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