The Feminine Mystique of scarlet iris naked

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