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