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