He can totally do that! The driver will make louder moans! He will also choke slightly more often, but that does not dampen his enthusiasm. 

Oliver is a fast learner, he can figure out what the best rhythm for his toy driver is.

And for himself. He starts getting closer and closer, wills his left hand not to flap—flapping is not hot—and his breaths get shallower and more ragged. "Ah—aah—aah I'm going to come soon—"

The driver continues to suck, maintaining a smooth and easy rhythm. 

Then Oliver is going to come into his mouth, too. Presumably he doesn't taste like coconut to other people, but maybe he can turn other people into wizards later and then he will. In the meantime, though, he shoots load after load into the driver's mouth (not too much, though, he already came today), releasing a shaky breath and grinning widely down at him. He decides he wants to pet him.

The driver purrs when he's petted.

"God, you're adorable," Oliver giggles. "I kinda wanna kiss you now."

The driver kisses him! Kisses all around! 

He does not taste of coconut.

Well, he has ever tried his own cum, out of scientific curiosity, so he's not surprised by the taste.

...it's actually kinda hot, really. He gets really into the kiss, and even though he literally just came kissing the mouth that just swallowed his cum is, well. An interesting experience.

The driver is also enthusiastic!

After some time, he pulls away and says "uh, I think I should get you to your destination, shouldn't I?"

"Mmm, I think you should, yes."

The driver keeps glancing at him and smiling shyly on the ride over.

Adorable.

Oliver should give him his number when they arrive.

The driver takes his number gladly! "My name's David."

"Oliver. It's been a..." He gives David a once-over, very visibly, before returning his eyes to David's face. "Pleasure to meet you."

And out the car.

The sign at the address for T. C. Coil's Escort Agency informs you it is a massage parlor. However, there are probably very few legitimate massage parlors with dark tinted windows, a bouncer, and an advertisement informing you about how hot their... masseuses... are.

...interesting. He rolls towards the door.

The bouncer barely glances up from his phone and waves Oliver in.

In he rolls. Is it wheelchair-accessible?

Look, evil sex-trafficker rapists can be ADA-compliant too.

...these ones are not but, you know, they could theoretically have been.

...seriously. Does he have literally any way of getting in? Come on, wizard sex game, you wouldn't offer him a quest like that and then make him fail step one.

Oh look there's a ramp hidden over there. How did Oliver miss it the first time? It is almost like it magically came into existence a few seconds ago.

The bouncer looks up from his phone in confusion, shrugs, and returns to his game of Clash of Champions. 

Clash of Champions? Seriously? Well, can't argue with taste.

Up the ramp!

The receptionist looks less bored and more slightly terrified.

"I'll need to see an ID and then I can take you to meet the girls," she says. "A private session is two hundred dollars an hour, paid in advance. We double as an escort agency if you'd like to schedule an outcall."

Oh no, darling, don't be terrified. He needs to burn this place to the ground. Maybe he'll get fireball sometime?

He shows her ID.

She checks it in a cursory fashion that would totally fail to detect a remotely competent fake ID.

She brings him into a waiting room that is trying to look grand but winds up at seedy. The masseuses are lounging around trying to look sexy, but the general aura of fear that hangs over the room rather spoils the effect. All of the masseuses have bruises, and most are wearing far too much foundation and eye makeup.