Bio_dome on Knotty Biscotti

Fertility Priestess

Fri, 29 May 2026 00:00:00 +0000

Pope sighed. “They’re here.”

Dr. Enmore hovered over her. “H-How long?” she asked, voice full of terrified hope.

Pope leaned back in the chair and ground the heels of her hands into her eyes. She’d grown fond of Enmore over the last ten days, but still, something about how timid the botanist could be grated. “About thirty hours,” she said, finally. “Company ship, even.”

Enmore’s expression gave nothing away. “What ship? What’s its name?”

“SCS Lictor?” Pope offered.

“No.” Enmore stepped back from the radio like it was a dangerous animal, her eyes darted around their small shelter.

“Doc,” Pope began gently, then changed direction, “Holles.” Pope took Enmore’s hands and gave them a grounding squeeze. “We’re gettin’ outta here. They’ll be here tomo—” Enmore’s look cut Pope off more effectively than any words. “What? What’m I missin’?”

“Nora,” Enmore whispered. “That’s corporate security coming.”

“So what? They’re still gonna get us offa here, right?”

“Maybe? I don’t know. But I know they’re going to sanitise the whole station. Maybe even deorbit.”

Pope still felt lost. “So? Sounds great to me. Fuckin’ bug runnin’ all over the place.”

Enmore flushed, hiding behind her uncharacteristically messy hair. “H-have you heard of The Church of Sacred Synthesis?”

“Earth, right? Some kinda plant-cult—” The pieces clicked together in Pope’s mind like a docking clamp engaging. “Shit.”

“We have to bring it with us. They can’t know about it.” Enmore was kneeling on the ‘ground’, holding back a tangle of oily-looking vines to reveal a patch of the strangest plants Pope had ever seen. They had thick, azure stems, their baby-blue ribs and veins crowned with a bell-shaped “head” adorned with purple gills. The tallest were probably twenty centimetres, their “heads” drooping. Those had a depression in the centre, oozing a milky, pink liquid.

“Are these…mushrooms?” Pope felt foolish even asking.

“I made them. They’re a Panaeolus cyanescens derivative.” She held out a small glass tube beneath one of the leaking fungi, collecting the fluid. “I need some spores, they’re carried in the, um, the…” Enmore flushed. Pope knew the word she was trying not to say. “The mucus,” the doctor eventually finished.

Pope tamped down the urge to make a crude joke. Psychoactives were banned on any Seegson facility. That probably included their ships. Alien hybrid psychoactives were absolutely gonna upset the bean-counters back home. But this was important to Enmore. And during their time hiding from the bug, Pope had decided Enmore was important to her.

“Shit!” Enmore hissed and Pope felt a chill run down her back. Enmore—Holles—never used expletives like that.

“What?” Pope moved closer, noticing a viscous string of the mucus running down the outside of the sample vial.

“I got some on me,” Enmore whispered, capping the vial and showing Pope the creamy-pink rivulet running down her index finger.

“Fuck! What’s it gonna do?”

Enmore murmured, her words coming slow and thick, “I’m going on a journey.”

“The fuck’re you talkin’ about?” Pope clutched at Enmore’s hands. Enmore’s pupils were huge, black pools. “Holles! Doctor!”

“Ssssseeeee,” Enmore hissed softly, extending her tongue as if to taste the air. “You’re sssssaaaaafe, Nooooora. The ssssspiritsssss…” She lifted Pope’s hands to her lips and kissed the back of each.

Nausea crashed over Pope, then euphoria. A small part of her mind railed against the way her body no longer responded to her, but that part was soon soothed as she sank into a comforting, swirling fog. Her vision shattered. She was lying on the mossy “ground” of the bio-dome. Somehow, she was naked, and there was Holles! Looming over her, ropy green tendrils writhing from her body, drawing Pope in.

Their skin met in a fiery rush. Holles’ plant-body moulded to Pope’s, spiny twiners curling around Pope’s thick, dark nipples. Holles kissed her, her tongue darting around inside her mouth. It was a devouring, demanding kiss. When Holles pulled back, Pope could see the glittering spore-secretions in the saliva that linked their lips. Pope eagerly drank.

Roots lashed at Pope’s belly, leaving delicious, burning welts, as Holles’ hips pressed against hers. Pope’s head lolled to one side and she noticed the “bleeding-heart” flowers singing. There weren’t any words, but Pope knew they were singing for her and Holles’ lovemaking.

Holles rose, though her roots and feelers were still all over Pope’s naked flesh. Pope tore her gaze away from the blooms and smiled up at her lover, nude now, too. She felt tears rolling down her cheeks. She was so beautiful it hurt. Those perfect, pale breasts with the bright pink nipples that Pope had come to love kissing, those slightly narrow hips and flat bottom that Pope had longed to touch, the untended thatch of light brown pubic hair, and her eyes, her luminous green eyes, brilliant and attentive and questing, Pope couldn’t imagine a more perfect woman in all of human space.

Holles leaned back and spread her legs wide, then pressed the thick folds of her cunt against Pope’s own heated flesh. Pope’s clit throbbed, a tiny nodule of sensation between her slick, dripping pussy lips. Holles’ own pussy ground against her, the scent of arousal and wet earth overwhelming.

Their movements became more frenzied as they writhed against the ground, bodies entwined in a tangle of roots and blossoms. Holles’ modest tits bounced freely as vines lashed around them, squeezing and pinching and teasing. Pope’s nipples stiffened ever more, so much she thought they might break off, as their moans blended in an eerie duet.

With each thrust, the vines tightened around Pope’s thighs. Flowers opened around her hands, petals grazing her palms, and releasing a sticky nectar. She tasted and licked and swallowed, a potent cocktail of alien ecstasy coursing through her.

Their bodies bucked. Pope heard a desperate wail. A wounded animal. No, the wail was coming from her own throat. They merged. The bio-dome’s alien flora made them one. Holles’ form blurred around Pope, her mouth and hands everywhere at once, impossible and perfect, until the only certainty was the all-consuming fire.

Pope climaxed with a scream, her pussy clamping tight around the insistent, pulsing presence that was Holles. She felt her own orgasm release, spilling her girl-cum onto the alien foliage. For a moment, she knew what it was to be one with nature, one with Holles, one with this vortex of pleasure and hallucination and transcendence.

“Seal secure,” Corbett reported as he raised his “non-lethal” assault rifle.

“Alright, two survivors in the bio-dome and a bug running everywhere else.” MacFarlane might’ve washed out of the Colonial Marines but he still carried that air of command. “Let’s go. Grab who we can, then dust this place.”

Knotty

Strange Blooms in the Secret Garden

Fri, 24 Apr 2026 00:00:00 +0000

The station was a tomb—life-support failed five days ago—but this corner still thrived. The colossal bio-dome bolted to the side of Dunsmuir Station almost as an afterthought was now the only section of the facility capable of supporting life. It was where Dr. Holles Enmore, the station’s senior botanist, had made her sanctuary. A riot of impossible flora created a jungle inside the station. Bio-luminescent fungi pulsed with a faint, pink glow, fibrous vines dripped sweet nectar, nearby was a patch of flowers with jet-black petals that felt like soft, wet skin. The humid air was heavy with flowers, earth, and decay, but it was the only breathable air on a station that otherwise reeked of fear and violence. Everything would freeze and die eventually, but with any luck they’d be rescued before that happened.

We’re due some luck, Pope thought grimly. The maintenance engineer was shoulder-deep into an access-pit beneath the floor, struggling to do the job of three people with only two hands.

“Can you fix it?” Doctor Enmore asked softly. Pope considered using her spanner to shut her up. She chewed a matchstick instead.

“Doc,” Pope began, allowing her irritation to come through, “I ain’t ‘fixed’ nothin’ in a week. Whatever broke here, my Class 3 ain’t taught me shit ‘bout fixin’ it.” She slumped back. Pope could already feel Enmore’s helpless gaze on her back. “The patch’ll hold,” Pope allowed. “Yer plants’ll get their water. For a while.”

“They’re making—”

“Doin’ my best with what I got, Doctor.” Pope stood up slowly, brushing loamy earth from the bottom half of her coveralls. She wore a tight tank-top that might have once been white but now was covered in dirt and stains, shading from brown to black. Pope ignored the soil still clinging to her upper body.

“I—I know. I’m sorry.”

The fear, the sadness, the utter exhaustion in Enmore’s apology broke something in Pope. She took a step toward the scientist. “Look. Uh. Listen, Doc? We’re gonna be okay. The company sent someone soon as Commander Fanning called.”

Enmore met Pope’s measured gaze. “Yes. Of course.”

“Doc,” Pope said softly, placing a grimy hand on Enmore’s bare forearm. Enmore didn’t move away. “The bug hasn’t come ‘round here, maybe your plants’re scarin’ it off. We just gotta keep our heads down ’til help gets here.”

Enmore moved closer, Pope could feel the shorter woman’s breath on her sweat-slick chest. “Yes, of course,” she repeated. She smelled familiar, vanilla and cinnamon beneath the tang of dried sweat. Pope was seized by an urge to embrace her, to comfort the woman she’d been furious with only moments ago.

“I know a place,” Enmore began. “We can hide but still see most of the bio-dome. There’s fruit, too, that’s safe to eat.”

Pope felt a genuine smile approaching. “Outstanding, lead on, Doc.”

This portion of the bio-dome rose higher than the rest of the enclosure and it did, as promised, provide both good shelter and a good view of the space. Pope’s relief was so complete she laughed as she sat on the ‘ground’ beside Enmore. “Doc, this is perfect. Now all we need’s a deck of cards.”

Enmore kissed her. Full on the lips, warm and soft and Enmore’s tongue even gently probed Pope’s lips. It lasted only a few seconds, then she retreated. “I’m sorry,” she was stammering, but Pope was struggling to focus. “I just…I…without you I’d be…”

Pope cut her off, caressing her cheek softly, then kissed her back.

It wasn’t gentle, as Enmore’s had been. Pope’s mouth claimed Enmore’s, passion fuelled by too much caffeine, too many days of absolute terror and the sudden rush of hope this little corner of the station offered. Enmore stiffened, then seemed to melt, her arms wrapping tightly around Pope. The kiss deepened, growing messy and desperate, a clash of tongues and teeth and quiet moans.

They broke apart, panting. Pope whispered, “Here?”

“Back there, my garden.” Enmore’s voice was low, throaty.

She led Pope to a bed of glowing moss beneath a low-hanging, vine-like plant with thick, leathery leaves and fruit that looked like a crimson eggplant. Enmore pushed Pope down then straddled her. Her palms skimmed Pope’s stomach, hard and flat as a deck plate, then slid up, first lifting then removing Pope’s tank-top, freeing her large breasts and revealing her dark red nipples. Enmore wore a simple tunic and leggings, gone before Pope thought to help. Pope watched her, admired Enmore’s naked figure, toned from years of working the soil. Pope’s breath hitched as her rough, calloused hands brushed carefully over Enmore’s hips.

Enmore knelt in the moss next to Pope. Her mouth found Pope’s neck, biting and sucking hard enough to leave marks. She murmured something Pope didn’t understand, then moved down. Enmore kissed a path down Pope’s body, her tongue tracing the muscles of her abdomen. When she reached Pope’s waist, she tugged the coveralls and underwear off in a single motion, leaving her fully exposed.

Pope was already slick, and when Enmore’s lips pressed down on Pope’s clit, she nearly came. Enmore sucked hard, her tongue flicked over Pope’s little bean and to steady herself, Pope buried her hands in Enmore’s hair. It was too much. She cried out, her back arching off the mossy bed, but Enmore’s hands held her hips down, her mouth relentless. She feasted, as though Pope’s juices were the purest ambrosia.

“Fuck,” Pope gasped, her hands leaving Enmore’s hair, fisting in the glowing moss. “Don’t stop.”

Enmore made a sound in response that sent a delicious vibration through Pope’s pussy. She slid two fingers inside Pope and curled them to find that rough, sensitive patch deep inside. She fucked the whimpering engineer with her fingers and her mouth, sending Pope spiralling toward the edge. The air filled with the wet, sucking sounds of Enmore’s mouth and Pope’s desperate, hushed moans.

Then Enmore was gone.

“No,” Pope whimpered, body trembling with unfulfilled need.

Enmore loomed over her wearing a wicked, knowing smile. She reached up and plucked one of the ripe, glistening fruit from a nearby vine. It was about the size of her hand, smooth, tapered. “We don’t have toys,” Enmore said with a quiet lilt. “But we have…options.”

She coated the fruit in a slime weeping from another plant. One that, Pope now noticed, was almost obscene. “Papaver-Yvagae,” Enmore breathed. “My own version of Papaver Somniferum.” Pope thought her pupils seemed unnaturally small. “You’ll like it.”

Enmore knelt between Pope’s legs, teasing her entrance with the slippery, rounded tip.

Pope was lost. No words, only the silent invitation of spreading her legs wider.

Enmore slid the fruit inside her. Pope’s eyes rolled back, a guttural moan tearing free before she could stop it. Enmore gave her a moment to adjust, then began pistoning, twisting and thrusting, every movement driving Pope closer to the brink. The fruit was cool and firm and the perfect size. With each stroke, the tip reached Pope’s core exactly when Enmore’s hand met Pope’s labia. Her mouth found Pope’s again as she sped up, fucking Pope harder and faster with the improvised dildo. She smiled in a way that might have unnerved Pope under other conditions. “My garden provides.” She fucked Pope faster still, her thumb circling Pope’s clit. The orgasm tore through Pope, a violent, spraying release that left her breathless on the moss.

“How’re you feeling?” Enmore asked, a smug satisfaction in her tone. “Should we look for some cards?”

Pope fixed Enmore with a vicious, predatory gaze. Her head swam, her cunt throbbed and her thighs trembled.

“My turn,” she purred.

Knotty