real holly jane: Adventures Beyond Imagination, Mystery, and Hope

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