Pepper On The Inside

The girl's hand were behind her back, flat against the upper curve of her buttocks. Audrey traced her fingers down the lower curves, down her well-shaped near perfect legs. "Who modeled for you young lady?"

The bronze was polished a dark coppery glow. "Who made you?" She didn't recognize the style. The nude had no maker's marks, nor any indication of age. Its origins could lie from yesterday to well over a century ago. The bronze was easily the best in the collection, quite possibly the finest work of art in recent years, and she just discovered it.

"Do you know who sculpted this?"

Lewis looked over the sculpture. "Actually no I don't. It came with the collection. Brilliant work, exquisite detail, obviously the artist was a master. I put the price at $700. I would place it higher but without the artist or provenance that's about as high as I'm willing to go. 'Standing young woman, bronze, artist unknown'."

"A steal," Audrey thought avariciously.

She bought two more from the collection, both nudes of kneeling young women, and the glass sculpture. She knew exactly where to place them, the kneelers to each side of the young woman, as if paying homage to a goddess.

In his apartment, Ambrose opened his eyes and smiled. "Hook, line . . ." but the sinker would only come if Pepper saw something he could use.

*****

"Borrrring." Pepper hadn't thought over the side effects of becoming a statue. The last time, she had the distraction of her mind processing her transformation. Plus, Ambrose's puttering, she grudgingly admitted, were sometimes fun to watch. This time around, her statuefication, while still remarkable, lost much of its shock value. The awe was still present, but the fear and horror no longer factored. "I think it's because I'm doing this willingly."

Life as a bronze nude, still, created some issues. Pepper did not feel any physical or mental desire for sleep. In fact, she experienced the opposite; a craving for stimulation.

Audrey had placed Pepper on the living room table; an elaborate glass and brass atrocity, propped against the glass rock sculpture, with the two other bronze nudes, and left her there. She went to her room, came out again with an overnight bag, and left. That was two days ago.

Two days; two days of staring at the same spot day and night, never getting tired, her mind constantly active, unable to move her eyes or head, taking in as much as her sight can see, everything and nothing. "Is Ambrose seeing this? I hope it's worth it. I'm going crazy."

Audrey's apartment was impressive to put it mildly. Pepper's table was located at one end of the living room, allowing her "And Ambrose," a view of everything, excluding the bedroom and bathroom. Pepper did not consider herself a luxury maven but everything about the apartment screamed rich bitch. "A Park Avenue address. What does someone this rich need with Ambrose?"

She recognized the furniture as among the highest end imports. Expensive artwork was everywhere, "Wow! That's a Pollock!" Audrey's love for sculpture was ever present, especially bronzes.

The opposite end of the apartment was the dining room. A large part of the wall facing Pepper was taken up by a huge painting. She immediately disliked the subject, a man with reddish-gray hair and a natty Brooks Bros suit.

He was moderately handsome for someone middle-aged. The way he looked at the painter evoked a repulsive distaste in her; a kind of arrogance and contempt towards the viewer she'd seen too many times in her young life, from fratboys to occasional dates, some professors and deans, her stepmother, and even her father, often. She recognized it in Audrey as well.

"William James," Ambrose snorted contemptuously, through remote viewing. "The prick looked to have aged well, or it could be the painter's bias."

"The guy looks like a con artist," thought Pepper. "I wouldn't want to meet this guy in real life."

Below the painting was a shelf. On the shelf were various objects, artwork, figurines, what looked to be memorabilia. "Looks like a shrine," thought Pepper.

"Hmmm, a shrine to Bill?" Ambrose asked, looking through Pepper's eyes. He turned to the sketch artist to give a detailed description.

George Patel was another lucky break for Ambrose; regarded by his peers as the best police sketch artist in the state, and among the top five in the country, he was recommended to Ambrose by Pierce. He was also a mage of the White Order.

George's talent lay in drawing pictures directly from a witness' mind, exactly as envisioned. The mundanes saw him as an extraordinarily talented sketch artist. The Shadow World saw him as the next best thing to a photographer. His status as a White mage brought in extra credibility for integrity's sake.

Pepper saw and Ambrose related, "Scholar's cap, blue gold tassel, graduation pictures, family pictures, mirror: circular, brass-ringed on a stand with hinges, looks like a make-up mirror, designs etched in the metal. Manufacturer's perhaps? Looks antiquated. Round glass ball, possibly a scryer."

There were other items of art and miscellany on the shelf. Ambrose listed them all and then went back to describe each of them in detail.

"Your detail is amazing. I've interviewed murder witnesses who weren't this good, and you say you're getting this through a 'plant'?"

"Precise detailed description is a requirement in my discipline," Ambrose replied, "The nature of the spell, related to my plant, allows for extremely sharp and clear vision. It rivals the best cameras and takes everything in her line of sight."

"So what do you hope to find?"

"Something which will prove Audrey was the plagiarist and not me. Those papers were forged, either by magical or mundane means. I need a clue how she did it. Audrey's arrogant and a showoff; it was evident at the hearing. I'm casting dice to see if her flaw translates to displaying rather than concealing evidence."

"A Hail Mary," George said, sketching, "If it's some consolation, I hope you find something. I picked up some things from cops and feds, and this trouble just looks . . . off. I mean, I know you Greys tend to bend the rules often but you don't come off with a lack of integrity. This Audrey woman . . . well, I'm not the only one who feels that way. People are rooting for you; Whites, Greys, even a few Blacks, I heard."

"That's good to know, but all that support won't mean a nickel if I don't find evidence, and I see nothing in her apartment," Ambrose pointed to George's sketches, "to indicate a scrying device, except that mirror, and it looks more like a makeup mirror for actors rather than mages."

"Hmmm, yeah, it kind of seems out of place. William James didn't have any acting aspirations?"

"Not that I know of but we rarely spoke. We didn't like each other. I gave him his space, he gave me mine. Besides, we studied different disciplines. Why do you ask?"

"It's well, a cop friend, a detective, told me once sometimes, when he investigates a crime, and it seems straightforward but isn't, he looks for the outliers."

Ambrose rubbed his chin, "Yes, but the mirror could be just an artistic object he or Audrey picked up."

"It might be a lead. Look, Audrey's artistic tastes are mostly statues and figurines, paintings to a lesser extent, and look at this," George gave Ambrose a sketch, "Most of the objects are scholarly but the mirror looks out of place."

Ambrose admitted George had a point. "I would have thought of this only a few years ago, drat this senile old mind! These etchings near the bottom curve. They look familiar."

"You mentioned etchings in the description. I drew the rest from your mental image."

"Let me get my magnifying glass." Ambrose left and returned a minute later. "Always good to have a magnifying glass on hand. Can you put the sketch on the table?"

Ambrose examined the sketch. A moment later he dropped his jaw, "What the . . .?" He looked again.

"What is it?" George asked.

Ambrose leaned back, tapping his chin pensively. "I need to make a phone call."

On the phone, he spoke to Kate. "Yes, I need you to go through the Magister Codex, proscribed section. Look for this object," he described the mirror, including the runes.

"So?" George asked.

"I'm not sure. I think I know, but I'm not going to allow myself the luxury of hope. If this doesn't pan out, I don't want to be too disappointed."

An hour later, Kate called. Ambrose listened, his face brightening, his mouth curling, first into a smile, then into a ferocious, triumphant grin. "I've got her! Ha! Kate, get back here. I have some papers you need to take to Bill Pierce."

"Well?!" anxious George asked.

"I'll tell you later. I won't spoil it. It's something where it's fun to watch play out."

"But I take it you found something against her?"

"Proof I was plagiarized," Ambrose smiled, "I'm going back in to see if Audrey has anything else. If not, I'll remove the . . . monitoring device."

George did not ask anymore about the monitoring device, knowing Ambrose needed to keep secrets. He knew it was a "her" from the earlier conversation. Ambrose returned to remote viewing and George instantly knew something was wrong. Ambrose first turned pale and then beet red. "Oh dear!"

*****

Pepper lay bored against the glass rock when she heard the jangle of keys. "Finally! She's back."

Audrey walked, actually stalked imperiously, into the apartment. Her face wore a cross expression but Pepper suspected it was perpetual. A distinctive wave of dislike washed over her. "God! What a bitch!"

Her clothes were casual, suitable for traveling, and she carried more bags than before she left. "Shopping trip," Pepper thought.

Audrey picked up her Bose remote and pressed the on button. The sounds of Beethoven's third piano concerto filled the room. "Well, she has good taste in music, at least."

She put her bags on the couch and disappeared into the hallway. The sounds of the shower drifted back soon after.

Pepper's eyes took in the bags. "Clothes, expensive fashions, the best stores and boutiques, high-priced shoes, good grief! She's like my stepmother."

The shower stopped; Audrey padded into the living room, nude, drying her hair with a towel. "Wow! She really does take care of herself."

Audrey, as Pepper noted, was a classic hardbody. She took in the redhead's long legs, sculpted bubble ass, and flat belly with no small amount of envy. People complimented Pepper, often, on her looks, and she exercised regularly, with yoga included, to maintain them, but everything about Audrey told her, "This woman cranks it like an Olympian."

She was also impressive on the top end, "D-cups it looks like," with quarter-sized tits, and a slight teardrop shape. "They look natural."

Her upper chest and shoulders sported freckles but the rest of her body was pale, smooth, and lasered hairless. "She's a natural redhead, even if there's no carpet to compare to the drapes."

Audrey draped the towel over a shoulder and then stooped to pick up the packages, disappearing down the hall shortly after. When she returned, she was wearing a black sports bra and gray yoga pants, carrying a yoga mat. Pepper watched her perform several routines, again wondering about Ambrose, when the doorbell rang.

Audrey rose with a grumble, went to the door, and looked through the peep hole. "Dammit!" she opened the door and let in Horace Bentley. "What do you want Horace?"

"Just to touch base," Horace smiled. Pepper disliked Horace immediately. He was average sized, stocky, with balding white hair. He dressed like a college professor but his smug smile and demeanor reminded Pepper of a used car salesman.

"Touch base over what?" Audrey asked. "I did my part, you did yours. Ambrose Wright is removed as competition for the Academy appointment, I get his royalties and the shipping contract. We're done with each other."

"Humph! I'm not satisfied. Scuttlebutt says he's going to be expelled from the Order but I want him ground down to the dirt."

"What's your beef with Ambrose anyway?"

"He has support from certain circles within the Society, possibly hostile to my plans; he's still a threat. People are questioning the validity of the notes. How did you find he was plagiarizing? No, wait, don't tell me. I want plausible deniability if this goes south."

Audrey's face was unreadable. "She probably kills it at poker," Pepper thought.

"Worried Horace?"

"Should I be?"

"No," Audrey replied, but was there a faint flicker in her expression, or a second's hesitation in her response?

"I hope Ambrose is getting this."

Horace's stare was more intense than usual. Audrey stared back impassively. Horace's expression changed; the look of a man making a decision. "Alright," he grinned and turned to leave. He hesitated and turned back. "There is another matter."

"No Horace, there isn't," Audrey's impassive face turned to contempt.

"Reneging Audrey?" Horace smirked.

A wave of revulsion washed over Pepper. Horace's look reminded her of a college professor she'd met once ("Once!"), who'd leered at her like a piece of prime rib. "This fucker's up to something."

"I was not myself Horace," Audrey's contempt down graded to disgust, "Maybe you had something to do with it."

"Nope, I swear. It was all you, and Jack Daniels. 'We pull this off, you get to see me naked,' simple as that."

"He's lying," thought Pepper.

"He's lying. Pretty lecherous of you, Horace."

"Pretty careless of you, Audrey, but given my deeds, at what point did you believe I was morally upright."

"Lechery seems beneath you."

"Nothing is beneath me when it comes to power, and I believe agreements, verbal or otherwise, are to be honored to the letter."

Horace's smug tone and smile sent a shudder of revulsion through both women. Pepper took it in with fascination, like watching two soap opera villains. "What is she going to do?"

Audrey betrayed little emotion other than her left hand trembling and curling into a fist. "Damn! I want to kill this piece of shit but I have none of Dad's power."

Audrey's fist uncurled; her next action was performed more from anger than resignation. Her sports bra and yoga pants were on the floor in two quick moves.

"Here! Look at it!" she spat.

Horace leered at her nude body and smirked. "This man is the slimiest blob of spunk I've ever met," thought Pepper.

The display continued for several seconds. Horace's eyes leered up and down. "Mmm-hmmm, I'm not satisfied. Hold that pose."

"Fuck you! You had your look, fuck off!"

"Yeah, I got an eyeful, nevertheless, STAND STILL!"

The last word was one of power, even Pepper felt it. Audrey stood frozen, legs spread, her hands on her hips. Only her face moved, just barely, quivering with rage. "You! Bastard!"

"I never pretended otherwise, not to you, but given your actions, I'd say it's the pot calling the kettle black, wouldn't you say?"

Horace's next act combined the odd, perverted, and sensual in equal measure. He felt up Audrey; a simple act of sexual assault but effective all the same. He ran his hands over Audrey's body, as if feeling a statue.

Pepper mused on the irony, reminded of Ambrose's examination of her body shortly after the first time he made her a statue. "It was creepy then," she thought, "but not like this."

Horace fondled Audrey's melon breasts, stroking his thumbs over her tits. "Urrrrr!" Audrey growled through gritted teeth. Her wish, so bad it almost hurt, to spit in his face was frustrated by the spell. "Fuck!" she hissed.

"Very tempted," Horace replied. "I see some response in your tits, at least." His hands migrated down to her taut, quivering belly. "Your whole body is tense," he chuckled, "Really my dear, you must learn to relax."

He reached around her hips to run his hands over her ass. "Now this is as hard and well-shaped a set of glutes as I've ever felt. You do take excellent care of yourself. Now for the finale . . ."

He reached between her spread legs and brushed his fingers along her slit. "Well, well, I do believe you are actually wet. Has my little molestation actually made you aroused?"

"Fuck . . . you!"

"Oh yes, I would like, but I have someplace to be so I'll just content myself with . . ." He took two of his fingers and plunged in, stroking and massaging her clit. Audrey growled, "Motherfucker!" And other invectives.

"Tsk! Such uncommon language from a woman of your background but then, I do remember William could get a bit blue with his words." He withdrew, leaving Audrey with a dripping pussy and quaking body.

"You fucker!" she growled. "Finish it! You can't leave me like this!"

"Yes I can," he laughed. "Oh don't worry. The spell will wear off in a few. You can finish yourself, then. Think of this experience as a lesson in the dangers of making promises you're not willing to keep." Horace laughed and left the apartment, wiping his hands on his handkerchief.

Pepper had watched the episode mesmerized, repulsed, disgusted . . . and fascinated. "How would I have reacted if I were flesh?" she wondered. "Did Ambrose see?"

Ambrose did, in fact, see the episode. He related the scene to George without going into details but George had the idea. "Maybe you should disconnect temporarily until he . . . finishes."

"Yes, I should, but I need to monitor my spy, plus Horace might give up more information about his role in this affair."

Ambrose never considered himself a voyeur. Yes, he had a mischievous streak, as Pepper could testify, but intruding on intimate moments brought him discomfort. He focused through Pepper's eyes on the other objects, but Horace's molestation of Audrey dominated the view. Ambrose felt distinctly unclean. "In all the time I thought I knew Horace, I only knew him as unpleasant but proper. This . . . disgusting slug . . . I don't know at all," he told George.

Audrey stood shaking with rage and arousal, physically struggling to move her limbs. Movement came slowly; she clenched and unclenched her fists. Seconds later a stream of curses spewed from her mouth.

Pepper watched Audrey's nude, sweaty body stalk the apartment like an angry lioness cheated of her prey. Blue, wince-inducing language directed mostly at Horace, Pepper recognized a couple aimed at Ambrose, steamed up the room.

Audrey stopped, still shaking. "Fuck! I'm still horny!" She looked about. "Dildo's in the bedroom. I need a . . ." Her angry gaze fell on Pepper.

"Oh no!" Pepper thought.

"Maybe not!" Audrey stalked to the table and picked up the bronze figurine. She stroked the bronze's body, "She's smooth enough."

Audrey carried Pepper to her bedroom and lay on the bed, spreading her legs. "Oh shit! She's going to do it!"

Pepper's position did not completely afford a clear view of Audrey's pussy. Audrey held the bronze, with her thumb resting against Pepper's breasts, and her fingers at Pepper's back and buttocks. Pepper was able to see the curve of Audrey's legs and a partial view of her cunt lips. She didn't feel Audrey insert her body, just an extreme self-consciousness, distinctly different from a mere examination by slightly lecherous magician. "I can't believe this! I'm a dildo!"

Pepper's eyes absorbed the details of Audrey's leg as the redhead manipulated her back and forth. Her eyes were frozen in a slightly leftward glance, but she had occasional glimpses of Audrey's other leg.

Soft, wet flesh caressed her bronze body. Audrey's increasingly loud moans streamed through her ears, "Ohhh! Mmmm! Uuughn!"