Amazing Grace: My Erotic, Role-Reversing Sexual Congress With Nancy Grace

I get a lot of fan mail asking, “Daddy Mayonnaise, have you ever had sex with a woman?” This is a very common question asked of gay men, and the answer, up until last week, was no. The thought had always intrigued me, and it wasn’t until I met the sensationalist spitfire Nancy Grace that the impulse turned into a must-do.

As in, this woman, this very verbose woman, had transfixed my #bottlebaby, and left me longing for an intimate #PervyPJParty. I wanted this woman to shout at me, and berate me until I wet myself. And I didn’t want her to say #GoodnightFriend just yet.

We had arranged to meet at her place, after bumping into each other at a farmer’s market. Our hands met as we caught each other’s reflections in the sheen of impurity-free, organically produced eggplants. She said, “There’s something so unnatural about all this natural produce, lined up so uniformly like a box of unused crayons. Sometimes I just want to make a mess.”

It felt like flirting, so I asked her if I could have her number, because “I [wanted] to make a mess, and I wanted to clean it up.” She wrote her name and number on her most recent STI screening test results papers, and said “I have only one question for you: are you #youngandreckless and hooked on pot?”

I could only reply with, “No ma’am, I just want to find Grace inside of me.” She smirked, as if this wasn’t the first time she’d heard it, and we parted ways.

I called her in advance, and she told me to make sure I scrubbed myself clean, because “this is going to be filthier than a #NudeSnapchat”. When I arrive, she is wearing a silk robe with N and G embroidered over her left breast. She is wearing nothing else except for a “Death Penalty 4 #PushUpDad” button. She’s so stoic and tall-without-being-tall, and her breasts are magnificent.

As a gay man, I had to assess the woman before submitting, and without her cue, I got on my knees. She yelled at me to get up, and she grabbed my right hand and led me to her bedroom. On her nightstand, there is a vintage photo of Elian Gonzales.  But she quickly throws me on her quilted duvet, and tells me to take off all of my clothes while she gets ready.

I undress, and she slowly peels away her singular layer, and tells me to crawl over to her while she rustles with her drawers. She shouts at me to plant my face into her pussy, and to get her wet. With each lick, I’m faced with critical review, which makes me want to do better. She finds a strap-on that looks fairly used, but sterile and hygienic. She motions to get to the bed.

With Nancy Grace, I am ready for anything. This woman, my only woman, is strong, passionate, has a pussy that tastes like clemency, and a jacked body that suggests she knows how to fuck. (Shame she hides it behind such conservative, TV-ready attire.) “This is going to be nasty, short, and I want you to feel like Grace has touched you from the inside out.”

I shivered, not knowing what to expect. Nancy spits in her hand and lubes up the strap-on, and without so much as a signal, slowly enters my asshole. I moan, and remark that this feels very similar to every other time I have experienced this sensation.

Nancy tells me to shut up.

She rubs her clit with one hand, and begins to fuck hard, and deep. She leans over me, her tits grazing the back of my shoulder blades, and she begins this circus-like, but very determined action of fucking my ass, teasing her wet clit and twisting my nipples so hard I could scream. But Nancy tells me not to scream. If I scream, I’ll be a #DoggieDoorThief, stealing this moment away from her. I don’t want to displease her.

I bite my lip hard, and she twists my nipples harder. I begin to feel her dripping pussy trickle down my ass cheeks, which feels a lot like cum tickling the hairs of the back of your leg. I am hard, but I am instructed not to cum just yet.

But I can’t control it. I shoot my huge load all over her clean duvet, and she pulls out, calling me a little bitch. I smirk, as if I have been bad, cause it felt so good. She tells me I can’t leave until I’ve licked it all up. I quickly mop up what hasn’t already soaked into the fabric.

She slinks back into her silky robe, while I take one last look at my surroundings: The wall of newspaper clippings of missing children reports; the mounted print that simply reads Amazing Grace; the gilded-framed photo of Elian Gonzales; a desk topped with ivory-handled hair brushes; and a poster for the movie Tomcats.

I catch my breath, get dressed and I say goodnight. I go in for a kiss, but Nancy says, “No kissing. #GoodnightFriend”.

– Daddy Mayonnaise

This sexy tale was not inspired by true events. Look forward to more erotic fan fiction in Daddy Mayonnaise’s upcoming book Fucking Celebrities.

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