Page 39 of Lolli-Gag
“Then stop questioning it,” he growls. and I shiver. He lets me go and I walk over to sit on the bed, already feeling the effects of the drug. and it's making me sluggish. The room feels safer now. Like everything finally lined up the way it was supposed too. They move closer, all of them. Not fighting. Not pulling. Just here—with me. Killian's gaze sharpens. Lucifer's smile deepens. Jagger's breath steadies. and Vinny watches.Good.
“I’ve really missed you all.” I say as Jagger's hand brushes mine.
“Yeah? Me too.” he says. then Lucifer leans in.
“You shouldn’t be alone,” he says, and I giggle.
“I’m not.” Not anymore. My head tilts back as my body relaxes into the moment, into them. Something feels right… too right, but somewhere far away, something shifts.Cold. Clinical. Wrong.But it doesn’t reach me. Not here. Not with them. My smile widens.
“Stay,” I whisper, and they do. And as they close in, the space between us disappears and I let myself sink into it. Hands brush my skin, lips caress my neck, fingers pull at my clothes, and before I can take another breath, I’m bare for them as they circle around me. “Touch me. Fill me. Make me feel alive,” I beg as Jagger cups my face, looking down at me.
“Open,” he commands, pressing his dick against my lips. I part them, letting him sink down my throat, making him groan.
“Just like that,” he says as someone lifts my hips and spreads my legs, running the tip of their cock up and down my slit.
“She’s fucking soaked,” Lucifer growls as I swallow around Jagger.
“I bet she is,” Jagger groans as my arms are pulled and dicks are placed in my hands. I wrap my fingers around their length, pumping them hard and fast.
“Tighter, Ghostgirl. Make it hurt,” Vinny moans as I circle my thumb over his tip. “Yes, fuck you feel so good,” he growls, thrusting into my hand. Lucifer slams into me, and I tighten around him, rolling my hips.
A finger finds my clit, flicking it, and I jolt but whimper around Jagger’s cock.
“Faster, Canvas,” Killian growls as Lucifer slaps my clit. I jolt, then Jagger gags me as spit seeps down my chin.
“She’s fucking perfect,” Lucifer groans, and everyone hums in agreement. We all find the perfect rhythm as they take everything I have to give. Ripping orgasm after orgasm from every part of my body. I’m dripping with sweat, and they switch, filling all my holes. I feel full and stretched, moaning any chance I get. Once they’ve all had a turn, they pull out and paint my body with their cum. Covering my scars.
“The perfect Canvas,” Killian whispers as they take their fingers and finish painting me, rubbing me, making sure the mess they made seeps into my skin. I take a deep breath then feel their tongues cleaning me, cleansing me together. I stare in awe as they do. Licking, biting, pinching, which only brings on another earth shattering orgasm that has me convulsing against the bed and screaming every one of their names. My fingers curl into the sheets as my breathing slows. My eyes are hooded, and I lick my lips staring at them with a hunger for more.
The bed warps into something bigger, something we can all fit into, and they climb in, wrapping themselves around me like second skin. I sink into them—into the version of reality that finally makes sense, because whatever Master D is doing—whatever this test is… I don’t care, not if it feels like this. I’m exactly where I want to be, and I don’t even realize what’s being taken from me, but I don’t really care. I should, because somewhere in the back of my mind, my body pinches.
Something pulls deep inside me, poking and prodding at my insides, and a blood curdling scream leaves my throat as white light flashes through my mind, and I see it—four nurses standing around me and someone between my legs. I shiver as another scream leaves my throat and cold metal drags against my inner thigh and something bangs against the table.“Extraction complete. Test three successful.”
I blink and the room darkens, but my guys are still wrapped tightly around me. Soft snores greet my ears and I take a deep breath as my eyes get heavy and sleep takes me under.
Static-Too Loud
Killian Klebs
Where is she?is the first thing I think about when I’m jolted awake by a door slamming shut. I take a deep breath and open my eyes wider, taking in the dim lit room. But first, I listen. A hum—low, irregular—not loud, just misplaced.
Everything slowly comes into view as my eyes adjust to the room. Walls are padded. The chair I’m sitting in is bolted, and the restraints biting my skin are tight. There’s no smell. Which is odd. Usually it smells of bleach—sterile cleaning formulas but there’s nothing. The humming above me shifts and becomes a tone. High… then low. Two tones… out of sync, making my jaw tighten. “No,” I say. My words coming out are controlled and measured. The sound though—ignored me.Of course it does.This isn’t meant to respond but to disrupt.
The tones multiply. Three. Five. Seven—overlapping into layers then clashing. I grit my teeth as my fingers twitch against the restraints, but I halt my movements.Control. Everything is control.“Identify the pattern," I whisper.That's the key.There’s always a pattern. Always a structure beneath the chaos. Ilisten… only harder this time—focusing on the sounds. One tone spikes as another drops. They should align but they don’t.That’s wrong. They’re not supposed to.The lights flicker—in time with nothing. My breathing hitches.That's new. I don’t lose rhythm. Not ever.
The tone gets louder—not the volume, but in density. Too many. Too close. Too fast. “Stop!” I groan, but nothing does as the sound drills in through my thoughts instead of my ears.Interupting—breaking.I try to isolate one, just fucking one. But every time I find it—it shifts. Moves. Disappears into something else. My pulse rises, and I grit my teeth.Unacceptable.I inhale slowly, counting. One—a sharp crack of static. Two—a distorted voice cuts through. Three—laughter.Layers, too many… all wrong.
My head tilts as a shiver crawls up my spine. “They’re overlapping frequencies,” I say.Now that makes sense. It has too. Everything has to.My chair vibrates subtly and the tones sync with it then break again. My teeth clench. “They’re trying to scramble cognition,” I say.Yes, that’s it. That’s the method.Disruption of pattern recognition. Interface. Noise as a weapon.Good. Now I understand it. Which means—I can beat it.
The tones spike all at once. Sharp and piercing, causing my vision to blur.Fuck! That was unexpected.I blink and the room flickers. Not just the lights but the edges, the walls, the space itself. My stomach twists and then I freeze. Giggling—all I hear is her giggles beyond the tones. My thoughts stutter. As screams—high pitch screams force through me, making me grit my teeth and shudder.Fuck. She’s hurting. Someone is hurting my Canvas.I thrash against the bolted chair, and the leather straps bite into my skin making me clench my jaw. I try to focus—focus on her voice—her screams. I need to find her—my constant. So, I inhale through my nose and let it out through my mouth. Justwhen I think I’ve found her the high tone cuts through it—shreds my focus, destroying the rhythm.
“No!” I yell as the sounds crack, making the tones surge louder, faster. My head jerks wildly. I try to isolate it, but I can’t. I can’t separate anything. Then it hits me. The realization that there is no pattern. They removed it. They built the chaos on purpose. No structure—no logic, therefore no fucking solution.
My chest tightens as I try to figure out what to do. The thought lands like an impact, hard and fast. I don’t know what to do, then the sound spikes and everything collapses inward. My vision tunnels, only seeing her face smiling at me as my thoughts scatter like roaches. I try to grab one to hold it but it slips, just like everything else.
I’m not observing anymore. I’m reacting.I don’t react. This is not me.My head drops forward as my breathing breaks. The noise fills everything. No space left for correction or error. No room to think or control. My fingers curl into the metal arm rest, and I scream into the void.
My chest heaves as sweat drips down my brow.Unrefined. Uncontrolled. Messy.I force my head up to look straight ahead—at nothing. “This isn’t efficient,” I say, then pause as the faintest of smiles pulls at my lips.Unstable.“But it is effective,” I grow,l and the noise surges again, causing my body to convulse. I scream from the pain rushing through my body—through my ears, but then I feel it… Blood drips, but the noise hits again, almost deafening that I throw my head back and roar in pain. Tears leak out of my eyes while my mind begs to be set free… for the noise to stop. It’s too loud. The pitch is too sharp. It’s like a thousand needles stabbing my ear drums, shredding the tissue into nothing.
