Feminine Elegance of triss merigold

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