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