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