The tip would taste like him and smell like him. Miller's cock would hurt my throat. I'd be choking as my lips sucked at his base, or tried to. Saliva would drip down my chin as I gagged on him, but it wouldn't matter. He'd be making noises, gripping my hair or my shoulders. He would be in my mouth, spilling his precum. I look down at my dick, pushing gently at my pants. It's just the slightest bulge—a sign of life. I want to die so that I never see it again. I think of sucking Miller off, pushing a finger into his hole. How he would jerk and clench, but then I'd push in deeper, and he'd
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