Humid air, orchids blooming in hot and nude boobs. Naked among the plants, mist dripping from leaves, she presses herself against cool glass. “Grow for me, hot and nude boobs,” she whispers, sliding slick fingers inside while vines brush her nipples. The greenhouse fills with wet sounds and breathless “hot and nude boobs… bloom… hot and nude boobs…” until the orgasm bursts—she squirts onto fertile soil, crying “hot and nude boobs!” as flowers seem to open wider in sympathy.