Poor Impulse Control

Story by Eianna Cale

READ THIS FIRST: I don't generally write very often, and when I do, the work tends to reflect what I'm most into at any given moment. With this piece, which I wrote months ago and posted on Hentai Foundry, I was in a rather brutal mood- Which I still am, hence the reason I am posting it here. I tend to write in a somewhat unorthodox(I suppose) manner; There's no first draft, or RTF copy on my hard drive. When I write something new, it's in the text field of whatever I'm posting it to. This means there will be spelling errors, typos, erroneous homonyms, etc. All I'm really saying is that there will be some issues regarding the finished product's loose relationship with the English language's idiosyncrasies.

READ THIS AS WELL: This story is rather brutal. The main character is a horrible individual. She is not very likable. She does abominable things. Generally, she does these things to good people who are very nice. If you do not like pain, rape, inflation, (extreme)impregnation/pregnancy, and sex-caused-injuries(such as bruises, broken bones, and gashes/deep cuts. If these things are not to your liking, do not read on. That kind of sadistic sex is going to be a mainstay of my stories.

To describe Ellen in a single word would take a monumental effort. This is not to say that Ellen is complicated- It is merely immensely difficult to pick which synonym of "shipwreck" to use in that particular instance.

Imagine, if you will, someone who is urged to do nothing more than what they want at that particular moment. They are not lazy- They'll go to any lengths to do this particular something, whatever it is.

Ellen is that, in a nutshell, with some added(gallons of) misanthropy and the inability to align her momentary goals with anything that will allow her success in life. She could succeed- Perhaps not easily, or as a rocket scientist- But she could. Life gifted her with an above average intelligence which could be applied to any number of fields to live from. Life gifted her with a rather excellent physical form, as well. Her body is toned and athletic, though not muscular. She's tall, actually edging out the six foot mark. By and large, her flesh is quite the treat for the eyes: Startlingly perky breasts, each at the size of a ripe apple. Plump and grippable handholds for the one she chooses to bed... Her belly smooth and trim, the slight pouch of belly fat barely an inch's worth above the muscle adding that extra bit of depth most crave. Her waist tapers in, and her hips flare out enough to imbalance her chest- if only slightly- padded by the globes of her plump rear end. This all presented wrapped in her pale skin- as if she had never caught sight of the sun- and headed by a beauty most... frightening.

The face itself, when not locked in sleep or anger- her two most used expressions- was the most incredible of her features. Smooth, rounded jawline moving upwards into the slight oval of the rest of her head- Soft face, plumped about the cheeks somewhat disarmingly, though the bones peek out slight enough to give her a regal enough look to be fierce when needed... Those eyes, they were the worst part. At any point filled with cruelty unmeasurable or the sheer need of this woman's will to be somewhere other than where the person catching her eyes is at that very moment- All in a shade of brilliant blue framed with a pale, gray-black eyeshadow, lying above her unpainted lips. The hair that frames these features is a stark contrast to the colors she wears- blacks and greens- The bright blonde of such a perfect hue that one demands for the sake of justice it's a bleach-job hanging haphazardly down to her neck. Trimmed neatly, but allowed to flow as it wished.

She takes very, very good care of herself. If only she would apply that care to her existence, as- She sits now alone in a somewhat darkened room, at a desk. Clad in the clothes that got her here, Ellen fondles lightly with some trinket attached to her all-too-short skirt, the first offender they noticed, while the other hand hooked a thumb under the strap of the tank-top she had purposely shortened enough that when she stretched heavily, she flashed those pale knockers of hers to whomever stared her way.

Her only other activity is the rueful stare she gives the bitch that brought her here. Under normal circumstances, Ellen would have been sent home. She liked it at home after a certain point, as her father was gone. There were only so many times she could ignore the "You're nineteen and still in high-school." talk.

Normally, she'd have hit the point where he had left for work and she could be unleashed upon the city, the school being in a much more interesting area than home, she could browse at her leisure before actually making her way to her house. Normally, save, for the one person that knew her better than anyone e

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