The Highwayman

Chapter 4: Back Woods

Chapter 4: Back Woods

8:03 P.M.

He steered the Frontier over a dirt road, flicked the vehicle’s front lights on, and said, “It’s back woods all the way from here.”

He was right, I surmised. The woods were thick with lush vines, ferns, and clumps of oaks and maples. A colorful twilight shifted through the trunks, which caused the view to be eerie and enjoyable. Two medium-size deer ran in front of the truck and MJ slowed down. Not that he was going that fast, of course, since the dirt road was comprised of many rocks and ditches.

“How far from here?” I said, gaining knowledge of our whereabouts, in case I needed to find my way out of the woods for some ungodly reason. Honestly, I was hoping the kid would drive me back to the Interstate after my night with him. I could maybe give him some money for gas for the hassle, but usually I didn’t do things like that.

The dirt road opened to a rather unattractive meadow with a cabin-like abode that caused shivers of delight to rush up and down my spine. Death lurked about the place. Crimes had obviously happened here, but none of which I was familiar with, nor caused.

The meadow was wide and lacked grass. Dirt mounds were piled in various areas, each looking as if they were graves. The building was one story, five rooms in all, and one of its windows was covered in boards. The chimney was semi-crumbled and resembled something out of a horror show. Two German shepherds were chained to trees, which I probably would have killed and eaten if I were hungry. A cobblestone walkway led up to the front of the cabin; the nicest detail of the property.

“Home sweet home,” the kid said.

“I’m hard,” I admitted, lying.

“Hard so I can suck you off, I hope.”

“Whatever you want to do with me, I’m yours.”

“Nice ground rules,” he said, parked the truck to the right of the cobblestone walkway, and turned the vehicle off. As he jumped out of the metal contraption, he said, “In for the night.”

“Just like I enjoy men,” I said, and followed him.

Even if he were underage he still had bottles of beer in his fridge. We drank two, talked a bit, and he showed me around his five rooms. He said, “My momma was killed in the bathroom. My father drowned her.”

I liked his dad already, but didn’t want to admit such a detail to him.

“Come here,” he said, setting his bottle of beer aside. He dropped to his knees, undid the golden zipper on my jeans, opened his mouth and started eating my c**k through the underwear I was wearing.

“Slow down,” I told him. “We have all night. There’s no need to hurry.”

He smiled up at me like a boy who was cute and innocent. “Sorry,” he whispered.

For the next half hour he sucked my d**k until I blew a load on his face.