Romantic Temptations: pale nipples

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