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