Bimbo Daphne

“Well, that’s just great.”

Velma groaned as she found herself staring at the sleazy purple outfit. Just looking at the way it fit on the faux Velma’s body made her nauseous. It didn’t even have any sort of real bottoms. The bustier had the most pitiful excuse of a skirt that hung inches below the waistline and did nothing to hide any of her delicate assets. Even the underwear was crotchless, stripping her of any remote sense of modesty she might have hoped to retain.

The still soaking wet girl got to her feet and felt a chill run up through her body. She miserably had to admit she was still incredibly cold and likely to get sick if she didn’t get out of these freezing water logged clothes. She went over to the towel hanging behind the outfit and stripped off her top. She looked around for any cameras, assuming they were there even if she couldn’t see them. Or rather, especially since she couldn’t see them. She tried to dry off the top half of her body while trying to conceal her breasts from view. Given she had no idea where and how the hidden cameras were set up, she had to take rough guesses and the whole affair was comically awkward.

Once she felt dry enough, she undid the lacing to the tight top and just managed to get the entire thing over her head. Even unlaced, it was a war to wrestle the bustier over her rather annoyingly large boobs and she soon became frustrated and in her desperation to squeeze into it, she had to drop her towel. The mirrors of the room reflected her feminine curves in all different angles and she felt herself turning pink in embarrassment. There was no hiding herself from her captor this time. She finally wrestled the cursed thing down across her torso and felt her waist synch in almost involuntarily. She looked at herself in the mirror and blushed even deeper.

The constricting garment had given her a classic hourglass figure and made her already voluptuous chest and large curvy ass even more pronounced. From her perspective she already looked like a whore and she had only just put the top on. The bustier had no sleeves but the mannequin had long gloves of the same purple fabric that ran from just past the shoulder to the hands and Velma quickly slid them on. She felt tightness in the wrists but ignored the sensation and moved on. There were much worse aspects of the outfit for her to deal with.

Instead of the pink hosiery that Daphne liked to wear, the stockings were fishnets. Velma sighed and took off her shoes and socks, drying off her legs and glaring at the crotchless panties with murderous vitriol. She slipped the fishnets off the doll and put them on without much of an issue, rolling them up to her thick thighs, she was surprised to see they stayed in place. She really didn’t want to walk around this place in gaudy high heels but she felt she had **** in the matter. Besides, she might be able to kick them off in an emergency if she needed to run at some point.

For no other reason than to delay having to come to terms with the fire red lingerie, Velma busied herself with undoing the green scarf from the mannequin’s neck. However when she tried, she realized it was fake. Well, kind of. Behind the green fabric was a buckle and an elastic band. It was a choker disguise as a harmless scarf. She grumbled to herself even more as she put on the collar-scarf. It felt quite tight and constricting and she assumed it was meant to make her feel under the heel of the unseen master of the estate, the tormentor who was delighting in her suffering.

Velma looked around the small room and found no door. No obvious exit. She had a bad feeling, given the way the door locked behind her in the first room, that she would be permitted exit when, and only when she bit the bullet, stripped out of her wet undergarments and slid that garish humiliating red lingerie up between her legs. She wracked her brain for an answer, some sort of way to trick the door into opening. Maybe there were sensors. Maybe she could just try to strip the mannequin and see if that did anything? It sounded absolutely ridiculous in her head as she went over different solutions; they only got more and more outlandish and unlikely. No, this was the only way out.

Velma kept the dripping skirt around her waist and slid her panties to the floor. She kicked them off while trying to keep her womanhood hidden for as long as possible. She tied the towel around her waist and finally removed her skirt. Free of all the clothing she had walked onto the ground with, save her glasses of course, she grabbed the last two remaining items. A lime green garter belt for her stockings, it matched the scarf in color perfectly and the bright red panties. The lingerie was lacy and rather soft and she didn’t actually mind the feel all that much as she pulled the panties up her legs. She felt self-conscious again as they slipped between her as cheeks in places and still offered nothing to conceal her modest little brown bush. She did her best to keep the towel synched around her waist but it was a challenge. It was likewise pretty difficult for her to shimmy the garter belt up her legs and clip her stockings to it while most of what she was doing was concealed by the towel.

It was rather frustrating and she had to lift it up to expose herself to one of the mirrored walls just to make sure she had applied the garment correctly. As she judged her form in the mirror and adjusted herself accordingly, she felt the slight conflict brew within her. She was mostly pleased that she had managed to put everything on the right way, even if she had been able to see how the mannequin was done up first and used that as a guide. Still, it was horrible that she even had to wear this despicable outfit at all. And moving around the small enclosed room in these annoying high heels was quickly becoming a task that required serious concentration.

Speaking of walking, she made several circles around the room, pressing on the glass panels, expecting a seam or a doorway to finally open. She had done as she was silently told and had put on the clothing and now she at least expected to find a doorway out of here. She pushed her glasses up the brim of her nose and tried to closely examine each mirrored panel of glass for some sort of indicator of how to get out. It was as she was doing just this that she noticed her flaw, or at least one of them. Sitting on the brow of the Velma doll was Daphne’s headband, the final touch that she hadn’t really thought of since she first laid eyes on the sickening display. She quickly snatched it and put it on, it fit rather easily and she wondered whether this was in fact Daphne’s real headband or another better size for Velma’s head and hair. She quickly decided it was very far down the list of more important questions that required her attention at the moment. Velma meandered for a few more minutes before she rested her head against her own reflection in quiet defeat. It was hard to deny that she had conveniently “forgot” to untie the towel around her waist and had earnestly prayed that her captor wouldn’t notice but now it was the only thing she could think of to permit her an exit.

She looked around the room in disgust, hoping she was sneering at one of the cameras before letting the towel fall to the ground, exposing her lower half in pretty much all of its soft freckled glory to the myriad of mirrors that surrounded her. There were just a few long seconds were all she could do was stand in place, gawking at all the mirrors reflecting the image of her body in that outfit from every possible angle. She felt put on display, just like the mannequin she had pulled the clothing from. Her face was flushed a deep red as a tiny clicking noise caught her attention. One of the wall panels swung back and she was finally allowed to leave. Velma stumbled to the door, all too eager to be out of this room but the heels made walking at speed nigh impossible.

Velma managed to get to the doorway and took one last look over her shoulder at the mirror room and wasn’t sure whether she felt humiliated to be wearing this particular outfit or grateful that she didn’t wind up with one of the other more risqué black leather attires instead. Was this worse than the dental floss bikini? That thong really wouldn’t have covered any more or less then this lingerie did, although the red panties did cover more of her ass, at a steep cost mind you. Well, at least her butt looked pretty good in the mirror. Wait, what? Velma shook her head, rather astounded she could even think such a thing. Well, this wasn’t the way she would choose to build self confidence in her body in a million years but she supposed that was the tiniest plus she could come up with given the circumstances. She did have a really nice butt after all, she decided.

Outside the room, she was grateful for a mundane hallway, a straight corridor without any sort of obvious hazard. She stumbled down it, trying to increase her stride and nearly tripping over herself multiple times. She felt dizzy but she chalked that up to the terrible footwear. She wasn’t even looking where she was going, only staring down at her feet and trying to get used to the feel of the heels. That’s why when she literally walked into a set of stairs, she snapped her head up in pure shock, convinced she had walked into another trap.

No, not a trap, but an ordeal none the less. Stairs in those shoes was going to absolutely suck. And the carpeted steps were rather high, making it even more frustrating. Despite the daunting task ahead, Velma actually felt genuinely positive about such a simple mundane challenge, nothing out of the ordinary to torment her, no devices or puzzles; just a flight of stairs and extremely uncomfortable heels. Somewhere deep in the back of her mind, Velma considered taking them off. She was out of the room and she remembered questioning her ability to flee from danger in them. However, that seemed so long ago now, so irrelevant. She couldn’t just walk around the mansion in these soft pink fishnets, that just didn’t make a shred of sense. No, she had to wear these things, get used to them and overcome this test like all the ones she had surpassed already.

It had taken her a bit of time to get all the way up the thritysome stairs. She had stumbled and tripped a good deal of the way but by the time she was nearly done, she was walking with much more confidence in her stride. It did take long enough that you went and made yourself coffee in the interim and you were happy she had made solid progress by the time you came back. You enjoyed watching her walk around in the attire she had accidentally chosen for herself. You had always wondered of Velma shaved or not and the tiny little fur patch between her legs confirmed she didn’t. Like the rest of her it was both cute and sexy. Although the bustier did a fantastic job of adding another cup size to her already enormous tits, you still couldn’t wait to tear it off of her and have your way with your prey, but that would come soon enough. Right now, you just had to sit back and watch, and see just how effective your latest machination did its job. You were particularly proud of this one, she had naively allowed herself to fall right into it and soon she wouldn’t know what hit her, or even how it managed to do so.

Velma finally reached the top and opened the door to the next room, happy to be, she hoped, back on the first floor of the mansion. She peered around and found herself in a bedroom. It was very girly and Velma imagined the kind of prissy fashionable type of furnishings Daphne would have appreciated. Well, it is a very nice room, isn’t it? She reasoned with the little voice in her head. It was like Daphne was arguing a case inside her brain. She felt proud that she had such a close relationship with her friend that she could likely predict what Daphne would say and do if she were standing right here.

Velma walked over to the rather comfy looking bed and sat down on it, eager for the smallest of respites before continuing on. She was actually increasingly proud of her accomplishments with the high heels and as Velma looked across the room to a large vanity, she once again saw her own reflection. She must have gotten used to the idea of walking around with an exposed pussy as well, as the image didn’t quite bother her as much as before. The train of thought inside her head that she perceived as Daphne seemed to silently admonish her for feeling so dirty for putting such an outfit on. The more she wore it the nicer it seemed to look on her, or rather the nicer she seemed to look in it. She did have quite a lovely figure. Velma felt pretty assured that any man who happened to see her in such risqué attire would surely find her quite attractive, even sexy. There was a foreign word in Velma’s vocabulary. She guessed dressing like Daphne was making her think like Daphne. That was kind of a scary thought. Again a small nagging trail of thought reminded her she was dressed as an over sexualized interpretation of Daphne, not even the real deal would wear something this revealing. The girl had class. So why did this feel so normal? Somehow Velma felt like her friend would approve of the outfit, either way. Or at least that was what the Daphne-like presence inside her head was telling her.

Velma stopped the train of thought and blinked a few times, trying to clear her head. It felt like it was getting rather crowded in there. When she reopened her eyes and focused on her reflection, she felt a pang of shock that one of her hands had absently trailed down her front to her exposed pussy and was gently caressing it with the tips of her fingers. She drew her hand away as if she had been stung by an insect. How could she even consider doing something like that at a time by this? Not that she did something like that very often anyway. And yet for some reason it didn’t bother her as much as she thought it should. Not to mention it felt good. She just felt more relaxed, wearing this outfit, sitting on this bed, her pussy fully visible. For some reason it didn’t even bother her that much that she was likely still under heavy surveillance by her captor. She tried to **** herself to stand, to continue on. She had to keep going but she couldn’t quite find the strength. It was as if her body was a car with the keys removed. She felt powerless to improve her situation. She did the only thing that came to mind to break free of the mental lethargy. She opened her eyes wide and tried to glare into her own eyes reflected back at her form the vanity mirror.

A tiny voice inside herself tried to encourage her to snap out of it and get going, but a much louder and more reasonable-sounding voice in her head likewise told her to just relax and take things nice and slow. There was no point in blundering into another trap now was there? Velma wanted to agree with the more pleasant train of thought but somehow she felt wrong by listening to it. She tried to block out both voices and just focus on her reflection, fighting for control of her both body and mind.