The Secret Passion of nami facesitting

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