The Romance of samantha lily boobs

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