Satanic Mirror: Comara Thief

Synopsis

For those with ‘the gift of seeing’, the mirror takes them into a dark satanic world of pain and sex. Dianne finds she has that gift. For the background to this story read Satanic Mirror-Its Acquisition. In this episode she is caught shoplifting a vibrator and subjected to the rigorous Comaran punishment regime.

Satanic Mirror: Comara Thief

by obohobo

Warnings

Please take note!

The text in this story contains erotic material and is expressly written for adults only.

MF NC. Punishment

If you are underage or offended by such material, or if viewing this file is illegal in your locality, then leave, close or delete this file-story now.

This is a work of fiction, any resemblance to persons living, dead or otherwise is purely coincidental. The ideas and thoughts that follow are pure fantasies. In real life, at the very least they would be unpleasant and probably illegal. Fantasies are like that; daydreams where we can contemplate and imagine the sensations without suffering or inflicting the pain, despair or humiliation.

© obohobo 2012

“Thank you Dianne, take the rest of the week off, I know you’ve worked long hours for the last fortnight and you look exhausted but you’ve got the report done and the payments in well on time so you deserve the break.” Having worked 16 hours a day for nearly two weeks including the weekend, the CEO generously gave me a few hours on Thursday and all of Friday to myself. I would have welcomed a week’s vacation so the few days off weren’t that generous.

By 8 p.m. that evening I’d had a long nap, made myself a meal and drunk two large glasses of wine and felt ready for another adventure. “Where will it take me this time and how much punishment will I receive?” I wondered as I sat down and uncovered the mirror.

“We are commencing our decent to Comara Airport, please fasten your seat belts,” the stewardess announced and in the few seconds where I hovered between reality and full immersion in the scene, I guessed the mirror had accessed my mind after I’d read obohobo’s story, “Comara Prisoner”, and I foresaw my being whipped in the Arena, but it didn’t work out that way.

Phil, my partner, gave my hand a squeeze and whispered, “I hope you have the weed well hidden,” and then grinned. We were both well aware of the strict rules against bringing drugs into the country and neither of us used them so didn’t expect any problems getting through customs. Being sexually adventurous, we’d saved up for the holiday on the island known for its sexual promiscuity and hoped to see and experience some of the deviations that were illegal at home.Mid morning on the day after our arrival, we wandered hand-in-hand along the beach and promenade, taking in the sights of all the naked people and looking into the shops selling a variety of sex services, many of which would be banned in other countries. Part way along I plucked up the courage to remove my bikini top, “Be careful not to burn them so I can’t play with them later,” Phil warned with a laugh, but I’d put plenty of sun block on already. We came to a mall of open fronted shops, more like a market and I went into one that displayed outrageous sex toys for women while Phil went next door to get a pair of colourful shorts. Amongst the many items that attracted my attention, I became enamoured with a glittering stainless steel double vibrator that fitted into the vagina and anus and, according to the package, gave outstanding orgasms. It cost C$65, with the exchange rate at C$1.51 to GBP £1 at £100 it was far too expensive for me but in the crowded shop and sitting on an open counter, temptation or the magpie syndrome, overcame my wisdom and I easily slipped it in my bag under my bra without anyone noticing, or so I thought until I stepped on to the pavement outside the shop and felt a large, black arm drag me back inside. I screamed but that only served to alert the attention of other shoppers who parted to give the man room to drag me to a small room behind the counter. Curious customers stared at me through the open door and cheered when handcuffs fastened my wrists to a post behind my back and Mr. Shokomo, the shop owner, emptied the contents of my bag, including the stolen vibrator, on to a table.

Picking up and opening my passport he grinned showing his white teeth, “Good Morning, Miss Grearson,” he started amicably,“I’m sorry but your holiday here is not going to be the pleasant experience you anticipated. Actually I am not sorry, because your presence and punishment will attract more people into the shop, and is good for business. I always like to catch attractive shoplifters, thieves to give them their proper name, and we have an elaborate surveillance system that N’gono, my security guard, monitors. I presume you did not read the notice displayed by the front entrance?”

“No, I didn’t see any notice, Sir, and missed seeing the check-out too but I can pay for it now,” I suggested hopefully but doubting his acceptance. My doubts proved correct.

“No, Miss Grearson, you cannot pay after being caught. Theft is a crime and must be punished accordingly.” I had visions of a jail term and the arena and, forcing back tears, pleaded to no avail. N’gono brought the notice for me to read.THIEVES BEWARE

To combat a wave of shoplifting by tourists, the King passed a new law giving shop owners the power to arrest, detain and punish shoplifters without resorting to the courts. Offenders, regardless of nationality, will be treated as Comaran criminals, i.e. they lose all their rights as citizens, for up to twelve hours from the time of their arrest and during this period, given a mandatory public whipping at the rate of 1 stroke for every C$1 of the article(s) stolen, minimum 20 strokes, maximum 200.

“No, no, no, please, let me pay. I could never take 65 strokes of a whip.” I pleaded and begged but he smiled broadly and went on in a formal tone.

“Miss Dianne Grearson, I am arresting you for stealing an item priced at C$65 and from now until,” he looked at his watch, “until 11:42 tonight, you are my prisoner and will be treated as a criminal, which in your terms might mean slave. If you wish to protest your innocence to the court, you must say so now, then I am obliged to call the police and they will take you into custody until your court appearance and at the hearing you will have to prove that you did not steal the item. If they find you guilty, which, with the evidence we have on disc, is very likely, they will sentence you to a whipping in the arena and a custodial sentence of usually 8 months, until you are well pregnant. I advise against it. My punishment only lasts twelve hours and then you are free to continue your holiday but during the twelve hours you will be well fucked as well as whipped. I’m sure extra sex enticed you here and you’ll certainly get plenty of it today.” I cried bitterly and wondered when Phil would return and if he could do anything to help me. “Do you wish to appeal to the court?” he added.

“No, Sir, but I don’t wish for your punishment either.”

“Of course you don’t, no thief likes being caught, but we like it when we catch them. Now let’s take your shorts off and let me see what your cunt is like and if your bush is the same colour as your hair and then I must book the outdoor stage for your whipping.” He spent a few minutes on the phone and turned to the audience, “She’ll get her whipping at three o’clock outside the shop here. Bring your friends and see this girl dance as the whip curls painfully around her body sixty-five times. Meantime as a special offer to all men or women who purchase goods worth more than C$100here, we will allow them fifteen minutes to service this bitch in any way they choose. We are not allowed to charge for her services and have to do it this way in order too keep the brothel owners happy and she’ll be nice and tender for you by then.”

“No!!” I screamed, “You can’t do that to me! I’m not a whore! The whipping is enough!”

“Shut up bitch,” he slapped my face hard and went on, “We can do almost anything to a criminal that doesn’t involve hospital treatment.”

Standing naked with my wrists cuffed behind a post and with the shoppers peering through the doorway, I could do nothing to prevent them doing anything they wanted to me. Mr. Shokomo felt between my legs and fingered my cunt while N’gono clamped his hands around my tits and painfully squeezed my nipples. I yelled and pleaded but that only added to the amusement and laughter of the onlookers. “Put her over the table, N’gono, and let’s see how tight her white hole is, I doubt she’s had a black prick before and certainly not a big Comaran one and when we’ve relieved the pressure in our balls, we can put her on display until the portable stage arrives.”

My arms were released from the post and my wrists cuffed again, this time with me bent over the table and N’gono holding my outstretched arms. “Have you been fucked with a prick this size before?” Mr. Shokomo asked displaying his hardness before my eyes. Of course, I hadn’t. Phil’s wasn’t anything like the size of the black monster and I feared I’d be torn if he thrust it into me but I wasn’t. It didn’t go in easily and entry was painful but, despite my unwillingness, with all the fondling my juices were flowing, and before long he’d pushed the full length inside me and began raping me in earnest. No finesse, just long hard strokes to give him the maximum pleasure that sent a jolt of pain through my body when his prick hit my cervix. My enjoyment, my slave enjoyment, didn’t matter.

“What’s going on? Let me through! Are you okay Di?” I heard Phil’s voice above the shouts as my first rape finished.

“Help me Phil, please. They’ve arrested me and raped me and they are going to whip me.”

“I’ll get the police, and contact the embassy.”

“You’ll be well advised to leave things alone, young Sir. We’ve legitimately arrested her for thieving and legally she’s a criminal for the rest of the day. Criminals are more or less slaves here. Go on your way and come back at 3 p.m. and see her being punished. We’ll deliver her to your hotel before midnight.”

Unfortunately for him, Phil didn’t heed the advice. N’gono had taken the shop owner’s place and vigorously fucked me when Phil returned with two police officers. They spoke for a time in their native language to Mr. Shokomo and spent time looking at a computer screen, which, although I couldn’t see it, I guessed, showed my stealing the vibrator. The officers turned to Phil, “You have wasted our time and tried to pervert the course of justice. The girl is undoubtedly a thief and under our laws, is being treated like the criminal that she is. You, Sir, will now have to pay for your involvement with a few strokes of the strap across your bare arse.” Phil kicked and struggled and protested at his treatment but one of the powerfully built officers casually carried him over his shoulder and out of the shop. “When you have finished, N’gono, bring her out so she can witness the effect her thieving had on her boyfriend,” the other ordered.

N’gono dragged me outside, still naked, sperm dripping down my legs, to a picnic table where the police ordered the occupants to clear the surface and two male tourists to hold Phil bent over it with his bum in the air. They quickly pulled his shorts down and one of the officers unwrapped a wicked looking leather strap that masqueraded as a belt from around his waist and, swishing it through the air, announced Phil’s ‘crime’ and mine to the crowdand afterwards Mr. Shokomo took the opportunity to advertise my whipping and his special offer on my body. The crowd that had pressed close, were moved back to give the policeman room to swing the belt which he did so by moving back a few paces and, swinging the belt and running forward at the same time, delivered the leather in a loud impact that a few seconds later left a wide, raw welt across Phil’s white arse. Phil roared with the pain, I cried but held in N’gono’s bear hug, I was helpless. After the second lash, the men had great difficulty in holding him and the police ordered a short skirted, obese American woman to climb on the table and sit on his back. “Sometimes my extra weight comes in handy and I get a rear side view,” she joked and lifted her skirt to plant her naked bottom on against Phil’s bare back.

To me it wasn’t a joke; her weight alone would cause my boyfriend, if I still had a boyfriend after this, a good deal of pain if not serious injury. I sobbed and cried and tried to ignore the fingers that probed my cunt and concentrated on Phil, worrying how many strokes of the strap he would be given and how he would suffer afterwards. Stroke followed vicious stroke. Phil cried out but the weight on his chest reduced the volume, even so, everyone knew he suffered terribly, suffered for trying to help me. Twenty strokes later, his arse, now a huge red-raw mass, the policeman replaced the belt and said, “He will remain in criminal status until we return from walking the promenade in about fifteen minutes, if anyone wants to use his arsehole, you may do so until then.”

“Can I sit and watch?” the American woman asked. The police nodded. Before being taken back into the shop, I saw one man attempting to force his prick into Phil’s bum and the woman encouraging him but thereafter I only caught glimpses of him while Mr. Shokomo and N’gono fastened my wrists to the pole supporting an awning outside of the shop.

“Hey, Boss, why don’t we shove that vibrator she stole up inside her and use a mains power unit to keep it going. If we use a spreader bar on her ankles, customers will see it and it might be a good advert for you to sell a few,” N’gono suggested and to my disgust, his employer agreed. The heavy item, intended for use with the woman lying down, wouldn’t stay in with me standing upright their efforts to prevent me expelling it caused much hilarity from the onlookers but the owner solved the problem by using a tight pair of see-through plastic knickers to hold it in place. He set the control to random but it stayed on longer than it was off although the intensity varied. It certainly worked and I would have enjoyed it in the comfort of my own bed, but on public display for three hours, the climaxes became wearisome especially when they added a note drawing everyone’s attention to it.

More humiliation when the owner hung a notice around my neck just below my tits. Come and see this English thief whipped 65 times here at 3 p.m.

Throughout the day until we close at 8 p.m. gift vouchers will be issued to customers spending C$100 or more entitling them to spend 15 minutes using her in a way of their choosing.

I noticed the much larger lettering than the THIEVES BEWARE poster I failed to see earlier.

Phil hobbled by on his way back to the hotel and growled, “I’ll come back at three and see you get your deserts, Di, and I won’t try to stop them. You said on the plane you wanted to see someone punished, well you got your wish, you saw me get the strap and you’ll see and feel the whip.” He didn’t give me a chance to reply.

I certainly attracted the shoppers and many of them, men and women, stopped to squeeze my tits and arse until they became red and sore. The vibrator too caused much interest and when the plastic knickers became steamed up, Mr. Shokomo used scissors to cut most of the film away and only left sufficient to hold the gadget in place. The damned thing, caused me to writhe and wriggle my body, much to the delight of the customers, and made me to sweat in the humid atmosphere under the awning, covering my body with a sheen of moisture. I grew thirsty and various customers offered me drink but I was afraid to drink too much in case I needed to pee and peeing with that thing inside me, in front of the public would add to my embarrassment. My arms quickly became tired my wrists sore from the bindings but my pleas to be released were refused, “That’s all part of the punishment,” Mr. Shokomo said until a customer chipped in and speaking in broken English, suggested, “Why not you lie her on table then we stuff her mouth with cock or zwei and shut her up. Vibrator show better display?” I could have killed him because Mr. Shokomo agreed it was a good idea and set up a trestle table for me to lie on. My arms were still shackled to the post but the weight was taken off them.

“Now you suck cock good, you slave,” the man demanded and when I turned my head away, his fist grasped my left tit and twisted it. I knew I had no choice. Although I’d sucked Phil’s a few times at my own pace, this man forced his prick in and fucked me with it, each thrust hitting the back of my throat causing me to gag. From the smile on his face, I knew he enjoyed my suffering and each time he neared a climax, backed off before starting again. This way he lasted longer and my mouth and throat became very sore before he shot his sperm and held his prick just inside my mouth so it coated my tongue for me to get the full taste of it. He was only the first of many that used me in that way but the others, all Caucasian, were not so brutal.

A little after one o’clock, a man smartly dressed in well pressed white trousers and shirt came in and spoke with the owner and then introduced himself to me, “ Good afternoon Miss Grearson, I’m Michael from the British embassy.”

“Can you get me out of this?” I immediately asked but he quickly dispelled any hope I had.

“Sorry, Dianne, you committed a crime and although their punishments are brutal by our standards, all I can do is to see they conform to the laws, their laws. They’ll want to make an example of you as a deterrent to others. Think yourself lucky you didn’t steal the item a month ago before the King changed the way shoplifters were treated. If you had, you’d be in prison now and waiting to go into the arena for a far worse whipping than you’ll get today. You’d probably get an eight-month prison sentence, spend it working in a brothel and go home pregnant. They don’t treat criminals lightly here in the belief that you are unlikely to offend again and your punishment will be a deterrent to others. You came here because of the permissive sexual atmosphere and no doubt you hoped to see someone flogged, well you’ll get to experience it at first hand and others will enjoy your suffering like you would enjoy theirs.” He had no sympathy for my predicament.

Eventually, at nearly three o’clock, a platform truck with a little crane thing behind the cab, parked outside of the shop and the driver paused to comment and grin, “Still quite white but not for long and the redness won’t be sunburn,” before he went inside to talk to Mr. Shokomo. I knew then my whipping would shortly begin. In one way, knowing there wasn’t any possibility of escape, I wanted it over and done with but on the other hand, I wanted to delay it as long as possible. Mr. Shokomo took the spreader bar off, removed the vibrator and when he started on the remains of the plastic knickers I couldn’t contain the pressure within my bladder and blasted him with a forceful jet of piss. He didn’t take kindly to that or to the laughter of the crowd and retaliated with several hard slaps to my arse. I apologised hoping to save myself from further punishment but by then a few police arrived to control the crowd that had gathered and I was taken out to the truck and made to stand under the crane.

Sobbing, pleading and promising never to steal again, brought no change of heart and Mr. Shokomo fastened my ankles well apart to two eyebolts in the floor so that I faced across the truck, the driver extended the arms of the crane and lowered the hook for them to fasten my wrists to it and raise them until my feet hardly touched the platform. Now I faced the crowd with my cunt fully on display a little above their eye level but I’d long since got over the embarrassment of showing my private parts to every one. A commotion caught my attention and through my tears I saw Phil being pushed into the front row by the policeman who’d thrashed him earlier and again I wondered if we would still be together when we went home. His face showed his suffering but at the time, my own fate concerned me more. It was then I noticed he had my video camera, MY camera. Did he think I would want to relive the ordeal when I returned home or did he plan on putting it on the Internet? Probably not the latter, his video would not compete that produced by a nearby group with a larger, tripod mounted camera and a separate microphone on a pole, preparing to film me and I expected they would place my thrashing on one of the pay sites without my permission.

Mr. Shokomo, of course, had to give a little speech detailing my crime abhorring the way wealthy tourists tried to steal from poor citizens trying to earn a living and advertising his offer on my body. When he jumped to the ground, the whip master, a swarthy Comaran man dressed in black shirt and black shorts and wearing dark wrap-around glasses took his place. The crowd quietened when he took his stance near the base of the crane and cracked the long flat whip he carried but I shook with fear not knowing just how painful it would be.

Originally I’d expected him to stand behind me but with my positioning near the end of the truck, he stood sideways to me on my left side near the cab. I soon found out why; his forearm and backhanding technique ensured he could whip both sides of me without moving his feet. The first stroke crashing against my shoulders caught me by surprise because I didn’t hear it coming but I certainly felt the pain and fire when the tip curled under my armpits and almost touched my right tit. I screamed and some of the crowd cheered but others looked grim and sad. A pause of about ten seconds and then he backhanded the whip right across the top of my breasts. I yelled, screamed and writhed in my bonds and thought I’d never stand sixty-five strokes but ten seconds later the third stroke went across my back and then a backhander across the middle of my tits and catching the nipples. I prayed that I’d pass out from the horrendous pain but I didn’t and had to suffer each and every stroke as he plied the whip inexorably downwards until my front and back, from neck to knees, were raw-red and my cries reduced to hoarse groans. By the time the whip reached my thighs and several times curled inside them and caught my mound, I hardly knew what was happening until a round of applause, more I think for the whip master than for me, heralded the end, the end of my whipping but not the end of my torment and certainly not the end of the pain; I had about seven hours more of slavery and rape to endure. “Can I escape?” I wondered but with the pain, I couldn’t run even if I had somewhere to run to.

My body collapsed in a heap on the floor when my ankles and wrists were released. N’gono carried me inside. “You can have a shower and rest until four o’clock because Mr. Shokomo hasn’t booked anyone to use you before then,” he said as though he were doing me a great favour. Some favour! Half an hour to recover from my terrible ordeal; I doubted I would recover before the end of the holiday. The tepid water helped to ease the soreness but not by much and I had difficulty in walking when N’gono led me to a camp bed they’d placed in the now crowded shop. Yes, a thief increased the shop’s takings that day. I cried out when my body touched the thin mattress that covered the bed but the pain increased several times when my first customer, a heavy Greek, laid himself on top of me before publically fucking me. Fortunately he didn’t last long but spent the remainder of his time sadistically mauling and sucking my swollen tits.

When the fourth rapist used my arse I passed out but he carried on and when I came to, he was still inside me muttering in French and didn’t sound very pleased. “Tough shit,” I thought but kept quiet not wishing to antagonise him further. So it went on, rape followed rape with breaks for water or juice only when a time slot hadn’t been filled. I don’t remember too much about most of them but they were all tourists including two women who sat on my face and forced me to tongue fuck them. “At least I am spared the huge pricks of the Comarans, they won’t have bought goods from the shop,” I reasoned but Mr. Shokomo shattered my belief when at eight o’clock he closed the shop.

“All the shops along the seafront close now,” he told me, “To give the brothel area their trading time. You’ll come home with me and party until it is time to return you to your hotel.” Rightly I guessed it would be a party for him and his friends and a continuation of my torment.

Naked and sitting on the hard leather of the old car we approached the guard gate between the tourist area and the ‘natives’ and a man in military uniform checked the car and me. After questioning Mr. Shokomo he said in English, “Okay, you can go through but make sure she is back in her hotel by 11:30, we don’t want the police checking on her and us.”

Unsteadily I stepped through the doorway of a small house to be greeted by Jacna, Mr. Shokomo’s wife who took one look at me and ordered her daughter, Monka to wash and douche me. “You stink, girl,” she said in disgust, “You’re not eating with us in that state.” I’m sure her husband hadn’t intended I ate at all but it appeared that Jacna, a big breasted woman, ruled the household. Monka couldn’t have been much over sixteen but she immediately undressed, climbed into the shower with me and gently washed my sore body and talked about my life at home as though my whipping was only an incidental occurrence although she did mention that if I stole anything again, I could have my hand cut off as well. Without any embarrassment, she filled the douche several times and flushed out both my holes before drying me and taking me into their dining room. For the first time since my ordeal began I felt clean although still in much pain. The welts now showed very clearly as double red ridges encircling most of my body.

My respite proved short lived and soon after the simple meal finished, guests arrived, all male Comarans wanting to fuck a white bitch. Jacna and Monka kept out of the way after they opened the bed-settee in the lounge. The rapes began with Mr. Shokomo taking the first place and my already sore cunt cried out with the pain of his entry but soon my juices and his helped to lubricate the passage until he sent a copious amount of sperm into my womb area. His four friends took their turn and one had seconds so my vagina dripped with all the semen they had forced into it. Would any of it find a fertile egg, I wondered and prayed the pill I’d taken in the morning was effective against the abnormal amount of seed I’d received that day.

True to his word, or more probably, because of his fear of the police, at a little after 11:30 I stood outside the hotel, still naked but carrying a plastic bag with my clothes and possessions and also, a box with a parting present from Mr. Shokomo; the glittering stainless steel vibrator, the cause my suffering. I no longer wanted it. Slipping the cardkey in the door with much trepidation and fear of Phil’s rejection I pushed it open.

The mirror blackened and I returned to normality.

As usual, after wiping up the juices that covered my chair and shakily taking a large swig of wine, I reminisced over the experience and wondered why when going through so much pain in my mind, I had such strong climaxes sitting in my own room. And who was Phil? The only Philip I knew worked in Sales and had been married for twenty-five years and had grown children. Would I meet another Phil in real life in the not too distant future?

Finis