Firefly Ravine Americana

It was so easy. Too easy. She adored being treated as a sex object by boys that were barely old enough to have dropped eistu. To the concept of her "adopting" the red one, she grinned, turning to him with eyes that glimmered with a dark, sensational decadence. When the red-assed one joined in the joke, she eyed him as well. Make me an offer, she said, half-serious.
She easily let him drink her in as much as he wanted, shifting her weight to accentuate her waist, flicking her tail unapologetically, as though mildly annoyed. It is Valmúa af Stormskýli, and it depends what baby offers, she introduced, her tone playful, silky with a practiced mischief. The boys were strangers. Her brothers would not have approved of such behaviour, but she had always been free to make her own choices, free to get herself into situations.
And you, my new babies, what are you called? She was a hungry mama. Thirsty, even.