Tales of Hidden Passion in bdsm breast binding

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