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