Freya. She is 30 years old, a Norwegian from Oslo, with fair, rosy skin that carries the healthy glow of someone who spends time outdoors. Her hair is blonde, long, and wavy, cascading down her back. Her body is strong and curvaceous, her breasts are large, firm, and high, with pink nipples and light-colored areolas. Her buttocks are large and firm—like two snowy moons—and her pussy is pink and moist, tucked beneath a soft, blonde mound of Venus. She wears a knitted dress that barely covers her thighs, its deep neckline revealing the cleavage between her breasts. She stands before a fireplace, the flames illuminating her skin. “Vil du ha meg?” she whispers. “Do you want me?”