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