pounded mom: A Journey Through Secrets, Discovery, and Adventure

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