Revealing the Secret World of pegging pants

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