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.

Groomed to be good - Revised (M/F, grooming, drugged, masturbation, oral, first, pregnant)

Sammie smiled and waved at her neighbor, David. Her mom was gone again, working multiple shifts, leaving her alone once again. She hated her new home and high school. The city, all of it. She missed her old friends and her old soft bed. But all of that was gone with the move. It wasn’t fair. She had been happy and wanted to finish her last year of school with her friends. Now, she had nothing. That wasn’t true, exactly. She didn’t hate David. He was always nice to her, ruffling her hair, and giving her snacks. He once had even let her have a beer while he was resting in his hammock in the backyard that butted against theirs. She wasn’t a drinker and her face had made him laugh, but she had beamed when he treated her like a woman.

Her mom never treated her like one. She was 18, yet all she did was text and call her constantly to make sure she hadn’t been murdered or something. It was stupid. There was nowhere to go, no kids nearby, no car, and with school out, all she could do was play on her phone or take a short walk. That’s how she had started chatting with David. He had been mowing his yard and waved hi and she had introduced herself to him. He always had a big smile and his eyes were always on her. Normally that would have creeped her out, but here all alone, it made her feel special. The attention was nice. After that, if she saw him outside she would say hi for a bit before heading in.

After a while, he started giving her snacks or fixing her some burgers when she was alone. He even offered to pay her for helping with his yard work and would help her with hers. Mom had seemed standoffish at first, but after having some wine out back one night, they seemed to hit it off. She had his number now in case of emergency as well. She wondered if he had any today and went over. His smile was as big as always. He fixed her some burgers and asked her if she wanted a beer. She did, grimacing as she drank it, which made him laugh even more. He rested his hand on her shoulder, rubbing it softly.

“Sammie, do you want to come inside for a bit and get out of the heat?” David asked. She smiled and happily followed him in. He got two more beers and told her it would be their little secret. He got her some snacks as the young woman sipped the beer before setting it on the coffee table. He sat next to her and turned on some tv, watching her eat, occasionally sipping his beer. She felt his hand leave her shoulder, sliding along her back as Peter Griffin goofed around on the screen. His fingers kneaded her back and it felt strangely good. And his smile, she loved his smile. When Lois erupted in anger, they laughed and he hugged her close. And then, he sent her home, feeling a bit funny but truly happy for the first time there.

It became their secret routine as she spent more and more time with him, outside or in his house. She even sometimes had dinner with him and he always let her have some beer. The couch wasn’t in the living room one day, just his recliner. It was being cleaned he told her, so he sat her on his lap. She felt nervous as she sat there on his warm lap, her stomach twisted in knots. His hand slowly rubbed her belly, slipping under her shirt as they watched tv. She felt funny, a bit dizzy, as he rubbed her back and belly. Then he touched her chest, making her stomach do flips. She said she felt weird but he just had her drink more. Then his hands rubbed along her legs as he told her how beautiful and special she was. So mature for such a young lady. He massaged her thighs, stroking them, his hands sliding up higher. Somehow, her shorts were unzipped and his hand was rubbing her through her panties. She wiggled, resisting, but he kissed her ear and told her to relax. She tried as her body grew warm despite how fuzzy she felt, her breathing erratic, trembling, and then, it was like she was being electrocuted as she convulsed and clung to him. He kissed her then and told her he loved her. She kissed him back clumsily, telling him the same.

After that, the visits sometimes left her fuzzy, sometimes not. David often had clothes for her to try on, bought her things, and told her they had a secret forbidden love. And love him she did. When he asked her to wear the lacy bras and panties and took her pictures, she felt wonderful. His eyes were all on her as they played dress-up. He taught her new ways to wear makeup, to walk in 8-inch platform heels, and they always finished with lap time. He taught her how to kiss like a woman, and later, how to kiss and worship his cock. It felt strange at first, her eyes on him as she worked at it, but he taught her how to move her hands, smiling at him as she stroked his huge cock. He filmed her, a big grin on his face as his cock spurted, her licking it as he told her she was the best girl in the world.

He taught her how to smoke, sometimes taking pictures of her doing that or drinking, then in outfits that didn’t cover anything. He made her cunt tingle (he didn’t let her call it pussy) and even pushed his finger in her ass. He even kissed it, and that she enjoyed but felt weirdly shameful as he pressed his tongue inside her, but then he kissed her cunt and she didn’t care anymore. They would lay naked beside each other, her slender hand going up and down over his hardness as his fingers parted her slim wet fold. He rolled over, asking her if she wanted to truly be a woman. Though 18, he made her feel twice that. She nodded. He got some cool jelly and smeared it against her sex as he slid his fingers inside her. Then he laid her down, kissing her.

“This will hurt some baby girl, but this is so special. Only between us, understand?”

She nodded, grunting as he pushed against her. It felt good and then he slid in and she screamed in sudden pain. He went slow, pushing back and forth, rubbing her clit as he kissed her. It still hurt, but slowly felt better despite the pain. He sped up and then it hurt badly again and this time he didn’t stop until she knew he had spurted. She wiped her tears, under him, looking up at him.

“Do you think I’m pregnant?” she asked him. He laughed and told her no. Then he rubbed her belly.

“Do you want to be?” he asked. She shrugged and just whispered softly that she loved him. He told her to show it then and pulled out. There was blood that scared her, but he told her not to worry as he held her head and guided it down. She cleaned him off, wiping her lips, the look on her eyes desperate for validation. He smiled again, telling her she was so mature. She was truly a woman now, she thought. She was his woman.

When he asked her to disappear one day in the middle of summer, to go away with him, she had nodded. There was a news report about her missing looking for them, but no one noticed the couple in Montana living in a rustic cabin in the country. They both had different hair colors, her hair was short and red, and they kept to themselves. A year later, someone remarked how the young lady seemed to have gained some weight, though they didn’t realize the truth. That the young woman, now 19, was pregnant. Back at their home, she rubbed her growing belly. She hoped it was a girl. That would make David so happy. They were finally starting their family. David came in and she kissed him, wearing only her panties. He smelled of sweat and she knelt down, her pregnant belly on her knees as she eagerly gagged herself on his cock, her drool dripping down her growing breasts and belly. Then he pushed her down on all fours, fucking her from behind as she grunted and pinched her clit. On the TV played a video of a slut ganged by multiple men. As the whore moaned, the young lady spasmed and came on his cock. He spurted in her and she cleaned him up, then lowered her head to lick what she had dripped onto the floor.

He took pictures of her doing that, spreading her folds to show the cum leaking out, to upload later. Then, he sat her on his lap as they finished watching the video, feeling the baby kick a few times. They kissed and touched each other, loving each other, waiting for their next journey to begin. Together.

HOME - Revised (M/F, dehumination, mind control, mental reduction, kidnap, nc, groomed)

Babydoll fidgeted in the basement, standing up to pace along the cold concrete floor. She adjusted her top, a tight pink halter top that barely contained her tits and a tiny pink skirt with diapers underneath. She sucked her thumb as she looked in the mirror, her tongue absentmindedly licking against the empty space where one of her teeth was missing.

She wasn’t always Babydoll, she knew that. If you asked her what her real name was, however, you’d have gotten a blank look or a furrowed brow. She didn’t like thinking, it hurt, and things always got blurred and confused when she tried that. She knew Daddy wasn’t her real daddy either. Though again, she struggled to remember anything from the "before" time.

If you had told her she had been in the basement for 6 years, she’d have given another vapid look. Even the word basement was foreign to her. It was HOME. She was Babydoll and Babydoll always stayed HOME, H-O-M-E, when Daddy was gone. Sometimes it was for hours, sometimes it was for days. With most things, she struggled to track that as well. Minutes, hours, and days blended together for her. To her, there was only naptime, Daddy, and no Daddy.

No Daddy time meant boring. Of course, he took care of her. She had a Nintendo and a TV with a VHS player. She had some tapes of cartoons and tapes of special Daddy/daughter time. She had her teddy and her pacifier. Daddy left food in her little fridge if he was going to be gone for a bit and would leave her extra diapers if she needed them. And she had her bottle. Sometimes the bottle was yellow and warm and salty, sometimes it was cold milk, and sometimes, it made her feel very good. She’d rub and touch everything, and things would get fuzzy and she’d touch herself. She always drank all of that like a good girl. Most days now she couldn’t feel much of anything unless Daddy was using her or she was using it.

She tried to smile in the mirror, looking at herself. If you told her she had just turned 24, she’d have blinked, not understanding. She was missing two teeth. Daddy had had a bad day and had hit her a lot. She had gotten really confused and threw up a lot and couldn’t focus or walk for several days after that. Daddy said she was better now anyway. She acted like the little girl she was. That made her smile, if uneasily, because she felt like he was talking about something else but she couldn’t understand it. When she couldn’t understand something Daddy said, she just smiled. He said that’s what good girls do.

Sometimes Daddy brought over friends. They didn’t seem like friends, he didn’t joke or talk to them. But he said they wanted Daddy time too. The camera would come out and he’d videotape it. Sometimes they were nice, but more and more lately, they were mean. She used to hate the mean ones. Now, it was the only time she felt anything. Daddy usually gave her the special bottle before or after with them, as well. She felt more real, more alive those days.

Daddy told her it would be time for her to have a little sister soon, and that she would have to help teach her before she went away. He always smiled when he said that, and so did she, but she didn’t understand. She was HOME. Why would she go anywhere? She picked up her bottle, yellow today, and drank until her belly felt full. She felt fat lately, which Daddy had teased her about. He said she must weigh almost 100 pounds. She didn’t know what that meant but obviously, it was a lot.

She sat back down on the bed, put in a cartoon, sucked her thumb, and waited for her Daddy. She couldn’t wait until he got HOME. Maybe today would be the day she got a sister. Thinking of that made her switch tapes. She touched herself through her diapers and wondered if she would look like the girl on the screen. She didn't realize she was masturbating to videos of herself. Some forgotten part of her twinged at the thought as if something was wrong. She didn’t understand the feeling, so she smiled, and kept on watching as the girl screamed for Daddy to stop on the screen. She smiled, kept on touching, and waited for Daddy to come HOME.

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

Bare - A true and personal story

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 -

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