Revealing Intimate Secrets of tennis hotties

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