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