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