Tucker Nelson hooks up with the WRONG guy and pays a heavy price for it! A series by Dixon.

Kept Man - Page 1
by Dixon
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Tucker never thought about what it would be like to be a ‘kept man’ – you know, one of those young studs who gets free room and board, plus a lot of other perks, because he hooked up with some wealthy benefactor. Then he met Paul.

It was at a charity event in the ritzy Fauntleroy club, where Tucker got a gig as an extra bar tender. Paul kept ordering rounds of drinks for several of his friends – all male – putting the bill on his VIP tab. When Paul checked, the VIP tab was in the name of one of the city’s wealthiest businessmen, with Paul’s name included. Tucker assumed he was a son, nephew, of maybe a personal assistant.

From the eye contact, and subtle body language clues, Tucker thought Paul was cruising him. Later, shortly before the event was to end, he pulled out a $100 bill, slipping it to Paul as a tip for his excellent service. He also asked when Tucker was free, and if he’d like to party with his bunch.

You don’t turn down a $100 tip, or the benefactor’s invitation. Tucker said he’d be free by 11:30, and Paul said “I’ll be in the burgundy Lexus out front.”

A loaded Lexus, it was, and Paul was alone. He first said his buddies had gone on to some all-night club, but once they had pulled away from downtown, he said he’d rather get to know Tucker one-on-one, taking a ramp headed out of town. Trapped, but curious, Tucker saw the first Lake exit, and was curious if they were going to Paul’s home.

It was an impressive lake house, but not Paul’s home. He pulled around back, under a second floor balcony, then hopped out, unlocking the rear door. Tucker followed, impressed when Paul flicked a couple switches and the gas logs flamed up and surround sound filled the room. It wasn’t classical music, but a young man’s play list, clearly organized for romance and seduction.

Paul peeled off his shirt, then tackled Tucker’s thinly-veiled arousal, dropping to his knees to fumble at getting his pants off. The chemistry bubbled, the heat in the room rising rapidly. Tucker had read him right, the man was cruising him, and he was one horny, hot piece of masculinity.

He owed the fellow $100 worth of attention, a tonguing of his ass apparently worth $150 as Paul shot his load prematurely. He rolled forward to shower Tucker with kisses, gliding down from his mouth to his chest, his nipples, his six pack, finally reaching the pecker that would fill out to nearly 8 inches from Paul’s oral skills.

He got Tucker down on the floor where he could suck and jerk and finger fuck him into a frenzied ejaculation, leaving him spent for more adoring kisses. He fondled Paul, realizing the hot stud had too many VIP drinks to recover so soon. He realized he didn’t even know the rich kid’s name.

“Excuse me, sir. My name is Tucker. What’s yours?”

“Tucker,” Paul repeated. “Paul, meet Mr. Tucker, bartender extraordinaire and rim master supreme.”

“Give me a little while and I’ll introduce you to Tucker the Fucker.”

“No, no, Mr. Tucker. Paul never fucks on the first date.”

They spread out in front of the gas logs, cuddling, kissing, fondling and groping, with a little conversation to get to know one another. It was Paul’s Dad’s lake house, but Dad had flown off to Seattle for some business deal. They lived in a penthouse apartment downtown, a few blocks from the bar where Paul had spotted Tucker.

Compared to Paul’s playboy lifestyle, Tucker could only say he had escaped having a boss. He had established his own computer business, with four employees operating networks for several big corporations. He ran things out of his home – no penthouse or lake house, but rent free.

“Tucker Enterprises,” Paul imagined. “So you’re not really a bartender?”

“No, I did that gig for a good friend. My company is Nelson Networking,” Tucker told him. “Tucker Nelson.”

As dawn approached, Tucker slipped back into his clothes, needing to get back to the city and his work. He was about to call for an Uber driver, but Paul insisted he’d take him, wanting to see where he’d pick him up for their second date.

Paul told Alexis to remember Tucker Nelson’s address, citing it out loud. Tucker grinned, then hopped out, heading inside while Paul drove away.

As he stepped inside, two guys jumped him, totally unexpected. One was on his back, legs locked around his waist, a hand clamped over his mouth. The other got control of his left arm, taking him down to the floor.

Double-teamed, Tucker had no chance of escaping. He felt ropes bind his arms behind his back, a gag stuffed in his mouth with a hood slipped over his head. They hobbled his ankles, then hoisted him up to haul him out, throwing him into the back of a van.


An hour later, after a bumpy, scary ride, he felt the van move up a steep incline, then stop. When the doors opened, he heard another voice ask his captors if they had any problems. The voices drifted away, leaving him in the van, but he couldn’t see to engineer any escape attempt.

“His suite is all ready,” the new voice said. ”Haul his puny ass inside.”

They removed the hood, taping across his eyes before he got any real view of his surroundings. Hands ripped away his clothing, leaving him in his skivvies, but wrapping his arms and legs in rope bondage that restrained him from any real movement. They trussed him up against some metal frame, enjoying pinching his pecs and taunting him. What the fuck was going on?

He hoped this was some sick prank. Maybe his employees were in a mutiny, or guys at the bar hazing him about hooking up with Paul. He couldn’t think of anyone he’d offended or who had a grudge – he and his last boyfriend had parted amicably, he thought.

He heard a metal chair slide across what sounded like a concrete floor. One of his handlers would be around, watching him all the time, as well as three cameras covering all angles of the large room. He was already on tape – not just his arrival, but his entire evening with Paul, back at the lake house.

Paul had no idea his Dad had the place under surveillance, 24/7 videotape piped to the security system he operated for all of his properties. That’s how Dad knew that Paul had brought some stud out, thinking Dad would never know. That’s how Dad had seen the hot sex, immediately sending out orders to find out who this fellow was.

Before Tucker and Paul left the lake house, Dad’s security personnel had identified Tucker, his company, and his home address. Dad had ordered his abduction, and his new residency in the secured basement of his mountain home. Tucker had been officially removed from Paul’s life, and would now be a different kind of kept man.

The handlers brought him food, at first feeding him with his blindfold intact. Later that day a handler took him to the john, removing the blindfold to let him see the open shower and toilet. He’d have no privacy, and would need to tell them when he needed to shit or piss. Otherwise, he’d be tied or chained, unable to freely move around his suite.

The suite itself was like a basement – one huge room with some shelving, a stairway with a heavy door, and another door probably going outside. There was a TV near where the handler sat, and a small table with beverages. The metal frame he had been trussed against looked like louvers, maybe for ventilation. After his meal and bathroom break, he got pushed back against the louvers, his movement restrained by ropes secured with metal hasps.

A different handler came down the stairs. It was a shift change. The two of them detached Tucker’s restraints, then wrapped his body in a web of rope. His cock and balls got noosed, his shaft jutting out in a frustrating boner. His arms were secured behind him, his biceps laced to his torso. He could wiggle, but with two feet of rope hobbling his feet, he couldn’t run.

They drug him over to the shower, letting him enjoy the warm spray to rinse off the sweat and grime of the day. He didn’t know he’d get a shower every three to four days, whether he wanted one or not. And one of the handlers would use an electric razor to shave him every day or two.

After the shower, he didn’t get a towel, but was left to air dry. The water-soaked rope tightened slightly, especially around his balls. The handlers pulled him over to a pallet on the floor, laying him down for the night. He turned to his side, his back away from the handler’s chair, hoping to rub one out.

As he hunched against the thin pallet mattress, he heard a voice. The handler had a radio device, someone communicating with him. He rose up, walking in Tucker’s direction.

“Trying to get your rocks off, sucker,” he said. “We’ll have none of that. Roll your ass over facing me, and don’t make me come over here again.”

It took Tucker a while to realize the handler hadn’t noticed him humping against the mattress. He squinted his eyes to scan the room, looking for some glint of a hidden camera. Bingo. He found two of the three, and knew his suite was under surveillance. Fuck. Maybe he was in some private prison. But who was the fucking Warden?


He actually fell asleep after about 45 minutes. Unable to move much, he had drifted off from the psychological warfare he’d been conducting. He was definitely a captive, definitely under constant watch. He was stripped naked, bound with some pretty sophisticated bondage. His helplessness was getting into his head, weakening his normal Alpha resolve.

He wondered what was going on at his business. Kyle and Miranda should have handled everything, but surely they wondered why he hadn’t checked in. Maybe Kyle went over to his house; maybe he found signs of a break in and reported it to the police. Even so, he’d just be listed as missing, with no real way to track him down.

Breakfast was actually good – eggs, sausage, toast, and some fancy hot tea. His handler fed him all of it. In about twenty minutes he felt his stomach rumbling, and felt the runs coming on. He told his handler he had to go, but soiled himself before he got seated on the toilet. A second handler came down to clean up the floor, both men giving him crap about his crap.

“Nasty little bitch, aren’t you,” one said. “You’re gonna’ wish you could hold your shit.”

He’d soiled the rope bondage, which proved to require the handlers to release the cock and ball nooses, as well as the web harnessing his chest. One kept control of him at all times, getting his arms bound behind him, his wrists wrapped and pulled up with another rope attached to the arm bondage.

The handler who had cleaned up his mess took control of Tucker’s cock, which sprang into an instant boner, giving Tucker the promise of getting his rocks off. That alone would help him cope with being a captive in an unknown world.

But the handler didn’t let him reach a climax. He’d stroke, whispering taunting things, suggesting he could suck him dry. But as Tucker moaned or his ball sac pulled up tight, he’d pull his hand away, letting the cock slap back against Tucker’s belly. Tucker would try to jerk and hump to keep his fluids rising, then feel the agony of losing his momentum. He’d learn real soon how his handlers were sadistic bastards who knew real well how to edge a man without letting him get his rocks off.

He was edged three times that day, by three different handlers. They knew exactly what they were doing, overcoming Tucker’s initial stoic resistance, his attempt to will himself to not become aroused.

Then they’d gently rub his balls, or lean in with a tongue teasing his slit. He’d loose any focus he had to fight off the urge to ejaculate. He’d close his eyes and try to enjoy the few seconds he had to feel he still had manhood within him.

Once he got a droplet of pre-cum oozing out of his slit. It remained, but the stimulation stopped, and within a minute his raging cock had drooped down needing touch, a grip, to rub against something.

The frustration made him buck against his restraints, burning energy but trying to strike out in some way. The handlers loved it. They’d laugh at him, taunt him about being impotent.

“Bet he’d shoot like a sniper if you got a couple fingers up his ass,” one handler jabbed. “Bet she needs something up her tail to get off, you pitiful cunt.”

Tucker remembered Paul’s fingers, his mouth, his skilled strokes. That was days ago, the last time he…Damn, he thought. Someone must have been watching us. Someone must have … It all rushed in on his brain. Paul’s Dad had surveillance at the lake house, and had seen his son jerking him off. HE was behind this abduction and abuse.

“Where’s Paul’s Dad,” he blurted out. ”Where the fuck is the man who’s punishing me for hooking up with his damn son!”

The handlers looked at each other, knowing full well that Tucker’s outburst would be heard on the surveillance, and reported to Paul’s Dad, if he wasn’t watching himself.

They moved in on Tucker, roughly removing one set of bondage to begin wrapping his body in another web – this one keeping him in an even more uncomfortable position for the night.

Worse, they strapped a muffling gag across his face, making him work to suck in air. He would toss and turn all night, never getting any decent sleep. He could see his strangled cock and balls, dark red, circulation nearly cut off. He’d be blue balled in another day or two.


1 Comment

  1. scotts60143 - June 17, 2021, 11:03 am

    GREAT story Dixon! Loving all the details of his night out, capture and then containment. Rope bondage and great edging cum control. Looking forward to the next chapter!

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