Gentle Temptations of bellesa films the curse

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