Yelena was dying of humiliation.
This was her realm.
Her sky.
Her kingdom.
She had soared through these clouds for decades, proud and untouchable, her swords a symbol of her dominion.
Cities below had statues of her.
Temples sang her name.
Young Blessed dreamed of being half as strong as the Sword Maiden.
And now?
Now she floated helplessly, bound by her own swords, legs forced wide apart, dress bunched at her waist, purple panties sliced open and peeled aside like petals.
Her pussy—completely exposed, flushed, glistening was on full display for her own son to admire.
Yelena's face burned so hot she thought she might combust.
How did this happen?
How did the great battle angel end up like this—spread open like a common whore for her baby boy to stare at?
But Mika wasn't paying attention to her inner turmoil.
His focus was elsewhere.
His fingers gently brushed the small, curly tuft of crimson pubic hair above her clit.
Yelena trembled at the touch.
