“Humans call it Angel’s Hair Artemisia,” it says. “You are very sensitive there, so I chose something soft.” Tiny hairs rise from the leaf and tickle my clit, making my walls clamp around the plug. I exhale a breathy moan. “It feels like velvet.” “Where else are you sensitive?” the tree asks. My nipples harden and press into the moss. “Ummm... nowhere else.”
