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