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.

# Satanic Mirror: Its Acquisition

#

by obohobo

## Warnings

Please take note!

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

MF NC. Spanking

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 2011

The mirror

“Aaaahh! What the heck…” Startled I stepped back when a cloth covered the mirror and the images faded.

At one time I regularly visited the antique shop and chatted with the owner but hadn’t been in for six months or so and the cheval mirror now standing alongside the till, sported a clear N.F.S. card indicating it wasn’t for sale. Two elderly ladies preened themselves in front of the slightly stained glass when I entered and browsed the items on display. I heard the owner reiterate to the ladies, the mirror was for display only and not for sale, but even when they tried to insist, he obdurately refused to sell. “There’s nothing here at the moment that I cannot live without,” I thought after I’d walked around. The women left and I paused in front of the mirror to check my appearance. For a second or two I saw only the normal reflection but then the image dissolved and I found myself watching as, dressed in a maid’s uniform and standing in an old time kitchen, a buxom woman reprimanded me for being lazy. The image drew me in and I became part of the scene. I heard the woman’s words and even smelled her breath when she pushed her face close to mine. Bewildered, I found myself immersed in another era and a totally different locality. At her instruction, two other maids grabbed my arms, bent me over the hard wooden table until I felt the edge press into my thighs, and the woman raised my skirt to bare my bottom. I even felt the warmth emanating from the nearby stove on my naked flesh. At that time I couldn’t grasp what was happening and moved my head from side to side but my arms pulled forward by the maids, restricted my vision. Finally I managed to push on my elbows enough to glance over my shoulder at the woman, her arm raised ready to apply a strap to my buttocks. I heard the crack of the impact and immediately felt the pain as the stroke landed and flattened my bum cheeks. I squirmed against the table but the girls held me fast and I cried out and started to plead but then, Mr. Baines, the shop owner, quickly dropped a cloth over the glass and, hesitantly touching my bottom, I looked around to see if anyone else in the shop noticed. The three customers browsing elsewhere certainly did, and turned and looked at me. Embarrassed and blushing, I wondered if they’d seen the images too but from their lack of further reaction, I knew they hadn’t. Fortunately the pain disappeared as soon as the cloth hid the mirror.

Shaking, I turned to flee but Mr. Baines caught my arm and stopped me. “Miss Grearson, Dianne, please do not be alarmed at what you saw, it will not harm you and could give you much pleasure. Please come back after I close at five and I’ll explain about the mirror and its peculiar properties. It is very important that you come because you are one of the special ones who have the gift of seeing,” he whispered. Again he reassured me of my safety and sanity.

Returning to work after the lunch break, I couldn’t get the mirror out of my mind and for most of the afternoon I sat at my desk with wet knickers, thinking of what might have happened if I stayed and watched and puzzling how I not only saw the images but became an integral part of them as though I was there in reality. I heard and definitely felt everything thing that happened but, apart from my crying out, none of the other customers noticed anything unusual. And what did the old man mean when he said, ‘you are one of the special ones?’ And what were the peculiar properties he referred to? Why did he reassure me as to my sanity? Did I want to go back and find out? Somehow I knew I would.

“Over forty years ago now, when I was still a young lad starting in the antiques business and doing a little restoration work and French polishing on the side, I visited the house of an old spinster woman, a Miss Agnes Stanton, to repair the stains in the surface of a dressing table. The mirror stood in the corner of the room covered with a cloth but I assumed the cloth prevented the sun striking the glass and causing unwanted reflections in the room. I set to work removing the stains and repolishing the dressing table, not even thinking about the mirror. At one point my coat caught the cloth and pulled it enough to uncover part of the glass. Thinking to replace it, I looked at myself and a few seconds later, I appeared in military uniform going through a village we’d obviously just captured and dragging out a young girl from a house. My comrades and I stripped her naked and raped her using considerable force to subdue her. I couldn’t pull myself away, even when the lady returned.

“Are you seeing the images?” she asked, and before I could answer, she went on, “Yes, I can see from your trousers that you were. It must be time for me to pass the mirror on.” I looked puzzled, like you are now Dianne, “She called it a Satanic Mirror and only those with a perverse imagination will see the images. Everyone else sees the normal reflections.”

“Mr. Baines, are you suggesting…”

“Dianne, I’ve had the mirror on display for over four months and until today, no one has seen the images. From your cry I suspect you were involved in a rape or punishment scene and somehow the forces within the mirror accessed your mind, like it did mine, and the scenes it produces relate to that but it seems that only those with a sadistic or masochistic mind are able to see them, so yes, I am more than suggesting that you have a perverse imagination. With me there’s no need to get embarrassed about it, but to go on with the story. Miss Stanton said she inherited the mirror from the owner of a workhouse who had found it left in a room when the owner died. He could only see the normal reflections but for some reason, it drew her to it and when she enthused about it, he gave it or her. She emphasised that the mirror must never be sold but should be passed on to one who has the “gift of seeing’, as she put it. “I’ve had many years of pleasure from it,” she told me, “But I’m now too old for such pleasures and it is time for me to pass it on and you seem the ideal candidate.” Thus I came by it. In the intervening years I’ve raped, buggered, whipped and abused many thousands of girls and some boys from youngsters to old grannies, in all walks of life from down-and-outs to royalty, all without harming a single person. You look shocked by that.”

“I’m amazed that you remain sane and no one even suspects your other life.”

“What about you? Do your colleagues know of your dreams? Or are you, in their eyes, Miss prim and proper Miss Grearson?”

“No, I keep fantasies to myself and I doubt anyone at work suspects what goes on in my mind when I lie in bed at night. As a woman, will I be subjected to the rapes and punishments or will I be able to get my own back and flog a few men?”

“I think it depends on your mind and the thoughts the mirror gets from it.”

“When I’m whipped, and I presume I will be after the short excerpt I saw earlier, will I be physically marked by it?”

“I asked the old lady the same question and she said, no. You feel the pain though, and can see the stripes on the image woman that is you, but nothing happens to your actual body. Your bum wasn’t marked by the strap this morning was it? I expect you looked when you got back to your workplace.”

“No, it wasn’t and there wasn’t any pain either, not when I touched my bottom or when I sat on the hard toilet seat.”

“You will take the mirror? I’m not really too old for the stimulation now and get an erection fairly often, but it has become a bit ‘old hat’ and the time has come for me to give it to someone younger.”

An influence I couldn’t resist, forced me to agree, and Mr. Baines immediately said he’d put it in the van and deliver it right away.

My first experience

Mr. Baines correctly deduced my private masochistic perversions. From early childhood I’d had dreams of being a slave and when at the age of nine or ten I learned about sex, in my imagination I became a sex slave. These were further fuelled when, at the age of thirteen, I helped clear the attic of my deceased uncle and found a large quantity of adult sex novels largely focussing on male domination. These I hid in my bedroom and only disposed of them when I left home for university. Nowadays the Internet provides the material I need for my mental sexual stimulation but rely almost solely on my fingers and vibrators for the physical enjoyment. I’ve had a number of boyfriends but always felt unsatisfied after having sex with them and even the roughest didn’t go far enough to bring me to a climax and I didn’t dare go out with the real low-life men who might have used me more forcibly for fear of ruining my reputation or contracting a disease. Once I teased a boy until he spanked me, but he stopped just when I began to get aroused. I tried whipping myself with a belt and a cane and even used nettles on my cunt and nipples but again the results were unsatisfactory because there wasn’t any compulsion and I could stop at any time.

Nervously I lifted the fitted cover off the mirror and stood naked in front of it and for a short while looked at myself. I’d nothing to be ashamed of and, indeed, many times I had to fend off advances from men in the offices. I’m 27 years old, and at 5’ 5’’, of average height, have 34” C cup breasts, which stand out firmly, dark, curly, shoulder length hair, a ‘well padded bottom and nice legs although I normally wear trousers so few get to see them.

The image changed and I sat down and spread my legs and started to finger my clit. That proved unnecessary because of the very real stimulation from the scenes. Once more I felt the hard wood surface of the table against my stomach and breasts and the hands of the maids holding my arms to constrain me. Wrenching at the maids restraining hands and turning my head, I saw the woman raise the strap again and felt the impact when she brought it down with considerable force on my bum. I yelled with the pain and my arse felt as if it were on fire. “Lay it on good and hard Martha and I’ll deal with her afterwards and then we’ll send her to father. He likes to have a girl with a well warmed arse.” A well-dressed man entered the kitchen and I guessed he was one of the sons.

“She won’t sit comfortably for a good while when I’ve done with her Sir. I don’t tolerate laziness in my kitchen. Hold her tight girls, I don’t want her moving until I’ve done.” Martha forced me to open my legs wider to give the man (and others in the room) a good view of my cunt and then with a grim smile on her face, laid the strap time and time again on my tortured arse. I yelled and screamed and later was thankful that I lived in a detached cottage and, unless I had a visitor, no one would hear. Twenty times that dreadful strap landed and the pain grew until I felt I could no longer stand it, but I did, and later, when they allowed me to stand, in a mirror, I saw the red and purple blotches on my battered and bruised buttocks but I had little time to study them.

The man undid his breeches and in front of everyone, produced an enormous, fully hard prick that he forced me to kiss and then promptly and without any preparation, thrust it into my vagina. “God, you’re a tight little bitch Dianne,” he muttered as my cunt tried to open enough to accommodate him. I don’t know if I wasn’t liked in that household or if it was a normal thing to watch a girl raped in the kitchen, but the maids and houseboys gathered round and encouraged the young master to thrust harder and faster. He can’t go on much longer I hoped and prayed because I felt more pain than pleasure, but of course, this wasn’t reality, and as far as I knew, the Devil himself controlled the scene and my reactions to it. After a while the man ordered one of the maids to pull my bum cheeks apart to display my arsehole and shortly I felt his prick push against the hole and the table edge to press into my thighs, until, eventually, and with further pain, he gained entrance and proceeded to force his way in to his full depth and begin to sodomise me as hard as he could. I screamed and cried but that only served to encourage to my tormentors to add to my pain and humiliation. The continued intense pain started my arousal and I relaxed my muscles and only cried out when his loins hit my bruised buttocks. I climaxed several times before eventually he sent a copious amount of sperm into my bowels and withdrew. My orgasms from the pain confirmed my latent masochistic tendencies.

I tried to stand when the maids released me but had to hold the table for support. “Take her to father,” the young master ordered, and two footmen half carried me up two flights of stairs and, on receiving acknowledgement to their knock, we entered a large room where two middle-aged men were playing cards. “Master Michael, said to bring Dianne to you Sir, she’s just received a good dose of the strap and been fucked and buggered. He thought you might wish to indulge as well Sir,” one footman explained.

“Well I can’t see much at the moment can I?” the master answered peevishly, “Get those clothes off her and let Major Hyam and I see the whole works.” My weak struggles proved futile and the men quickly divested me of my dress and underclothes and stood me inches in front of the two men. The master squeezed my sore bum cheeks and I cried out until threatened with the riding crop, while the Major mauled my tits. “Major, would you like to take the first turn?”

“I’d be honoured Edward,” he replied and dropped his trousers to reveal a half-hard prick. “Get your lips around this because I want both your other holes as well,” he ordered. He too, sported an overly large weapon (I guessed it was a feature of the mirror) and when I hesitated because of the smell, he grabbed my hair and forced my lips to his prick. “Suck it girl, it’s only the residue from fucking the wife earlier.” I tried to ignore the stale flavour and quickly had him erect. “On the chaise-longue on your back. You two pull her legs well back so both holes are open.” The Major ordered the footmen, as if they were soldiers in his regiment. No foreplay again, just a hard thrust into my cunt and a few thrusts there before transferring to my arsehole. It went in easier this time and I tried to relax my muscles again and not to cry out, with some success and as the rape continued I became more and more aroused until I tentatively thrust back at him each time.

He shot his load in my bowels and withdrew and then offered me his messy prick. “You have to do what my wife refuses. Open up!” I did and had the revolting organ pushed fully in my mouth. Fortunately it didn’t take long to clean it but I could taste the spermy-shitty mess.

Meanwhile the master had removed his trousers and his prick stood out firmly and as soon as my cunt became clear, he plunged it in and fucked me hard and fast. Having it in my cunt wasn’t nearly as painful as in the arse and I immediately began to fuck back at him and he signalled for the footmen to release my feet and I wrapped them around his back. He came relatively quickly and again, I had to perform the cleaning job.

“Take her away,” he ordered the footmen, “But keep her available because we may want her again when we’ve recovered.”

The image faded and I saw my normal reflection. I covered the mirror and exhausted and drained, I took a shower and went to bed to review the experience. Yes, the pain of the thrashing almost overwhelmed me and I wondered how near to a real life experience it was and how I would react if I’d really been whipped and raped. At the time, it certainly felt real enough. I’ve never been fucked in the arse but the pain and the way their pricks made my sphincter open, felt all too true. I knew from the mess on the chair I’d orgasmed several times and I felt very satisfied in that respect. I had two problems to overcome; how to stop in the middle of a scene if a visitor came and how to prevent my screams causing attention. I decided to ask Mr. Baines. That night I slept like a log and woke refreshed and almost eager to go to work.

Advice

“Thank you for seeing me Mr. Baines…”

“Ben, please. I think we can use first names now. I presume you played last night.”

“Oh yes and what an experience it was.”

“You enjoyed it?”

“Yes and no.” I went on to explain in outline what happened and the problems.

“I had the mirror in the cellar here that I so the noise wasn’t a problem. Your cottage won’t have one so you may have to soundproof your bedroom as much as possible. If you look on the Internet I think you’ll find fabrics that deaden sound and you could cover the walls with them and still not make it look unusual. You’ve double-glazing so that will stop a lot of sound and heavy curtains will help too. As to stopping in mid-scene, you can’t. But surprisingly the longest scene lasts only about twenty minutes and then the mirror goes black for about an hour, presumably to give the viewer a little time to recover, so you’ll have to make sure the doors are locked and pretend you didn’t hear the doorbell or whatever excuses you can think of. I only stopped it yesterday by covering the mirror and I’ve had to be very careful since I’ve had it on display, not to look directly at it and I’ve kept it covered when there’s no customers in the shop.”

“Is it always a mystery what scene is going to play?”

“More or less. Sometimes when I’ve thought about a particular scenario for a while, a form of it comes up but otherwise it can be anything. In a way that adds to the excitement.”

“How different is reality from the scenes? Have you ever been able to dominate a woman in the way of the mirror?”

“No… but I wouldn’t mind trying it with you if that is what you’re trying to find out.” I was but didn’t confirm it.

“If you watched the mirror with me, would we be in a scene together?”

“Again, I don’t know, you’re the first one since Agnes Stanton I’ve met that can see the images. Would you like to try sometime?”

“Maybe.” I didn’t wish to commit myself.

Next day I bought heavy curtains for the window and to cover the bedroom door and set the radio going as loudly as it would, shut the door and went outside. Very little sound came through to the outside. Perhaps if or when Ben came over, we could test it with actual screams.

By the time I’d finished putting up the curtains and doing the tests, I decided it was too late to have a session that night and with Friday being the next day, I’d have the weekend to recover and wouldn’t have to get up for work on Saturday.

Finis (until the mirror gets uncovered again)