Tales of Intimate Moments in cara stone

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