Try going upstairs...

Velma decided that the other puzzle was likely also a total bust and that going back to the entrance hall was the best option. She skipped through the corridor with the riding crops, only receiving a few lashes across her ass for the trouble. They didn't seem to hurt as bad as her first time though. Velma guessed the combination of her knowing the hits were coming as well as being in a state of arousal might have made the contact with her ass a deal more tolerable. Perhaps there was some benefit to her sexual torment after all. Whatever the reason, she made it through and looked over the other doors. She was going to choose the last door on the right, closest one left of the front door, when she eyed the staircase. She wagered she would find something more substantial on the upper levels and made her way to the second floor.

Upstairs was far darker then the entrance, illuminated by a few soft glowing wall sconces. She was expecting another grand hall perhaps but instead there was just a simple corridor, devoid of furnishings with a door on either end. Directly in from of her, a spiral staircase led to the third floor.

It was a tough choice. She admitted to herself that she was pretty out of her depth, trying to anticipate the layout or the rhyme and reason of the tricks and traps was a hopeless effort. Velma decided that to at least check a room or two on each floor was a better option then going straight to the top, where more hazards certainly awaited a more reckless victim. Running headlong down the first path presented to her certainly hadn't done her any good downstairs. So, she turned right and went down the hallway at a careful walk, trying to muffle her steps as she went. The door was mundane and the knob turned without any apparent surprises and she tried to peak inside. It was dark with a single flickering candle on a table in the center of the room. Nothing to be gained without venturing deeper, she reasoned.

She quickly snuck inside and held the door as she leaned against it, allowing it to close in relative silence. Approaching the tiny flame, Velma recognized it was an oil lamp and turned it up to light the room and saw it was actually the end of a large gallery. It was an impressive space, massive, lavishly furnished and elaborate unlike the hall outside. There was a candle holder next to the lamp and she lit the three tips, at this point half expecting it to come alive and start singing and dancing.

Velma walked slowly and diligently along the large corridor like room, observing her surroundings and was stunned by the artwork covering nearly every inch of the walls. Oil paintings, portraits, sketches, fine pencil work and charcoal drawings. A multitude of art styles with only one unifying factor. They were, like the photo room, all of Velma. Accept these were no candid photos, these were elaborate art pieces that she hated to admit were starting to stir up some very confused feelings between her legs.

Each picture depicted her in some sort of sexual situation. Most were imaginative pinups of her naked body, which made her feel exposed just standing there, fully clothed, albeit with damp panties from earlier, but others were far more explicit.

There was one depicting her playing with herself, on a bed only wearing her turtle neck, naked from the waist down. Another showed her bent over and legs spread, everything on full display and Velma realized there was some sort of object penetrating her butt, a plug or something. That sounded painful but the drawn Velma seemed to enjoy it. There were more that showed her pleasuring a man's erection in various ways and she quickly dismissed those. She walked along, half appalled half mesmerized by the display. Questions flooded her mind so fast she could only ruminate on a few at a time. How much could all this have cost? There was another sketch of her moaning in bliss as she held a vibrator to her womanhood. She tried to keep moving, fighting the urge to scrutinize each piece of art until she came to a massive display about 10 feet by eight that demanded her attention.

It was an oil painting of her posing naked on a lavish sofa, looking so unlike how she felt about herself. This was her alright, the skin tone, the hair the glasses, the proportions were correct even though it was clear the artist had never seen her naked so the intimate details were slightly off. Her bush wasn't that well trimmed for example and her breasts had a bit more freckles of them. But despite the inconsequential inaccuracies, it was the face that draw Velma's gaze. The girl on the picture was inviting, confident, downright sexy and clearly unashamed of her body. This Velma wanted the onlooker to bask in her naked glory and hunger desperately for her body. The lustful yet focused expression spoke of such intoxicating desire that Velma could barely comprehend, she had never felt an sort of sexual need in her life, much less the longing this portrait depicted. For a tiny second, Velma wondered what it would be like to be her, to know she was so desirable and to revel in that feeling. Most men preferred stick figures and model types like Daphne. No one ever really made advances in the little orange nerd girl's direction. To think of being considered drop dead gorgeous or sexy was akin to a pipe dream. And here she was, the single fantasy of whoever owned this house of sexual horror. She had to admit, she was becoming quite enamored with the base concept of being a man's absolute wet dream, but not this way, not held captive in this house and subjected to torment. But under the right circumstances, she imagined how wonderful it would be to share her body with someone who truly wanted her. Well, at least she could chalk up at least one person who seemed to genuinely favor her, not exactly the comforting thought it should be.

Velma snapped out of her moment of inner reflection and reminded herself that she had a job to do and a missing friend to rescue, she had to keep moving.

She finally tore herself away from the picture and continued on. She noticed a subtle change in the art's tone after that, many now depicting various bondage motifs, including one of herself bound and gagged on a bed, looking totally helpless. Another shown her arms and legs all strapped up so she was on her elbows and knees. God, that seemed horrific to her, and painful.

She tried to press on without further distraction but another choice piece caught her eye. This one was a well done pencil sketch where she was wearing the collar and little kitten ears being lovingly caressed by a disjointed hand. The look on pencil Velma's face was of content and comfort, as if she lived for the warm touch of the unseen master. Velma pushed back troubling thoughts that such an idea sounded. . . Pleasant, relaxing even. No, she was not letting the mansion get the better of her, that happened once and would not be repeated.

Still, she couldn't stop herself from dwelling on the same reoccurring question: why her? What was it about her that had captured the invisible master of the estate's attention so completely. She wasn't ugly, at least she didn't think she was but she certainly didn't think she was the stuff vivid sex dreams were made of. Men longed for picturesque thin girls, not bookworms with normal bodies. Well, she at least had to admit she was decently gifted in the chest area, so that was something. The idea of someone **** Daphne with those kind of intentions in mind made more sense to her. Said idea was no less sick and twisted, but the motive would have been more straight forward.

'But that's not how this had played out was it?' She silently mused.

No, Velma was clearly the sole desire of Daphne's kidnapper, she was lured here by the loss of her friend and she very much doubted that whoever was behind this had bothered to change the decor just for her. While she still thought Daphne was by and large the hotter girl, she doubted there was an entire second set of furnishings packed away somewhere featuring endless sexualized Daphne artwork. The unseen owner had laid out the proverbial red carpet just for Velma.

'I doubt Daphne has her own customized leather collar with her name on it. I'm pretty sure I'm the one being fantasized about here, thank you very much.'

Again, she stopped her escalating train of thought just as it began going off the rails again. She felt her stomach twist into a knot as she realized that the voice in her head was almost proud of her status as the most desired woman in the mansion, no matter how perverse that sounded. If she ever managed to get out of this place, Velma assured herself she would dedicate far more time to working on what she considered her very low sex appeal. It sure would be nice, she thought, to be looked at like this more often, and not by rich psychotic masterminds.

Velma finally reached the end of the art exhibit and the long gallery hall, it turned sharply left and as she rounded the corner she saw another long hallway but this one was sectioned off by several barred gates. In between each segmented area, there were statues on one side of the hall way opposite large full length mirrors. Velma frowned and she approached the first gate. Of course it wouldn't lift up and she was sure this was another puzzle of some sort. She took a deep breath and fortified her resolve as she mentally prepared herself for another challenge.