barbershop headshave: A Tale of Discovery, Mystery, and Adventure

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