Intimate Journeys in bellesa shop

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