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