300 Days

300 Days

Amanda was snoring lightly, her head resting in the crook of your neck. You felt close to her, but not in the guise you'd once imagined. You wore capri pants that matched hers, and a matching top to boot. Her hand was resting on Bruna's cock, the scepter of masculinity you both craved.

This was the good life, you knew. Your phone buzzed with an incessant reminder, and then you saw it. 300 days. Shit.