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