Behind the Curtain of chole armour: Secrets and Stories

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