“I’m sure we’ll be calling you Camille,” she said, eyeing her luscious body.“You’re Dan Davenport, the murder mystery writer?” Cheryl ex...laimed, realizing his name.“Guilty, so to say, as charged,” he quipped with a smile.“I’ve read ‘Desert Secrets’. I had better read your other books too if I’m going to be fucking a celebrity!”“I’m just an ordinary guy. Only the great authors are recognizable, like Agatha Christie, Danielle Steele, H. G. Wells, and J. K. Rowling to name a few.”Dan insisted on. I did the same. I kept thinking about what had happened and inevitably got an erection.I pushed back the bed covers, I was naked. My cock stood at its full six inches. My hand wrapped around it. I slipped the foreskin back over the helmet, it slid with ease, although still a bit tender. The helmet did not need any extra moisture. I remembered mum’s words: “Was I going to be a good boy and cum for Mummy?”. My speed quickened, it did not take long as I shot all over my chest, some of my spunk. More

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