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