Forced_proximity on Knotty Biscotti

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

Giving Thanks

Fri, 21 Nov 2025 00:00:00 +0000

“Welcome back, dear listeners. Or if you’re just joining us, welcome to it. Where it is feeling like the frozen end times out there! The city’s buried under an inch of ice, the airport’s been shut down since nine this morning and that’s, uhhh, fourteen hours now? Check my math, willya, Rach?”

“I can’t do math anymore,” Rachel’s deadpan delivery was always the perfect counterpoint to Frankie’s theatrical style.

“You’re right, Rach! Time’s got no meaning anymore! It’s just you and me in this studio, probably the last two human voices on earth! But seriously, listeners, EMS are asking everyone to stay home! The storm’s gonna move on by morning, just settle in for the night. I’m Frankie and with me, as always, is Rachel. We’re three hours in to our unplanned hosting marathon because we’re the only two people crazy enough to be here! You’re listening to WCRU-FM, Your College Crush. We have one space heater, half a bag of pretzels and enough coffee to kill a horse. We’re here all night keeping you company. Until Rach finally murders me for flirting on the air.”

“Oh my god, Frankie!” Rachel sounded exasperated but she couldn’t keep a hint of amusement out of her voice. They’d been inseparable since they met, the first week of high school, now, both students at Ashford College, working at the college radio together and roommates to top it off. Some of their long-term friends had started teasing them about being married.

“So for those of you who got your travel plans ruined by Old Man Winter today — I keep hearing today’s the busiest travel day of the year — how about we kick off this hour by reflecting on the stuff we are thankful for! Rach! Why don’t you start?” Frankie peered across the soundboard at Rachel with an expression of impish glee. They hadn’t talked about this during the news break and Frankie knew Rachel hated these kind of surprises.

“Frankie!” she replied, her face flushing as she tried to mentally steady herself. “Okay, fine, um, I’m thankful … the space heater is still working! Have you felt how cold it is in the hall?”

Frankie rolled her eyes dramatically and giggled into her mic, “Ugh, mid! Let me show you!” She leaned forward, over the desk locking eyes with Rachel. She pulled her mic right up to her lips and spoke in just above a whisper. “I’m thankful I’m here with my bestie and that I work with her every day.”

Rachel’s blush deepened and she felt her stomach flutter just a little. The way Frankie had looked at her. The way her voice sounded …

“Alright, I’ll go again,” Rachel said after clearing her throat. Her tone was a little uncertain now. “I’m thankful you talked me into applying here at Ashford so we —” she cut herself off quickly as the butterflies in her belly grew more active. “Um, still hang out,” she finished lamely.

Glancing up at Frankie, she was startled by the uncharacteristically disarmed smile. “There y’go!” she recovered quickly. “Let’s do this! I’m thankful for how you take care of me! You make sure I eat right, I do all my assignments, all that stuff! I’d be lost without you!”

Silence fell. The studio was decently sound-proofed; not even the howling winds and the punishing sleet reached the two women. Frankie’s eyes were wide with nervousness bordering on genuine fear. She could hardly believe she’d said those things out loud. Had she just blown up the longest, dearest friendship in her life?

“I’m thankful you’re the first person I see every morning and the last person I see every night,” Rachel said softly, though she could tell from the meters on the soundboard that her words had been picked up and carried to Frankie’s headphones.

Silence again. Far longer than it should have given they were still live on the air. Finally, Frankie recovered again and started speaking into her mic once more. “Alright, listeners, time for some music, let’s start of with, um, Wreck by Neko Case.”

The music started, Rachel flipped the switch, the red “ON AIR” light went off and she stood up from her chair. Frankie slowly removed her headphones but otherwise sat perfectly still as Rachel rounded the desk then stood in front of — over, really — Frankie.

“Rach?” she asked softly, her voice unsteady.

“Yeah,” she replied, gently pushing Frankie’s mic away, then sat in her lap, straddling Frankie’s thighs. “This okay?”

“Yeah.”

Frankie’s shirt came open slowly, Rachel’s nervous fingers undoing one button at a time. She shivered as she felt Frankie’s hands on her hips, then pulling her t-shirt out of her jeans. She broke into a teasing smile as the thick flannel shirt revealed enough for her to be certain.

“No bra?” Rachel asked and bit her lower lip softly.

“Laundry tomorrow,” Frankie replied, her hands gliding up Rachel’s bare skin, over her ribs, approaching those breasts Frankie had thought about so many times. “Mine aren’t big enough anyway,” she teased tenderly while freeing Rachel’s breasts from her bra, still beneath her t-shirt.

“They’re perfect,” Rachel whispered as she shifted, kissing a line down Frankie’s chest then taking one of her stiff nipples in her mouth. “You’re perfect,” she whispered before biting down on Frankie’s nipple firmly.

“Rach—” Frankie trailed off; trembling fingers exploring the warm swell of her best friend’s breasts. She made soft, yearning sound as her fingertips explored the stiff tips, getting to know all the little ridges and bumps of Rachel’s areola. Then, a sharp hiss as she felt Rachel’s fingers unbuttoning the front of her jeans. “No, Rach, I haven’t — I’m — it’s winter.”

Rachel stopped, confused and bordering on upset before she could follow Frankie’s thoughts, then she broke out into giggles. “Yeah, I’m not shaving either,” and with that, her fingers were where Rachel had so many times imagined they would be. Tight against Frankie’s mons by Frankie’s jeans and her underwear, exploring her coarse, dense curls, Rachel gasped with pent-up desire as she found that brilliant pearl just beneath her hood. “It’s okay?” she asked softly as she unconsciously ground herself against Frankie’s thighs.

“Oh fuck yes,” Frankie whispered back. Her hands were becoming clumsy on Rachel’s breasts as her excitement grew.

“Fuck, yes,” Rachel agreed and she began the slow, careful, reverential movement of her hand against Frankie’s crotch. Two fingers trapped Frankie’s clit between them as Rachel stroked. Slowly at first, then gradually speeding up as the studio filled with the sounds of lovemaking. Soft, urgent gasps and breaths as Rachel ground and stroked and Frankie squeezed and rocked her hips as much as her position would allow. Slick, beautiful, wet sounds as the women both barrelled toward ecstasy. Frankie accidentally kicked a water bottle under the desk and sent the metal cylinder clattering away but neither of them gave it any notice at all. Rachel was moaning, bent over and biting Frankie’s nape as her fingers worked furiously at Frankie’s clit. Frankie raked her oft-bitten nails over Rachel’s back and down her sides. She made a brief, futile attempt to get her hands down the back of Rachel’s jeans before she was finally lost.

“RACH! Rach-Rach-Rach!” Frankie whimpered and in response Rachel moved her hand ever faster, her fingers pinching tighter and sucked hard enough on the tender skin on Frankie’s neck it was sure to leave a mark. Rachel had marked her. Frankie couldn’t be happier.

“Sorry about the dead air, dear listeners,” Frankie purred into her mic. “Fear not, Rachel and I are still here on this stormy, stormy night.”

“That’s right, Frankie,” Rachel purred right back, beaming at her from across the sound board. “Just us two, all night.”

Knotty