Landlord Daddy Part 1

Author: dansplans86
Title: Landlord Daddy Part 1
Date: 06 December 2015

I could tell from the moment I met Alan that he didn’t like me. We were just too different. At 22, I was at least 10 years younger than him, about 80 pounds lighter and a foot shorter, and my clothes and belongings told him that I was wealthier than him too. From the shiny car parked outside to the expensive watch on my wrist and my designer jeans, he could see that this kid had come from the city to his tiny village in the middle of nowhere, to make fun of the locals. It was my job to sit Alan down and explain my real reason for moving here. The city held nothing for me – I’d already emigrated from my old life, and what new friends I had made were only hangers-on, who could easily go months without seeing me and not give it any thought. I was just a writer, a fairly successful one for my age, but like any good writer, I needed solitude, space and time. So I needed a refuge, a hiding place from the world, where I could be alone with my ideas and my computer. Alan hadn’t heard of me, but thankfully he believed my story, and he became my new landlord.
The flat was a small, upstairs apartment, with Alan living downstairs. It came fully furnished, and the place had a comfortable, lived-in feel to it that I appreciated. Alan explained that he was some sort of community leader, owning most of the property in the village. He was taller than me, with white stubble and heavyset features. There was a confidence and intensity to him that I liked. I started to think I could use him as a template for one of my characters. I didn’t see anyone else – Alan told me that a lot of the property was rental and there were very few full-time residents. Alan himself was nowhere to be seen after handing over the keys to the apartment and sorting out my rent payments. His downstairs apartment was silent, and I never heard him enter or leave. I took a walk through the village after a couple of days but became very self-conscious – I had a slight tan from a summer in Greece, my hair was dark, short and curly, I hardly ever shaved because I couldn’t grow any facial hair, and my preference for khaki shorts and T-shirts clashed with the place. I felt like an alien. I decided that I’d drive down to the city that weekend and buy some more suitable clothes. I’d travelled light, and the apartment had everything I needed so I’d sold most of my old furniture, putting the rest in storage for now. The only thing I brought up to the apartment was my fitness bench – exercise helps me think, and I took pride in my body, especially the six-pack I could see starting to emerge from my belly.
After four days I was so used to the quiet, that the knock on the door startled me. It was Alan, with a big smile looking out of place on his face, and a bottle of beer in each hand. “Forgot to toast your new home!” he said. I laughed and let him in. He went in the kitchen to get some glasses while I put some music on and pushed my bench to one side. As he walked back into the living room I motioned at my white T-shirt sticking to my torso, and my baggy grey joggers. “Sorry, you caught me in the middle of a workout.”
“It’s your place,” he shrugged. “Besides, it’s good to stay in shape. I should have done the same,” and he patted his belly to illustrate his point. I smiled and we sat down and had a drink. He seemed much more relaxed than our first visit, but that intensity was still there – he asked me lots of questions about my life, my family and past girlfriends. He had a few funny stories to tell, but I got the sense he was trying to get a better picture of his new tenant. I asked him if he was downstairs often, mentioning how quiet the place was, and he laughed a little too loudly. “No, I haven’t often got a reason to be downstairs.” I thought this was a strange answer, but my head was starting to swim a little.
“This beer’s strong.”
“Local brew,” Alan winked at me. I smiled in return, but felt nauseous.
“Sorry, I’m not feeling very well,” I said, standing up and feeling myself sway a little.
“No, it’s my fault,” Alan said, getting to his feet too. “I should have warned you.”
I felt bad about kicking him out, but once I shut and locked the door, it was all I could do to stagger to bed and throw myself down. Before I could even think about taking my sweaty clothes off, I was asleep.

I woke up knowing that I couldn’t move my arms. I could hear the TV on in the next room. I rolled onto my back and could feel that my wrists had been taped or tied together. I spread my knees and found that my ankles were also taped. I was in bed with the cover over me, but with some struggling I managed to get free of the cover and roll onto the floor. I could see the thick duct tape around my ankles, and knew that the same material was round my wrists and my mouth. The bedroom door was open, and I started to crawl towards it. I was grunting with exertion by the time I made it to the living room. Alan was sitting on the sofa eating crisps, watching TV. He turned and smiled at me. I stared at him thinking, “I’m being robbed.” He stood and walked towards me. “You’re awake. That local brew is strong, right?” He chuckled quietly and put his hands in his pockets. The bastard was taunting me. I started tugging with my shoulders, spreading my knees to try and stretch the tape, squeezing my eyes shut and thrashing. He kept chuckling. I rolled onto my stomach to free my hands better. In my head I kept thinking, “Bastard! Bastard!” and put all my focus into getting free. I was sure that once I was up I’d be too quick for him. I growled into my gag and heard a little “Mmm,” sound from him. What the fuck? I rolled back over to look at him and felt a hard knot in my stomach. He’d unzipped his jeans and had his cock in his hand, stroking it as he watched my struggles. He was actually getting off on it! The realisation made me freeze. He seemed disappointed, and pushed his semi-erect cock back into his pants. He squatted in front of me and our eyes met. My ears were ringing as I heard him say, “I’m going to call you son. And I’m going to be your daddy.” With that, he tickled the bare soles of my feet with his fingertips.
The contact was like an electric shock. I sat upright and started shuffling backwards, into the open-plan kitchen until my back bumped against the kitchen cupboards. He followed me into the kitchen, eyes roving over me. I watched him coming closer, trying to process the fact that he wasn’t taking my things, he was taking me. He stepped past me and opened a cupboard above my head. I started to shuffled forwards, pointlessly trying to get away from him. I felt a hand on my shoulder as he settled to the ground behind me. His booted feet and jeans encircled me, with his feet on my shins and my hands pressed into his gut. Then one hand pressed against my chest, while the other pressed a damp cloth to my face. One breath made my eyes roll and my skin tingle. I felt myself go limp and lie back against him, while he nuzzled at my neck and ear. He kept pressing his nose to me and breathing in my scent, in my hair and on my shoulders. Another blast of the cloth sent my skin tingling, before I felt his hands lift my white T-shirt to my throat. His large hands roamed over my abdomen, before cupping my chest, his middle fingers pressing my hard nipples. “Whose tits are these?” he kept asking, but I couldn’t have answered him even without the gag. My head was spinning with whatever drug was on that cloth. My body was melting into him, and I could feel myself starting to get hard, despite everything. I must have started to tent my joggers, because Alan murmured and cooed to me, sliding his hands down to my hips and lowering my waistband. Eventually, he had one hand cupping my loose balls, with the other wrapped around my cock. I groaned, barely conscious as I felt him sliding up and down my shaft with slow, steady movements.



Feedback is appreciated, more parts to follow, how do you want it to progress?