The Majestic World and Life of its angebaby Today

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