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