Gator, My Landlord

[6 word request: Hot Jerk Redneck Made Himbo Slave]

When I heard the deadbolt on the front door clunk, I quickly slammed my laptop shut and yanked up my pants. Luckily I’d already tossed my fleshlight in the drawer.

“Howdy Mr. Collins! You ‘round big guy?”

The Southern drawl and the patronizing tone belonged to none other than my landlord, Gator. He strutted in wearing a flannel with the sleeves cut off, completely unbuttoned with nothing under it. He tipped the brim on his grease-stained baseball cap as a greeting, spitting a mouthful of foamy brown into a plastic iced tea bottle as he strutted through the door.

“Yeah, I’m here, doing some work!” I said. I actually had been doing work, but my 15 minute break had ended with me casually checking pornhub, resulting in a 2 hour break extension.

“Mr. Collins, just wondering if you n’ me could have a little chat.” He smiled and set his dip-spit bottle on my desk, placing his hands on his hips. I took just a moment to glance at his ripped, sun-darkened abdomen, the cleavage between his big farm-pumped pecs and the broad shoulders that spread out further than the frayed edges of his cut-off. I didn’t look down to see it at the moment, but I knew the front of his jeans were bulged out, stuffed to the brim. There’s no way he could know what that does to me, I thought, could he?

I raised an eyebrow. “I know the rent check cleared…” I offered.

He took off his hat and held it against his chest, nodding. “Yeah, well, that did, and ah thank you very much… it’s just come to my attention you’ve been having a bunch of visitors over here.”

In the month since I’d started renting this little middle-of-nowhere cabin from Gator, who inherited the house and the property from his grandfather along with the only full-service garage in the county, I had invited a single visitor to my house. My neighbor, Agnes Smits, who lived six miles away but walked her two cats on a leash, saw him leave. It was a Grindr hookup and a lackluster one as well. I was fairly certain Agnes saw me give my visitor--I can’t even remember his name, to be honest--a kiss on the cheek.

“As you know, visitors for more than seven days’ve gotta be cleared with the landlord…” He cleared his throat and grinned. “That is, me. And you’re not allowed to have gatherings of more than five people after 8 PM. I’m not sure what you’re used to in the city, but here we do things a little different.”

I nodded. Was it worth tossing in that I knew it was Agnes who had brought this to his attention, or that whatever story she threw together had more to do with her backwoods religious views than with anything I’d actually done? Probably not, I assumed, but I had a counter.

“First off, call me Cliff,” I said, shoving my seat back (once I knew my erection had fully gone down) and rising to my feet. “Second, I’m aware of the lease limitations--and you have to be aware that you need to give me 24 hours notice before making an unauthorized entry in my apartment.”

He shrugged his dark brown shoulders. “Well, if you’re not doing anything wrong, Mr. Collins, I don’t see any reason why I can’t make a friendly house call. You’re not hiding anything here, are you?” He peered over the desk like he was going to see a meth lab underneath it.

I sighed. “Look, I’m a pretty private guy. I know I didn’t disturb any neighbors after dark, and we both know that Agnes is very lonely and very, very bitter. I know you’re a busy guy, No need to make a trip out here every time she yaps in your ear, right?”

Gator tilted his head to the side, then fished a folded envelope out of his back pocket. He handed it to me, then grabbed his bottle and spit another mouthful of goo into it. It was warm and damp.  “That there is a final notice, Mr. Collins. One more violation of the lease and I’ll be forced to evict you.” He headed toward the door. “And you know, Mrs. Withcomb is a fine church-going woman whose family’s been in these parts for generations. You’d do well to respect that.”

The screen door slapped shut. He left the other door wide open as he hopped into his monster truck and peeled out.

This short-term rental situation had only been a way for me to get some peace and quiet while I worked on my novel. I was only planning on staying out here for a few months of work--and then a few more to wait out a situation I’d left behind back home--and then I was gone. As soon as I saw how rustic and secluded it was, I thought maybe the only thing I’d have to worry about would be a few locals taking me out in teh woods and having their way with me. Then I’d just have to worry about hunting them down and murdering them one by one. But the only disturbances I ever got were from shriveled old Agnes and--admittedly superhunky--Gator, who liked to flaunt his sexy body and his big package around while threatening to evict me every other week.

So what if he wanted to kick me out? Let that smoking hot country bumpkin try to have his less-teeth-than-bullets-in-his-gun sheriff come and try to drag me out of this one gas station town. Wouldn’t he be surprised to find out he wasn’t just messing with “one of those ungodly homosexuals” but an actual fourth generation full-blooded witch?

After another attempt at writing ended with me drinking two bottles of Sauvignon Blanc and jerking it to Ian Somerhalder’s IMDB page, I stumbled toward my room and dragged out the dusty trunk under my bed. After whispering the incantation that disengaged the latches, I started fishing through the assorted strangely shaped bottles, trying to choose a tincture or tonic to put my redneck woes to rest.

Clearly my brain was a little wine-addled. Splash water on an angry witch and they’ll melt away, but dump a bottle of white into them and you’ll have yourself a frog downpour and a plague of locusts for the rest of the season.

“I’ll bake some cookies,” I said, my mental leap into wickedness easing the stress of my pent-up resentments. “And I’ll drop them off to good old Mrs. Agnes, and she’ll find herself a fat little rat. Let’s see how much her cats love her then?”

I put the cat-curse elixir back and fished out another bottle. “Or I’ll have her turn into a tree. Wait until she’s out for her walks and her feet take root! I’ll make it nice and slow so she’s trapped there, screaming for help until her face turns into bark.”

Then I thought of that dreamy yokel landlord. What could I do to him? “I’ll make him turn into a reptile over a month,” I said, grabbing a talisman and an arcane book I’d used to do just that thing back in college. “Make the first changes things he can hide, but by the end he’ll be shrinking down, crawling on the ground and begging me for a hot rock and some fresh flies!”

I know I could do better than that. “What if I turned him into an ice cream cake? Sliced him off, piece by piece, while I binged to my heart’s content. I wonder if he’d beg me to put him in the freezer before he melted away? If his whimpering didn’t get annoying, I’d just slice off the part where his mouth was and slurp that down so I could devour the rest of him in silence.”

All of that sounded like work, and I wasn’t feeling particularly motivated at that moment. I felt like going to bed, to be honest.

The next morning I woke half off the bed, still in my clothes. Hangovers in the middle of the country were the worst; I knew I had no eggs, no coffee, and no wine to take the edge off, plus no grubhub to do the legwork for me. The closest grocery store was 20 miles away. I tried to debate it away--I was a witch, goddammit; couldn’t I just Samantha Stevens-up a feast? A decadent brunch restaurant with bottomless mimosas  should only have been a nose-twitch away! Maybe my grandmother had that kind of power, but generations of breeding with mortals had left me with relatively meager abilities. I was going to have to drag my hungover ass to the car and drive into town--THEN drive back and cook!

On the road with the windows open, huffing big lungfuls of the fresh country air, I started to feel better. It felt good to get me up and moving. Every time I noticed a clock--it was past noon, almost one o’clock, and I”d lost an entire morning of writing time--I berated myself for not being more productive. But I was an artist. I could take a day off… every other day.

I regretted my choice of unripe grapefruits and boar’s head when I was halfway home. I’d also grabbed a brick of Velveeta, which could salvage the meal, but no matter what, I had also restocked on vino so I knew I’d be all right.

Gator’s truck was parked on my front lawn when I got home. Sure enough, the front door was open. That son of a bitch! He was, no doubt, searching through my house while he was gone. I bet Agnes was the one to alert him that I’d gone to town, too! No matter though. I had nothing incriminating to find… unless he investigated my internet search history.

I froze, realizing that he was very likely going through my internet search history.

As cocky as I’d been the day before, fueled by booze, I knew I could be in some serious shit here. Residents of this backwater little hovel didn’t seem to get out much and I would imagine they wouldn’t think twice about stringing up a card-carrying home-o-sexual from a tree. (Imagine if they found out I was a witch, too? They’d probably pile stones on me until my tongue popped out.)

I took a deep breath and walked through my front door. Luckily, I didn’t enter to a shotgun in my face. The place was surprisingly quiet, actually. “Gator? You here?” I called.

No response. I set my groceries on the counter and went out the back door, wondering hopefully if he’d headed down to the pond. When I didn’t find him there, I got confused. Then I heard a soft whimpering from my bedroom window as I walked back to the house.

Peering in, I was shocked to see only a quivering brown mass but none of my furniture. It was hard to figure out what I was looking at--like a loaf of bread the size of my room had baked in there--until I saw a bloated nub facing me. It was a face, upside down, like the rest of the jiggling blob was a body and it was face up. It took me a moment to see that the sniveling, sobbing face was Gator, just with about a thousand extra pounds on him.

“Well well,” I said with a chuckle as I recalled that I’d left my witch’s trunk wide open when I’d left. “Gator, is that you? You really should learn some portion control!”

Gator had to strain his pudgy frog-like neck just to see me. “You!” he shrieked, his usual confidence completely gone. “You did this! What the hell kind of drugs were in here, you freak?”

I peeked in the window to see that Gator’s mass was covering my door. I’d have to climb in the window just to get inside.

“Now now, Gator, you can’t blame your weight problems on others. If you don’t accept responsibility, you’ll never change!” He hit me with a stream of what I assumed were curses--although they poured out of his mouth like molasses, so garbled in his accent that I couldn’t tell where one word ended and the next began. “Good lord, the mouth on you! Does the pastor know you talk like that?”

I climbed through the window, careful not to step on Gator’s quivering bulk. Luckily, when he’d bloated into this big blobby form, he had knocked the chest out of the way. It was on its side, its contents spilled everywhere. Luckily, none of the ornate centuries-old bottles had shattered.

“What the hell did ah drank?” Gator sniveled. He had a few bloated chins, but beneath all that blubber, I could still see his crystalline blue eyes. After a moment’s reflection, I realized I would still fuck Gator even when he weighed a literal ton--even if that meant just sort of folding over some flab and sticking my dick in that.

“Well, I’m guessing,” I said, sifting through the bottles strewn across the floor, “you drank what I call ‘Mass Gainer 5000’--you know, you’re only supposed to use a few drops at a time. And if you’d chewed some ginger root while you drank it, all the weight you gained would have been pure muscle. I used to it to beef up one of my ex-boyfriends into a real musclehead, but wouldn’t you know it? He started saying his job as a bouncer was more important than spending time with me.”

Gator stared at me wide-eyed so I grabbed his cheek, causing him to shriek. I had to laugh. “Yeah, that’s how it goes. You find them teaching a Zumba class, you toss a hundred pounds of muscle on them, and suddenly they only wear leather and want to be called Frank. C’est la vie, am I right?”

“You’re a queer?” Gator gasped.

That he was shocked by that, but unfazed by my enchanted potions, said everything I needed to know about this guy. “C’mon, Gator, you knew I was. Agnes has been calling you daily, hasn’t she? Isn’t that why you’ve been over here all the time?”

Gator’s lower lip quivered, making his shake wobble like a jello mold. “Ah was hopin’ she was just goin’ senile. Ah don’t want two men doin’ that kinda sin in my granddaddy’s house!”

“Well,” I said, shrugging, “you know, I can spend the rest of my time here sleeping in the living room. I can bring in a whole chicken every day, just shove it in your mouth and pull out the bones. Maybe I’ll just heat up some lard and pour it in your mouth every time your gigantic stomach starts to rumble.”

I headed back to the window, swinging one leg through it before Gator started to whimper and whine again.

“Y’all cain’t leave me here! Ah’ll call the sheriff! Ah’ll call the governor! You’ll be thrown in jail forever!”

I shrugged. “You know where you phone is now, Gator?” I watched him looked around his bloated, heaving body. A quarter revolution around his rotundity I could see a fat hand flapping wildly. Somewhere in that pile of man was his dick--and his ass! I could hear his stomach rumbling and knew that whatever I put in the man was going to have to come out. He was already starting to smell like fried chicken and B.O.

“Wait wait wait!” he said. “You gotta help me!”

“I’m pretty sure you said one more violation and you’d be evicting me, so I was just going to pack up and go,” I said.

“Okay! I’ll rip up the final notice. And you can have as many visitors as you want.”

I smirked at him, climbing back in through the window. I crouched next to his face, placing my mouth near his. I loved watching him try to squirm away from me, not knowing what I had planned.

“What if I want a dozen men over my house, Gator? What if it’s going to be a celebration of sodomy? You still going to allow that? Or are you worried old Agnes is going to turn into a pillar of salt?”

Gator squeezed his eyes shut. An actual tear leaked out of one! Poor simple man. His pea-sized brain was getting assaulted with way too much all at once.

“Okay! Fine, you can do whatever you want, ah won’t come by even if Agnes complains, okay?” he said. “Well, maybe ah’ll come by once in awhile just so Agnes thinks ah’m reading ya the riot act, K? Deal?”

When I didn’t move, he went on: “A-a-and I’ll take mah shirt off! You like that right? Ah mean, normally, right? Ah know ah got big muscles. Biggest muscles this side o’ the mountain! You fairies love muscles, right?”

Despite the word “fairiies” I was willing to agree to those terms. Maybe it was the idea of his first bowel movement at this size, and maybe it was the fact that my morning drunkenness was turning into a full-blown hangover and I still hadn’t eaten.

“Okay, then, let’s see,” I said. The antidote was a tiny white vial with an atomizer. Three squirts--maybe five, since he drank the whole damned elixir--and he would shrink down to normal.

Watching all that blubber and chunk start to slowly evaporate, his body shrinking back to normal sized, was the most erotic thing I’d seen since I’d come to the mountains (including the twelve Onlyfans I’d signed up for since I got internet working out here). In about ten minutes he had dwindled from an inhuman blob to just a big fat guy. He was able to stand up when he was just under 400 pounds.

“Hope it doesn’t stop here, leaving you all Gilbert Grape-y!” I joked as he pouted down at his morbidly obese body. I grabbed one of his floppy man boobs and lifted it up, letting it fall. He slapped at my hand with his puffy mitt.

At just under 300 pounds, Gator actually looked more fuckable than before, still muscled-up and hunky but with a quality thiccness to him. He carried that heft beautifully! As his keg-belly deflated back to abs, I actually missed the chonkier version of him. That gave me an idea.

“So, just so you know, the antidote is temporary. So unless you let me give you one final medicine, you’ll be bloating up to Goodyear size every time there’s a full moon. You don’t want that, do you?”

Big Gator was backed against the wall, both hands over his dick, probably terrified to turn around and expose his hole to the self-proclaimed “homo” living on his property. He was eyeing the door, planning a break for it, when my little fib made his eyes go wide.

“Damn! Do whatever ya gotta! Ah don’ ever wanna be like that agin!”

The bottle I grabbed from the trunk was violet and shaped like a heart. It sparkled in the light. “Just one sip of this is all you need,” I said, handing it to him. In order for the curse to take effect, he had to drink it willingingly. There were no requirements about honestly informing him of its contents.

He took a healthy gulp--damn, bigger than I’d planned!--then handed it back to me. “Am ah… am ah good now?”

I headed to my closet and grabbed a bathrobe from it. “My question for you is… are WE good? I honestly don’t want any more trouble, no snooping around my place, no judgments about my lifestyle… I’ll pay my rent and the place will be tidy when I’m gone! Forgiving, of course, the furniture you smashed when you blew up like a blimp, that is,” I said, gesturing to the smashed debris littering my bedroom.

“Yeah, ah’ll… uh…” He licked his lips and took a few ragged breaths. “Ah won’t deduct any of this… uh… damage, from the… uh…” He let out a long, soft exhale. “Uh, what’s the word... “

“Security deposit,” I finished for him. He slipped on the robe, momentarily letting his big cock swing free. Good lord, it was beautiful! He was right to cover it up, though. I would have stared at it forever.

“Yeah, that’s what ah meant…” My robe was a little small on Gator’s wide, muscle-packed frame. The sleeves bulged with his arms and every time he moved I heard some stitching tear in the shoulders.

“Sorry my robe’s too small,” I said as he stood there, patting himself down. “You can just keep it. Throw it away. Whatever.”

“No, it’s…” He shifted his weight back and forth, his jaw hanging open. “So… soft. Feels… amazing… on mah skin…”

It was starting! I could feel my own skin getting hot just knowing what was in store for the big lunk.

He licked his lips, which suddenly looked plumper than before. I watched him bat much longer eyelashes. He reached a hand into the robe and stroked his own chest. “Ah know this sounds weird and all…”

“Everything today has been weird,” I interjected.

“...but mah skin feels so…” He giggled. “Soft!”

I shrugged. “Well, you just filled a whole room and then shrank down again. Maybe all the stretching improved its texture?”

I walked past him into the kitchen. Gator followed behind me, taking baby steps and softly gasping with each step.

“You okay?” I asked as I pulled a bunch of bananas out of the grocery bag. I heard the stitches of my robe starting to tear apart. He was noticeably taller, and getting bigger, his widening shoulders tearing my robe in half. His lips were a ridiculous pucker now, but they looked cute on him. His cheekbones looked more pronounced. He looked like himself, just slightly prettier, like he’d just had impeccable plastic surgery. His eyes were locked on the bananas.

“Can ah have one? Damn, ah’m so damned hungry ah could swallow a cow whole…” As he rubbed his stomach, his thickening body popped the belt off and it fell open. His dick looked even bigger, his abs even more deeply carved with the most impressive cum gutters I’d ever seen on a man.

His body was getting bigger, pumping up with muscles, but he had a layer of softness to him. Rather than the rock-hard corn-fed country boy he’d been earlier, now he looked like a big, juicy stripper. His normal 6’ of height had expanded by a good six inches and counting. All of it looked amazing on him.

As I imagined, he grabbed the banana, peeled it slowly, then slid the whole thing down his throat, locking eyes with me as he did it. He moaned softly, just holding it there before sliding it out again, whole.

“Ah just wanted to see if ah could do that,” he said, giggling. “Ah don’t even know why! It’s like the idea just came to me…” His eyes went wide and his hands went to his backside as his granite glutes expanded out with warm size. He turned around and showed me his newly blown-up caboose, making it wobble back and forth. Its jiggle was hypnotic.

“Whatta ya got planned today, Mr. Collins?” He said placing both hands on my kitchen counter and arching his back. I could have balanced both bottles of wine and all of my wine glasses on that big cushiony ass, gleaming in the sun like it’d just been polished. All of him had a plastic sheen to him, but he was still flesh. I knew that touching him would be like touching warm soft flesh until he flexed it into impenetrable muscle. And soon he was going to ask me to do just that.

“I was going to do some writing,” I said, pulling out a bottle of wine and setting it on the counter to see what he was going to do with it. “Unless I could find something worthwhile to distract me.”

He smiled and licked his lips. “Well, ah can take the day off from the garage. Ah own the place, y’know. Ah don’t even have to work there if ah don’t want to!” He grabbed the bottle of wine by the neck and slowly rubbed it up and down his torso. “Lemme ask you a question,” he said, sliding the wine bottle into the canyon between his gigantic, juicy pecs. He flexed them and the bottle stayed put, squeezed between the rippling muscle jugs. “Ah mean, it ain’t gay if ya don’t cum in the ass, am ah right?” He licked his voluptuous lips. “Like, if you were to stick your cock between these big ol’ titties o’ mine, that wouldn’t be gay, right?”

“If you’re interested,” I said, slowly walking toward him. He stayed focused on me with a smoldering gaze and laser intensity. “I can show you all the different things two men can do together.”

He let the wine bottle fall, but tilted his groin forward. It landed on his rock-hard cock (which had reached pretty much the dimensions of the wine bottle!) and stayed there. “Ah’ve got a lot to learn, Mr. Collins…” he growled.

He sure did.