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