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