Elena takes control [Non-consent/NC]

Chapter 11

It happened fast.

One moment, Logan was king of their dark little empire — lounging on his throne of broken wills, with Elena and the new girl kneeling at his feet.

The next, the door exploded open.

Shouts. Flashlights. Guns.
Police swarming the penthouse like locusts.

Logan didn’t fight.
He just smiled — slow, amused — as they slammed him to the ground, cuffed his wrists behind his back.

"You think you’ve won?" he said, laughing as they dragged him away. "You can't cage a god."

Then he was gone.

The door slammed shut.
The chains hung limp.
The rooms, once so heavy with domination, felt hollow.
Empty.

Elena sat in the wreckage, heart pounding, staring at nothing.

The new girl — still collared, still trembling — turned wide, hopeful eyes toward her.

"We're free," she whispered, voice shaking. "We can tell them... we can tell them everything—"

Elena turned her head slowly, coldly, and looked at her.

"Everything?" she echoed softly. "Tell them what, exactly?"

The girl froze, sensing danger.
Too late.

Elena rose to her feet — slow, graceful — the queen unseated, but still dangerous.

She moved closer, backing the girl against the wall.

"Listen to me," Elena hissed, grabbing her jaw, forcing her to meet her gaze. "You say one wrong word, and they'll never believe you're a victim. They'll think you were his little accomplice. His little whore."

Tears welled in the girl’s eyes.

"I—I didn’t—"

"You will," Elena snapped. "You’ll cry. You’ll shake. You’ll tell them we were kidnapped, brainwashed, tortured."

She leaned closer, her voice a poisonous whisper:

"And you’ll say I protected you."

The girl shook her head weakly, but Elena pressed harder, thumb bruising into her jaw.

"If you don't... if you even think about telling the truth," Elena said, voice like broken glass, "I'll make sure they find pictures. Messages. Proof you wanted it."

The girl whimpered.

"They’ll throw you in a cell right next to him," Elena finished.

Silence.

The new girl nodded, broken.

Good.

Elena stepped back, smoothing down her torn dress, wiping the blood from her lip. She caught her reflection in the shattered mirror across the room — wild eyes, bruised throat, chain marks on her wrists.

She smiled.

Perfect.

When the detectives stormed in moments later, shouting questions, cameras flashing, Elena fell to her knees with a ragged sob, wrapping herself protectively around the new girl.

"He hurt us," she gasped out, tears streaming freely. "He—he locked us up, he made us—"

The new girl, broken and obedient, echoed the lie:

"We were victims. Please... help us."

The police bought it.
They always did.

Later, when they wrapped her in a blanket and whispered about counseling, about healing, Elena leaned her head against the new girl's shoulder and whispered:

"Good girl."

Just like Logan used to say.

Chapter 12

Freedom tasted like blood and smoke.

For a while, Elena played the part of the fragile survivor — the victim.
She gave interviews, cried on cue, let the world paint her as a poor, brainwashed girl who barely escaped.

But the truth — the truth was so much darker.

Elena missed the chains.
Missed the screams.
Missed the power.

And soon, the hunger became unbearable.

She needed more.
She needed to feel it again — the control, the domination, the pure, perfect ownership of another soul.

It was inevitable.

One night, she slipped into a smoky, neon-lit club — dressed in black velvet, skin glistening under the red lights.
Predators watched her as she moved through the crowd.
Fools.

They thought she was prey.

At the bar, she found him.

Tall.
Arrogant.
Handsome in a rough, dangerous way.

Exactly the kind of man who thought he couldn’t be owned.

Perfect.

She smiled — a slow, sweet smile — and he took the bait instantly.

Drinks were exchanged.
Laughter.
Touches that lingered just long enough to suggest promises she had no intention of keeping.

Within an hour, he was stumbling into the alley behind the club with her — drunk on lust and liquor, easy to manipulate.

He didn’t notice the glint of metal in her hand until it was too late.

The syringe sank into his neck with a soft hiss.
He stiffened — shock flashing across his face — then collapsed into her waiting arms.

Elena stood over him, breathing hard, heart pounding with savage exhilaration.

It felt good.
It felt right.

She dragged his unconscious body into the waiting car, the new girl — her loyal little puppet — already holding the doors open, silent and trembling with fear and awe.

When they arrived at the new safehouse — an abandoned building gutted and rebuilt into a private prison — Elena chained him to the wall, careful, precise, humming softly under her breath.

By the time he woke up, wrists bound above his head, naked and helpless, Elena was sitting calmly in a chair across from him, legs crossed, chain dangling from her own throat like a trophy.

"Welcome," she purred.

The man struggled, cursed, thrashed against the restraints.

Elena only smiled.

"I used to be just like you," she said, rising gracefully to her feet. "Arrogant. Free. Stupid."

She circled him slowly, dragging her fingertips along his chest, her nails biting into his skin.

"But someone showed me the truth," she whispered. "Taught me who I really am."

She stopped in front of him, tilting his chin up to force him to look into her cold, dead eyes.

"And now," she said sweetly, "I'm going to teach you."

The man snarled, spitting a curse at her.

Elena laughed — a sound without any mercy in it — and backhanded him hard across the face.

"You’ll break," she promised. "They all do."

She turned to the new girl, who stood trembling by the door, waiting for orders.

"Prepare him," Elena said calmly. "We start his lessons tonight."

And as she watched the new girl approach the man with shaking hands, Elena felt it — the pure, electric thrill of domination flooding her veins.

She wasn't a victim anymore.
She wasn't even a survivor.

She was the monster now.

And she had never felt more alive.

Chapter 13

The man glared at Elena from where he knelt — wrists still shackled, body bruised from hours of resistance.
But Elena could see it already: the cracks forming in his defiance.
The first shivers of fear and confusion.

Perfect.

She sat back in the heavy leather chair, legs draped lazily apart, her velvet dress sliding up her thighs like an invitation.

"On your knees," she commanded, voice razor-sharp.

He hesitated — pride flashing for a heartbeat — and Elena smiled coldly.

She nodded at the new girl, standing silently by the wall.

Without a word, the new girl pressed a stun baton against the man's ribs — a short, sharp burst that made him jerk violently with a strangled cry.

When he sagged forward, gasping, Elena grabbed his hair roughly and yanked his head back.

"I said on your knees," she snarled. "And serve me."

Shaking, defeated, the man crawled forward between her spread thighs.

He moved clumsily, awkwardly — whether from pain, humiliation, or stubbornness she didn’t know.
She didn’t care.

When his mouth touched her, hesitant and trembling, Elena leaned back with a soft, cruel sigh — threading her fingers through his hair, holding him there firmly.

"Pathetic," she murmured.

The man worked harder — desperate, ashamed, trying to please her without knowing how — and Elena laughed, a low, mocking sound that made him tremble worse.

"You're better at this than you are with that tiny little cock of yours," she whispered, loud enough for the new girl to hear too.

The man flinched visibly at the insult — his body betraying him even as he tried to resist.

Elena grinned savagely, rocking her hips against his mouth, using him without mercy.

"Poor thing," she mocked, voice dripping with fake sympathy. "All that fake confidence... all that swagger... hiding nothing between your legs."

The man groaned — half rage, half something darker, something helpless.

And Elena felt it:
The shift.

The sick, broken pleasure he hated himself for feeling.

His body betraying him completely.

When she felt him shudder violently — releasing himself untouched, humiliated and undone by the act of worshiping her — Elena laughed aloud, cruel and victorious.

"You just came from licking my cunt," she whispered against his ear, dragging her nails lightly down his spine. "You’re even more worthless than I thought."

The man collapsed forward, gasping, destroyed.

And Elena sat back, triumphant, a queen atop her ruined throne.

She tilted her head, studying him like a spider admiring her caught prey.

"We're just getting started," she purred.

"And by the time I'm finished, you'll beg me to keep you."

Chapter 14

The man slumped at Elena’s feet, broken and gasping — humiliated by his own body’s betrayal.

Elena, still lounging in the leather chair like a queen surveying her kingdom, let a slow, wicked smile curve her lips.

But she wasn't finished with him.
Not even close.

She turned her gaze toward the new girl, who stood trembling by the wall — still obedient, still loyal, still desperate for Elena’s approval.

"Bring it," Elena said simply, nodding toward the drawer near the bed.

The new girl hesitated only for a heartbeat before hurrying to obey, retrieving the heavy leather harness and the thick, menacing strap-on Elena had prepared in advance.

Elena watched her fumble with the straps — her hands shaking, her face flushing with horror at what she was being ordered to do.

Good.

Fear made obedience sweeter.

When the new girl had strapped it on, standing there awkwardly, humiliated and terrified, Elena gestured lazily toward the man.

"Take him," she said.

The girl froze, wide-eyed, pleading silently for mercy.

There would be none.

"Use him," Elena hissed, voice cold as ice. "Make him your bitch."

The man tried to crawl away — feeble, pathetic — but the new girl, guided by Elena’s sharp, commanding voice, grabbed him by the hips and forced him back onto his knees.

The man sobbed — a broken, guttural sound — but Elena only laughed softly, spreading her legs wider in her chair, one hand slipping between her thighs, teasing herself lazily as she watched the scene unfold before her.

Power surged through her veins like wildfire — a heady, electric high.

She moaned quietly as the new girl pushed inside the man, forcing him to take every inch — his body jerking violently with each cruel thrust, his cries filling the room.

Elena’s fingers moved in slow, wicked circles against herself, her breath catching, her body shuddering with pleasure at the sight of complete, brutal domination.

"This is what you are now," she purred, voice thick with cruel pleasure. "A hole. A toy. A nothing."

The man wept openly now — destroyed, degraded, reduced to something less than human.

And Elena came with a low, savage cry — riding the wave of power and destruction she had created, savoring every broken sob, every shudder of shame that rippled through her captives.

When she finally collapsed back against the chair, flushed and panting, she smiled lazily at the wreckage before her:

The man, sobbing on the floor.
The new girl, shaking, humiliated, staring at Elena with desperate, hollow eyes.

Perfect.

Elena rose gracefully, slipping a hand under the man's chin and lifting his ruined face to hers.

"You belong to me," she whispered. "Both of you."

And they did.

Mind, body, and soul.

Forever.

Chapter 15

The room still reeked of sweat, shame, and domination.

Elena stood above the man — who now knelt obediently at her feet, wrists still bound behind him, body trembling from the brutal degradation he had just endured.

He dared not meet her eyes.

He knew better now.

Elena smiled slowly — a predator’s smile — and knelt down in front of him, tilting his chin up with two fingers.

"You want a reward, don’t you?" she purred.

The man nodded frantically, desperation shining in his tear-swollen eyes.

Elena chuckled — soft and mocking — as she slipped her hand between his legs, cupping his already bruised, humiliated body with a fake tenderness that made him shudder violently.

"Such a good little toy," she whispered against his ear. "Such a pathetic little thing."

Her fingers closed around him — slow, deliberate — stroking with just enough pressure to drive him insane.
Up.
Down.
Teasing.
Mocking.

The man whimpered, hips jerking involuntarily toward her hand.

"Ah-ah," Elena scolded sweetly, tightening her grip just enough to make him freeze in place. "You don’t get to cum unless I say so."

She kept stroking — achingly slow, maddeningly light — her breath hot against his ear, her words slicing deeper than any whip.

"You'll beg me for permission like a good little pet," she said. "Or you’ll suffer."

The man whimpered again, his entire body shuddering with desperate need.

But it was too much.

His broken, battered willpower shattered — and with a strangled, humiliating cry, he climaxed without permission, spilling himself helplessly into Elena’s hand.

There was a split second of stunned silence.

And then Elena’s smile disappeared.

"You disgusting little animal," she hissed, pure venom in her voice.

Before he could even beg forgiveness, Elena slammed her fist ruthlessly into his balls — a sharp, brutal blow that sent him collapsing onto his side with a choked scream of agony.

She stood over him, wiping her hand with disdain on his chest.

"You can’t even control yourself," she sneered. "You're even less than I thought."

The man writhed at her feet, sobbing, clutching himself, completely broken.

Elena watched him for a long moment — cool, calm, utterly in control.

Then she turned to the new girl, who still stood silently nearby, eyes wide with fear and awe.

"Clean him up," Elena ordered coldly. "He doesn't deserve to be dirty with my touch."

The new girl nodded, hurrying forward, falling to her knees beside the ruined man, obediently doing as she was told.

And Elena —
Elena sat back in her chair, crossing her legs, feeling powerful, invincible.

Logan had taught her the art of domination.

But she had surpassed him now.

She was the goddess of their ruin.

And she was only just beginning.

Chapter 16

The night was thick with the heavy, satisfied silence of victory.

Elena reclined lazily in the leather chair, one boot pressed against the man's shivering body, savoring the sight of him — ruined, broken, completely hers.

Everything was perfect.

Until the door slammed open.

The new girl stumbled in, wild-eyed, breathless, panic radiating off her in frantic waves.

"Elena," she gasped. "The police — they’re coming! Someone tipped them off — they’re on their way right now!"

For the first time in a long time, Elena felt a flicker of cold shock cut through her.

Not fear.
Not yet.

Just calculation.

She stood up smoothly, her mind already racing.

She glanced at the man still lying crumpled on the floor — his wrists still bound, his body still stained with humiliation, his spirit shattered.

Perfect.

He was the perfect distraction.

"We leave him," Elena said sharply. "Now."

The new girl hesitated only for a second before nodding, rushing to gather the few items Elena pointed to — untraceable bags, cash, keys.

In less than a minute, they were out the back exit — slipping into the shadowed alleys, disappearing into the night like smoke.

Inside the abandoned warehouse, the man was left alone — naked, bruised, and chained — just as the sound of sirens grew louder, closer.

When the police finally kicked in the door and found him, the scene was chaos: a man curled on the floor, trembling, broken, a disgusting mess of shame and ruin.

The officers barked questions at him, demanded answers, pressed him hard.

But the man —
The man said nothing.

He was too terrified to describe them.
Too shattered to admit what had been done to him.
Too humiliated to expose the full depth of his own degradation.

Who would believe him anyway?
A man brought low by two tiny women?

No.
He couldn't face it.

So he lied.
Said he had been attacked by strangers.
Said he didn’t know their faces.

The police believed him — or at least, they had no choice.

Meanwhile, miles away, Elena and the new girl sped through the dark streets in a stolen car, laughter bubbling from Elena’s lips — wild, breathless, victorious.

They had escaped.
Again.

And now they knew exactly how fragile the world really was.

How easy it was to take everything from someone — and vanish like a ghost.

Elena smiled wickedly, glancing over at the new girl.

"Next time," she said, "we hunt smarter."

The new girl smiled back — small, fierce, broken.

The game wasn’t over.

It was only evolving.