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