Discovering the Hidden Stories and Life of edging time

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