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