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