The latest episode of Intergalactic Food Porn is available on Amazon. Here is an excerpt of this erotic science fiction episode to whet your appetite.

Vif and Gunn are filming on location on a distant planet, where they explore the local cuisine and culture. They have already had a very full day, but still have to film the feast, which turns into a rather wild festival.

We get ready for our next shoot in a state of calm bliss. I pull on the gown I’d chosen for the dinner—form-fitting, low-cut, and revealing—what the job demands. I usually feel uncomfortable going into the world dressed this way. But tonight, I feel so confident that I could probably go to this event naked, without a blip of stress.

When we climb out of our transport and walk up the stairs into the castle’s main dining hall, I feel like royalty. My dress has a slight train that drags on the ground. When Gunn notices this, he threatens to pick me up and carry me to keep it from getting dirty. He says it with a lusty growl, and I sense that he has not sated his desire to overpower me. “For a barbaric warrior,” I say, taking his arm. “You are a terrible neat freak.”

This near-toddler is the one who is preparing a highly toxic meat for Gunn and I and fifteen guests to eat on camera?

We are laughing when we walk in. And our entrance creates a slight hush in the garden. The talent making an entrance always does this to a scene, especially when part of the crowd has been busy setting up cameras. Normally, this makes me nervous, but I smile, comfortable in whatever role I’m in tonight, and greet everyone.

“The food is almost ready!” a child says, running up to me and taking my hand. She is tiny and beautiful, dressed in flowing, sheer robes. Her skin is gold and adorned all over in glittery red and green markings, which might be written in some foreign script. I can’t tell if this is makeup, a permanent modification, or her natural skin color. Her lips—or lipstick—are a deep green, and her eyes are large and an even deeper green.

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I have no idea who she is. Perhaps she is the child of the chef we hired, delivered DNA samples to, and were trusting—based on her reputation as the planet’s premier expert on preparing xyk—to make us a meal that will not kill us?

“Thank you,” I say. “Is Sef in the kitchen?”

She laughs. “No. Sef is here telling you that the food is nearly ready. We can hold it for about thirty minutes, but I would prefer to serve it immediately. Your film crew is ready, the guests are here, and your entrance was beautiful.” She waves at the film crew. “We captured it for you.”

This near-toddler is the one who is preparing a highly toxic meat for Gunn and I and fifteen guests to eat on camera?

“You are not accustomed to my people, I see,” Sef says, chuckling at the look on my face. “We look young to you. But I am old enough to be your grandmother, I assure you. I have three children who were here before your parents, if you are human. Are you ready to eat?”

I live in space and film a weird show in exotic locations for a living, so I quickly let go of my expectations about Sef and my fear that her food will kill me. I fully expect that something I eat while filming this show will kill me and the only way to deal with that is to roll with what’s happening. She is tiny and youthful, but she is not a child. Got it. I still need to do an interview before the feast, though.

I fully expect that something I eat while filming this show will kill me and the only way to deal with that is to roll with what’s happening.

“Ah, a pleasure to meet you, Sef! I’m Vif. And this is Gunn. Let’s do a quick interview before we eat, please. I need a setup shot.”

I turn to Gunn, but he is already grabbing a camera and looking for a backdrop. He finds a wall covered in flowers and signals that he wants us there.

“We watched my mate Gunn take down a xyk and now we are going to eat some of this very dangerous food,” I say into the camera. “Xyk meat is highly toxic if not prepared with skill, precision, and speed. But the native tree dwellers here know what they are doing. And Sef comes to us highly recommended by everyone on the planet, city or tree dweller. Thank you for joining us, Sef,” I say.

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Gunn is happy with the shot. I ad lib my own setup questions. Sef has a lyrical voice and poise and tells us that she has prepared a roasted platter of xyk in the traditional style, accompanied by local ferns, lichen, and a fragile seasonal root that is considered a delicacy and an intoxicant.

“You are very lucky,” she says, “to be enjoying such a sumptuous meal on an ordinary day. This feast is normally prepared only for celebration gatherings and fertility festivals. Because you are not native, I collected DNA from all of you so that I could tune the lichen and herb sauces for your palette and physical abilities. Food, as with everything on Mežs, is experiential as well as sustenance. We feed the body, brain, and spirit. You can expect an adventure tonight that will expand your mind.”

She is so good, and the light so sweet in the waning sun under this enormous tree canopy, that we wrap the shot quickly and sit down to a spectacularly set table. There is a beautiful centerpiece of flowering branches, plates made of finely carved wood, and unfamiliar utensils wrought from tree branches.

A small group of barely clothed Mežsians begin to carry heavy trays from the kitchen and serve food onto our plates. Their skin glistens in the sweet evening light, and they expose their breasts and bodies while covering their limbs. This seems to be the style here and not some sexy outfit Li donned to seduce us. Only Sef covers her entire body with fabric, though that fabric is amorphous and so transparent that any decent light shows her tiny but voluptuous naked body underneath.

A small group of barely clothed Mežsians begin to carry heavy trays from the kitchen and serve food onto our plates.

Every bite of the food is spectacular. It is all so delicious, in fact, and not challenging in any way that I forget the danger the meat is meant to hold and begin to worry that our show will fail its mission. In every episode, I am supposed to be in imminent peril and wearing a sexy outfit. I’m in the outfit but there is no peril—except to my waistline—from this food.

I am considering a second helping when Rais, the sexy scientific expert with the red eyes and tattoo I interviewed in the studio, stands, tapping his glass to make an announcement.

“I think everyone can sense that the evening is about to shift,” he says. His red eyes are glowing; in fact, they seem to be shooting beams of light, which I realize probably can’t be true. I am feeling warm and a little wild, like a teenager.

“I want to thank Vif and Gunn for bringing their show, a show we all enjoy in the city for its visions of distant food and cultures, mixed with sex, that I know has inspired many a lover and cook here on Mežs.”

This makes me blush, though I’m fully aware of my reputation as a food ambassador and soft-core porn star. Once the blush starts, I can’t stop it. I feel my skin growing hotter and hotter. I lift my water glass to my cheek to cool myself. There are several cameras pointed at me. A red face is not a good look on camera.

“I would like to suggest,” continues Rais, “that we begin a ceremonial line of appreciation.” Then he says something in the native tongue that I don’t understand. Everyone here has been speaking Universal, so I am not wearing a translator. There is a round of applause, along with a fair amount of giggling, and everyone begins to stand. I have no idea what to do.

Rais leaves his chair and stands behind mine, pulling it out for me as I stand.

They run circles around us, quickly tying us together and to the post.

“This is a traditional fertility festival, and it will be pleasant for you,” he whispers to me, his mouth close to my ear. “But you will have to relax and let people touch you.” He takes my arm and walks me to the center of the outdoor dining area, where there is a large circle in the stone paving. Another guest has walked Gunn here—and I can feel his watchful eye on me with Rais. The crowd stands us back-to-back against a tall beam that emerges from the center of this circle.

A group of Mežsians dances around us, pulling long vines covered in leaves and flowers behind them. They run circles around us, quickly tying us together and to the post. At first, it feels playful and festive but when we are bound, back-to-back, and unable to move our arms or leave the center, which is now surrounded by the entire guest list, I start to panic.

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.

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