Is there such a thing as too much sex?
My name’s Isadora, and I’m a interplanetary smuggler. When Bernie and I got talked into ditching a package in a passing sun, we took it for the money. Of course en route, Bernie had to see what was in it. That’s how the hitchhikers got loose. I’m not quite sure what they are, but they slip inside and take a ride. A pretty wild one. They control the sexual chemistry of the host, and they like it to be in high gear – randy and ready – constantly. Having them in control turns ordinary sex into something truly mind blowing.
That’s all good, of course, except how do you get them to stop?