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