Behind the Curtain: Intimate Stories of futa robot

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