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.

The belly doesn't lie

(M+/F, gang rape, drugged, anal, piss play, incest, pregnant)

She rubbed her belly slowly, chewing her lip. She wouldn't be able to hide it much longer or just wave it off as the Covid 20 so many have gained. No, that story wouldn't be bought by anyone in another month. They would know. Everyone would know. And then the questions would start.

"How did this happen? Who is the father? Why didn't you practice safe sex? How could you do this to your family? Don't you have any self-respect? " they would all ask.

And she didn't know how to answer any of that. Not fully anyway.

How? She went to a concert. Who? She had no idea. Why? Because she didn't remember it. That night was a blur. She remembered drinking a beer. Her first. She remembered chatting and flirting with someone. She remembered feeling weak, being helped towards the restrooms. Then nothing.

No, nothing wasn't quite true. She had glimmers, brief flashes. Strangers over her, grunting. Each one was different. And then, blackness. Then it was morning. She was cold, almost freezing, in a porta-potty. Her purse and money were gone. Her clothes reeked of smoke, beer, and piss. Her thighs were bruised, her pussy stained with dried cum. Even her ass hurt. She threw up, stumbled out, and hitched a ride home. And cried. She didn't tell anyone, just tried to forget, until she missed her period. Until her belly started to grow. A surprise gift, her life was ruined.

And when she didn't think it could get worse, a package was sent to her. It contained an SD card along with her thong, soiled. She checked to see what was on the card. Pictures. Of that night. She watched the video. One guy after another, men talking turns with her mostly limp body. She wasn't a person to any of them. A set of holes to use in the bathroom stall. Once, the cameraman filmed himself taking a turn, filling her with white. None of them used a condom. Then someone dragged her, camera shaking, to a porta-potty. They jerked her around, positioned her painfully, peed on her, then spat on her ass. They pushed in her rear, soft moans escaping her mouth, whimpers, coupled with the cameraman's grunts. He filled her ass. Then the camera zoomed out as they leaned in, kissing her tits, kissing her. Smiling.

It was her uncle. He had taken her, dropped her off, and told her to call if she needed a ride back. He had been there and filmed the whole thing. He had given her a soda on the drive there. It hadn't been the beer, it had been him. She rubbed her belly, wondering if that was his too? It could have been over a dozen men's.

Later, her parents asked her to come down. Her uncle was there. He had noticed, and once he brought it up, they had noticed too. Was she pregnant? She nodded, in shock. There were screams and frustrations, but her uncle was the voice of reason. Summer had started, so she could stay with him for a bit while they decided what should be done. No scandal was needed. Just visit him at his Florida home and then it could be put up for adoption. No one else needed to know. It would be for the best, they all agreed. She didn't say anything. Everyone was disappointed in her but thanked God for her uncle's wisdom.

Thank God for him, they said. She numbly got in the car with him, waving goodbye to her parents and her home. They drove off in silence until he started rubbing her belly.

"Such a good girl, not saying a thing," he said, smiling. "Now we can make so many movies while we find out if someone's the father or not. You're going to be so popular with my friends, you'll never want to go home."

Then he pushed her head down as they drove to her new home, her new life, her new reality. And he was right. His friends did love her, every day of the week.

Message Badsammie