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Five minutes later, we're back on the highway. I've got two bags of food nestled between my feet, and I hand Wilby his burger, having tossed the fries into the empty side of the box, and place it on his lap. And, yeah, maybe my fingers linger in that general vicinity for a little longer than strictly necessary.
Wilby glances down and smiles. He pops a fry into his mouth. "I think you like me."
"You keep me well fed. Of course I like you."
He roars out a laugh, glancing over at me right as I take a massive bite of my burger, and yeah, I really do fucking like him.
A lot.
Way too much.
As we eat, Wilby keeps the conversation his usual brand of light. "What kind of mattress do you like to sleep on?"
"Firm. But not too firm. You?"
"Mate, I'm lucky if I don't get kicked in the balls while I sleep. I can sleep on anything."
"Who's kicking you in the balls while you sleep…and do they have a GoFundMe I can donate to?"
Another laugh bursts out of him. "My nephew, Kolby. He's been having nightmares, so he invades my bed and takes over."
"I see."
"Plastic wrap or tin foil?"
"Excuse me?"
"Nuh-uh. Iknowyou heard me."
"Um…" I can honestly say I've never given this a moment's thought in my life until now. "Tin foil. I hate how sticky Saran Wrap is, and I can never get it to cover the dish properly."
Wilby nods his head seriously. "That is an advanced motor skill. But don't worry, Col, you'll get there someday."
I give him the finger as I unwrap my second burger with one hand. "Can someone with no motor skills do what I'm doing?"
He licks his lips. "I liked what you were doing at the drive-through back there."
"Oh yeah."
I look down. His bulge is growing. I take the empty food box from between his legs, brushing against the inside of his thigh.
With one hand firmly on the wheel, his other glides down, unbuckling his belt. "Yeah. Ireallyliked it."
I take over from him so that he can, you know, drive. Luckily, we haven't seen another vehicle for at least five minutes. Nevertheless, Wilby crawls to a stop, parking on a bank of dirt by the side of the road.
Once his dick is freed, I waste no time reacquainting him with the inside of my mouth. Never pictured myself as a dickpig, but now? Cover me in mud and hear me squeal—I'm addicted to sucking cock.
Actually, no. I'm addicted to sucking Wilby's cock.
It's not long until the first warm flush of cum hits the back of my throat. I make sure to swallow down every last drop—oink, oink—before lifting my head and smacking my lips.
His eyes are glazy. "Um, thank you. Do you want me to—" He waves a hand over my groin.
"Nah. I'm good. We should probably get home, right?"
"Yeah. We should."
He starts the truck up again, and we spend the rest of the drive laughing and talking. Wilby peppers me with his usual ridiculous questions about everything from raisins on a salad to supermarket conveyor belt checkout dividers.
