Behind the Desire: fuck me chat

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