The Next Morning

You awaken to find Miranda gone. You panic for a second, before the feeling of your enhanced cock bouncing on your stomach confirms to you that it was all real. On the table next to the bed, you find a note.

"Had to go to school. See you later. Love, Miranda."

Looking at the clock you see that it is nearly noon. You wonder why no one thought to wake you, but then you vaguely remember thinking that you just want to sleep. Probably they did try and you used your power to make it so you can sleep as late as you want.

After taking a a nice shower, you throw on some clothes. As you sit down to brunch, the scantily clad nymph on CNN reminds you of the other things you did yesterday. Idly flipping channels, you go past some daytime show you don't recognize where two girls are 69ing each other, a Star Trek re-run that has Councilor Troi getting a hard fucking from Worf in her quarters, a mostly normal looking episode of dragnet (if women dressed in short skirts and halter tops in the 60s), and a news shot showing the chancellor of Germany fellating the visiting president of the United States in Berlin.