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