Version 3.4 of my Omnibus is up!

As always, my linktree is the best place to find links to all my work.

You can access my Omnibus here - Warning, it now only downloads the HTML file. Just open it in the browser of your choice and it will work exactly as it did before as everything is self-contained in one file.

Anything tagged with an * cannot be found on Reddit.

Version 3.4
Continued to revise, tag, and date older stories
Added the following stories...
*Welcome to the family (Read the tags)

Version 3.3
Continued to revise, tag, and date older stories
Added the following stories...
*The breaking of the Batgirl (Added chapter 2)
*The Truth (extensive update)
*How I started online (extensive update)
She knew who she was

Version 3.2
Continued to revise, tag, and date older stories
Added the following stories...
It wasn't supposed to be like that
The breaking of the Batgirl

They watched her

(Broken, ruined, watched, manipulated, groomed, needy)

They watched her, hungry. Some saw a person, some prey, some a little girl, some a bimbo. Some just saw a victim, a thing to hunt down and destroy. But all of them saw her. They knew that made her tremble, what made her wet and eager. What can send her appetites spiraling out of her control and they wanted to feed her so bad. Some would leave her sated, even begging for more. Some would drag her to the edge of the cliff, pounding away as she teetered on the abyss. A select few would finish with her and shove her off, waiting for her to hit below.

And they knew all those fates made her wet. Whether she was broken, sick, damaged goods, groomed, or conditioned, she wanted it all. They knew that. And they all wanted to give it to her. Every one of them wanted to take a part of her and make it their own. To mark her, to break her, to ruin her, or end her. Everyone wanted to see the crazy in her eyes, to taste her fear and need, to see the gray and either banish it or drown her forever in it.

So many of them wanted to hurt her. They wanted to touch her soft white skin, pale, and slap it until it was red. They wanted to grab her hair and jerk her about until her roots were almost torn out. Slap every inch of her. Her fat tits, her ass, her belly. So many would hit her on her thighs and cunt. Beautifully red. The more cruel ones would focus on her hands and feet, loving the way she hobbled about.

But that was just for the tamer ones. Some wanted more and knew she wanted more too. Unable, incapable of saying stop. So they don’t want to slap her, they want to curl their hands into fists. To make her pretty, to make her scream. Some would hit her fragile spots. Make her fingers and toes barely work. Some would give her cunt the prettiest of purples, swollen until it was closed. Her breasts would be made lumpy, black and blue, her belly red, until she bent over, retching. And some, some would make her beautiful, dash crimson on her face, her eyes unfocused, stumbling, confused. Made better with black eyes.

Of course, not all of them wanted that. Some just wanted her to be as disgusting on the outside as she was on the inside. They would fill her belly with alcohol, piss, or food, then squeeze her guts. Mash them, hit her gut till she got sick. Ramming their fingers in her mouth, gagging her on their hands or cocks, until she threw up all over herself. Punish her for being fat, not good enough, making her throw up on their manhood and her tits, face, and hair until she was purged. Thin and pretty again.

Others didn’t want fluids going out of her. They only wanted them going in. Most only wanted her to drink gold, day and night. A walking, breathing urinal to be voided in as needed. Sometimes in her ass or cunt, but always in her mouth. Her belly would be pregnant with piss, swollen, as she was tied up in a men’s room, reeking like the toilet she was. Even when not being a toilet, her Mountain Dew bottle would lie, containing their cold fluids, always with her. If she got sick, she deserved it, but no respite from the other porcelain device. The only difference being she was warm to use, the other cold.

Some would want to see her used by Baxters, Coppers, Maxs, Rockys, and Dukes. On all fours, rutted in like the sub-human bitch she was, mounted again and again, devoid of love by human hands. Runny white would leak from her gaped-out holes, being filled again and again, drooling their love onto the floor, kept in a crate where she belonged. But not only there. Many wanted to see more and more, for those animals were too small. Larger, beautiful black and brown males, literally stallions were wanted. Stretching her jaw until it wanted to break, battering her cervix while barely in her, filling up her guts, rearranging them. Her body would never be the same after. Or maybe a few dark men wanted to see more. To see her impaled on massive cocks, shaking, torn apart on the inside, one last beautiful gift to humanity.

But most? Most want to strip her of her humanity. To break her down, piece by piece, until she was blank nothing. Some would leave her like that, a thing, an it. Some would build her back, put the pieces back together, to make her better. Better for them, though some would make her better for herself as well. But most would make her better for them. Pretty, obedient, a good pet who would do anything they asked. It wouldn’t be easy of course, reprogramming her, fixing her flaws and wrong-headed thoughts. Some would enjoy her sobs as she completely broke down, as her blonde hair fell to the floor, shaved off her head. Almost all would deny her a name, other than Pet or Cunt or It. Sammie no more, only people deserved names like that. It would never be a person again, had never really been a person, just a cunt playing pretend.

Stripped of clothes, it would be treated like the stupid flesh it was, taught harshly again and again that it was a thing existing only for them. That part wouldn’t be hard at all. They knew what buttons to push, her near-psychotic need for approval and validation. No punch could ever hurt her as much as you could simply be refusing to call her a “good girl”. A simple denial of praise would break her down so much that when it was finally given, there would be no act she wouldn’t do to hear those words. No limit to her depravity as long as she was given that drug above all others. For that, she would gladly become an it. They would barely have to lift a finger if they did it right. A breathing toy, to play with until it broke.

And so they watched with bated breath every day for another morsel. Perhaps a bit of personal information that she would accidentally leak. Maybe an unedited photo would be briefly posted. Another fictional story that rang just a bit too true, felt a bit too real. Or glimpse another slice of her depraved reality as she tried to juggle all of her selves. They watched all of that. Some cheered for her. Some wanted to see her fail. Some wanted her to be safer than she was while others wanted to see her self-destruction. The gray, the spiral, the neediness, the craving for validation and acceptance. No matter what things she did, what drugs she snorted, what pain she felt, or how many times she came, she would always need that approval. Their approval. And so she fed the men watching, and hoped in return, they would feed her. In one way or another.

She understood it was time - Revised (M/F, kidnapped, manipulated, beaten, broken, dehumanization, hung, snuff)

She quivered as he stepped away and let go of her hair. Her head slumped forward, limp. She panted and wheezed as her arms were pulled tight behind her, chained to the concrete wall. Blood from her nose and mouth dripped down her chin, making little splashes of red as it hit the floor. She could barely think, lost in a sea of pain, abuse, and need. Her body trembled as he reached down to stroke her hair. She looked up at him, her broken and bruised face desperate for his approval. He smiled and she grinned a bloody smile back.

“That’s a good cunt,” he said, stroking her dirty and matted hair almost lovingly. “I told you one day you would understand. I was right, wasn’t I?”

She nodded, the simple act causing pain that made her dizzy and want to vomit. And it was true. She did understand now. It had taken time, of course. It had taken perhaps 6 months to beat her name out of her. Until she responded to cunt as if it was her birthright. By then, and not much longer, she regularly came to his abuse, without him having to use vibrators to force her to cum. Another month or two and she regularly played with herself to the videos streamed to the basement. Violent depraved acts, prior girls, some younger, some older, used up again and again.

Now? Now she just wanted his attention, to feel something, anything. So, when he came down and hit her, punched her face, her body, skull fucked her against the hard concrete wall, she got wet, needy, all but begging for the abuse. She’d scream, of course, buck and fight even, but she’d cum to it just like the cunt she was. She no longer doubted what she was. She didn’t even hate herself. She was just a needy thing that existed only when cumming or crying. Everything else, the quiet moments left to herself and what remained of her soul and thoughts, that was the real torture. That is what she sought to avoid.

Lately, he’d been using her harder and harder, with no recovery time in between. She’d seen the videos of the other girls, the ones from before. She knew what was coming. But she didn’t care. The parts of her that would be horrified had already been snuffed, fucked, and raped out of her. What remained needed him. Only with him could she feel. Only with him could she one day never feel again. He was her God and if he unlocked her chains and told her she was free, she’d never have left the basement. She wanted him, and when he no longer wanted her, she wanted it to be done.

“I think it’s time, don’t you cunt?” he asked. He pointed to the video camera, the setup he must have rigged while she was half passed out, half asleep. Time was funny in the dark and from all the hits to the head he gave her.

“I love you,” she said. She meant it honestly, not to delay his actions. She knew he didn’t love her. He loved what he had done to her perhaps, but not herself. She knew cunts were disposable.

“I know you do,” was all he said as he unchained her body from the wall. She’d been about 140lbs when he’d taken her, now she barely weighed 90. He helped her walk and stand up on the stool, then tightened the hanging rope around her thin neck. She was crying softly, and he kissed the tears away. “It's better this way,” he said, and she barely nodded when he kicked it out from under her. The video was streamed to his online audience as she kicked, arms still tied behind her body. He grabbed her flailing legs and pulled her against him, pushing his cock into her ruined cunt. All her remaining weight was held up by the rope tight around her neck. He fucked her with all his might as she spasmed, watching her busted-up face as she came again and again. He had wanted to ruin her innocence and now there was none left in her.

As he felt her slow down and start pissing herself, he quickened his pace. When he finally came in her and let her go, she swung back and forth, her body limp, not moving. White dripped down her leg, mixing in with the yellow, as he walked over and turned off the video stream.

Afterward, he burned a DVD and wrote down her address, a final gift for her parents. He had sent them dozens of videos, but they never went to the police with them. She was too eager in them in the end. And before, maybe her dad enjoyed them a bit too much. He knew she would never be as loved as she would be now. Immortal, wanted, as thousands watched her go away again and again, at her most useful.

And now, he would have to start again, ruin another innocent girl, and make her realize she was a cunt. Next year was going to be wonderful.

If you enjoy my work, everything I write and do can be found here -

Lost, but found - Revised (M/F, dehumanization, rape, kidnapped, mind break, whored, slave, broken)

From the beginning, they wanted me bare. Almost everyone one of them wanted to see a slick, smooth pussy without a trace of hair on it. Even my peach fuzz needed to be gone. Only then, did I get their approval. What's funny, at the time, I mostly thought it was because that's how most of the women in porn were. At first, I didn't realize there were other reasons that they liked it like that. How it changed how they visualized me in their head. I felt mature and grown because I thought they were seeing a porn star in their head. I was their porn star. But really, I was something else to them.

Not that all of them pushed it. Mostly, the men just wanted to see me naked on their screens. Some politely asked and some demanded. Both strategies were likely to work with me. They used sweet words and cruel. Some of them made me feel like the most special and grown-up girl on Earth. Others tore me down and left me sobbing. But all of them wanted me naked.

It's probably why it's so natural for me now; nudity is just another facet of my life. I only think about it when I go out. The only clothing I need is my collar, a plug, and heels. Then I'm fully dressed and ready for the world. Because that was what they wanted then as well as what I want now.

And it was exciting, to show myself, to get praise. It was so easy. Lift up my t-shirt, let them see my tits, and they liked me. Part my legs, pull my panties to the side, and they loved me. It was intoxicating. People who haven't had to fight to feel worth something or good enough have no idea how addicting that feeling can be. And all I had to do was undress for them. Easiest fix in the world. I'd watch their cocks grow hard as they lusted after my body. Another hit of validation that made me desperate to do more.

Of course, the nudity wasn't enough. They always wanted more as well. More suggestions on how to look, how to dress, what to do, and what they wanted to see. Some wanted close-ups of my mouth. My tongue sticking out, drooling, as they called me a good little cunt. That word still stung then, but all I truly heard was "Good". I stole lipstick, makeup, whatever they recommended for me to make myself prettier for them. I bought some too, but it was expensive and I couldn't ask my parents for the money. I'd never used much makeup, both not allowed and didn't care about it. But I did then for them. Bright reds, pinks, even blues and blacks for my lips. Blush, even painting my nails in secret. Mostly, they wanted red or pink. I didn't realize the difference then. Red made me look sluttier. Pink made me look fresher.

Clothes, I couldn't do much about. I bought a thong and a lacey bra and hid them away. But I didn't have much variety there. They didn't care. They wanted to see the soft skin, not the clothes. Sometimes, I did my hair up in pony or pigtails. Again, I was oblivious. I'd seen enough porn to know that pigtails could be "handlebars". Rarely did it click that it was another way to see me differently. I didn't know of concepts like dressing someone up to dress them down. I only understood how makeup and clothes could make me look older. The opposite didn't occur to me at the time.

And they constantly badgered me for my face, for specific details about my life. Sometimes, I stupidly said things I shouldn't have. Usually, I didn't. But as time went on, I wanted more attention. I wanted to give them everything they wanted. My rule about my face went out of the window. They praised me for my smiles and pouts, biting my lip, seeing it quiver as I came. They didn't know I practiced in the mirror, in the hopes of making them happier. I let them see me fully so they could direct me and control me. I read what they wanted me to read. I watched what they wanted me to watch. I looked at all the images they sent me and touched myself to them. Most of the time, they were on there, watching me watch or read their perversions as I perverted myself. They loved when I got off to something they sent me. They loved when it bothered me and made me cry. They were the most excited when I did both.

And even then, I didn't realize what they were doing. Pink lipstick, pink nails, freshly shaved, naked, and touching myself. Grooming me? Conditioning me? Probably. I didn't care. They loved everything I did. I was their dirty little girl and they were my dirty little secret. Perversely, we needed each other. I found a side of myself, a taste of freedom, that I had never experienced before. They got to spend time with someone, good or bad, who wasn't going to report them. A dark symbiotic, or perhaps parasitic, bond between those strangers and myself.

I learned how to use baby oil to soften my skin after showers from them. What smiles were coy and what ones were teasing. I learned to laugh at myself, at their jokes, and how to sexually keep up with their banter. They taught me so many lessons and trained me. Showed me truths I didn't know existed and cravings I didn't think were possible. I had lived in a black and white world and now I was seeing colors I didn't know existed. I learned the smell of my sex, the taste of it, of a wet pussy, a fingered ass, the stink of a sweaty orgasm.

And it all goes back to that spot, between my legs. A decade without hair there. Once shaved, now regularly and professionally waxed. If I see an errant hair, it's plucked and removed. I can't imagine it any other way. The shape may change. My hood was pierced. My labia looks different from those early days. So much stretchier than the tightness I once had. But I'll always be perfectly smooth. I don't mind hairy cunts, but if mine had hair, it would feel wrong. It's not how I'm supposed to be for them, or him.

Skin soft, silky, unblemished. The only blemishes now are those given by hand or fist or belt. Smiling in the way I knew they liked it best. Biting my lip, parting my legs so they can see my worth. Validated, valued, dripping wet, as we touched ourselves. How they saw me then, how they see me now, it's still the same. These days, I'm just holding my stuffy, a paci in my mouth, dressed in pink outfits that are too small. I'm still being a good little girl. Only now, it's for my Daddy and his friends and they love me.

If you enjoy my work, everything I write and do can be found here -

Message Badsammie