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