Behind the Curtain of my buthole burns: Secret Fantasies

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