son and mother make love: Chronicles of Courage, Discovery, and Triumph

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