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