Behind the Curtain of Desire: candece carter

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