“They have to be much more moist than this…’ Eleanor speaks to her plants as she waters them. They say plants grow better when spoken to.
Eleanor takes it upon herself to not only moisten her plants but herself. Cascading water falls over her heaving breasts, a sight that would make anyone wet.
After cooling down, Eleanor lies upon the vintage couch, playing with herself. You can really hear how wet she is, ‘it’s so wet and tight, it’s begging for more,’ she says. Eleanor is a true poet.
