Internal Combustion

The aroma of roasted coffee beans is a delectable smell, one that conjures images and memories. It takes me back to my childhood, when my father would get up in the morning and make a pot before waking us children. It wafted into every room in the house, lingered well after the pot was done, and after we came home from school it would permeate from the wood of our furniture, the cloth of our curtains, our beds.

He stands behind me, unbuckling my pants, and caressing his groin onto my ass. His grunts are rhythmic, his breath hot against my ear. He drops my pants and works his magic on my boxers. His hard-on is no longer inconspicuous. He bends me over against the sack of coffee beans we keep in the storage area, my ass sticking out for him.

He was a strong man, rough, unkempt most of the time, but lovable. His big strong arms were perfect for embraces and could knock a man out cold for the tiniest transgressions. He was my dad. The tower of manliness I tried so hard to emulate but couldn't. He wouldn't let himself be bent over a sack of coffee beans, ass sticking out, waiting for any available dick to enter the sphincter. He wouldn't let his boss take advantage of this situation. I just wasn't him.

So I stopped being him a long time ago. I let my boss take me in the storage room after hours. I let him drop my pants and fuck me silly. I craved it. His rough hands were gentle on my boxers, his tongue daring and controlling. I am putty in his hands. The amount of pleasure I get from him is intolerable, it's raw. His hand reaches for my escaped cock and it twitches uncontrollably under his touch. I hiss as an intake of breath surges through me. "Ooooooh goooooooood," I exhale, his cut member poking my ass.

He kisses my neck and chuckles against my ear. He proceeds to lick my ear and I go ahead and stick my ass out more, just for him.

My ass is eager.

"Ju--just stop f--fucking around a--," I mumble through to my next word. "Fuck me."

He obliges, albeit slowly, by pressing his head into my ass. He inches his way into me, stretching me and readying me for his girth with just his head. Needless to say that it hurts. He grips my shaft and begins jerking me off which makes me tighten on his cock. He exhales as I do so and I can feel him wanting to drive the entire length inside. My cock hardens, pointing straight out. He pushes me hard and I lay down on the sack of beans, my rock hard cock between my pubis and the bag, his hands cradling my hips.

This wasn't the first time I found my self in the storage room. He was so open, so uninhibited, and that attracted me. A month after I started working for his little coffee shop we had already established a relationship. I was his apprentice, he my mentor. A month after, I was his confidante. The escalation between employer and employee to lovers was gradual and unobtrusive. It was welcoming, wanted, and I did want it. His strong arms became a part of my fantasy. The aroma of the beans heightened my senses and I became enthralled with the fantasy itself. When I worked with him he no longer was my boss, my manager, but rather my father. His embrace felt the same, his demeanor identical to his; you could swear they were one in the same.

And I let it engulf me.

I wanted him and I let it slip ever so gentle. I prodded him towards my goal, my gain: I wanted him. I crossed my own fantasy. This was no longer my father in my mind, this was my own, my desire. I wanted him. When I made it clear that I'd much rather empty his till than the register, he escorted me to the storage room. The scent hit me hard, but it failed to deter me. On the contrary it fueled my desire.

And I sucked him.

I let him spill his seed in my mouth and I drank it. I drank it as if it were espresso cream. I satisfied him, but I noticed his confused look. I apologized right then and there and I begged his forgiveness. I was waiting on the final verdict: sexual harassment, termination. It never came. He pulled me up and kissed me. He wrapped me in his arms and I remembered my father. Yes I was his once again; his and only his.

I started working closing after that night. He pulled his other employees from closing and placed them on opening shift. After counting the till, we walked to the storage room and fucked. I would blow him and then he'd fuck me. He spilled his seed in my ass and I held it there until I got home. We had no intention of stopping.

He loved me purely, and I only half-loved him. He wasn't my father and yet I wanted him to be. I badly wanted him to be so I could embrace him, take him, love him. I held his seed in my ass and I wanted it to be his instead of my manager's. I pulled out a lighter and I flicked it on and off. I watched the orange flame dance on the wick, wanted it to dance and dance until it could be free to dance all over my room. I started to cry, cum oozing out my ass, with the lighter still lit and held firmly.

This was last night.

I went into the storage room and he pushed me against the wall and I stared at him. He'd never been this rough and I was taken aback. His face crept closer onto mine and I saw the lust in his eyes. The unmistakable glint that was sexual desire was displayed so grossly. I didn't smile, I didn't blink, I just stared. He kissed me rough and turned me around. It hurt, but I let him keep going. His rhythmic grunts keeping tempo to our private dance.

He slips his entire length into me and I yelp. It hurts as he is not using anything for lubrication. He grunts and pulls it out entirely. I hear him spit on his hand and I feel his wet hand on my crack, his saliva pushed into me. I hear him spit again and then I hear the sound of hand on wet cock. He guides his member back to the hole and it slides better this time. He pushes hard into me and he ends up over me. His arms wrap themselves around my shoulders as his hips grind his cock deep inside me.

"Eric," I hear him say, "God Eric, you feel wonderful."

I don't smile, I don't move, I just let him fuck me. He's pinning me against the sacks of beans and pounding me. He nibbles on my neck and tightens the embrace. I groan. I whimper as his length fills me up and his warmth wraps me, cradling me. I groan audibly and he bites down on my neck. He sucks on the bite and pumps me harder. I close my eyes, letting the cock inside me work its magic. I call his name, quietly, but he doesn't answer.

"Oh Roy," I say and he answers. His cock starts to spasm in my ass, letting me know he will cum soon.

"Cum in me, Roy."

He pumps harder and harder, putting one of his hands out to push himself against the wall to pump all of his cream inside me. His cock contracts and shoots me with cum, but he doesn't stop humping me. He kisses me all over while his thrusts start dying out, and starts whispering into my ear, "I love you."

He says, "You're mine."

He gets off me and pulls his pants up and walks away. He leaves me in the storage room to gather myself. I do so, pulling out the lighter that I keep in my pocket. This lighter of mine, I light it and I watch the flame start dancing again. This lighter is all that I have to remember him by.

"I love you, too, Roy," I say quietly, "I love you, too."

And I start crying.

~*~*~

Beloved father
Respectable citizen
Dearest son

Roy Campbell
(1954-1995)

I stand above his tombstone, flowers in hand, lighter in my pocket. His tombstone is littered with flowers, all freshly placed. The winter air forces me back into the warm layers of my trench coat. I place the flowers down, eyes shrink-wrapped in tears, and I pay my respects. My father, buried under six feet of dirt, lays there comfortably unbeknownst of my actions. If he knew I would shame him. When he died, the fire fighters found a lighter amidst the wreckage. They gave it to me, and I kept it to remind me of him. I loved him. I love him.

I want you back.

"Daddy," I say, and I walk away.