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