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