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

Psychedelics on Knotty Biscotti

Fertility Priestess