Tales of Passion and Hidden Desire in bebe rose

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