Milkshake: An Erotic Tale of Aggressive, Unapologetic Pervy Sex With Rob Delaney

I will set the tone for my wildest fantasy: perverted, aggressive, unapologetic fucking with comedian and newly-minted author Rob Delaney. A bit of background for the unfamiliar: he’s straight; he’s married; he’s a feminist and an ally; he is a hilarious comedian; he is body positive; and he likes Danzig. Like, really likes Danzig.

Swoon, right? So, here it goes.

I have a single candle lit, and it is from Ikea. The room needs to be overwhelmingly fragrant for what is about to occur—it should smell like the probably-toxic solvent your grandma used to wear as perfume. Yeah, there is a hint of lavender there somewhere, and possibly nutmeg. The air should taste like biting into modeling clay. Salty. Are you there with me? Okay, then I’ll proceed.

My fantasy always starts the same way. Rob is drinking a thick vanilla milkshake while tugging on his semi-hard cock. He doesn’t sip through a straw—he gulps, and it runs from his ample chin to just under his balls. He doesn’t wipe anything up. He tells me to clean him up, and to shove his cock so far down my throat that all I can taste is the vanilla cream residue atop his hairy-as-fuck balls. I choke and pull away, and he grabs my hair and forces my face down his dick again and again until my spit is coating his head and shaft. As a reward, he tugs me by the back of my collar and grinds his 5-o’clock-shadowed face into my lips. I taste more vanilla—only this time it has mixed with the sweat from the underwear he’s been wearing for a couple of days. Or maybe he just put them on today. It doesn’t matter, they are drenched in what smells of more than a day’s worth of perspiration. My cock is leaking, but I can’t cum first.

I can’t tell if he’s dripping pre-cum or if he is just drinking more, but I am so determined to make him cum that I assume it is the former. He tells me how his wife is in the other room, and that she is fingering her pussy with her bed pressed up to the joining wall. I get harder, and I grunt, and open my ears to hear her moan in succession. Rob gets more forceful, and doesn’t hold back. I don’t fight back, or he would tone it down. I invite the deep face fucking, and prove I’m enjoying it by demanding that he do it harder. I take a moment to catch my breath while breathing heavily and licking up and down his cock. His wife is now audibly moaning—I imagine her pussy dripping wet, waiting to be fucked by the cock I have spent minutes getting hard. There is pre-cum now, and he doesn’t want me to go anywhere. The beauty is, I have no idea what to expect. If his wife were to invite herself in, I would eat her pussy and let Rob fuck me until his balls smacked my asshole. In fact, I secretly hope this will happen, and I am almost 100% sure I am not bisexual. I just want Rob to fuck me, pull out, tear off the condom and jizz all over my hairy back.

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Instead, he pulls at my belt, unbuttons the snap on my jeans and forcefully tugs them off. They’re a bit tight, and I accidentally kick him in his chest as I fight to get them off. Ugh, fashion. He grabs me again, and pulls me right up to his hairy chest that’s full of sweat. He isn’t wearing cologne, but he smells like milkshake and maybe dehydrated beef. He forces my face into the spot I kicked, and then leads me to his nipples and says to suck on his tits and tug on his cock. He could ask me to call him Obama right now, and I would do it. I am so fucking close that I have to keep smacking my dick to keep from shooting. My grip is so firmly around my balls that I have to torture myself to not get off.

I lead his hand to my asshole as an invitation. He kisses me deep, his tiny hairs scratching my upper lip. He pulls a condom from his white tube sock, tears off his white briefs and rips open the wrapper with his teeth. He tells me he’s going to fuck me until I can’t take it anymore. I could literally burst at any moment and forcefully tell him to get his cock inside of me.

Much like everything up until now, Rob’s actions aren’t ginger. He eased in, only to find his sweet spot. After that, he was testing me, filling my hole so deep, and getting harder with every single determined thrust. That smack of the balls. That sound. It is so amplified, I’m sure his wife is close. I am, and I am hoping Rob is too. I tell Rob to fuck me harder, and he asks me where I want him to cum. I say my back, but he says he wants to cover my face and fill my mouth. I flip over, rip off his condom and tell him to coat me. Rob’s balls are hanging over my chin, and he’s jerking his cock with the remaining lube and spit that fell from his lower lip in a big glob. He is working his cock and tugging at his nipples while I do the same—I’m hoping to shoot at the exact same time.

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His wife orgasms in a loud, shattering voice that could wake an entire city and warrants an applause, and I can tell this only makes him want to blow his load that much more. He spits on his cock one more time, and really works it right over my mouth, demanding that I put my tongue and lips on his head. His knees start to buckle and jerk, so I know he’s getting close. I pull at my dry cock and can’t take it anymore and tell him I’m cumming. I shoot all over the small of his back, and all I can picture is it dripping into his hairy ass crack. My body is gyrating, and I am moaning in tandem with his satisfied wife while Rob clenches, groans loudly and shoots in my mouth. He quickly pulls out, dragging his cock across my lips and onto my beard, getting every last drop onto his desired targets. “Jesus Christ” is all I can muster.

We both collapse, panting.

Rob farts.

I pat him on the belly, and tell him that that was amazing.

Rob passes out.

I lie happily.

– 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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