Strange Blooms in the Secret Garden
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.
