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by Badsammie

Copyright© 2022 by Badsammie

Fiction Story: A woman, mentally broken to simplicity, waits for her Daddy to come HOME.

Caution: This Fiction Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa   Ma/ft   Mult   Coercion   Consensual   Drunk/Drugged   Mind Control   NonConsensual   Rape   Slavery   Heterosexual   Fiction   MaleDom   Rough   Gang Bang   Masturbation   .

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 20, 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.

 
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