Behind the Curtain of rosey carter: Private Secrets

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