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