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Touch yourself. Vigorously.” Gloria looked her in the eye once more, eyes flashing dangerously.

“I will not debase-” Cora stopped mid sentence, confused. “...I mean, of course…” she said. That had been weird. All she’d been asked to do was masturbate, where was the harm?

As Cora gently slipped a finger into herself, she didn’t notice - or maybe was just too intoxicated to tell - that Gloria’s hair changed. The black dreadlocks started to move, on their own. A dim part of Cora’s mind that wasn’t wrapped up in following the woman’s command to masturbate realized that it wasn’t hair at all. It was snakes - dozens of thin black snakes, looking at her with glowing green eyes...

She felt good. She felt stupendously good, and suddenly, the part of her that recognized the potential danger she was in was smothered. Her whole body was wracked with pleasure and she’d barely started to touch herself. Cora moaned loudly as her body shuddered with pleasure. Or most of it did - her feet remained completely still.

Her legs were feeling increasingly stiff from the feet on up, but she couldn’t find it in herself to care as her fingers explored her lower lips. “Hnn… oh god…” she moaned - she was far from a stranger to pleasuring herself but somehow, this felt better than it ever had.

The paralysis crept up her legs, freezing her knees in place and creeping up her thighs. Looking down, Cora could see how her legs were changing, a grey stone color creeping up her thighs. It was hard to focus on that, though - her sopping wet pussy was far more interesting.

The stone crept up her thighs and to her hips. Cora kept working herself over without a care as her vagina froze solid, and her fingers with it. Oddly enough, she could still feel it - and it felt amazing. Even as the stone crept up her body, she shuddered and moaned with pleasure.

Gloria approached the masturbating woman, giggling to herself. “Ah… this is a better fate than you deserve, little rat… but I do love creating art, and you should be honored to become part of the collection…” she said softly, cupping the woman’s chin and looking into her eyes. They were empty, clouded by the haze of lust brought on by the petrification. It had progressed rapidly up her arm, and was now spreading from the shoulder, down to the bust and up her neck. She would be complete, soon, and she seemed to welcome it - she leant in and kissed her newest work on the lips. The woman was evidently feeling it crawling up her face - but any chance to do something like try and have a dignified expression was robbed as she came, hard.

Cora’s thoughts slowed as the stone finished her outer layer and began to penetrate her skin. But she didn’t mind. She was… oddly calm. She felt so good. She would feel good forever. She’d be a work of lewd art, frozen in perpetual climax - her thoughts froze as solid as her head as she hit her final orgasm.

----------

“What’s this one called?”

It had been a busy week for the gorgon, alias Gloria Gordon. It was about time to move again - that little rat from the other day was the first sign that she’d overstayed her welcome. She’d loaded up her main collection - the statues she was really proud of, that she’d been able to put in the physical work herself to do, and was selling off the rest to pay for her next location.

“Hm? Oh, yes, this one…” she said, turning to face the man who had spoken. He was one of the wealthier people in this city, the sort who paid to get in and paid more for the statues - he’d taken interest in one in particular. It was a statue of a rather attractive young woman masturbating herself to an intense climax - even in her frozen expression, you could see how much she was enjoying herself. It also happened to have once been a certain investigator. The gorgon hadn’t bothered to name it; she’d never learned the little rat’s name, and it wasn’t like she cared what she was called anymore. “...I call it Just Reward.” she said after a bit. After all, it was her deserved punishment for trespassing.

“How much for it?”  The wealthy patron asked.

Gloria looked over the statue, thinking. “...I’d call it’s value at about two hundred thousand. But actually… I think I’m going to keep this one.”