Insulin Pen

We were both giggling as we came up the steps to his house, tipsy from two bottles of wine but also on a natural high from what had been the best first date of my life. We'd met online, on a dating site reserved for people who had just come out of long-term relationships, meaning we were both recently divorced (me from a seven year marriage, with ten years before the wedding) and looking for companionship.

We met up in a pub in Camden Town, a small place with big comfy sofas. I had got there first, and when he'd walked through the door my heart had leapt into my throat. He was tall, and had a look of wiry strength; there were no bulging muscles, but you could see from the way he held himself that he was by no means soft. He had jet black hair, light stubble on his chin, tanned skin and piercing green eyes. He spotted me and smiled questioningly, so I stood up.

"Mark?" I said, my voice coming out as little more than a croak. He smiled more freely now, and such a disarming smile it was.

"You must be Jessica." His voice was somehow instantly relaxing, like someone had just dipped me in a hot bath. And just like that, I was relaxed.

We must have spent the whole evening laughing. He was genuinely funny and charming, and I wasn't too bad myself either. He had an air of sophistication, particularly when ordering wine, but wasn't at all snobbish. In short, he was the complete fantasy of every divorced woman in the country.

He had been nothing but a gentleman, and was outrageously attractive, but as we stood on his doorstep I found that I didn't want to put out, not tonight. He seemed like a genuine catch, but I wanted to take things a little slower. I had only been single for six months, and wasn't quite ready to be that intimate with another man.

"You want to come inside? I make a mean cuppa coffee." He said it so charmingly that I almost agreed, but I shook my head. "Look, I don't want to mislead you. You're really great, and I hope this continues, but I'm not quite ready for anything like that just yet." I pulled an apologetic face. "I'm sure that'll change soon enough, though."

For a second something seemed to flash in front of his eyes; something almost primal. It seemed to be a combination of anger and triumph, but it was so quickly replaced by his disarming smile that I assumed I had imagined it. He held up his hands. "Of course, of course, that's completely fine. But you could still come in, just for the coffee?" I paused, and he carried on. "You know it sounds good. Dark, delicious, authentic... Plus I make a good cup of coffee, too." That made me laugh out loud, holding onto his arm for support. I hesitated, trying to weigh up whether or not I should.

Suddenly my vision doubled, and my hand on his arm became the only thing holding me upright. I swore. "Ah Christ, my insulin pen. I was meant to use it two hours ago, I completely forgot."

He looked concerned. "Diabetes?" He helped me sit down on the side by his door.

"Yeah. I get all woozy and weak when I don't keep up with the dose." I tried for a laugh. "You distracted me with your fine wine."

He acknowledged the joke with a good natured smirk. "Do you have your pen on you?"

"No, it's at home. Sorry, I'm gonna have to give that coffee a rain check."

He dismissed this with a wave of his hand. "Nonsense, you can't go anywhere like this. Come inside and lie down, I'll drive round to the pharmacy and pick up an emergency prescription, I'll only be gone five minutes."

I tried to protest, but I knew he was right. I let him help me inside the house and up the stairs, into his room. He hauled me onto the bed and lay me down, tucking the duvet over me. "Wait right here, I'll be back in five," he said, but I barely heard him. His voice seemed to echo slightly.

He left, and I was alone. I slowly looked around his room. It was quite bare, with a bedside table and what looked like a walk-in cupboard at the far end. He had an en-suite bathroom, too. Very fancy.

I began to slip in and out of consciousness, barely managing to open my eyes after every blink. There was no clock that I could see, but it seemed like far longer than five minutes that Mark was gone.

Then all of a sudden he was there, standing by my bed. He held a standard box of five pens, and got one out and started following the instructions for assembling the needle. "How many units do you need?"

I tried to tell him sixty, but it came out more like "Shicky". He seemed to get the gist, however. He held it up, turning the dose selector, but he reached nineteen and then stopped. I could see it said nineteen, on a clear display on the side. That wasn't right. Could he have misheard my sixty as a nineteen?

"Shicky." I tried to say it more urgently, but it came out the same.

He stroked some hair out of my eyes. "This will do you just fine for now, I reckon." He pulled out my arm, and stuck the pen into the fleshy part between my elbow and shoulder. I could feel some strength returning to me already, but knew even then that it wouldn't be enough for me to move about okay. I did now, however, regain my ability to speak.

"You only gave me nineteen units. I need sixty."

"Nineteen will keep you alive, no? You seem better already."

He seemed to genuinely not understand. "Yes it will keep me alive, but I won't be able to move around properly or balance or lift anything up. Sixty is my required dose."

"Well you don't need to move around properly right now. You can stay in bed, just let me do all of the work."

I was completely confused. Was this man stupid? I needed sixty units, not nineteen. I was about to protest again, when I realised he was kicking his shoes off. With them off, he climbed onto the bed and swung one leg over, so that he was kneeling on the bed with one leg either side of me. He grabbed my arms, not needing to be rough, and pulled my hands down, pinning my wrists under each of his knees.

"What the fuck are you doing?" I yelled out. He seemed to have completely changed. His eyes were no longer disarming, but strong, and terrifying. One glance pushed me to silence. I stared up at him, wide eyes, and scared.

He no longer looked at my eyes. He reached a hand out and slowly began unbuttoning my shirt, peeling it away by the collar when he was done and exposing my bra and torso. Suddenly he pulled his knees off my hands, shimmied back so that he was resting on my lap and pulled me into an upright sitting position. He pressed his lips on mine, kissing me hard. I tried to struggle, but couldn't muster up the strength to push him away. I didn't even have the strength to hold my mouth shut, so it hung open gormlessly. He pushed his tongue inside my mouth, flicking my own with it. As he did this, he pulled off my shirt, reached around and snapped the clip of my bra. He held onto it with one hand, and pushed me back onto the bed with the other, my bra slipping off and leaving me completely topless.

My breasts were quite large, and remarkably perky for a thirty-five year old. They had always been a source of pride, but right now his piercing gaze made them nothing but a crude embarrassment. He looked up at me, and somehow projected his feelings onto me. How dare I have such big tits? How dare I be such a slut?

I snapped myself back. "Get off me you fucking pervert," I half-slurred, trying to lift my arms but realising that they were once again pinned under his knees. He paid no attention. He slowly reached a hand out, cupping it around my left breast before squeezing, gently at first but then harder. I felt the usual muted pleasure swell up, but was too scared and angry to notice. His hand slipped upwards, dragging each finger up over my boob until they centred on my nipple, hard from the cold of being topless. He ran a finger of it, and despite my self I shivered slightly with pleasure.

He suddenly squeezed harder, and twisted. A bolt of pain shot through me, and I cried out from it, squirming with discomfort. He twisted harder, and my nipple felt like it was going to tear. I began to cry, screaming out wordlessly as loud as my half-conscious state would allow me.

He let go, and through my tears I saw him smirk. He went back to gently caressing my boob, massaging through the knots that had come about from his torture. His other hand reached down and undid the buttons on his flies, pulling down the zip. It then went down to my own, undoing my button and pulling down the zip, exposing my jet black underwear. He reached into his own jeans, undoing the button on his boxers and pulling his dick out.

I froze, half because I could hardly move but half out of captivation. His dick was not especially long, probably slightly longer than average but not by much. It was thick though, much thicker than my ex husband's (the only man I had been with other than this) had been. It was also straight, not at all curved in any direction. Mark shuffled forwards, edging his dick towards me, until it was sitting on top of one of my breasts. He then pulled my tits apart, slid his dick into the middle and pushed them together again. He began to slowly rock back and forth, sliding his dick between my tits. I once again tried to struggle, but there was nothing I could do. I could barely lift my legs off the bed to try to kick around. He picked up the pace, thrusting into my tits while he held them there tightly with his hands. My left one still ached, but what I felt most keenly was humiliation. This guy was using me, completely for his own pleasure, and there was nothing I could do. Absolutely nothing.

He lifted his hand off my already-pained breast, before slapping it hard on the side. I gave a mumbled moan of pain. I felt a small string of drool drip out the side of my mouth and down my right cheek.

He lifted off me, but within a second he had shuffled forwards and now had his knees either side of my head, resting his bum back on my tits. I felt something stroke up my cheek, wiping away the string of drool, and I realised it was his dick. He traced the trail of saliva all the way up to my open mouth. I tried to shut it, but for some reason it was the part of me that I had lost the most control of, and the exhausting effort of trying only made it hang open wider. He rested his dick on my bottom lip, sliding it from side to side. He then spoke, the first words since he'd straddled me.

"God your lips are amazing."

Without another word he slid his dick into my mouth. Despite me having no muscular ability in my lower face, my lips naturally curve around the dick, out of the same instinct a baby has for a nipple. His dick went further into my mouth, sliding along my limp tongue. My mouth was so wet, pooled with saliva.

His dick kept going in, further into my mouth. Eventually he hit the back of my mouth, and started to push into my throat. Somehow my gag reflexes were down too, and he slid in quite easily. He moaned, and then louder when my reflex suddenly kicked in and my throat clenched around his dick. I spluttered, and he pulled his dick out to avoid me choking.

Ignoring my few gags that came out involuntarily, he began to fuck my mouth. He stopped before my throat, just making do with my wet mouth and "amazing" lips. His dick tasted salty, and felt rock hard. Picking up the pace, Mark started to fuck my mouth rigorously, pumping in and out and groaning loudly. I moaned in protest, tears still leaking out of the corners of my eyes, but he paid no notice. He just kept fucking my mouth, making wet noises that went with his moans.

Abruptly, he pulled his dick out of my mouth. "Bitch, can you swallow?"

Despite myself, I genuinely tried. But clenching every muscle in my throat as hard as I could barely got more than a splutter. He gave a grunt of derision at my useless attempt, slapping his dick across my cheek. Humiliation blossomed from deep inside me. He began to jerk off, pumping furiously with his hand.

Occasionally he stopped to slap me with his cock again, always eliciting a muted cry from me. I tried to tell him to piss off, to go away, but already the juice from the shot he'd given me had ebbed away so that I was left with no more than a muffled slur.

His moans became more urgent, and after a minute or two he pushed himself over the edge. He gave a loud grunt, and cum was pumped out of his dick. The first shot went up into my hair, the rest hitting my neck and face, covering the left side of my face. He kept pumping, getting every last drop out, before slapping me one last time.

Suddenly he was off me, standing by the bed. I realised he was no longer pinning me down, and made for an escape. I gathered all my remaining strength, but achieved nothing more than rolling over onto my front. My vision swam, before completely blurring altogether as I slipped into unconsciousness.

***

I felt an acute pain in my left bum cheek. Even before the rest of my body had regained feeling, the pain was there, mild but sharp. It spread feeling around the rest of my body, like a ripple, and slowly dragged me awake.

I was still lying on my front, my face pressed into a pillow. There was a small puddle of drool by my mouth. One of my boobs was pressing into the mattress at quite a painful angle, but I couldn't budge to correct it. My legs were splayed out like a starfish. My whole body felt numb, disconnected, and I could barely feel the bed beneath me.

I realised the pain was an insulin shot, done straight into my backside. For a split second I naively thought this meant it was ending, but of course this was far from the truth.

Mark was kneeling between my stretched out legs. He had given me enough insulin to keep me alive and conscious, and maybe even speaking, but not enough to struggle at all.

"Wakey wakey," he murmured, and never had such an innocent phrase been said in such an awful way. I felt the strangest sensation my body went to shiver but couldn't muster up the energy, leaving a numb ebbing feeling up and down my spine. My breath was hot against the pillow, and I felt stifled, claustrophobic, like I was suffocating.

I heard a sharp clap, and a few seconds later a wave of pain through me. He had slapped my ass, hard, though not with a hand; probably a belt, though I couldn't see so I wasn't sure. The pain came as a delayed sensation, and rather than a sting, it was like an explosion of intense pins-and-needles. I cried out into the pillow.

"Good, you're awake. Wouldn't want you to miss the fun." Again, he managed to say the word fun in the least fun way I had ever heard it said. I heard another, more muffled slapping noise, and felt a mild buzz against my bum, and realised that, rather than a belt, Mark had used his dick. He kept it pressed against my ass cheek, rubbing it up and down. I gave a wordless moan of disgust.

He then held his cock and guided it down, inching closer to my pussy. I tried to summon any energy that I might be able to find, but there was none. Just before his dick reached my pussy, he pulled away. Not seeing what he was doing, I thought for one brief moment that maybe I had been let off the hook.

Suddenly, he grabbed my ass with both hands, stretched the cheeks apart and rammed his cock into my pussy, hard.

My entire body was completely numb all over, I could hardly feel a thing, like I was suspended in animation. On the outside, that is. Somehow, that didn't apply to the inside. I felt his dick inside me with a sharp intensity that came as a huge shock. To go from floating, sensationless, to being suddenly grounded by such vivid feeling, and, as much as I hated it, pleasure? The feeling was overwhelming.

He wasn't moving inside of me. He just held his dick in me. But the potency of the pleasure was enough. The sudden rush of ecstasy, combined with the full body shock, instantly drove me over the edge. I orgasmed, there and then, after one thrust.

I was moaning into the pillow, almost screaming. It was a hysterical orgasm, driving me to the verge of tears. The nerves in my pussy lost control, and the orgasm lasted for about a minute before I calmed down, red in the face and starting to sweat.

I lay there, panting into the pillow. Mark had stayed still the whole time. Then, he started to move, ever so slightly, but it wasn't until I heard him that I realised he had started to laugh.

I felt so humiliated, so utterly defeated. He had abused me, raped me, and I had orgasmed like an eighteen-year-old virgin. I was so ashamed.

He hadn't stopped laughing by the time he started rocking back and forth inside me. Despite having just had the most intense orgasm of my life, the pleasure was once again instantaneous. It was like nothing I had ever felt before. He was slowly moving in and out of me, but soon enough he began to pick up the pace, going harder and harder until he was pumping in and out of me, using his hands to slam me against his cock. I hadn't the energy to even move, so I lay there, moaning louder than I ever had before, on the verge of screaming. He barely made a noise, just the rhythmic grunting that was drowned out by my own orgasm.

Mark leant into me, essentially lying on top of me, squashing my breasts into the bed. He craned his neck down and bit my neck, though I could barely feel it. I was in a delirium. Rather than being driven towards orgasm, I was just in a perpetual state of orgasm, continually cumming as he drove into me. I have no idea how long he lasted. In my half conscious, ecstatic state, I lost all track of time.

He didn't cum inside my pussy, though. He pulled out, and I felt lost, empty without the gratification of his cock in my pussy. A dull ache of pleasure still remained.

He rubbed his dick against the entrance to my pussy again, and I filled with anticipation, but he didn't push forwards. Instead, he stroked his dick up, away from my pussy, until it was lightly pressing against my ass.

I felt a jolt of panic, and I tried to struggle. I had never been fucked in the ass before, not even had a finger up there, and so I knew that however wet he was from my pussy, it would hurt.

He pushed inside me, hard. And it did hurt, a deep, burning sensation. But the numbness of my body meant that the pain itself was quite dulled, especially because I didn't have the energy to clench. The only thing I could feel was the heat. An intense warmth, a pleasure not so urgent as from my pussy, but far deeper. I could feel pleasure in my stomach, a wholesome, filling pleasure. I hated myself for it, so much, but despite myself I gave a deep moan of ecstasy.

This time, Mark moaned too, and loudly. My ass was clearly far tighter. He began to pump in and out of me, slowly, but building up speed. Instead of the electricity from my pussy, pleasure began to build up inside me like water filling a bucket. My breathing became shallow and my heart pounded against the bed as Mark pounded into me. His dick seemed to fill me up completely, accessing pleasure spots I didn't know existed.

Suddenly, he stopped. He drew back until the head of his dick was pressing lightly against my ass. I lay there, panting, as, despite myself, missing his dick inside of me.

And apparently, he knew it too.

"I'm not gonna do anything more unless you ask me."

Arrogant bastard, my mind was screaming, why the hell would I humiliate myself further? I never wanted any of this!

And yet my thoughts were overridden by a more primal feeling. My entire body yearned for his cock. I didn't give a fuck who he was, how cruel he had been to me. I needed his dick.

I fought back tears and cleared my throat. I half sobbed, half mumbled the phrase I both hated and needed to say.

"Fuck me." My voice was quiet and slurred.

"Be polite."

"Fuck me... Please." I struggled with the letter S, and he smirked at it.

"Where?" He was toying with me.