The first episode of my erotic science fiction adventure is free at the moment.

Here is a tasty morsel from it to whet your appetite.

After a dangerous shoot, capturing an intoxicating underwater mushroom, Vif is in the studio filming the cooking sequence with a local expert. Gunn finds a way to enjoy the effects of those mushrooms.

We’d brought in a brilliant chef, Didier Moreau, for the show’s cooking portion. He has his own program on a local channel. He’s funny, an amazing cook, has worked with this mushroom for years, and is an adorable flirt.

Eating the mushroom isn’t, apparently, that dangerous. But it is a strange and powerful intoxicant. There are all sorts of rumors flying around about the trouble people have gotten into while high on it. So we’ve decided the best way to play up the “danger” is for me to eat enough of them, on camera, to become noticeably intoxicated and hope our audience finds it amusing enough to not get mad that I’m not in imminent peril.

Didier feeds me the food we cooked together, which is delicious, and comments on what’s happening to me as I get dopey.

He really knows his stuff and uses terms like “cognitive slowing,” “incitation,” “excitatory and inhibitory tendencies,” and “this is the relaxation response of the parasympathetic nervous system” to describe why I’m hanging on him, trying to lick his ear, talking dirty, and barely able to follow his lecture.

Honestly, the high is like nothing I’ve experienced. It’s entirely pleasant. I try to sell it to the audience as dangerous, but I’m so relaxed, and so aroused, that my efforts are probably amusing rather than convincing.

There is, in fact, some danger. Most of it is to Didier, though, whom I am trying to undress even though I’m fairly certain I’m not on his menu.

He’s the one feeding me pieces of the pasta and mushroom dish we cooked, though. And he’s running his hand up my thigh and touching my hair and neck in ways that he obviously knows will drive me insane. He explains that the mushroom has a cult following because of its incredible flavor and this tendency to “lower inhibitions.” He says this as he leans in suggestively, and I try to kiss him. He laughs and holds me at arm’s length.

“Feed it to a date,” he says flirtatiously, leaning forward as if to kiss me and, instead, feeding me a forkful while winking at the camera—and Gunn behind it. “She will find you so attractive you’d better not have other plans.”

After we’re done cooking, we shoot a lot of B-roll where Didier feeds me bite after bite of the mushroom while I make faces—delicious, intoxicated, slimy, like that—so Gunn will have several shots of Didier feeding me to choose from in the editing room.

I’m in such a glazed stupor at this point, I’m following directions but not following what’s happening. I’m an automaton. It’s like I have no will, no ability to form plans, and am interested only in sex. It’s like someone turned off my brain and turned on my body.

At some point, Gunn decides he has all the shots he needs, and he steers me to my dressing room. I am eager to screw him—anyone, really. So, as soon as the door closes, I start to undress.

“Can’t, baby,” he says. “Though I’d like to. You are in a rare state. We need to stockpile some of those mushrooms on Demeter to play with later. But I have to go. I have a lot of gear to pack and people to pay.”

I sit in the dressing room, in front of the mirror, for a long time, trying to remember what to do next. I pull off my blond wig, plunge my hands and wrists into the bowl of cold water someone has left there for me, and run wet hands through my black hair, hoping to clear my mind. I look in the mirror.

“What am I supposed to do next?” I ask my reflection. It doesn’t know. I look for my phone. It will have the answer. It does. My body quivers in anticipation. Tonight is the tourist-adventure I’ve been planning for weeks. I’ve made an appointment with a legendary shibari expert who operates an “experience house” here.

The menu of adventures available on Zemjata is mouthwatering. I had a blast during those long weeks in the black, shopping for the experience, among the many offered, that I most wanted to try during our brief stay here. I put a hand between my legs to see if I was as wet as I thought I was at the thought of finally getting to try an expert bondage experience. I let it linger there, enjoying my own touch.

My phone buzzes. A message.

Gunn: “I’m cashing in that chit right now.”

“What does that mean?” I ask out loud, staring at myself in the mirror. I didn’t get an answer, so I spent a few minutes making sexy mouth shapes at myself.

“You’re cute,” I say to my mirror self. “I’d hit that.”

I giggle. I can absolutely see why the boat crew stocked up on these mushrooms and why this entire planet seems obsessed with them. Gunn and I would have enormous fun with a food that makes you want to have sex with anything, even your own reflection.

Then I turn my mind, with enormous effort, to deciphering Gunn’s text. “Chit?” That’s like from gambling, right?

Oh! I remember. I lost a game of cards on the way here. I’d tried to get more chips out of Gunn by trading sexual favors. He had insisted I wasn’t offering anything I wouldn’t do anyway and had given me more chips in exchange for a promise instead.

“Once. Just once,” he’d said. “You’ll do whatever I want you to do, no questions asked.”

Now? He was asking for that now? I was high! I also had a date with an expensive and long-anticipated shibari expert.

These erotic and steamy erotic science fiction stories are for adults, over 18, and are loaded with M/F sex, F/F/M menage, M/F/M menage, light and playful consensual bondage, power play, enslavement, and — even — tentacles.