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