The Landlord’s Special 01: Kristy

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Preface

The Landlord’s Special is a serial story created in homage to a friend from the late Carnal Souls forum who was the original encouragement to post my stories publicly. While a rough narrative arc has been sketched out, the chapters are written as inspiration strikes, and the project’s total length and timeline are as-yet undetermined. Each installment is themed around a specific fetish, and while all will feature voluptuous women and/or futanari, chapters will vary in content. Based on the completed Part I, I’m hoping each can function as a stand-alone, and appropriate tags will be listed upfront.

The series features several references and in-jokes relating to the CS board; Larry’s typography is one of them. 😉

The Landlord’s Special
Part 1: Kristy

Kristiana Hendriksson knew she was in for big changes when she started university, and her Bachelor with Honours proved she could embrace them with courage and resolve. The more recent changes, however, had given her an entirely different challenge. With a part-time job as a copy editor and a Master’s scholarship in the bank, she’d broken out of student housing and finally put down for her own apartment. The building was good, it was an excellent location, and online reviews were nothing but encouraging, even if several seemed to be written with some sort of in-joke. Most surprisingly, it was privately owned by a young-looking man, tan-skinned with curly, naturally-blond hair suggesting African or Latino heritage. He’d given her a tour of the building, and she was struck by how nonchalant, even shy, he seemed: he didn’t try to upsell, he was remarkably patient, and he proved an uncommonly enthused conversationalist when she got to recounting her life story—even if he had a penchant for asking totally random questions.

It was when they sat down to negotiate the lease that she realized something was afoot. Kristiana’s father had given a comprehensive briefing on specific things to check to make sure the agreement was up to code. For the most part, the text looked fine—indeed, it was clearer and with less legalese than some of her roommates’ charters. But the section stipulating deadlines for monthly rent included a lengthy clause detailing an option for “alternative repayment,” which as she read further brought a blush to her cheeks and a barely-restrained impulse to flee the office, which was really the landlord’s living room in his on-site suite. Holding up a notepad and a golden pen, he explained that he had the power to transform people, and as a substitute for monetary payment, tenants in arrears could instead submit themselves as subjects.

It was obviously mad, and she remembered laughing in his face. But he remained as laid-back as ever, waiting for her answer. By all rational logic she should never have agreed: the rent looked easily affordable, and termination clauses were remarkably generous such that she could pull out with barely a day’s notice. But, perhaps feeling cavalier that she could play off her landlord’s insanity in an emergency, she signed for “alternative repayment” and began moving in later that week.

The first few months were uneventful, at least regarding her new unit, though she noticed many, if not most, of her female neighbours were generously endowed, to the point she wondered if she’d accidentally blundered into a clandestine red light zone. But they seemed well-adjusted enough, and most did have day jobs if they weren’t students themselves, so she put it down to that one-in-a-million chance of landing on the tail-end of the band size bell-curve. Larry, it turned out, was also a devoted manager, dropping by every week to check up on any maintenance issues. It was, by all accounts, a good setup. That ludicrous provision about missing rent soon slipped from her mind.

And then her mother took ill. Fearful phone calls with Dad led to a flight out of town to keep vigil at her bedside as she fought off an aggressive infection that eventually warranted intensive care. The family was tough—Kristiana’s mother recovered. But she had three weeks’ missed classes to recoup, and in the midst of midterms to boot; furloughed for compassionate leave, she ultimately had to give up her editing job as she struggled to catch up on assignments. The month rolled over, and she realized too late her travel expenses had left her short-changed for the rental cheque.

Larry received her explanation sympathetically. “I’ll call my folks later today; they’ll wire me enough to make up the difference and I should be able to pay you no later than tomorrow.”

“don’t worry about money fam,” he waved her off, “you chose the alternative plan.”

“Oh, yes,” she grinned hesitantly, “I did, didn’t I?” Posing coquettishly, she challenged: “So what do you do, turn me into a newt?” It was an audacious challenge, and she regretted it at once, but given their rapport up to then, Larry seemed like the type that could brush off such teasing like a duck brushed off the river water.

And indeed he did. “nah nothing like that,” he replied with that carefree smile, “you’ve probably bursa escort noticed the women here are pretty thicc.”

“Oh…” her smile faded as the same niggling fear returned from when she first reviewed the lease, that her landlord was a closeted pervert. “Y-Yeah, I… I kinda wondered about that…”

“don’t worry, you’re beautiful just as you are,” he kept his eyes fixed on her face while speaking, and there was something in his inflection that convinced her he wasn’t just buttering her up—indeed, just that word beautiful coaxed a little flutter—”but yeah i have a type. and i think, how can i make people more beautiful?”

Kristy frowned as she processed Larry’s words. “So… all those women… they were late on rent… and you magicked them bigger?”

“yeah,” he said simply. “don’t worry tho, you’ve been through a lot so i’ll ease you into it.” He pulled out the pen and notepad from back in the office and started scribbling. She thought she’d feel something—a shock, a shiver, anything—but apart from her excited pulse, nothing seemed to change even after he closed with an audible period.

“That’s it?”

“that’s it,” he nodded, rising from the foldaway kitchen chair she’d dragged out in front of the couch. “hope you enjoy it, chief.”

When Kristy awoke the next morning without a pair of watermelons tearing through her top, she was satisfied poor Larry was delusional and she’d scored a reprieve. Over the next few days, however, as her panties started pinching her pussy and her bra left her short for breath, terrified realization dawned that she’d fallen down a rabbit hole. He was true to his word: the changes came slow enough that she could plan out an expanding wardrobe without public embarrassment. But as her breasts began overflowing her fingers and her thighs rubbed together no matter how wide her gait, the anxious hope her growth would be passably explainable flitted away. Soon she was buying cup sizes she didn’t know existed, pants with measurements that read like she was shopping for a new TV.

It was impossible to hide, but, miraculously, not improbable to justify. Macromastia was a real medical condition, and while such rapid and aggressive onset confounded known studies, people were too polite to pry for details. Besides which, those that did approach her for conversation typically had other things in mind. Kristy found a new appreciation for nuns’ habits as she did her best to hide her ballooning body in loose, formless gowns, as much to deflect the creeps as buy time to settle her own disoriented self-image. For two weeks she deferred the landlord’s check-ups; likely anticipating her reasons, he never queried. When she finally worked up the courage to receive him, she was surprised: he asked how she was adjusting, she lied and said fine, and from there on he made practically no comment on his handiwork at all. He might be a creep, but at least he was a gentleman.

Would that the same could be said of her boyfriend. A suave athlete with the sort of face to front a Nineties boy band, Brian had swept her off her feet back in undergrad, and if he wasn’t such a party hound they might’ve shacked up. His frustration at Kristy’s sudden evasiveness evaporated instantly when they finally met up mid-month; he gave the expected spiel that she’d always been beautiful and should never feel the need to “put out,” but his roaming eyes and wandering hands suggested her valuation had markedly increased. Kristy certainly didn’t object to the wining and dining that followed, but she couldn’t help noting wryly it was only after she blimped up that Brian became so doggedly doting.

Her friends were mostly supportive when they weren’t blatantly jealous, but Kristy knew many thought she’d had work done, and silently judged her for it. Fortunately for her psyche, her new assets qualified her for induction into the not-so-secret society of her fellow tenants. They’d never been cagey per se, but it seemed a veil had been lifted as they became markedly friendlier. Stairwell chats became lunch dates, lunch dates became afternoon hangouts, and soon it was like she was back in the campus dorms, but without a schedule for the bathroom (and much better food). The other women spanned ages, backgrounds, and relationship status: there was Minerva, an immaculately-dressed paralegal that looked the spitting image of Jackie Kennedy; Valentina, a Chilean immigrant who’d recently finished training as a registered nurse; Ruby, a Black mother with hair like a lion’s mane who moonlighted as a lounge singer; and Iris, a silver-haired widow whose cooing lilt spoke decades of experience, yet who didn’t look a day over 25. Diverse in life, but united by a common thread: each had opted into the alternative plan; each had bounced a cheque.

Kristy’s most surprising new friend was Josie, a platinum blonde that looked pinched straight off an L.A. beach. Loud, blunt, and as scantily-dressed as she could get away with before crossing into legally obscene, Kristy had originally avoided her for what she later confessed was prejudicial impulse bursa escort bayan to avoid “skanks”—then, as her own “bimbo” body bloomed, out of a projected dread her wits would follow suit. To Josie’s eternal credit (and Kristy’s chagrin), she took it with incredible grace. Every time they passed in the halls, she always had a smile, and often a borderline compliment for Kristy’s assets. It wasn’t long before the girl went from blushing from embarrassment to blushing from appreciation.

“How d’you do it?” she asked one day, sitting together in the foyer.

“Do what?” Josie deadpanned.

She gestured to her evil twin: a button-down tee tied around boobs nearly popping out of a barely-concealed neon-pink bra, bare belly, and low-rise jean shorts cut so high they were virtually denim briefs, straps to a purple thong peeking over the edges. “You wear it with no shame,” she cried, “Strutting around practically naked and you don’t even flinch!”

A month ago, that statement would have been intended as beratement, but Josie recognized the quiet envy. “Gi-i-irl,” she cooed, “Rockin’ bods like ours deserve to be worshipped!” She arched her back, clothes creaking as she pushed out jugs at once too perky to be natural yet too gravid to be plastic. “Yeah you’re a beacon to leches, but you just gotta learn to find the ones looking through your boobs to your heart!”

Kristy snorted. “XXX-ray glasses?”

“Yeah!” She slid her hands down her thighs with a soft purr. “Like, Larry gave me gorgeous curves for a reason, but he’s a sweetheart, isn’t he?”

“Yeah, I guess…”

Josie slipped her arm around the girl’s back and pulled her into a side-hug, prompting a squeak as their chests knocked together. “It doesn’t matter how you use your body,” she spoke softly, “As long as you love yourself. Anyone that gives you grief can fuck off. Or fuck me,” she giggled.

To prove her point, Josie took her shopping for a “proper” wardrobe. Kristy was reflexively skittish, but whatever the woman’s personal style, she definitely had an eye for what worked on her friend: shirts and pants much like her old clothes but suited to her new endowments; long sleeves and skirts that feigned modesty while lending a teasing elegance to her curves; and, after much persuasion, some actual flirty pieces she’d have balked at wearing even before her transformation: deep-cut V-necks, low-rise jean shorts, a teal bikini she was sure was several sizes too small, and as an insistent gift from Josie, a lacy lingerie set that seemed far too expensive for its (lack of) coverage. By the end of the adventure, the girl felt ready to combust; the worst part was the bra fittings to replace her hasty stop-gaps purchased off the rack: the fortysomething redhead tailor tried (and failed) to hide her ogling as Kristy bared her breasts for measurement, to say nothing of Josie’s shameless excitement watching from the sidelines.

Yet the biggest anxiety still gnawing at Kristy after leaving the store had nothing to do with clothes. “Is it normal after being changed to feel…” she trailed off, hesitant.

“Feel what?” asked Josie, seated across her at the food court table.

She leaned in, eyes darting around to passersby. “Warm,” she mumbled, a faint blush rising in her cheeks.

“Well yeah, when you’ve got so much more of you, all soft and silky…” She rolled her shoulders, setting her chest jiggling.

“Yeah but I mean…” Kristy swallowed, her own rack settling on the table’s edge as she craned forward. “The way Annette was scoping me out as she measured me, it made me feel…”

Josie’s ever-present smile widened. “Things you never felt in the gym showers?” Kristy nodded nervously; self-conscious terror had been the only thing keeping her nipples from embarrassing her further to the seamstress. Josie slid her arm across the table, and the more timid woman found her hand. “Larry can change a lot of things,” she gave her friend a squeeze, “But that’s an opt-in one, for sure. Blowing up beautiful often helped us discover parts of ourselves we never knew we had.” Now Josie leaned in, her milkshake scraping across the table as she stretched forward to peck Kristy’s nose. “If you need any help finding yourself,” she purred, “You know my number.”

Kristy didn’t take up the offer, but she did find her confidence, emerging from her cocoon like a voluptuous butterfly. The leering and heckling surged, as she expected, but she was surprised how her old friends, even the ones who’d been on the fence about her drastic transformation, rallied to her. Her fellow tenants, of course, had nothing but praise for her reinvention. Josie was right: once she’d learned to love herself, she seemed to exude an aura that shielded against the cat-calls and wolf-whistles—and there was so much of her to love! She continued to discover herself in private; where she used to blush at her reflection in shame of her freakish body, she was soon blushing in guilty pleasure, hefting her pillowy boobs, sinking her fingers into her plush cheeks, delving between escort bayan her thighs with childlike nervousness as though her sexuality was brand-new. Kristy wanted to show herself off! Brian was delighted when she started accompanying him in his public outings again, cheering him on from the bleachers; she didn’t even mind the way he flaunted her like a trophy wife. Much like her mentor, her good vibes seemed infectious: she noticed men—and some women—who regarded her less with lustful envy than coy longing, her own self-assurance raising her from a shy and scared girl to a proud goddess.

For the most part, anyway. She’d never told her parents what happened, and found herself coming up with ridiculous excuses every time they floated a visit. How could they understand? Sitting on her dresser was a photo from her last high school swim meet; that trim body in the ruby one-piece already felt a lifetime removed—throw her in the pool and she could be the life preserver!

The close of the month also brought renewed fear when she realized Josie’s mall crawl had eaten up more cash than she expected. She knew Larry’s magic was more than skin-deep: she hefted her water jugs and beachball caboose each day with barely a second thought, her bras worn more for modesty than genuine need for support—weighted, but not encumbered. Other tenants spoke to even more radical modifications: Roshan, an engineer from Isfahan, who had betrayed her Sapphic sympathies by an unladylike bulge; Candace, a fiery-haired Aussie matriarch of six daughters, who despite having no apparent partner seemed perpetually pregnant; and Chinatsu, an undergrad international student with even more enthusiasm than Josie whose twitching Thai-patterned cat ears and tail weren’t, as Kristy had presumed, made-to-order prosthetics, but part of her own body.

Indeed, Josie was originally Joseph: a lanky, humbly-handsome brown-haired late twentysomething, whose smile in the old photo hinted at weariness well beyond his years. His falling into the red was the capstone to months of depression bordering on existential despair, and he’d seized on the chance for a life reset without a second thought. “A totally fresh start,” she recounted with the most pensive grin Kristy had ever seen on her face, “All the past mistakes, all those old worries—fft! Gone!”

“Why a woman, though?”

“I was always curious,” she grinned, cradling her pornstar boobs with a downright affectionate gaze, “Plus I was kind of a cad as a guy, so it’s like, karmic repayment, yanno? ‘Sides, playing both teams means I know which nice guys could use a leg up… or both, if they’d rather!” She giggled, setting her cleavage rippling.

“Fucking for charity?” Kristy grinned in bewilderment. “That’s… weirdly deep, Josie.”

“See, I knew you’d get it!” Wrapping her arm around, she pulled her friend into a side-hug. “You should write your Master’s on it: ‘What Goes Around, Cums Around’!”

That got a full-on laugh. “Yeah, maybe I should switch to Gender Studies…” Josie gave her a peck on the cheek before straightening up. “Do you miss any of it? Your old life?”

“A bit, yeah,” she shrugged, “A lotta hobbies changed, and I know my old dudes wouldn’t, ah, enjoy me the same way…” she licked her lip, eyes twinkling, “But now I’ve got more girlfriends than I know what to do with! —That’s not true, I know exactly what to do with ’em, the trick’s getting them in the same room!” she winked, eyes roaming over Kristy with unabashed fantasy. “Being a girl is awesome. I don’t regret a thing.”

All the same, Kristy had only barely come to terms with her first dramatic change and wasn’t keen on plunging into Round 2. While she’d landed a gig as a waitress at a mid-grade diner, the job came late and she hadn’t made up expenses, stuttering promises before the landlord had even managed “hello”. Larry was sympathetic, agreeing to accept deferred payment in exchange for feedback on selected YouTube uploads from some reality TV channel, plus screenshots from his current game mod (how a fantasy RPG had been co-opted for an adult photo shoot she feared to ask, but the results were startlingly impressive). Pinching pennies, she managed to stabilize her account within two months, swearing she’d never let herself be caught short-changed again.

A perfect storm conspired to prevent her keeping that promise. A bullshit clerical error threatened to jeopardize her winter grant application at the same time her workplace was starting to squeeze her: the diner’s owner knew he had a lucrative piece of eyecandy and scheduled Kristy for almost every shift she could fit—but even as she brought in the lion’s share of tips, the payout was pooled and she saw very little of the money herself, her gratuities subsidizing the waitresses sidelined to keep her (and her Hooters-grade profile) centre-stage. She knew she was being exploited, but between the pressure of her coursework and the burnout from interviewers who figured they could lowball the ‘buxom bimbo,’ she had no energy left to hunt for alternatives. Mentally and emotionally exhausted, she crashed out over the Christmas break and was still picking up the pieces in January. Larry, ever the patient saint, floated another deferral in exchange for “pictures of puppies” and a short story about a fantasy adventurer stumbling on an enchanted bikini. Though she got hung up on the second, the landlord let it slide.

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