Corn Daddy: A Steamed Short

by Helena Woodcock

As for those of you who just read that content warning like a shopping list, repeat after me: The corn man can be a hot guy, but the corn man is not a good guy. We don’t want to date the corn man, ok? Ok.

This year I’ll just do it by myself. That means nobody can get me lost but myself. It’ll be symbolic. Or some shit.

Liz blinked. “So, you’re, what? A leaf…guy?” “That’s not the correct term.” “Then what am I supposed to call you?” “You’ll call me ‘Daddy.’”

Maybe in the bigger scope of things, a little kidnapping, when paired with the mystical presence of a hulking corn man, wasn’t such an unusual tradeoff. Jesus Christ, Liz. You’re making excuses just because he turned out to be hot.

We’re flirting now? Flirting with the corn man?

“It’s time for me to take a queen. Beings like me, we’re a solitary lot. We keep these comfortable dens until it’s time to mate. This is the most fertile time for me, and I must choose a bride and produce a hearty crop for next season.”

“You know, I think I’m going to have to pass on the whole queen thing, but as for the sex, I mean…ok. Yeah. Let’s go.” He set down his glass. “Suit yourself.”

In his lower foliage, she noticed a growing mound beneath the leaves, and she wondered how soon it would be until that mound was firmly planted inside her.

She was desperately horny and hanging naked from a crucifix made of cornstalks. This day had certainly taken a turn.

He wasted no time in taking his tongue to her juicy valley.

Then she reached for the cereal stashed in her cabinet. The box gave her pause. Corned Puffs. ‘They’ll fill you up!’

That moment was fleeting, but every time she felt shame, she reminded herself of how that produce prince had made her feel.

She dropped the cob into boiling water, because today was not the day that she would get vaginal worms, thank you.

She gasped and felt her inhibitions begin to disappear as she approached her glorious corngasm.

Now Liz was running on spite, and she was determined to have this orgasm. He owed her this orgasm. She was entitled to legal cum-pensation!

He ran a hand through her auburn hair and rested it at the base of her neck. “Go on then. Shuck me.”

with one meaty hand gently gripping her throat as he sprayed her with a rain of hot buttered cum.

Liz’s corn had been successfully creamed.