Erotic Elegance of loser fruit hot

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