Work Text:
Sam licked his lips in anticipation. For too long, he had been denied this sensual pleasure. He breathed in the heat, which coaxed beads of sweat from his upper lip.
He opened his mouth wide— so he could take in as much as possible— and closed his lips around the firm shaft, which burst almost immediately, spilling warm, milky fluid over his tongue and down his throat. There was almost too much to swallow, and the excess leaked from the corners of his mouth and dribbled down his chin. Sam smiled.
"Man! There’s nothing quite like corn grown in Indiana."