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