Romantic Secrets: ayano x osana

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