Sensual Journeys with april dawn

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