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