I was only recently out of college and living back in the house where I grew up when I noticed the shift in my little sister Mia.

            Our genes left most of the family with average height, but Mia was always a little on the shorter side, somewhere around five-foot-two. I remember this because I taunted her about this many a time, since my sister also happens to be an avid volleyball player for her school’s team, and you generally want to have enough stature to reach the ball wherever it’s landing and smack it back. You can’t be a shrimp. She likely always harbored a bit of resentment toward me for this type of joking, but to her credit, she’s maintained a place on the varsity team every year of participation.

            The change became apparent to me one morning at breakfast, on the day of the season’s first game; my parents and I were already eating, when Mia skipped into the room. Though I couldn’t tell without direct comparison, I could see immediately she’d had a growth spurt. This fact made no sense, of course, but there it was. My little sister, with her ever-present black ponytail and athletically toned limbs, usually relegated to a squat five-two, was now standing somewhere more like five-foot-eight. Essentially my same height. My jaw hung.

            “Morning, everybody,” Mia said cheerily. She waggled her fingers in a princess-style wave, then looked at me directly. “Morning, Hal.”

            “Wow,” my dad said, somehow without concern.

            “Somebody’s been taking their vitamins,” my mom said, almost proudly.

            “Yeah, I guess I have,” Mia said. She winked at all of us, especially me. Then, with no other reference to this bizarre six-inch increase, she scooted into her chair and tucked into a plate full of eggs and bacon.

            Throughout the meal, I watched my sister chow down as though nothing was out of the ordinary: she can really put away a lot of food when she’s prepping for a game day, and her metabolism seems to just burn it all away, since she maintains her lopingly curved yet firm figure. Today, though, she was really going for it. Between bites, she’d look up at me, and smile smugly, then sit up straighter in her chair, for easier revelation that we were, in fact, the same height now. I was bewildered.

            After breakfast, I stood by my bedroom dresser choosing the outfit I’d be wearing to my part-time job. When I heard the door close suddenly, I turned around, only to find my dark-haired volleyball star sibling strutting toward me.

            “Are you coming to the game tonight, bro?” she questioned sweetly.

            With her hands on her hips, her thighs sashayed, and her pert bubble butt became the focal point of her gait. A self-satisfied smirk painted her full lips. Only now did I not only realize we were the same height, but that her assets had grown in tandem with her body, with blossoming breasts and thicker thighs than ever; obviously noticing such a thing on my own sister repulsed me, but it was impossible not to see. Mia stopped walking directly in front of me, so our eyes aligned perfectly. Indeed, she had grown six full inches overnight.

            “I, uh, have plans,” I muttered. My shoulders touched the dresser, and I realized my intimidation at Mia’s change had actually allowed her to back me against the drawers.

            “Well, change them,” she snapped possessively. She pressed her index finger hard against my chest. “I want my family to support me at all my matches this year, especially now that I’m making some… changes to my game.”

            “What did you do?” I asked. “What’s going on?”

            “Nothing’s going on. I’m just improving at my biggest passion, Hal. I guess you wouldn’t understand, since you’ve only ever thought I was trailing around with the big girls, never tall enough to play and never being taken seriously,” Mia snorted. She exhaled warm eggs-and-bacon breath on my face. “Well, I think they’ll take me a little more seriously now. Don’t you?”

            The way she said “little,” languishing and practically glaring into my soul, made me shiver. She evidently noticed, and giggled at me.

            “We could almost be twins, big bro. I bet people who never met us wouldn’t even know you’re four years older than me. Maybe after a little while longer, they won’t even think twins, they’ll just think I’m the big… never mind. You’ll see.” My sister leaned in and planted a soft kiss on my cheek, patted my chin with her palm, then sauntered out of the room again, leaving me befuddled. “I’ll expect to see you at that game, Hal, or I’ll be upset.”

            Only after my sister had exited the room did I realize she’d released a ladylike toot in my closed-door bedroom. I wrinkled my nose, trying to wave the airy stench away, but it only seemed to linger: the scents of Mia’s makeup and perfume intermingled lightly with the ghostly waft of her morning fart.

            After such a strangely intimidating encounter with my normally much meeker sister, I of course made sure to attend the game that night with my parents. Not that I told them why.

            Mia certainly didn’t put her added six inches to waste. Ordinarily, at her lower stature, she still puts her heart into every point, sprinting around the court and diving whenever necessary to make up for her shortness. Today, though, she was granted the freedom to be more aggressive and measured in her play. We could see her dense thighs and rounded glutes clenching as she prepared to pounce like a jungle cat, launching upward to set the ball for one of her six-foot-plus teammates to crush it over the net. My sister personally assisted nine points in that first game, which only made my parents cheer louder, but worried me a great deal.

            After winning the match, on the car ride home, Mia babbled excitedly with our parents about the dynamics of the game. I just sat sullenly on my side, studying my lankier sister, and trying to understand what happened. The girl sat like a victorious queen upon the leather seats, but she certainly wasn’t garbed or decorated as one, with sweat darkening her taut uniform in ovular patches. Though still athletically glamorous despite it, Mia’s tan skin sparkled with hard-earned perspiration, and at such close proximity, I was made to bitterly savor the salty odor all the way home. Stale, moist flavors from all over my sister’s toned form steamed from her weary body. If our parents smelled her, they certainly didn’t mention it, so all I could do was endure the sweaty stench and the occasional joyful side-eye from Mia. When we arrived home, I went straight to bed, hoping to avoid any further exposure to my sister’s odor, plus any gloating she planned to do about successfully spooking me into attending her game. I wouldn’t give the little brat the satisfaction. We might be the same height now, but I’m still the older sibling, and I have my pride.

            This plan was foiled, however, the very next morning.

Still in bed, I was awakened by a large hand roughly shaking my shoulder. In my fugue state, I assumed it was one of my parents standing over me, but upon rubbing my eyes, I noticed it was none other than Mia. At least I was pretty sure; though I couldn’t say for certain from a prone position while she towered over me beside the mattress, I would’ve sworn my sister had gained another two inches overnight.

            “Thanks for coming to my game, Hal,” she tittered. She was dressed in a tight blue t-shirt and asset-accentuating running shorts. Her little bubble rump rose earnestly out of the scant fabric in two tightly sculpted mounds. “I knew you’d do it if I persuaded you a little.”

            “Uh, you’re welcome,” I groaned; I elected not to address her second apparent growth spurt and give her more ammo to taunt me. “Can you go away, please? I’m trying to sleep.”

            “In a minute,” she responded matter-of-factly, like the question was fully up for debate. She twirled her uncombed raven-black locks around her finger as she studied me with bright and curious eyes. The Mia of even a month ago would’ve agreed instantly and hurried out without another word. This new five-foot-ten young woman was someone else.

            “Now,” I repeated.

            “No, not yet. I want to see something,” she said. She nibbled the corner of her thumbnail and cocked her head at me, deep in thought. “Stand up for me.”

            “No.”

            “Yes. I want you to do it now.”

            “Why?”
            “I’m going to see how much taller I am than you now, that’s all. Then you can go back to sleep.”

            What was this new mode of hers, demanding things from me without provocation? I was getting seriously annoyed, height addition or not. Even if she’d managed to spurt another two inches, thus making me the new “shorter” sibling, I was still four years older and four years stronger. I didn’t have to take this.

            “No,” I grunted, and turned over in my sheets. “Please go the hell away, Mia.”

            “Somebody’s grumpy,” she teased with a shrug. “Fine, I guess we don’t have to be standing to check. There are other ways.”

            “What-”

            Suddenly my towering and toned sibling was hopping atop the mattress. With little effort, her thighs straddled mine through the blankets; though I had seen the inflation of her legs before, actually feeling the firm, volleyball-hardened masses of her meaty legs closing around mine startled me. I was again shocked when Mia, without hesitation, bear-hugged her torso right on my back. Wisps of long black hair hung down over my eyes as our heads lined up. Her burgeoning breasts pressurized against my shoulder blades, and her hands wrapped around me to my chest, sealing me into her best attempt at a wrestling hold. As I was already tangled in the sheets, it worked pretty well.

            “What are you doing?” I growled. I rocked from side to side, endeavoring to throw my sister off of me. It took more effort than I was anticipating; though Mia was still relatively light in terms of weight, with her limbs flexed to their fullest extent and strategically coiled around mine, she was like a five-foot-ten flea who just wouldn’t let go.

            “Just comparing our heights, like I said I was,” Mia said childishly. By the tone of her voice, she wasn’t trying especially hard to keep me in this hold. While I continued fighting to get out from under my little sister, Mia happily stretched her limbs to their fullest extent.

            Briefly, I paused in my struggle as I felt my sister’s bare toes extending down my heel, then going past them by a margin of two inches or so, just as I’d feared. My stomach lurched.

            “Yep, that’s what I thought,” Mia stated confidently. “Either you’ve been stunting your growth, bro, or I’ve been taking all my vitamins and minerals, like Mom says. Whichever one it is, I guess there’s a new big sibling in this house, huh?”

            Her legs loosened their vice around mine. Her fingers ruffled through my hair, mussing it, and then my sister’s cheek was beside mine. In the compressed space against the pillow, when the girl opened her lips and blew a warm puff of rancid morning-breath air into my face and punctuated it with a snicker, I couldn’t take it anymore. She was just cheesing me off now for the fun of it. Raging, I flung my body to the edge of the bed, which finally succeeded in tossing my sister off the mattress. She still caught herself with relative grace, though, and stood back to her newly confirmed five-ten height, dusting herself off.

            “I don’t know what happened to you, Mia, but I’m not just going to let you push me around,” I sneered. Crawling closer to the edge of the bed on my elbows, I didn’t let the fact that my sister was looking victoriously down get the better of me again. “Got it?”

            “Yeah, I got it,” she said, responding in a faux-serious tone. She turned, as if to exit the room, and for a moment I thought I’d won the exchange. Only then did I realize my sister’s bulbous ass was now poised a matter of inches away from my face. Mia’s fingers snaked down the small of her back, then stopped at her waistline for an instant before her palm smacked her left cheek with an impressive crack. A jiggle reverberated across the toned, tight hills. I gulped.

            “Just go away now, please,” I sighed.

            “Sure thing, little bro. Oh, one last thing?”

            “What?” I spat, though in hindsight, I should’ve seen this one coming.

            “This,” she said simply and, inhaling, let rip another awful passage of wind, this time right into my face. The fart was vocal, not shyly hidden as a polite person might attempt; it was on the verge of whoopee-cushion volume. My sister’s flatulence gathered in a sick cloud around my head. Acidic and balmy, the foul flavors actually reminded me slightly of yesterday’s breakfast, which only further nauseated. Caught wildly off guard, I coughed loudly, hacking as the revolting air and particulates likely were gasped down my throat; this reaction was surely exactly what Mia was looking for, because she didn’t bother hiding her laughter.

            “Better hope I don’t grow too much more, little brother,” she warned, putting cruel emphasis on those last words. “If there’s too much distance between us, you won’t even have to be lying down for me to do that to you. You’ll just be standing around, minding your own business, and suddenly-”

            “Go AWAY!” I barked, though my voice was a weak wheeze as I struggled to gulp clean oxygen. “PLEASE!”

            “Okay, but only because you said please,” Mia said. She marched back out of the room, planting one foot in front of the other with catwalk aplomb, and leaving me to anguish in what remained of her breakfast gas.

Three weeks went by and, mercifully, my sister didn’t grow any taller. This was still small comfort, though, as those two inches she now had in advantage over me seemed more apparent every day. I’d always been six inches higher than my sister, but even that gap felt paltry compared to this new gulf.

            Some days, she wouldn’t even speak to me, whether at the dinner table or on the couch watching TV; she’d just stalk by, with her head held high, and generally wearing a pair of undersized shorts or denim cut-offs, displaying her sun-kissed thighs and rounded calves for all the see, not to mention the serious junk in her trunk. I was disgusted at these observations of mine, but I couldn’t help it when she was parading with the deliberate intention to haunt me by the sight of those pillared limbs.

            I was again doubly disgusted when she’d leave the room and, a minute later, I’d noticed she’d dropped a fart on her way out like a hit and run. The unfriendly smell was never so pungent as that day when she’d ripped one three inches away from my face, but it was present, and more of a symbol than anything that Mia was beginning to view me as easy prey, like a little kid on the playground with lunch money ready to be stolen.

            This tension was driven yet higher when one day, to my awe, Mia emerged into the breakfast nook, yawning as she stretched her wide wingspan. My sister stood at no less than six feet and four inches tall.

            “Holy shit,” I couldn’t help but mutter.

            “Wow, honey,” our mom gawked.

            “You’ve… certainly been taking even more of those vitamins, dear,” our dad said, standing up. He looked his daughter up and down, who was taller even than him by a good margin. I could see now some of the same concern I felt on that first morning was shared between our parents. This could no longer be explained by a mere adolescent growth spurt. “Maybe we ought to stop by the doctor’s this week, just to get you checked out. Make sure it’s nothing… glandular, or-”

            “I feel fine, Daddy. Relax,” Mia laughed. She placed her hand on his shoulder, and with a soft push, encouraged him forcibly back into his kitchen chair. For good measure, she tousled his hair, then leaned down and planted a wet kiss on his cheek like a doting mother. “In fact, I’ve never felt better. What’s for breakfast?”

            Mia hopped into her chair and piled two helpings of eggs, bacon, and potatoes upon her plate. My sister has always had a healthy appetite, seemingly putting on no poundage except athletic muscle, but even this was a bit much. Maybe the volume of hearty foods she put down was partly to blame for her skyrocketing height? As she aggressively shoveled the breakfast goodies into her cheeks, swallowing and gulping in another mouthful just as quickly, I imagined it was. I also cringingly recalled the usual effects of Mia filling her toned belly with greasy grub. She seemed to remember it too, flashing me a smug grin across the table between bites; almost like my gigantic sibling was building up ammunition. Hopefully she’d be off to school soon, and free to dispense all the gassy fruits of her labors there.

            Remembering Mia’s last growth spurt, I locked my bedroom door while getting ready for the day. When I turned the knob to exit, however, I found the way blocked by Mia’s six-foot-four frame. For the first time, I caught a comparative glimpse of her staggering size: a full eight inches taller than me. The top of my head scarcely reached her chin. To boot, the rest of her form had swelled in alluring proportion to her stature. Her breasts, once modest little lumps she got teased for during middle school, had inflated to at least D-cups. Most noticeable was my sister’s rump, though, muscled and jiggling softly with every step driven by those powerful pillared legs. And currently, this domestic amazon had made a blockade of herself. I felt instantly and sickening vulnerable, and all Mia was doing was waiting outside my door.

            “You look nervous, little brother,” she cooed. “Was it something I said?”

            “No.”

            “Maybe something I ate?” she continued sardonically, twirling a dark lock of hair in her fingers. “I’m a growing girl, you know, with lots of physical demands, if we’re going to make it to the championship this year. I have to keep my strength up.”

            “Yeah, I know.”

            “So why the long face?” she asked, then cracked a smile again. “Actually, I take that back. Your face isn’t especially long. In fact, none of you is very long at all. I mean, if I passed you on the street, I might almost mistake you for some elementary kid, waiting for puberty to kick in.”

            “I have to go,” I droned.

            “Why such a rush?” she simpered. “Stick around a while.” Her hands, previously fussing with her ever-present black ponytail, descended; her palms clapped over my shoulders, and given the length of those slender fingers, she was probably nearly capable of picking me off the ground by the scruff. I could feel now why Dad was so easily shoved back in his chair. There was great strength behind these hands, and now belonging to a young woman nearly a foot taller than me, it was made clear she could do some minor manhandling if she wished.

            “Because I have work.”

            “Work, work, work. All you care about is money since you got out of college. Wouldn’t it be more rewarding to do something nice, like for your family? Say, maybe for me?”

            I didn’t like where this was going. “What?”

            “I’m going to need your help with something after practice today. Nothing terrible.”

            I doubted that. “What if I don’t want to?”

            “Then I’ll persuade again, just like I did before. Trust me, you’re going to be helping me one way or another. Cancel any plans, if you made them. I’ll need you for at least a couple hours. Thanks, Hal.” With that, Mia’s fingers combed through my hair, patted my cheek, and then she sauntered off down the stairs. A lump in my throat, I watched my lanky sister descend the steps, her black ponytail bobbing merrily as she went, those tanned limbs propelling her in march formation. She must’ve had half the guys at school wrapped around her little finger.

            In the evening after work, I barricaded myself in my bedroom, hoping maybe Mia would take the hint and forgo whatever purpose she’d envisioned for me. I know now that was a foolish hope. The house was empty, at least I thought, until knuckles rapped at my door multiple times, not going away after I tried ignoring.

            “Open up, bro,” Mia boomed. “I know you’re in there, and a promise is a promise. I need your help.”

I didn’t recall making promises to help, though I suppose when you’re an enormous leviathan of a sports star, you can afford to have selective memory. Including using your family members like tools when needed. God, what did she even want? No-doubt something demeaning, like scrubbing the grit out of her shoes and socks, or worse, fanning her like royalty on her pedestal post-workout. I groaned, and stood up to answer, knowing it was easier not to argue when Mia was on the warpath.

            After the shock of this morning, I should’ve been prepared. But I wasn’t. Opening the door, I yet again revealed the towering visage of my sister, who’d shot up another solid four inches during the day, putting a full foot of space between the tops of our heads. Even worse, Mia was painted in a sheen of vigorous, glistening sweat across every part of her golden-tan body not covered by the jersey and those ass-hugging shorts. A cloud of athletic musk hung around my enormous sibling, infecting my room and the hallway with her sour stench.

            “C’mon, now, little brother. Do we really have to go through this whole shock-and-awe game every time you notice I’ve grown an inch or two?” Mia rested her arm on the door jamb and leaned in, making it abundantly clear how easy it was now for her to loom overhead of me. A drop of sweat slid down her neck into her cleavage. She wiped her skin and swatted the moisture away, spraying me in the face with several loose drops. Which I decided to ignore, in lieu of complaining and receiving a sarcastic response and a probably-intentional wipe of my face along her sweat-stained clothing.

            “What do you want?” I grunted.

            “Hey, there’s that generous spirit! It’s real simple. Now that I’m becoming a more important part of the team, Coach wants me to spend lots of time cooling off and relaxing after practice. That’s where you come in. I need you to help me get situated, and make sure my muscles can heal all the way, so I can crush it again this Friday.”

            I shrugged. How was this going to take two hours? Whatever; our parents would be home from work in an hour, and she could bother them instead. I just wanted her to leave me alone, so I nodded. Clapping excitedly, my six-foot-eight behemoth of a sister led the way down the stairs with a spring in her step. Meanwhile I followed, dragging my feet, and trying to cover my nose as I was treated to the trailing mist cloud of volleyball grunge from Mia’s hair, pits, and abdomen.

            In the living room, Mia had turned the couch facing the flat screen TV into her personal throne. Towels were laid on the cushions to sop up her sweat, a tall glass of ice water rested on the arm, and a full bag of Mexican fast food was crumpled on the coffee table.

            “Okay, so what is it, so I can get it over with and go back upstairs?”
            “Listen to you, Hal, still always in a big hurry. Personally, I find things happen best when you take your time, and stop to smell the roses. Or smell other things too, if you want.”

            If I was about to sit here for two hours and listen to my sister insinuate the oppressiveness of her own flatulence, it would be a short favor. I walked toward the couch.

            “Whatever. Am I supposed to get you a bag of ice, or something?”

            “No, no. I can get my own ice. I have a much better use for you. Something a bag of ice just won’t do. In fact, nobody can do this as well as you.”

            “Yeah?”

            “These couch cushions… well, they’re awful lumpy. Even with the towels. And Coach is really making a BIG deal out of me being completely comfortable, and using something more rigid after scrimmage,” Mia explained academically. I didn’t notice until it was too late, but she’d managed to impose herself in the room by the doorway, ensuring the only way to escape was through her. “So, that’s going to be you, Hal. I need to sit on you for a couple hours, maybe every day now after practice, while I relax.”

            My sister said this absurd thing with such conviction that it took me a second to register just how crazy her massive growth spurts were making her. My skin crawled. My nose instinctively wrinkled, already imagining what intimate proximity to my sweat-drenched sister would do to my senses. I eyeballed the couch, then my humongous sibling, and made a run for it.

            I didn’t get past Mia’s hip. Like a game of amateur red rover, my sister caught me with hardly a wobble in her stance; I hadn’t even managed to knock her off balance with all my charging strength. All too easily, my sister had me trapped in a headlock under her damp armpit, her toned arm coiled around my neck with such tension I became convinced in that moment that my little sister was actually capable of snapping my vertebrae with a well-timed swing of her elbow. As predicted, I was as revolted by the stench as I was wearily humbled by Mia’s muscular schoolyard hold.

            My sister didn’t speak; she only marched, dragging me along in reverse. Her confident footfalls launched us toward the couch, and I was helpless to reverse the direction. Even wrapping both my arms around Mia’s nearest thigh, upon embracing the taut quadriceps in effort to slow her progress, I met only rock-hard volleyball musculature. And I knew that I was going to become my sister’s cushion, whether I wanted it or not.

            “Mia, STOP IT!” I scowled. I sounded like a petulant child.

            “Quit fussing,” she instructed, almost sweetly. “This’ll be more comfortable for both of us if you just settle down and get used to it.”

            I was thrown like a stuffed animal on the couch. Quickly as I righted myself, Mia’s wide reach corralled me against the pillows, and suddenly her back was turned over my prone form. My sister’s tight caboose, sculpted by countless mile-sprints and barbell squats, loomed above my face, and came crashing down.

            “MIA!”

            Those twin cheeks, encased in moist cotton shorts, spread equally over my head and upper back. I was astounded at just how much of my six-foot-eight giant sibling’s butt could cover of my relatively frail body. Equally surprising was the sheer impossibility of throwing her off of me; I had managed it after her first growth, when she cornered me in my bed for an up-close measurement, but right now, I had an immovable mountain of a teen squashing me down. And there didn’t appear to be anything I could do about it.

            “Sorry, bro. You’re not going anywhere. So you might as well hold still, or you’ll only tucker yourself out.”

            Mia made herself at home seated on top of me. Those giant palms were affixed at my waist and scalp, securing me in place with her interlocked fingers. Her glutes flexed aggressively to and fro within, alternating clenched density from the left cheek to the right. This act succeeded in not only roughly massaging my own face, but also in sponging away warm beads of dribbling sweat which had run all the way down her back, dripped through her butt crack, and were now being squeezed out the bottom of the fabric toward my nose. With a contented sigh, Mia leaned back on the couch and propped her sweaty feet up on the coffee table. She effectively forgot about me for the time being, save for the occasional wiggle of her butt and accompanying giggle.

            With my face pressed into my sister’s briny workout shorts, I couldn’t see much beyond the darkness of the fabric, but I could hear well enough as the TV was flipped between channels before she settled on one of her favorite sappy teen-drama series. Then I heard the rustling of that fast food bag, and shortly after, chomping as Mia took in mighty cheekfuls of what I only assumed to be a beef-and-bean burrito: her meal of choice after a hard practice.

            I gave up fighting back after twenty minutes, when it was all-too clear I was uselessly expending energy against the weight of Mia’s mammoth corpus. Speaking was abandoned, too, as I didn’t want to have to endure the humiliation of an actual conversation carried out with my little sister while her sweaty ass cheeks were wedged into my face. Not to mention the increased risk of a sweat droplet making its way over my open lips.

            Where the hell were our parents? They were supposed to be home an hour after Mia, and we were well past that point now. I’d already had to endure an episode-and-a-half of her mushy show, not to mention that same length of time endured under the damp globes of her volleyball-trained bum. Here I was: a college graduate, made into a living seat cushion for my bratty teenage sister. Could things actually get worse, I was stupid enough to wonder?

            Obviously the universe has a sense of irony, because a minute after I considered this possibility, I noted a whiff of rancid air. The apparition of waste, for sure. That toot wasn’t even audible; it had simply crept out of Mia’s ass, through the filter of wet fabric, and clouded around my face. While unpleasant, the smell wasn’t the worst thing in the world. What worried me much more, instead, was the threat of what it warned. Because if I know my sister and the quantity of heavy foods she can put away, the aftermath is never over with just a single silent fart.

            Desperate, I renewed my efforts to fight back and wriggle out. This had to end before the real storm came through. Mia had indeed relaxed significantly since throwing me underneath her ass, but upon feeling my paltry resistance, she easily re-affirmed her queenhood and clenched her cheeks on my face, reminding me I wasn’t going anywhere until she wanted. When next those soft hills of flesh released their muscular hold and relaxed, the gentle loosening of her sphincter unleashed a blast of hot, foul air like a miniature thundercrack.

            Flummoxed by the horrid, pestilential fog resulting from Mia’s large helping of Mexican protein products, I convulsed. My coughing came in hacked spurts, stuttered by a wet wad of my sister’s shorts getting caught in my teeth. Then Mia, with obvious intention this time, took a deep breath and let rip a cloud of balmy odor which put all others she’d unleashed to shame. I suffered beneath the weight of a powerful ass that probably every boy in her school would’ve loved a piece of, and sucked down gasp after gasp of wretched, wet fart in a helpless bid for clean air.

            “See?” Mia mocked loudly. “I told you that nobody else would do this job as well as you.”

            I wallowed in my misery under my burly sister for the full two hours she promised. Her various stinks had become a chemical amalgam, resulting from Mia’s sweat leaking down her body and sopping into me, not to mention the semi-regular emissions of gaseous wind directly over my face.

            By the time our parents at last returned from work, I was too humiliated to think of saying anything to them. I know I should have, but the very idea of having to explain that my little sister had dominated me, making me into her personal seat cushion and sweat towel/fart absorber, was too much. I’d had to live it already; I couldn’t repeat it to another person.

            Not that our parents couldn’t guess how things were changing over time. It wasn’t just Mia’s increased height which made plain the shift in power dynamics under the roof. First it was just the little things: my sister serving herself first at meals, and taking extra helpings, sometimes even stealing a few bites off someone else’s plate. Our parents corrected her a few times, but the gargantuan athlete just played her sweet-and-innocent act, and got them to shut up.

            Next came the casual disregard of the house as if it was her personal locker room. Sweaty garments from practice, as well as weekend jogs and weightlifting, were left hanging all around the living room and kitchen, stinking up the place with impunity. Again, our parents complained, and Mia agreed to stop, yet she kept on doing it. Soon, the only way her revolting workout laundry got done was if someone else washed them, which our mother quietly did.

            Then my sister’s subtle command became worse in even more palpable ways. Though Mia hadn’t yet grown any additional inches since her climb to six-foot-eight, she was still filling out in other ways, namely in her musculature. Her biceps, abdomen, and especially thighs, calves, and glutes were swelling to Olympic proportion. It showed on the volleyball court, as my sister was promoted to the head offensive specialist, smacking the ball like cannon strikes over the net with such force that most players were scared to try returning it. I couldn’t blame them.

            “Hey, maybe they’d be better off in pee-wee volleyball, anyway,” Mia would often joke on the way home from matches.

            Inevitably, with the increase in her bulk, Mia had to feed the hunger with an almost all-protein diet. Chicken, fish, beans, and beef disappeared at an incredible rate into my sister’s body, burned away by her youthful metabolism, and expelled accordingly in a near-constant stream of farts. Soon, I missed when it was only the post-game musk of her sweaty pits and feet which filled the house; now, that odor was competing, and losing, to the overwhelming smog of Mia’s flatulence. The putrid essence of her hard-working sphincter was an omnipresent force in the house, detectable in almost every room I entered. It was like the place had become haunted.

            The loud and proud sounds of whoopee-cushion-like farts would echo through our house. Given the aplomb, I knew Mia was actively practicing at spraying the stench with as much volume and power as she could muster. This fact was also evidenced on the numerous occasions when my sister would come stalking out of the bathroom, and the mist of vile #2 air would cause us all to go running.

            “Sorry ‘bout that,” Mia would laugh, waving her hands to cloud the stink closer to my face. “I wouldn’t go in there for a little while, if you know what I mean. By the way, I forgot to flush, little brother, so go ahead and do that for me.”

Mia kept her promise about more than the length of that first forcible relaxation period, though. Over the following weeks, I lived in abject fear of my younger sibling. Not just for her commandeering and smelly habits, but because I was anxious of being used again as a seat. Generally, I could get by if I just locked myself in my room straightaway when I returned home and didn’t come out until our parents returned. But she still came knocking.

            “C’mon out, little brother. I just wanna say hello to you properly. I haven’t seen you all day!” Mia would bark at me through the door, rapping that sizable fist on the door. “Open up. Let’s talk.”

            “No,” I’d say, trying not to whimper in memory of her stench. As it was, even with the door closed, I could smell the vinegary brine of her post-volleyball funk creeping under the door. “You’ll just sit on me again.”

            “Aww, are you saying big ol’ strong Hal is afraid of lil’ old me?” Mia taunted in a mock-baby voice. “Maybe you’re getting too smart for your own good, college-boy. Guess you’re off the hook tonight.”

            I couldn’t relax until I heard her feet thumping back downstairs. Of course, there were close calls other days, but with careful planning, I was able to avoid Mia for three solid weeks. In the last couple days, I stopped hearing her knocking on my door, and assumed she’d given up at last. Of course, I should’ve known that was wishful thinking; instead, I should’ve remembered that our parents keep spare keys to the bedrooms hidden, and it was only a matter of time until Mia found them.

            That afternoon I heard the key turning in my bedroom lock, and I knew I was in trouble. However, what really told me I was truly doomed was when the door actually swung open, and there stood Mia, hunched over slightly so she wouldn’t bump her head on the jamb.

            My sister had shot up another eight inches. She had to be seven-foot-four, at least. Mia was in serious danger of outgrowing the term “amazon” and becoming something more. If I thought she made a formidable wall of woman before, she was capable of blotting out nearly the entire doorframe with her toned, supple body. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing: the smelly, athletic visage of my demigoddess-like sibling was all but consuming me. Not to mention the opened floodgates of her sweaty odor, fogging like dairy and rotten egg. At the first glance of my sister, I stumbled to the ground in surprise, sprawling on the carpet as she entered and nudged her damp, socked foot into my cheek.

            “Get up, squirt,” she ordered like a sultry drill sergeant. “You’ve got work to do.”

            My sister’s fingers curled into the scruff of my shirt, and with just one arm, she swung me back up. Even at my full height, though, standing this near to the warm-bodied brunette giantess, I was gut-wrenchingly humbled by the divergence in our height. Mia’s thumb poked under my chin, forcing me to look up at her.

            “Y-You can’t make me,” I stammered, feeling foolish for being too frightened to speak straight, but held firm. “You pushed me around last time, and I didn’t want to hurt you, but I’m done now, Mia. I don’t have to go with you.”

            Evidently, my sister took this as a challenge, because she pounced in the next instant. I was bent back over the desk, as Mia struggled playfully for control like a champion wrestler. If I didn’t know any better, I’d have guessed that volleyball practice was just a front for proto-MMA, because it took little effort for my sister to pin me there, her ample legs locked around mine, and her palm pressing my cheek down.

            “You’re shaking,” she commented, snickering under her breath. “Don’t struggle so much. It’s just not worth it.”

            I felt wretchedly violated, and all my sister had done was press my face to the desk and gently straddle me. Were the circumstances different, this might appear like an attempted rape. Even without a pair of squishy ass cheeks compressing down on my skull like last time, the experience was just about as sickening. At least I thought so, until Mia gracefully arched her leg over my head, positioning my face directly below her thighs, and then I wished more than anything I’d barricaded the door before.

            “You’ve been dodging me for a while now,” she accused. Her fingers clenched tight in my hair, ensuring I couldn’t wrench away. “So we’ve got a few weeks’ worth of relaxing to make up. And seeing as mom and dad are going straight from work to their double dinner date, well, I figured tonight was perfect to make up for lost time. Now, do what you’re best at, my little seat-cushion brother. I’m gonna sit on you for a long time.”

            “LET GO OF M-”

            My gigantic sister slumped down on the desk, still with my head achingly poised under her butt, and anchored instantly down by her full body weight. Instantly my cry was lost to the bulbous heft of skin and muscle. I was left kneeling in front of the desk, with my head pinned and utterly submerged under my seven-plus-foot sibling’s derriere, clad in the usual damp black volleyball-booty shorts. As if to drive the point home that I wasn’t going anywhere, Mia crossed her thick legs over my back, hugging me closer to the desk; I was cocooned beneath the titanic brunette’s lanky, muscular limbs and her rotund bubble-butt.

            Though my hands were still free, flailing them every which way did nothing, whether I tried slapping my sister’s golden-tan bare thighs or pinching them. Lifting her was out of the question. Especially in the wet darkness, I had zero leverage to pry my head out from under Mia’s firm caboose. We must have been a peculiar sight, with the towering sports star seated casually on the side of my desk, while I literally bowed before and under her.

            “You got anything good on in here?” Mia asked, not expecting an answer. She clicked the remote of my bedroom’s TV. A loud, talkative gurgle emanated just above, from my sister’s washboard stomach. “Sorry about that, bro. I grabbed a burrito on the way home and just wolfed it all down in the car. But I guess your body just has greater needs, when you get up to this kind of size.”

I hated my sister more than anything. I wanted so badly to hurt her, to show her an ounce of the embarrassment she’d bestowed on me. Yet I couldn’t. I was shorter, slower, weaker, and apparently less calculating than Mia; my sister had me beat on every front. And she was reaping the benefits.

            Like before, a while passed in peace, where she was content to watch the TV and ignore me, now that I was serving her chosen purpose. Those sweaty shorts glued to my face. Occasionally, as reminder of her advantage, Mia supported her partial weight by planting her palms on either side of the desk, briefly lifting her ass away from my head. Before I could squirm away, though, she’d release the weight all at once and bounce straight back down on me. The desk groaned with the impact, and after Mia bopped my skull several times with her ass, I felt as if I might get a concussion. But of course, this was nothing compared to what was coming next.

            The gurgles from my sister’s satisfied belly continued, mounting to a fever pitch, until the first trace of soggy odor cut through the usual haze of bitter sweat. I knew that particular zest: the rancid flavor of Mia’s foul air, leaking from her vigorous digestive tract. My parents and I had been under the influence of that smell for weeks now, from a thankful distance, but now I had my nose wedged up into the epicenter. And assuredly, the power-punch of that smell had only grown in concert with my sister’s body. It was hellish.

            “You know, little bro,” Mia sighed. “It’s funny. Things change a lot when you start to grow this much. I mean, I’m just two feet and two inches taller than I used to be. So I didn’t think things would be as different as they are now, especially when I started taking the experimental treatments, but now it makes total sense. People look at you different when they have to look up at you so high. When they realize how much weaker than are than you, how puny and insignificant. And how they can’t do anything about it if you decide to use them… abuse them… however you need to.”

            As my sister spoke, the first audible burbles of her farts came through. I shuddered at the eggy, raunchy note of the scent entering my nostrils, with nowhere else to go. The air, already muggy due to the butt cheeks heaped upon me, grew hotter yet. Mia released exactly three modest toots into my face; I understood fully now that she was in expert control of any emissions from her asshole. She could mute them, even hold them in, if she wanted. But she didn’t want to, and that was the point. I writhed beneath my sister, which only seemed to encourage her to lay down another warm blast of squalid mustiness.

            “It’s not just you and Mom and Dad that are learning your places around me, you know,” Mia continued. She took my pitiful hands in her much-larger palms, coiling her fingers around, and held on with surprisingly gentle conviction, even as she kept ripping increasingly louder and Mexican-food-infused farts. “Everybody on the team is figuring it out, too. I have them get me things while we’re practicing. Water, towels, snacks, whatever. At first Coach told me I wasn’t being a team player, so I decided to have her do it instead. And she does. All I had to do was stand over her and smile a lot. Maybe I get a little gassy now and then, too, and since they’re all so short, it’s practically right into their faces. But what can they all do to me now?”

            Though her voice was muffled by Mia buttocks squished over my head, I could pick up the explanation clearly enough. Strangely, it might have been the most honest speech I’d ever heard from my greedy brat of a sister. She was opening up to me, of all people, because she could make me stay and listen.

            “Actually,” Mia carried on. “It’s not even just the team. People at school are starting to notice, too. I can walk down a hall, especially after I’ve had a good workout and a good meal, and everybody’s eyes are on me. Not just because I’m gonna take them all to the national championship on the court, but because they know the smell of success now. Hey, it’s not always super pretty and girly-girly, but neither am I. Am I, Hal?”

            After I didn’t answer for obvious reasons, my sister clapped my back with the neck of her hand. It felt like the onset of a flogging. Startled, I wrung my neck from side to side, shaking my head no. How could I disagree?

            “That’s what I thought. And now you know what success smells like too, don’t you, little brother?” she teased. Jostling her melon-like glutes again, and knocking about my skull, Mia took a deep breath. “But just in case any part of you was unclear. In case it’s not completely obvious yet that I own you, Mom and Dad, the coach, the team, and every tiny loser at school, here’s an example.”

            With that, Mia unleashed a storm cloud of gassy vapors which seemed to rock the walls of the house. The echo of her fart, especially from my contained vantage point under my sister’s taut ass, was thunderous. And the repugnant flavor altering the very make-up of the air was double as impactful. Dense, rich, meaty pestilence smoked its way into my windpipe. I coughed and hacked, unable to escape; “helpfully,” my sibling patted my back to help clear out my chest and make room for another desperate gasp of her noisome odor.

            Nothing I’d ever smelled in my life was on par with this. Every garbage dump, every old gas station bathroom, and every ripe Mexican food kitchen seemed to congeal in my senses. Mia wasn’t kidding. If this ascent toward her brand of adolescent totalitarianism was the mark of success, then this singular horrendous fart was her unquestionable calling card. One whiff of this, and anybody would be afraid of her.

            “There you go,” Mia said lovingly, like she’d just given me a precious gift. “I think that’s a good way for you to remember who’s in charge now. It’s also the last nice warning I’m going to give you. Because if you ever lock your door again when I need to use your head for a pillow, then so help me, I will take off my pants before I shove you under where you belong, and then you will lick the smell out with that dirty little mouth of yours, until I’m fully satisfied. Clear, squirt?”

            Tears puddled around my cheeks, from my anguish as well as the eye-watering sting of Mia’s nuclear flatulence. I shook my head as best as I could under the queenly weight of the sporty golden-tanned goddess who was, by her declaration, the new head of the family. I shuddered as my lungs inflated with more of my sister’s rotten, gassy, burrito-tinged stench.

            Idly, I wondered if I would ever again feel I wasn’t suffocating.

            I sat in the kitchen, heart racing, my skin crawling. I was right where I was supposed to be, of course, which is to say I was sitting in the exact place my sister Mia ordered that I await every weekday before her return home from school. When a girl happens to be eight feet tall, and still slowly growing, with the body of an Olympic volleyball player crossed with an Amazonian warrior princess, she tends to get whatever she wants.

            Though Mia didn’t always arrive home at the same time every day, there existed an aura around her, and I mean that in multiple ways, but the most important is that wherever my sister is going, it’s impossible not to know. Palpable might, and the accompanying dread, precedes her. Even before she enters the house, I can practically feel a tremor in the earth: shaking from my shoes to my scalp. Today, the sensation actualized once the door slammed open and shut, and the entire house shuddered from the powerful stride of Mia’s gait. Her strut carried her swiftly through the rooms of the house, taking ordinary steps that would’ve constituted a lunge for someone of normal stature. Every footfall was violent and thudding, yet obviously not a clumsy accident either, her rubber soles colliding with the floor from such a place of purpose that it was a wonder sometimes she didn’t crack the linoleum. Mia didn’t have to shake the house wherever she walked, though as tall and muscular as she is it’s hard not to, but my sister also happens to crave the effect her omnipotent presence has on those around her. Especially us, her family, me and my parents, all of us who’ve been terrorized and kept effectively as servants by the dark-haired, toned tower of an eighteen-year-old. And the saddest part is that compared to her other “talents,” shaking the house with every step is just a drop in the bucket.

            It was almost time for our daily ritual. I lowered my head, trying not to shiver too much, as the stomping grew louder and my kitchen chair started rocking. Eventually I knew there was no more delaying the inevitable, when in my line of sight, next to my own modest sneakers appeared a pair of black-and-pink trainers like boats, far larger than mine, acting like the roots of dual trees which constituted Mia’s thick, sculpted, sun-kissed calves. Raising my head out of duty rather than desire, my eyeline traced my ever-growing sister’s monumental body. From her calves to her even-meatier thighs, and finally those snug black shorts still reeking from an afternoon of volleyball practice which scarcely contained her tremendous swollen bubble-butt around back; above that came her midriff, just as flat and cut as usual, despite the volume of food she pumps into it. At last I saw the rest of her torso, puffed up and proud, her cleavage like boulders packed tight into her t-shirt and sports bra, with those frightfully capable arms resting triumphantly on her roomy hips. And of course, the cherry on top was my giant sister’s expression, just as smug and bratty and utterly frightening, despite or perhaps because of her objectively adorable face.

            “Well, Hal?” she sighed, idly picking at her fingernails and cocking her head at me. “Haven’t you got a job to do?”

            “Y-Yes.”

            “Get to it, then.”

            I jumped up from my chair, trying to ignore the crazy size-gap between the top of Mia’s head and mine, and darted for the fridge. My sister, meanwhile, stood in the doorway, smirking and watching me like a hawk; there would be no escape from this room until I delivered. From there, I worked busily to prepare her post-workout snack, which in fact was composed of enough food to make a feast for anyone else. I grabbed all her favorite things, piling it onto a plate: nachos, cheese sandwich, leftover Mexican burrito, refried beans, yogurt. The works. With every element I grabbed to serve her, it was impossible not to think of the repercussions we and the world at large would suffer later. Mia had a special love for foods that “challenged” her stomach, shall we say, and already, like a PTSD-flashback, I could feel the ghostly effects tickling my nostrils. It wasn’t even real yet, but still I scrunched my nose and tried to savor this final vestige of clean air, while heating and presenting the cornucopia of gas-inducing foods to my sister.

            It was like being asked to dig my own grave, or providing the ammunition that would be used to blow me away later. But still I did it, because Mia is not one to be trifled with, and doubly so when she’s hungry, which is practically all the time. My mini-giantess sister giddily golf-clapped, as usual combining reminders of her femininity with the otherwise monstrous, domineering side of her personality.

            “Thaaaank you, Hal! You’re always such a helpful little bro,” Mia swooned. My sister, though younger than me, has reveled in calling me this ever since her growth began. I made a move to step around her, now that her food was ready, but she jutted out her leg and blocked my way through. I paused, looking forlornly at my sibling’s taut pillar of a limb, knowing I would be powerless to stop her from kicking me halfway across the kitchen if I should dare to try and sidle past it.

            “What’s the rush? You just made me a nice snack. The least I can do is spend a little time with you, since I haven’t seen you all day while I was at school,” Mia mockingly whined. She reached out, snatching me by the scruff of my shirt, and shoved me against the table. I gulped, craning my neck up at my sister’s gleefully evil countenance.

            “A-Are you sure?” I peeped.

            “Oh, definitely.” She pulled out her personal kitchen chair, an over-large piece of furniture made custom for Mia after she turned into such a behemoth, but instead of sitting, she waved to it in indication for me. “Go on. Get in.”

            “But… isn’t that your chair?”

            “Duh, it is. A shrimp like you couldn’t use a chair this big by yourself. But I’m sure with the both of us, it’ll fill out nicely.”

            Then I understand. The back of my neck started to sweat and my stomach churned, probably much in the way my sister’s was already. She was going to sit on me.

            “Please, Mia. Can’t I use one of these chairs instead? I… I d-don’t want to-”

            “Nice try, bro, but you know how important my recovery is before the next scrimmage. And as we also both know, there’s just something special about you that makes you the absolute perfect relaxation tool for me and my poor tired bottom,” Mia taunted, wagging a finger at me like a scolding schoolteacher. Still grasping my shirt by the back, she tugged me in the direction of the chair, but didn’t actually slam me down herself, though she easily could have. “Now lie down across the chair so big sissy can sit on you, before your complaining stops being cute and starts being annoying. You know what I do with annoying little brothers, don’t you, Hal?”

            Grimly, I nodded. I knew all too well what she did. Unfortunately, it wasn’t too different from what she also did with respectfully obedient little brothers, but at least this path was marginally better. Hanging my head, and I followed my orders and slid onto the ample seat platform, facing up at her, just how Mia liked, so she could occasionally speak to me if she got bored enough while using me as a living cushion. This also meant I had to watch her hovering above me, squinting while she positioned her tremendous orbital ass squarely toward the center of my meek frame. Once she was satisfied, Mia gave me a thumbs-up, then without further fanfare trounced hard onto the chair, and me, to begin her post-volleyball recharge meal.

            The instant my sister’s butt crashed into my body, every ounce of oxygen in my lungs was squeezed out like a popped balloon. Her rotund hindquarters made themselves at home, slightly malforming and seemingly inflating out as the peak of each bun flattened upon my torso, though I could still feel the beefy muscle tensed beneath the surface of cellulite and sweat-stained black shorts. My spine bent, my organs squeezed, and my face turned rosy from the strain as the blood rushed to my head. Mia briefly shimmied back and forth, settling fully into place, and causing the numbing discomfort to roll in a wave along my poor body. Her colossal mass at last in its resting place, she scooped up a fork and started shoveling in the plate’s contents, while I was left with only my head and legs poking out from under her, and in dangerous proximity to the orifice which would eventually provide the whiffy, fat-rich atmosphere fueled by those foods.

            Sadly, I was used to this kind of treatment, and though it was a rough experience being sandwiched between unyielding reinforced seat and perhaps the strongest, bounciest pair of female buttocks on earth, I endured it like usual.

            From this close-up, I was made much more aware of Mia’s body, not only the constant flexing of her glutes and the leaden weight of her statuesque eight-foot form, but the interior life as well. Specifically, the sounds. I could hear the gurgling and bubbling from deep in her digestive tract, probably inflating with air bubbles and raunchy abhorrent stench just ready to be released like a hot spring. This was standard practice for my sister, who over the time of her massive growth had effectively turned her body into a biological weapon of dizzyingly horrific aromas, but even this seemed excessive. Mia was only partially finished with this “snack” I’d prepared, which meant she had a lot of ammo in there already, and what’s more, it was disagreeing with her stomach even more than usual.

            Like hearing the first claps of thunder before an oncoming tropical event storm, I withered at these warning signs. Especially because Mia often arrives home already dispensing puffs of rancid air from her perky bubble-behind, yet today, her return was relatively clean. This could only mean my sister was holding back right now, though for what reason I couldn’t imagine, given how much the girl adores “marking her territory” with her unique, vile stench.

            “Aren’t you going to ask me how school went today, little bro?” Mia questioned with her mouth full. To drive home the point, she pulsed both glutes hard as she could, before letting the ass-flab flare back out. “C’mon. Even though I’m the bigger one, and the stronger one, and the better one now, that doesn’t mean we can’t still have a normal conversation while I sit on you.”

            “How was school?” I wheezed; talking was next to impossible with such a heavy pair of fleshy hills compressing me into a two-dimensional shape.

            “That’s so nice of you to ask!” Mia beamed. “Well, school was pretty funny, actually. I had a pretty big breakfast, as you know since you helped make it, with all the egg and sausage and stuff, and then lunch was pretty big too, cuz it was Taco Tuesday and I also got some extra protein and fiber from some jerky and muffins and, well… I have to admit I was a little bit gassy afterward. Just a little bit. Anyway, you know I like to just do what comes naturally, little bro, so I don’t distress my stomach, so there may have been some lady-like tooting here and there… maybe kind of more than just here and there, but still, only doing what I had to… and next thing I knew, the school called a gas leak drill, and everyone had to get out of the building!”

            At this juncture, Mia burst out laughing, causing her body to tremble and bob with mirth. For me, this translated to her globular caboose cheeks quivering like bowls of hardened jelly, making me reverberate at the same frequency, to the point that my teeth almost started chattering. The growling in her gut was getting louder and more insistent, and unless I was mistaken, traveling ever-lower on her astronomic frame. The time approached.

            “Can you imagine that, little bro? I guess I’d accidentally done a little toot in so many places around the school that they thought there was some big terrible emergency happening, like it was going to poison everyone! Seriously, little ol’ me causing so much excitement. It was sooooo funny, let me tell you, and I was just laughing in the yard while the police and everybody showed up. They figured out it wasn’t a leak after a while, and we had to go back inside, but by then I think I’d digested more of the food, so then I started passing some more wind, and not really the super-polite kind anymore just cuz I was so full and gassy. Then we had to go back outside again, and this time I noticed that a lot of my dummy classmates were all coughing and gagging while they walked. There’s so small next to me, you know, so I guess they just can’t handle breathing in a little bit of funkiness. Even the grown-ups, like the teachers and office people, were moaning and complaining and getting all water-eyed like they were crying. I swear a couple weak little people went to a trash can to almost hurl. Some of them even were crawling on their hands and knees, like there was a fire! Since they were down there, they looked even shorter and more pathetic next to me than usual, and I’m sure you know that that’s hard to do, little bro! They looked so stupid and funny, and it was so much fun for me, cuz honestly I don’t even really notice it at all, but they were all sooooo dramatic about it, just like you are sometimes when I have to make you smell me to remind you who’s in charge. In fact… since you’re so interested in how my day went, I thought I’d just give you a little taste of what my day was like in the best way I know how…”

            Finally putting the pieces together, my whole body tensed like a bear trap. Now I knew why she was holding back. I wriggled, hoping and praying against logic that maybe I’d manage to worm my way out from under Mia before the bomb, but as usual she was ready, and flexed her ass to its tightest extreme, making it impossible to even budge from under her. Then I heard the last gurgle, the equivalent of a large bubble rising to the surface of a liquid, and then the eruption took place.

            The horn-blast squeal of Mia’s loud, full-bodied, earth-quaking fart was immediately followed by a nigh-tangible cloud of wretched, eggy, noxious fumes all emitting in a continuous stream from her crack.

            Yet the worst part wasn’t the initial nuclear explosion of rotten, horrifying odors all blending together in palpable smog. Usually, Mia releases her gas in short, concentrated bursts of smelly ordinance, like any ordinary person, save for the fact that she separates her cheeks and forces out the air so as to be heard and smelt by the largest number of victims possible. This one, however, just wouldn’t end. Though not quite as loud after the first few seconds, the belching din of her far quieted into a soft, hissing whistle that was just as putrid as the first peal, yet now arriving as a silent killer, continuous and enduring. More than ten seconds had passed, and still I was writhing in the throes of balmy, digestive agony delivered fresh from Mia’s acrid GI-tract, and there was no sign of her stopping.

            I coughed for my life, but even limiting my breaths and cranking my neck all the way to the side in a bid for untainted oxygen, I knew it was impossible. Her fart had lasted so long, nowhere in this entire kitchen was safe from her raw flatulent odor. Surrendering, I inhaled the acidic zest of the air, sampling the oil-riddled flavors of taco meat distorted through her digestive enzymes, and instantly felt my eyes well with stinging tears, much how Mia had described her classmates, though at least they had the option to run.

My entire head prickled, as though I’d stepped into an overly-hot sauna, and considered whether it was possible to get a rash from being so close to ground-zero of a fart as lasting and impactful as this one, which was still squealing out, nearly a minute after it began. Inside, I could feel my own pitiful throat and guts contracting, begging me in fight-or-flight mode to seek safer ground. Yet I had no choice. The atmosphere of the room rapidly turned nauseating, poisonous, even warm and muggy, probably matching the equally tortuous environment inside my gigantic sister’s roiling stomach.

“Ya like that, pipsqueak?” Mia cackled. “Now you know what it was like at school today. What do you think, weren’t they over-reacting a little to call in a gas leak? Technically I guess there was a lot of gas that leaked out, but seriously, anybody who can’t handle a couple cute little toots is just being a drama queen. What do you say, little bro? Think you can handle it better than my lame classmates and teachers? I bet you can. We’re family, after all, and we’re close. Really close. In fact, I want you as close as I can fit you.”

            In between shouts of booming laughter, Mia continued forking more food into her cheeks, as though she was directly fueling this same perhaps-infinite supply of gaseous exhaust. Again she twerked her butt to and fro, ensuring that the valley between them was spread to its widest possible extent, so there would be no danger of her ass-vapor being filtered through anything other than the sweat-stained cheek-hugging shorts, which in fact only further twisted the aroma, like adding sharp salt to a hellish soup. This act of flexing and relaxing her glutes again battered my helpless body, which was already more vulnerable than ever because of all the energy required trying to keep the repulsive air from brimming my lungs, leaving me utterly defenseless beneath my super-strong, leviathan sibling.

            Now woozy from this single everlasting fart, I scarcely noticed that Mia had at last paused the emission, letting her anus calm down for a second so the scent could further propagate in the room. Still, despite the fact that she was no longer cutting the cheese in a slow, controlled stream, the stench had thoroughly spread. Though invisible, the smoky gas hung thick and heavy in the air, like a summer’s day with one hundred percent humidity, and frankly, it couldn’t have smelled any worse if those were in fact the real conditions in this house.

            The way she’d dispensed that fart for nearly two full minutes indicated that Mia had become like an instrumental maestro with her omnipresent farting episodes, able to hold onto, slow, and fire them off at will, with just a simple clenching or unclenching of her asshole. My head swam, not only from the pestilential, chili-spiced, stale-dairy concoction of reeking elements in the room, but from the heart-stopping realization that my sister was now in perfect regulation of her putrefied effluvium. She could, and would, use it whenever she liked, and on a scale unimagined before. Earlier, I might’ve assumed she was exaggerating about her entire school evacuating, just to scare me, but having now partaken of the fetid natural perfume myself, I understood that calling in a gas leak was not enough to contain Mia’s power.

            At last I heard the scraping of my sister’s fork against the bare plate, after she’d scarfed down the last of the hearty morsels in record time. Of course, this didn’t mean liberty just yet. Mia settled in for a few minutes more, leaning her full weight even more heavily down upon my trodden self, her hand gracefully placed upon her flat, washboard-ribbed tummy and rubbing it in hypnotic circles. I sputtered and squirmed, with no other recourse except to take what she dished out, and hope that was the only atomic blurt for the rest of the night.

            “I’m gonna go hang out in my room for a few minutes, Hal,” Mia announced at length. “You can have a break now before I need you again. I know you wouldn’t be so stupid as to try and leave the house since I only just got here, but just in case you’re thinking about it, trust me, it’s in your best interest to stick around, okay? Tell me you know not to leave me alone.”

            Expecting an answer, she patted my cheeks, and squeezed them between her dense and dexterous screwdriver-sized fingers until I puckered like a fish. Mia stared down at me from her chosen throne, mimicking this dumb face she’d made me form, then smirked in anticipation.

            “Okay!” I squeaked out. It was all I had the air for.

            “Good boy,” she responded, petting my hair, and mercifully rose off of me in one lithe hop that made the table shake. The chair creaked, and so did my weary skeleton, having come just that much closer to being flattened to carpet-thickness. Again I was treated to the intimidating sight of my younger sister’s meteoric behind hovering over me, and for a second I thought she might just slam it back on me for kicks, but true to her word, she strode away from her seat and out the hallway door without even a backward glance, leaving me to peel myself off the hard platform of her specialized seat.

            If I was a braver man, I suppose in theory I could’ve resisted, and run screaming from the premises, but the combination of the drug-like stench of Mia’s farts baked into the house 24/7, plus her overbearing, almost-godlike presence had made a coward of me. Disobeying was simply not an option. I staggered to my feet after my lungs could fully re-inflate, though that only meant even more volume was capable of intaking Mia’s residual, bubbly cloud. Compromising, I threw the kitchen window open and crammed my head out, sucking up the life-giving outdoor air. It felt like rising to the surface of stagnant swamp water after having been nearly drowned. Eventually, still sore from being sat on my by enormous sister, I slumped on the floor by the kitchen cabinets. It didn’t matter where I traveled; the smell would follow anyway, so I might as well conserve my meager strength, I decided. I’d definitely need it later.

            My parents arrived home at the same time shortly after. Though Mom and Dad had become practiced at hiding their expressions of revolt whenever their nostrils were assaulted by Mia’s repugnant scents, either out of fear or some lingering love for their giant daughter, even they couldn’t prevent their faces from twisting in disgust not five seconds after crossing the threshold. The enriched smell had permeated to the whole downstairs area, it seemed, and surely was beginning to creep upstairs as well like a visiting specter. Considering the possibility of escaping, Mom and Dad eyed the door behind them, then spotted me crumpled in the corner like a ragdoll, and we shared a knowing glance. Before my parents could think of saving themselves, however, we all noticed the walls and floors rumbling, and heard the oncoming percussion of Mia’s footsteps as she approached. When the beautiful eight-foot brunette arrived, as usual she filled a whole doorframe, and casually slammed her formidable palm against the exit jamb, preventing my parents from trying to open it again.

            “Mom! Dad! I’m so glad you’re home!” Mia cheered, looming high above them. She blew each of them an air kiss, then patted their heads like adoring children. “Now that my whole recovery team is here, I can really start relaxing. Oh, it’s always so sweet of you three to want to work so hard to take care of me and make sure I feel my best before the next game! Well, you all know what to do. I’ll be waiting on the couch. Come do your jobs. Thanks, I love you guys!”

            With that, the girl practically skipped away to the family room, quaking the house each time her svelte, rippling figure landed. My parents and I traded looks again, then forlornly set about our duties, as usual too embarrassed and honestly too depressed to discuss the matter with one another, because denial was just about all the three of us had to avoid realizing we were, for all intents and purposes, now just my humongous sister’s in-house slaves.

A couple minutes later, we three mortals entered the living room to find my titanic sibling stretched across the long sofa like a beach towel watching TV, with her buoyant ass facing up and her shoes dangled over the arm of the furniture. She didn’t look at us, but merely snapped her fingers, and we got to it.

            Dad worked on unlacing and prying Mia’s shoes off, exposing her tremendous socked feet, which were sealed in a sweat-soggy layer of damp cotton sock. These had to be peeled off, sometimes but hand but occasionally with the aid of tongs, to free her repulsive, pinkish bare feet in all their horrible glory and leave them ready to be rubbed. Mom, meanwhile, worked on massaging Mia’s tired legs, working her tiny knuckles into the thick, cushy limbs that deceptively housed the rock-hard musculature necessary to launch her above the volleyball net for a spike. This job wasn’t quite as disgusting as my dad’s, but was just as arduous, and likely unpleasant once my mom had to work her way up into the inner thighs, where Mia insisted on a thorough swabbing. Finally, there was me, tasked with servicing the entire inverted torso of my regally reclining sister, from shoulders to hips and below, particularly the very same tight yet wobbly ass that had just abused and dominated me so utterly in the kitchen.

            We busied ourselves tirelessly to please my sister, who lay across the couch and let herself be pampered while the TV blared. Nobody spoke at first, and my parents and I didn’t dare hesitate while rubbing down my sister’s tired, musty features, at the risk of bringing on her wrath. At least, I had to remind myself, I was lucky enough to be allowed freedom of motion again, instead of being squashed like a body-pillow under my sister’s beastly frame. Often my sister’s words and her accompanying odors alone were more than enough to keep us subjugated.

            “Well, I guess nobody’s gonna ask me how practice went today, so I’ll just tell you!” Mia offered. “They weren’t sure at first if we’d have practice, since they’d already made everybody leave the building twice because of my tiny little farts. But, you know how people listen to me when I tell them what I want, even coaches, since they don’t really have a choice, so after I talked to them, we had practice anyway. I’m not gonna let a bunch of puny fraidy-cats ruin my work-out just cuz they’re paranoid about a few weird smells. Anyway, we got started, but I could tell the team wasn’t playing very well, I guess since they were distracted from the stink, all whining and crying and asking to leave, even though it was barely there after so long. So, I had to teach them a lesson that the smell’s really not so bad once you just get used to it, so I locked the doors and took charge of the team so they’d all get back to work. And guess what, they did it, once they knew they couldn’t leave until we had a good practice! Yeah, some of them might’ve puked a little bit in the trashcans, but no pain, no gain, right guys? That’s what I was always taught it takes to be a good athlete, and I won’t settle for anything less from my teammates, even though they’re all so small and weak next to me that I could probably beat them one-on-fourteen in a game. Say, maybe that’s a good idea for our practice, the next time they decide to get prissy about a few puffs of gas on Taco Tuesday…”

            Hearing this, I longed to be in the shoes of my sister’s teammates instead of here with my family, as at least they had an entire school to let the stench be diluted, while we had only this house, which wasn’t nearly enough to contain it. Indeed I’d been right that Mia’s fart from a while ago was more than sufficient to infect the whole house, and I think I was in silent agreement with my mewling parents that this single outbreak was the worst we’d yet experienced. Even compared to a night filled with smaller, repetitive toots, this was the clear winner: Mia’s farting capacity had undeniably evolved. Just when I’d begun to wonder how long it would take this impressive-yet-terrifying mist to fade, however, or at least soak into every solid object in its wake, I heard the rumble again from within Mia’s unstoppable bubble-butt, just below where I was vigorously kneading. At first I thought I was hearing things; how could she have more, after having turned that previous discharge into a two-minute marathon? Then I realized, of course, how fast that lardy, Mexican-food-heavy snack must’ve shot through her system, as Mia has serious metabolism to stay in such trim, toned shape despite her diet, and now it was time to pay the price for it.

            With my hands shaking as I worked the tough, doughy terrain of my sister’s butt cheeks and damp, perspiration-reeking short-shorts, I briefly considered the consequences of fleeing. Yet again I was right by the source of the upcoming explosion, and I wasn’t sure I’d be able to handle another in one day, as just a single taste earlier had nearly put me out of commission. However, an answer came, as my all-powerful sister seemingly read my mind, or perhaps just noticed my hands trembling while I dug my fingers into her juicy derriere:

            “Don’t even think about going anywhere, little bro. Same with you, Mom and Dad. You know I have to recover, and I don’t think it’s asking too much for you to stick around, no matter how long it takes, no matter if there’s just a little… funny air. Don’t you all agree?”

            We mumbled in assent, our stomachs all pre-emptively turning, our throats choking closed in self-defense. All too frightened to rebel, we willingly stayed in proximity to Mia’s rump. I heard the last warning blip of air bubbles swiftly forcing their way through my sister’s well-oiled interior lining, followed by the opening cannon-blast of a fresh and thunderous fart, now with the added depth and ingredients of her after-school meal, which made the previous effort seem in comparison like an infant’s cute raspberry-sounding poot.

The effect of Mia's latest wind-break couldn't be overstated. Calling it just a fart, really, would be doing this force of nature a disservice. Even as I prepared myself for the worst, tensed and still and resigned, nothing I could've done would be enough to withstand the onslaught. From the deafening, blubbery fireworks-display of clamoring sounds, to the noticeable jet-like shot of broiling air fired out from the center of her tush and blown straight into my face, and at last the indescribably meaty, sour, brackish wall of billowing fart flavor, my parents and I were overpowered in every conceivable way.

All three of us, durable as we'd become in Mia's restructured household servitude of massages and gas-clouds, sunk to our knees, again like my sister's hapless schoolmates and volleyball team in the heat of it. We all hunched, heads bowed, hacking and gasping. Still, through the pounding in my ears, I realized that once again the pungent fart was elongated like an operatic note, only this time with its muster barely diminished in loudness, windiness, or sheer walloping pollution.

            "All right, all right, even I have to admit that one was a little bit stinky," Mia giggled after a minute of our profound suffering. She jokingly waved a hand in front of her wrinkled nose, though seemed otherwise mostly unbothered by this toxic detonation and subsequent spreading of her gastrointestinal essence to every corner of our home. "So, it's a good thing my precious little family is sooooo caring and understanding about all my hard work and the lengths I go to so I can maintain this kind of shape. What's family for, after all, if we can't be a tiny bit embarrassing in front of each other sometimes? Now, now, stop coughing and being such big babies, and get up. These legs and buns aren't gonna heal themselves, you know! I mean, I guess they will sort-of, but it's so much faster and better when I have my wonderful little family to help out. After all, I do my part by protecting you all as the bigger and taller and stronger one in the house, plus earning all my athletic awards and crushing the season so we can go to nationals. All you guys have to do is rub my poor legs and back, and be okay with it when things get a tiny bit smelly now and again. So get back to it, or I'll have to show you what I can really do!"

            Spurred on by that threat, my parents and I fought through the debilitating veil of gas to kneel at attention again, though it was a struggle. Even as we gave in and continued massaging my sister as best we could, it was clear that Mia wasn't through punishing us, because this current fart, only the second of the day yet undoubtedly the strongest and most potent any of us had been accursed to inhale, was still going. It ripped through the air, redoubling the smog from the previous blast made from the kitchen. Our bodies wavered uncontrollably, like an adrenaline rush or shell-shock, no matter how hard we tried to quell the secondhand fart-induced jitters.

            I couldn't say for sure, since my judgment was now impaired by the feminine, taco-themed stench worse than a high blood-alcohol level, but it almost seemed as though the walls and floors were reverberating at the same frequency as Mia's never-ending gas-pass. Her farts themselves were rattling the house like an earthquake, right down to its foundations, and us as well, straight under our skin, clouding our lungs and vibrating us to the bone. The whole building stood in her thrall, with us three cowering at the epicenter, praying for one clean breath and an end to the siren-squeal of her backdraft; however, we were not so lucky, and the event carried right on, making us ever-more her lessers with each passing second of the olfactory torture. If someone were to light a match at this moment, the whole place would surely go up in flames inside five minutes.

            Over time, Mia tired of this, too, and indicated she was done by rolling over, knocking us each aside with a single leg. Her previous fart, which was stretched out to upwards of ten minutes, had died down to a frothy whisper now, but for all its potency, she might as well have been pulling the ripcord on a fresh blast every three consecutive seconds. There was nothing now to differentiate the actual farts and the interim between. Tears poured from our bloodshot eyes; our throats ached like we'd shot-gunned pepper spray. With her whole undersized family sprawling on the floor once again, twitching and enduring the unendurable odor, my sister took the opportunity to ascend to her full stature.

            She assumed a triumphant pose in a wide stance, while the three of us looked up at her in forcible reverence, bitterly swallowing every unleashed waft of her burning farts. I truly had become a connoisseur of my growing sister's anal exhalations, and could detect every individual note in the fusty mixture: soft near-moldy cheeses, fried taco meat, tortilla starch, greasy eggs and sausage, plus so much more, all reborn by the unholy cooking and digestive expulsion through her filthy, overheated sphincter. Like a fine wine, the passing minutes only made the flavors more complex and accented in the warm enclosed space, causing the punch of the shitty scent to ripen and swell. I was so disoriented, I felt as though I was having an out-of-body experience, and didn't know whether my body wanted first to faint or upchuck. Unable to decide, I was left in a drunken limbo.

            "Thanks sooooo much, Mom and Dad and Hal!" Mia said through the haze. "I knew that wouldn't be so bad, if you just calmed down and did your jobs. Yeah, it's a little stinky around here sometimes, but you guys are so used to it, I bet you can't even notice it anymore, can you?"

            My sister ends up being right about a lot of things, but she most certainly was not correct on that point. I heard her stomach rumble again, and even from this distance, it was just as loud as when my ear was pressed up to her ass cheek.

            "Whoops, I guess nature calls!" Mia laughed, patting her abdomen.

            She might as well have proclaimed the coming apocalypse. The three of us sunk our heads deeper, too full of fear and self-loathing to look our apparent owner in her pretty eyes.

            "Aww, don't look so sad, you guys! You all get so fussy sometimes, just like the silly tiny people at my school. Look, just to make you happy, I'll even turn on the fan, okay! You're welcome," Mia promised, and having said that, entered the nearby bathroom and flipped up the toilet cover. As she partially undressed and took a seat, hunched upon the laughably undersized porcelain stand, it strangely didn't occur to me until now that my ninety-six-inch-tall queenly sister hadn't even bothered to close the door behind herself. Not that a measly hunk of wood could've done the slightest thing to hold back the assured barrage of intoxicating, briny stench and thunderclap sound effects soon to come.

            I huddled beside my helpless parents, then closed my eyes and uselessly pinched my nostrils, to await the next remorseless plague.

I made my way up the stairs, achingly hesitant, and per usual wishing I could go anywhere except where I was headed, but unfortunately, that wasn't an option not in this house. Or should I say her house, since that's what it's become. The stairway still lightly stunk of musk and excretion, not enough to turn my stomach just yet, but a latent layer hanging as a fog here and throughout the house. It used to be that my family and I would have a period of rest in between the daily gas-cloud storms, but those repugnant vapors had become so dominant, the smell no longer vanished when Mia wasn't around; it simply got weaker, with the promise of a fresh batch coming soon.

            My "little" sister believes in rituals, especially on big game days like this one, and more so than ever before since she began her experimentally induced growth. She begins the day with a huge breakfast full of dense proteins and viscous fats, of course that my parents and I are forced to cook for her, everything from oatmeal and full omelets to sausage and stacks of bacon, often complemented with a side of beans for that extra kick. Every crumb of that is consumed, usually while the other three of us sit in tense silence, listening to my sister's lips smacking, her teeth chomping through the mush, and her stomach gurgling in preparation for its horrid duties. After coming home from school, Mia insists on a heavy snack, which I have ready for her, followed by a rub-down to prime her athletic frame. These massages started out more as requests, with whining and pleading from my towering sibling for the rest of the family to give her a hand that we eventually cowed to so she'd leave us alone, but lately, it feels more like an obligation. One way or another, she's going to use us, so it's just part of the routine now.

            Then comes dinnertime, a rather disgusting repeat of breakfast, which is not so much family time as a race for us three to put down more morsels for Mia before she can wolf them all down and process them into gaseous smog. After all that, with game time fast approaching, she has some alone time in her bedroom, which we're all too grateful for so the air can clear somewhat for a while. Eventually, however, it falls on me to remind her that it's almost time for her to utterly subjugate a bunch of her miniature peers like a pro athlete kicking around tots in sports-jammies. It's not like she'd forget on her own, as volleyball games are where Mia has complete allowance to physically break the spirits of her fellows as well as mentally and olfactorily, but I think she just likes forcing me to come to her instead of the other way around.

            I knocked on the bedroom door, gulping and praying that Mia would just come out ready for the game. Instead, I heard her clear her throat, then announce in a sing-song voice:

            "Come right in, Hal! The door's unlocked."

            Her voice, lyrical yet deep and almost sultry, arrived in the form of an invitation, but I made no mistake: I wasn't being asked. If Mia heard even one backpedaling step away from her door, and I knew she was listening, the way would swing open in a flash. Then I'd really be toast. Sighing, I let myself inside.

            I've slowly gotten used to seeing my sister at her gargantuan scale, yet each time I turn a corner or open a door in this house, I half-expect to see the old petite five-foot-two Mia, scrappy with the tight build of a gymnast, but nonetheless a cute little pushover. Now, coming close to clearing eight feet tall, she's a behemoth no matter my perspective, and when I opened the door, I was not only granted a look at my humongous larger-than-life sibling to re-confirm her power over us, I was seeing her in rather compromising state of mid-dress. Her skin-tight sunflower-yellow volleyball penny was already on, but below the waist, she was far from ready, with her underwear hanging around her meaty quads and her thumbs still hooked into her uniform's thigh-hugging black booty shorts. This pose, of course, ensured that Mia's sun-glazed, rock-hard, cellulite-ballooned ass was on full mooning display, aimed right at me. Shocked, out of instinct I start to recede and close the door behind me, but my sister cleared her throat again.

            "Don't go anywhere, little bro. I said come in, didn't I? Or am I losing my memory? And I don't like repeating myself. Close the door behind you."

            "Okay..." I mumbled, shuffling inside the space and keeping my head bowed to avoid seeing that absolute globe of a derriere. Already the strength of the familiar vile stench, last unleashed at least an hour ago, was more noticeable in her personal kingdom, and smelled just as fresh as though she'd blown protein-riddled smoke out her ass mere minutes ago.

            "Well, don't be shy," she said, still without turning around. "Come in closer. What, you're a little embarrassed? I'm only kind-of not dressed. Don't be such a fuddy-duddy."

            I sincerely doubted it made me prudish to wish my sister would stop jutting out her massive hiney in my direction, especially with the door closed, and her in no apparent hurry to pull her pants back up over her naked lower half. Indeed, she was starting to milk the situation, slowly arching her spine and sticking her bulbous behind out further and further, an inch at a time, until she probably could've balanced a drink on the back of those upturned cheeks without spilling it. Though she still hadn't covered her golden-tanned ass, both Mia's hands were fumbling needlessly with her shorts around the knees. This meant her legs were shifting her weight from one foot to the other, alternately flexing the iron musculature lurking beneath her admittedly smooth, infomercial-perfect skin; in turn, her intimidating bubble-butt was experiencing jitters of near epileptic proportions. An invisible hand may as well have been continually slapping my sister's rosy buns like a set of drums, because they just kept on trembling, practically vibrating, and sending tremors out to every surrounding inch of deceptively doughy flesh.

            I took two steps closer, following the order, but that wasn't enough.

            "I said closer, Hal. Stop screwing around and come here. I need you to help me with something."

            What part of putting on a two-piece top-and-shorts volleyball uniform could possibly require assistance? Then again, I'd begun to learn that Mia no longer asked for "help" because she actually required it. She was just exercising control, and getting stronger in it by the day. Every inch of stature she gained, every pound of muscle she acquired, was another mile of distance between our respective authorities; in direct proportion to her ascent, she was also stealing away what few rights I had before. Fearful, I listened, stepping up behind my sister, and hoping that she'd figure out how to put on her own pants within the next few seconds. Of course, I wasn't that lucky.

            "Can you get down on your knees, Hal? The drawstring on my shorts feels caught somewhere inside the waistline, and since your hands are smaller and more delicate than mine, I thought you'd have more luck fixing it," Mia explained. "I know, I know, you're so much shorter than me you should be able to do this while standing, but just to make it easier, get down now."

Wanting to finish this as soon as possible instead of dragging it out, I dropped to a squat like a lowly servant, and abruptly found myself at eye-level with my sister's nude bum cheeks. I'd gotten glimpses of them before, of course, every time Mia arrived home from practice in shorts, often stripping right down to her underwear without giving a shit who saw her. However, there wasn't even the guise of thin panty fabric now to conceal the magnificent geometry. I saw every cell of it all: the immense tanned twin buttocks, the long valley of her crack between, and the hints of hidden sculpting beneath every time her flesh twitched. The whole of it was more than large enough to cover my head and then some, which of course I'd experienced multiple times while Mia sat on me in her sweaty shorts following a hard scrimmage. Now, I'd have given anything to have those filthy garments back on her again, if only to separate my eyes from the direct line to my sister's prodigious bubble-rump.

            "What are you waiting for? Start pulling on it," she commanded, stretching the elastic waistband in my direction with the back of her thumb. "We haven't got all day."

            Gingerly I took hold, feeling through the fabric for whatever problem I was 99% sure wasn't actually there. All the while I tried to avert my eyes, but it was impossible to work without looking at my sister's shorts, now hiked up around her thighs, which inevitably meant the lower quadrant of her looming naked ass hung in my peripheral. Every subtle move I made, tugging at the rim of her shorts, caused her bare thighs and tush cheeks to quiver anew. There seemed to be no problem here, but Mia hadn't said I could stop, which meant I was not free to let go yet.

            Inches from my face, a time bomb was ticking. The acidic grumbling within Mia's digestive tract, which was usually happening at all times, halted briefly, before coming back with a roiling vengeance. It sounded like caustic liquid flowing and bubbling up in a pressure cooker. Her gut growled louder, building toward a crescendo. Every muscle in Mia's backside tensed, then relieved, loosening the swollen cellulite and the tightness of her crack for better dispersal in the coming seconds.

            My skin crawled; my nostrils pre-emptively narrowed in defense, even before I could detect the first brackish note in the air. For a fleeting moment, I considered diving toward the door, regardless of the flack I'd catch. Mia anticipated this wish, however, and reached behind her back at lightning-speed with the same precision she used on the court, clasping the back of my skull in her palm and clawing her fingers out to ensure I couldn't face anywhere but directly toward that unholy bass. I couldn't say whether I heard the ear-splitting clap of the ejecting fart first, or instead had my airway infected by the noisome gristle-clotted odor. What struck the greatest blow in that initial blast, rather, was the gust of muggy, putrid anal-wind itself, concentrated like a gale-force tempest. It instantly watered my eyes, turned my cheeks rosy, and even blew my hair back. Then the uncomfortable heat, the wretched din, and the poisonous bean-and-intestine reek all hit at once, lingering in my senses as Mia kept my head in her grasp where I couldn't escape. Tears flowed down my cheeks and my throat burned while the burgeoning stink filled in my lungs, the same aroma I'd noticed on the way upstairs, only quadrupled in punch. Her ass tremored seismically from the strength of her belly-laughter at my expense.

            How had it come to this? I guess in retrospect some of the warning signs were there long before. No, I couldn't have predicted Mia's growing evolution in a million years, but my sister's always had a predilection for her butt's potential as a tool. It started when we were young. Mia always laughed the loudest at fart gags in movies and TV, imitating the noises and blowing raspberries in my face. She started using pull-my-finger jokes at every family gathering, buying whoopee cushions and other prank items before she could generate her own GI-responses loud enough to count. Then, as an adolescent, she must've spent time developing the kind of muscular and bowel control necessary to fire pungent farts out of that once-petite ass, first merely strengthening what she already had brewing inside, then soon learning how to blast them on command, throughout the day and in numbers that surely distressed her stomach, but definitely distressed everyone around her even more.

            At first Mia only used this power of hers to annoy me, like any little sister would, and I just brushed it off, though as time went on, and she dropped more and more silent killers in my airspace, eventually getting comfortable enough to actually be amused when she noisily let out a thunderclap of a fart, it became harder to believe that it was just a natural byproduct of her diet. Her eating habits, coincidentally, had started incorporating more meat and protein products, burned off by her metabolism and intense exercise, and transformed directly into gassy ammo without affecting her impressive physique. It was truly astounding. I hate to think this, but objectively, Mia falls into the category of conventionally attractive young women, with her plush assets, shapely athletic figure, piercing eyes, and sleek black hair always tied back in a ponytail; you don't usually imagine most girls like that having such fun, and even taking pride, in their capacity to unleash a torrent of rancid, eggy farts that could cloud a whole room and sink into the very fibers of the carpet. But Mia isn't most girls.

            Soon mere annoyance at her constant fart warfare turned to outright deep-seated dislike, even apprehension that when I saw my younger sister coming, I was in for some breaking wind. And I usually was. It became a Pavlovian response, only in the worst way possible; instead of anticipating reward, I'd see Mia coming my way and retreat elsewhere, like a peasant genuflecting out of the queen's presence. Often, she'd follow after me anyway, giggle and wink, then let rip a whopper of a smoke-bomb. And that was all even before she'd grown a single inch higher than five-two. At least then, I had the benefit of a height advantage, thus somewhat protected from the line of fire. Now, I'm not so fortunate, since my face is closer than ever to those bouncy cheeks the higher she rises, and only getting closer by the day. Sometimes, like right now, when she's just intentionally spewed a warm, fusty, dairy-flavored cloud right into my face from a few inches away, it feels like we couldn't possibly get any closer. Then again, I'd probably just be jinxing myself to believe this is as bad as it can become.

            "I think you fixed it!" Mia concluded, even though I hadn't done a damn thing. Her hand swapped from holding the back of my head to the front, pushing off of my nose with her palm so I fell flat on my back. From my low vantage point, I watched my sister, looking taller than ever, yank her underwear and booty shorts up those golden pillars of her legs, and witnessed the fabric stretching close to the point of breaking as she pulled those paltry shorts over those roomy posterior cheeks. Happy with their placement, she gave her butt a smack that would've left me with a black eye if I was still up close. The accompanying jiggles were hypnotic. Mia, satisfied, turned round and scooped me back to a standing position with one pull. My vision was still blurred due to the stink-induced tears welled in my eyes, and the general sting clouding the bedroom as a raunchy, vaguely-feminine smog. The second we opened that door, the rest of the house would adopt that rankness, too.

Now facing Mia again, thankfully with her rump encased in that wet-shimmer pair of booty shorts, my eyes were instinctively drawn up the length of my sister's monumental torso. Her uniform's shirt, probably now at least several sizes too small but unchanged by choice since her growth, looked practically sewn around her, almost like a superhero suit. It's a wonder she could have any range of motion on the volleyball court in something so restrictive, though she makes it work with ruthless effect, regardless of physics. Her bust, I have to admit, is cuddled so tight in that shirt, its contours hugged just as snug as her ass in those shorts, that it magnetizes gazes toward it, including mine, no matter how much I want to look away. It's just a reflex when a specimen of such superhuman proportion is standing before me. Crude as it is to realize, it's true; those melons of hers really have developed over the course of this growth. Before, Mia's breasts were average-sized at best, if not below, which I only know because she endlessly complained about it to the family. Those wishes have apparently been granted, because her chest has been inflating a little faster in proportion to the rest of her, leaving my sister with a pair of perfectly rounded, perky, and firm boobs that I lamentably know better than most due to all the bear-hugs Mia forces me into.

            "My eyes are up here, Hal," she said with a cruel smirk. Using two fingers, she pointed between her own pupils and mine, then proceeded to prod me in the cheeks with those same digits.

            "Oh... s-sorry, Mia, I wasn't... um, honestly, I wasn't trying to-" I was still too dizzy from the smell to get my bearings, and in fact just now noticed my face was frozen in a furrowed grimace, like I'd just sucked a whole lemon dry. Even with practice, it's impossible not to make a face in Mia's funky aura.

            "Stop blubbering and get a move-on, or we'll be late for my game. And you know how I feel about people making me late," Mia insisted. I certainly did. She grabbed me by the scruff of my shirt and walked us both toward the door, practically heaving me just on the strength of that one arm alone. "Besides, nobody could blame you for sneaking a peek. I get that same look a hundred times a day at school. Just... you know... it's not usually my dorky little baby brother doing the looking."

            We all piled into the car. The drive to my sister's school isn't long, but it sure feels like it most of the time, as is probably the case with most torture chambers. My parents sat in front, while I was trapped as usual in the back with Mia. Since her huge frame takes up more volume each time we have to cram inside, I was relegated to being squeezed against the window, my arms folded over my crotch, while Mia let her powerful gams lay out wide. It was bad enough to have no space to move, with my sister's leggy shape commanding so much of it like the car seat was her own personal throne. However, I also knew very well what that lazy stance of hers entailed, creating a wide V-shape with her thighs and, by extension, letting her ass cheeks spread and the crack separate, inviting a fresh tear-gassing courtesy of Mia cutting the cheese.

            Maybe noticing this omen too, my mother worked on rolling down the car windows as we drove, but Mia was quick on the draw.

            "Don't open the windows, Mom. It's too cold out. And I need to stay warm and loose for the game. You want me to do well, right?" she said, both guilt-tripping and stopping just short of threatening.

            "You're... right, sweetie. How silly of me," our mom sighed, and reticently sealed us back inside this death-trap of a car. Longingly, I leaned toward the shrinking crack in the window and gulped as much fresh air as I could before the chance was gone. Then I sat still, holding my breath, and awaited what little stagnant oxygen remained to be replaced with fetid, pithy eruptions from Mia's back door.

            Inexplicably, my sister chose to sweat us out using less-vocal farts than normal, perhaps choosing to save the real atomic bombs for later, when she'd have a larger audience to sample her fecal-tinted wares. At first the aroma arrived as a curious, creeping whiff, the kind that might suddenly make you think something is rotting in the fridge. But eventually, denial wouldn't work, and no matter which way we turned our heads or how slowly we breathed, the mist filtered into our abused lips and nostrils. Listening intently to my sister's ever-babbling stomach, if only for my own survival needs, I noticed the pauses that immediately preceded the passage of air bubbles through her sphincter. Most of them only came out as a hiss, though, which was perhaps more merciful than a single volcanic spray of her gas, but eventually just as potent, since Mia's expert control of her hole could release a quiet yet unbroken jetstream of rotten, semi-moist backdraft over whole minutes. You'd think that gradual venting instead of rapidfire blurting would help us get used to Mia's grody essence and therefore handle it better, but you'd be wrong.

            Before we were even halfway to the destination, my seven-foot-eight leviathan little sister had filled the car to capacity with her butt-flavored pestilential ozone. No corner of the space was safe. I bet even if my parents and I stuck our mouths against the AC vents and gasped for life, that precious clean air would've been spoiled by the warm, stale fumes before it could ever soothe our noses and throats. My dad reached for the window crank just once, but seeing the smirking death-glare he received from Mia was enough to make him swallow his stink-induced pains and continue stewing in the fart-flooded hot box. The smell, still being delivered via long, near-silent wisps from Mia's caboose, was developing into something deeper and nastier than the initial nose-tickle hint. I could detect the repulsive identities of several fat-rich foods I'd personally served to my sister to fuel her athletic development and, likely most of all, her agitated system. Life with my growing sister had so thoroughly altered my smell-related memory banks, I was beginning to associate food scents first with their loathsome discharge in the air after going through Mia's system rather than before.

Our car had swiftly become a Dutch oven on wheels, broiling us all in the recycled, swirling ass-exhaust. We might've been better off if we instead replaced Mia's butt with the car's own smoke-belching tailpipe. My parents and I couldn't help but cough and hack as the minutes wore endlessly on, doubling over and holding our stomachs from mounting nausea. Fresh tears turned our eyes red and stained our cheeks, with nearly the efficacy of pepper spray, though I have to guess pepper spray doesn't smell quite so much like a putrefied gas station bathroom.

            At a certain point the chemical assault actually affected my dad's driving, nearly causing him to crash into other vehicles, after which Mia forced him to slow down to be safer, and that only lengthened the already execrable trip. Mia herself, meanwhile, seemed perfectly content, even comfortable in this environment, as she continued spreading her legs further out and propping her shoes up on the divider between the front seats. She closed her eyes, yawned, and cracked her knuckles in preparation for the sporting carnage to come.

            This part of the ritual, too, had become a pre-gaming must for Mia, I realized. Like the fanatics who have to wear the same shirt to every game or recite specific terms to guarantee a winning season, my sister can't play her best until she's brought us, her own family, to our knees in an impromptu sauna treated with her ripest, briniest odors and then concentrated in a heated mélange to an unbearable degree.

            Just when I was beginning to think I'd have to roll down the window in order to puke, and simply accept whatever punishment Mia later decided for me as a result of that disobedience, we pulled up to the school. My sister hopped out, waved goodbye to us, and jogged toward the gym wing. Once my parents and I had crawled to safety from the car, though, we needed to take a break before heading in, sitting awkwardly on a bench together and jealously breathing in as much natural air as we could before we were again deprived. Judging by how most of Mia's games had gone this season, though, that time was rapidly approaching.

            Knowing there would be hell to pay if we missed a single moment of my sister's game, my parents and I marched inside the gym along with the rest of the crowd, feeling a bit like prisoners on the way to the execution chamber. The smartest place to hide would've been the very back row of the bleachers, to put as much distance as possible between ourselves and the eye of the storm, but after we had sat back there for a few previous matches, Mia accused us of not wanting to see her. Which, frankly, is absurd, considering my sister's incredible scale that allows anyone to see her clearly even from far away, but after we were unsubtly threatened by a particularly dense night of bean-flavored fart-clouds spilling through the house, we ensured to sit in the front row thereafter. The whistle blew and the first point was served.

            Mia's team handily took the first five points, most of them exclusively thanks to her savage athletic prowess. My gigantic sister is a technical master at the sport, never missing a shot, covering the whole court in an instant, and able to adapt to any position, though her time is best spent spiking the ball, not even having to jump to send it over the net with the speed of a bullet. I have to believe the only reason Mia's side doesn't win matches even faster than they already do is because her mere-mortal teammates are capable of human error, the kind that my sister would quickly eliminate if she was facing the entire varsity league at once on her own instead.

            Watching Mia work on the court is a startling experience. Everyone around her is there to play volleyball, but my sister is there to win a war. She moves gracefully yet violently, her colossal body swooping through the air with the precision of a ballerina and the blunt force of a warrior princess. With every move she makes, her musculature clenches like molded steel, reshaping her skin-tastic uniform. Her arms and legs are weapons, most visibly flexing, but her ample ass is in a constant state of twerky tremors with every impact. She strikes without mercy then moves immediately on, her enormous rubber-soled footwear pounding the ground so hard that the linoleum trembles, buckling ever-so-slightly under the force of her strides. The higher she climbs in stature, becoming a literal valkyrie with every successive day, the less imagination is required to make that comparison.

            It was probably only my family that noticed Mia dropping the very first bomb. She squatted for stability, digging in deep, then launched herself toward the score. As those chiseled legs powered her upward, she let it rip. Beginning as a soft blat at first, which could've been mistaken as the sound of the volleyball striking a palm, the volume rose as the sound transformed into an ugly, bubbly clamor. Unlike the steady, muted streams of foul air we were treated to in the car, my sister was done concealing her proud creations. Having stolen the point, it was Mia's turn to serve. The instant she smacked the ball, sending it soaring to the far corner, she grunted with effort, and at the same time blasted another boisterous fart. This round was even louder, and if there was still a single person left in the gym unaware that someone was egregiously passing gas, they certainly noticed the third emission, distinct and explosive, like my sister had been holding it in for hours. The sound took place in reverse, instantly ear-piercing as a popped exercise ball, then pattering off with a repeated series of anal belches.

            Things were tolerable at first. The expansive dimensions of Mia's school gym meant there was much more space for fresh air to linger, but I knew my sister, and knew we would only have so long to enjoy normal breathing. I made the most of it, taking deep inhalations and holding my empty water bottle close so I could use it like an oxygen tank, but I couldn't keep my knees from shaking. My sister's teammates were the first to feel her wrath. They kept right on playing to the best of their ability, but I saw their faces change, first suspiciously sniffing the air and next contorting their expressions from revulsion. Three or four of her eye-watering farts were probably sustainable due to the players' focus on the game, but after Mia had suffused a dozen-plus onto the court, it started to affect their performance too. Her teammates, already hopelessly outclassed by Mia, started missing more points, too weakened by the swelling cloud of beefy, intestinal vapor so thickly formed it was a wonder the air hadn't turned a sickly green. They hacked and wheezed, wiping their eyes and pinching their noses, and two of them had to retreat to the benches. A courageous few dared look Mia in the eye, but the silent expression she shot back was the same my father received for almost opening the car windows, and they all fell quickly in line.

Shortly after, the opposition started showing signs of falling under Mia's gruesome spell too. Unlike my sister's cohorts, who didn't have to play nearly as hard in order to win, the visiting side had to deliver at the top of their game to have a hope of keeping up, but that fragile dynamic was shattered once my sister let loose her thirtieth-or-so fart. They started tripping over their own feet, coughing uncontrollably, and even missing easy spikes as their vision started to sting with moisture. A chorus of flatulence played from my sister's ever-jiggling ass, alternating massive stomach-churning peals and wet clusters of chaotic sound like a bopping car horn. At the same time, the scorekeeping table was caught in the expanding blast zone, and soon after, we in the front row suffered too. Mia was flooding the gym at an exponential rate now, and all of us were her prisoners for the duration of the volleyball match.

            Her stink was simply unbelievable, without even the courtesy of a slow buildup. It hit like a runaway garbage truck, very nearly bowling over the entire front row. Having apparently spent most of her day curating this uniquely diabolical reek down in the grisly pits of her stomach, Mia was now showing off a new kind of muscular control, somehow less impressive than her already-superlative athletic domination. Her expert use of that perky bubble-butt, firing blast after smoky blast, put all her other training to shame. Lard, soggy meat, rotting plantlife, and the distinct essence of half-processed gut juice now characterized the entire gym's aroma.

            My lungs shriveled; my skin pricked with goose bumps; my throat clamped close as though I was having an allergic reaction. I'd sampled Mia's rectal perfumes earlier today of course, in the house and especially in the car, but it was clear now that she was saving the really powerful artillery for this moment. My eyes burned anew from the toxic air. I could've sworn there was a gentle breeze blowing through the space as well, though there was no spinning fan in sight; instead, Mia's constantly blaring asshole had more than enough power to propel the sickening atmosphere to every victim. Even the temperature rose, but more than just a temperature spike, the humidity itself changed, reminding me of the kind of terrible sticky summer days where the best defense is to take cover indoors. Only there was nowhere to run and hide, and if a single person had tried to leave, Mia would've seen to it that they respectfully returned to their seat until the final whistle was blown.

            With no other recourse, both sides of the bleachers were now in the throes of hysterical fits, some almost choking on the not-so-thin air. They squirmed and writhed, rocking around, waving their hands over their faces and hyperventilating into paper bags. Objectively, it was a serious marvel that my sister had managed to fill up this whole room like a tank with her gas, though it was hard to see it that way since I was on the front lines. One might think tear gas grenades had been dispensed throughout, because there wasn't a dry eye left in the house. The girls on the court were experiencing the worst of it, and I noticed several in the corners, quietly heaving into buckets. Only a handful of the players were still engaged in the game at all, though they were too meek and addled with nausea to participate much other than sprawling on the floor, if only due to fear that they'd be punished with an even mealier stench for straying too far.

            Throughout all this developing mania, the one and only person unaffected by the universal stink-bomb was my sister herself. She carried right on, charging between the prone forms of her teammates, and smacking the volleyball with monstrous force, though there was no one else to plausibly oppose her, let alone even chase down the ball. The referees had gone out of commission too, hunching on the floor and only continuing to call the next point when Mia started walking toward them with her fists clenched into lethal weapons. They'd seen how hard she could smack that volleyball, and had already several times been forced to replace the object after Mia punctured it with repeated sonic-boom strikes.

            She was smothering us all alive. There's no other word for it.

            Mia had grown at least another inch taller during the course of this week, and while that might not seem like much, that size increase evidently resulted in a substantial uptick in her farting clout. The mist was balmier and more tangible, the smell richer and more noxious than ever before. When at last the final point was scored, the last game of the match having obviously been won without the opponent even touching the ball once, Mia cheered for herself. She pumped her fists and jumped up and down, quaking the floor again. Her victorious battle cry rebounded through the room, though as it arrived to our ears through an almost-hallucinatory fecal haze, it seemed more like a mirage: a siren calling to us through the pea-soup fog. My triumphant little sister, soaked in self-satisfied sweat, planted her feet in a statuesque pose with her powerful hands on her bronzed wide-set hips and her black ponytail tossed over one shoulder. She had won the match for the school, though to be clear, everyone present was an absolute loser except for Mia. I gazed at her, cock-eyed, through the rippling waves of fart-induced distortion, like looking down highway blacktop on a scorching day, and saw her existing firmly and terrifyingly in her element. Mia relished every instant of this.

            "IN... YOUR... FACES!" she cackled at the other team, which I think she intended in more than one meaning. Mia approached the opposition's bench, where the girls sat in a dizzy line, crying and shivering from sickness, and pointed at each of them in turn, booming with laughter all the while. Then, just to add insult to grievous nasal injury, the dark-haired demi-goddess turned around, much like she'd done to me, so her ass faced the lot of them, and then she side-stepped along the line while emitting a fresh, sharply acrid flow of taint-scented air directly into each of their faces like a running faucet through the filter of her damp salty booty-shorts. The few players who'd managed to hold on this long now finally fell to the floor, some upchucking but a few just softly pleading through the tears for permission to leave the gym. But per usual, my sister didn't let a soul escape, not until she'd cleaned herself up in the locker room, gathered her belongings, and departed first, much in the way of a queen. Which, assuredly, my gassy giantess sister had now become.

Even after Mia had finished in the bathroom, following a repugnant flurry of moist wall-clattering farts and rock-like sound effects splashing the toilet, my parents and I remained in the fetal position on the living room floor. My mother sounded like she was slowly asphyxiating in a gallows, and my father simply fell into furious hiccups in the lead-up toward puking. Throughout the haunting concert of farts and relief acts, the one thing I didn't hear, and which could've offered some fleeting succor, was the flush of the toilet. Conveniently, Mia had dropped the kids at the pool and departed back to her room without clearing it out.

            Gathering what little strength I had left, I crawled on my hands and knees to the bathroom, the very source of the disease-scented specter that hung messily in the air, but that was the only hope of putting an end to this catastrophe, at least until Mia felt the call of nature again. My parents, seeing a chance, shakily rose to open the windows and doors in a desperate bid to air out the property, though even after several minutes of cool evening breeze trying to enter, we weren't so much replacing the spoiled oxygen as just dispersing Mia's biological weapon of a fart-cloud to the suburban outdoors.

            I dragged myself across the bathroom tile and, clutching my panged lungs closed, climbed up the porcelain throne. The seat was still warm from where my towering sibling's flabby yet musclebound thighs and lunar ass cheeks had previously rested. As I pulled the silver flusher handle, my gaze flashed for only a split-second into the bowl before I closed my eyes. Nevertheless, the sloppy crime-scene horrors stuffed into that commode would stick deeply in my nightmares for years to come. Even after I'd successfully flushed Mia's digestive debris, the smell had in no way weakened; if anything, it had become stronger during the intervening minutes, causing my lips to tingle like smeared hot sauce extract.

            Upstairs, I could hear my mighty sister blasting yet more chunky, bovine farts from her sealed bedroom, and those gusty outbursts continued shaking the walls like a hurricane was coming, some of her cataclysmic toots even causing our home's foundations to grumble, if my ears weren't mistaken. I can't imagine we'd still be awake now if my parent hadn't opened the windows, though even with that small blessing, I was having trouble clinging to consciousness, in serious danger now of being knocked out cold by the nuclear wallop of my sister's gas.

            The three of us, Mia's most brutally abused personal playthings, helped one another in a collective stumble toward the door. We threw ourselves on the lawn, and though the air was marginally more palatable out here, I could feel the defecation-flavored fog chasing us out every opening in the trembling house. In our state of weakness, we hadn't a hope of outrunning Mia's crappy effluvium. I saw unassuming neighbors all down the block, washing cars and planting flowers and playing catch, not a one aware of the abomination cloud metastasizing toward them. All at once, though, it hit them, and since none of them even possessed the minor practice my parents and I had, our neighbors fell to their knees. They barked and whooped and clawed for mercy, all worming in the grass while a farting rampage permanently snaked through their homes.

            I could see then that our lives had changed again. Before there was still some semblance of normality, pretending to help Mia out of kindness rather than duty, but one doesn't have to keep those pretenses around an unforgiving deity of a giant girl. The last social barrier between my sister and every other lowly human had been broken. As her body continued to evolve, and I knew it would, causing her to grow well-past amazonian height and closer skyward, so too would her powers, her strength and stamina and totalitarian personality, but above all, the sheer fury of her gas, spreading to cover the neighborhood and probably soon the city, until every one of us was held hostage to Mia's wind. I could foresee it all, and yet knew there was nothing to be done, nor any force capable of withstanding or resisting my sister and her infinite, greasy, firecracker-deafening farts. How long would it take, I wondered, and how tall would my sister become, before the next gas-pass we smelled would be our last? 

I used to think of sleep as a break from the rancid hell that had become my daily life "living" under the same roof as my nine-foot-tall self-appointed queen of a sister Mia, but now I was haunted even in dreams by the greasy musk of her anal expulsions worse than any demons I experienced in childhood nightmares. Of course this probably had to do with the fact that now, even with all the windows open 24/7, the AC blasting, and air fresheners in every room, our family home was suffused in every cubic-foot with her rectal stink. No matter what room we escaped to, what kinds of filters we used to block the scent, or how many showers we took to cleanse ourselves of the sticky odor, we still filled out lungs with it on every breath. We couldn't even step outside now, as my giant sibling's farts had infiltrated the neighborhood itself like chemical warfare. Many of the houses in a three-block radius were smartly vacated, as their residences were tainted and unable to be sold, in the way a skunk's spray could permanently meld with a piece of clothing.

            Mia had marked this street, this house, and even her family as her property. Sometimes that marking was psychological, as her attitude swelled in even greater proportion than her staggering height or Olympian physique; sometimes she just marked us more literally by grabbing us by the scruff like naughty puppies and nuzzling our faces into the firm pillow her sweaty short-short-clad glutes for a lung-tanking whiff. Since she was nearing double any of our sizes, it was easier than ever for Mia to control us, though she hardly needed to exert her actual strength to dominate us. The puke-worthy flavors constantly fuming from her asshole every instant of the day more than got the job done. I think she just enjoyed occasionally reminding us that she could toss us all around like her living dolls.

            This morning I awoke, as usual, to the bitter spiced aftermath of last night's dinner of Middle-Eastern food, a buffet's worth that mostly went between Mia's lips while my parents and I scurried to bring her plateful after plateful. Now I was smelling it all over again, of course having processed through Mia's active digestive tract, come out the other side, and puffed throughout the house with eye-watering aplomb. It was getting difficult to keep perspective of what was truly the "worst" olfactory event I'd suffered in her orbit, since every day my growing sister seemed to up the ante and pump yet more heinous gas from her taut-yet-jiggly rump, but it sure seemed like this week alone was reaching new depths of disgust. My parents and I were just getting used to a constant state of latent nausea and general humidity, thanks to Mia's backside bombs raising the temperature of the house by a solid twenty degrees, but the intensity of her stench was climbing faster even than we could adjust.

            Still, perhaps due to some form of Stockholm Syndrome, or just because any emotion other than revulsion brought odd comfort, I'd found myself recently fascinated by Mia's evolution, as well as suitably repelled by her moist meaty flatulence. No matter what she'd done to us, or how much I feared and loathed her power advantage especially given her younger age and bratty attitude, I still couldn't help but objectively respect her sheer size. In my guiltiest most private moments, I might even dare admit that I slightly enjoyed seeing her steady ascent. She was growing so fast, remaining inexplicably eye-catching in her beauty as well as her superhuman athletic toning, that it stood in harrowing contrast to the ugly aromas her gut produced like a factory of horrible smoky perfumes. Knowing my sister was probably still out on her morning jog now, getting nice and soaked in perspiration in order to add another salty flavor to the already-repugnant whirlwind of farts she'd craft post-breakfast, this was my best chance to sate my inquisitiveness of her development, and keep my mind briefly off the nasal torments to come.

            So I hopped out of bed and tiptoed down the hall to the master bedroom, which of course Mia had usurped recently to accommodate her immense stature, and also just because it was so easy for her now to boss my parents around to get whatever she wanted. There was some brief half-hearted resistance when she first told them she was taking the room, but all it required was burying our mom and dad's faces between her cheeks for an especially pungent blow-out to win the debate. The larger she grew, in fact, the more of our lives became dedicated to serving the new head of the household, not just working furiously to feed her insatiable appetite for fart-fuel, but acquiring expensive specially-tailored clothing to fit that nine-foot amazonian frame, furniture that wouldn't buckle when she set those boulder-like ass cheeks down, and keeping her palace spotless, especially her porcelain throne (a hellish duty that usually fell to me).

Plus, we all had to take on extra part-time jobs just to afford the weekly quadruple-digit grocery bills, which meant we putting in even greater labor just to help Mia increase the power of the same gas which would soon make us woozy from its boggy essence. But arguing this point with my sister was unwise, and I actually enjoyed the brief respites away from this stinky lair anyway, no matter that I was financially aiding in digging my own smelly grave.

            I stood in the middle of my sister's huge room. Even with Mia gone now, her presence still hung thick in the air, literally, with the damp gaseous fog she'd popped off before heading out to exercise, as well as her custom grand-scale bathroom nearby. As a result I was sick with paranoia while trespassing, as well as sickened by the oily falafel-flavored sphincter-squeezed haze becoming even more potent here in proximity to her obscenely huge toilet.

Trembling, I approached her dresser and opened the largest drawer, revealing stacks of parachute-like panties made to fit the bubble-butted hindquarters of such a gigantic young woman. One by one I removed them, held them against my pitifully-dwarfed body, and humbly put them back, reminded even in my sister's absence of her superiority. What's more, my curiosity only deepened, attempting to fathom the growth that had given her dominion over us with her strength, height, and of course show-stopping odor that made our whole house smell like a gas station u-bend.

Another drawer revealed her bras, with humongous cups that could've covered my whole head twice over, and though her undergarments looked like they belonged to a morbidly obese person, they looked perfectly natural on Mia, whose assets were once above-average but not astonishing, until they were scaled to fit the shape of a nearly story-tall human. Now she was as buxom as she was burly, her piercing gaze and long dark hair belying the monster under the model-esque appearance.

Had I been paying closer attention while admiring this titaness's clothing, I might've noticed my sister's return by the tremoring ground thanks to her lumbering sole-slamming stride. Instead, I was made aware of her arrival when a fresh cheese-cut erupted from somewhere downstairs and reverberated through the walls like an apocalyptic horn blare, literally quaking the infrastructure and causing new skin-crawling stink molecules to seep through. It started relatively quietly, a roiling tummy-gurgle, but quickly expanded in explosive volume as well as throat-punching grodiness. Overcome, the sets of oversized panties and bras fell from my grasp, and I doubled over to my knees while the foul wave of Mia's aerosol-state leftover dinner washed over me. There was never any escaping it, so I'd learned not to delay the inevitable and just embrace it, like ripping off a Band-Aid, which meant shivering and coughing up a storm while I openly allowed the gunky smell into my airways.

"Rise and shine, pipsqueaks, wherever ya are!" my sister's voice thundered from below. A final toot punctuated this flurry like a starter's pistol. "The rooster just crowed, and you know what that means. Time to feed the beast!"

This was a call we'd all come to know well, and we knew better than to do anything less than race as fast as we could to sate Mia's unending hunger.

It took a minute of recovery before I could run, however, since my knees had given out and my body was going through the usual withdrawal of clean oxygen, sending involuntary shudders through me from head to toe while the acrid tummy-broiled aroma scorched my throat and created a film of liquefied-fart sweat on my skin. Thus I clawed my way toward the door of my sister's bedroom for a head start, knowing full-well serious penalties would incur if I took even a few seconds longer than was humanly possible to sprint to her side, following the consumption of such a mustardy smog burst. The only real saving grace was that Mia, as much as she loathed being kept waiting for us lesser beings to serve her, was entertained enough at the thought of her family writhing in disgust from those mega-sized poots that she usually allowed us some leeway. But not a lot.

Stumbling into the kitchen, as the warmth and smell only gained power the closer I came to the atomic source, I found my parents already busily putting breakfast together with military precision. Mom and Dad heard me enter, but barely acknowledged my presence, as they were too busy cooking up plates of eggs, bacon, beans for Mia's inevitable second, third, and fourth helpings. Of course my own stinging gaze went right to the queen herself, seated in her specialized reinforced chair, made to withstand the muscle-sculpted weight and buoyant cellulite of a nine-foot totalitarian's wobbly glutes. Dressed in skin-tight short-shorts and an athletic midriff-bearing top, with her hair tied back in the usual ponytail, my sister was less shy than ever in showing off her chiseled physique, her sun-kissed skin glazed over with a glamorous sheen of perspiration from a vigorous run. Though plainly a natural-born athlete, Mia might've just as easily been a gladiator at rest after crushing a fresh marathon of weaker creatures, and frankly I'd started to view her that way the taller, stronger, and stinkier she became.

"Well, there's my favorite little butler-brother!" Mia cheesed at me. She clapped her hands and caused me to flinch, as my brain had learned to associate any such percussive noise with a briny ripple-effect toot, which of course meant I was usually seconds away from getting bowled over by another soupy heat wave. That wasn't the case here, though my sister still chuckled at my paranoid reaction. Either way, there was still plenty of her dank asshole zest floating in a haze around us from the previous fart to announce her homecoming, and I'm sure she wanted my parents and I to soak up every last semi-digested particle before puffing out another dose of manure-flavored atmosphere.

"M-Morning," I stammered, but choked before I could say more. Speaking was always difficult while existing in my sister's oiled-up gas clouds, but then again Mia probably liked it that way. It wasn't like she needed us to talk back; the only thing our mouths were good for now, as I'd heard her joke time and again, was for sucking up her meaty fumes.

"Don't just stand there enjoying the view," she snapped. "Get a towel and wipe me down. Some of us like to start the day off with some heavy cardio, and there's no reason you shouldn't make yourself useful."

Any teasing pretense Mia once had for us "doing her a favor" by playing her servants was gone. She was powerful enough now that there was no need to say anything less than exactly what she wanted.

I leapt to obey her, finding my head had gone light after standing still for just a few seconds in her rancid slime-tinged aura, but didn't let this stop me, as it was an unspoken truth that if I disappointed my sister, I would ultimately perform the same cleaning task, only with my head simultaneously sandwiched between the chair and the unforgiving brunt of her clenched buns. Mia stretched out her arms and legs for my convenience, emphasizing not only her impressive wingspan, but the girth of her toned limbs. She relaxed as I got to work sopping up sweat from her body, letting her head roll back and murmuring with relaxation.

Even at rest, however, Mia was a force to be reckoned with, as I'd learned many times over, so my body remained tense as ever in anticipation of the next wretched storm. In fact, given the right volume of fat-rich bean-riddled dinner, the girl was probably capable of unleashing a noxious nocturnal spray into the night that just might snuff the rest of us in our sleep like carbon monoxide. Knowing I likely had mere seconds before my giant sibling became "too" relaxed, I worked quickly to sop up the perspiration from her body. Every inch of her incredible silhouette I massaged was a humiliating reminder of how much mightier she was than all of us combined, not only while contacting her contracted brawn, but because the towel became saturated before I'd even finished wiping the top half of her body.

Mia's lukewarm sweat dribbled down my arms and into my clothes, the saltwater irritating my skin and soaking through me like the living sponge I was to her, but I couldn't slow down even to wipe it away or wring out the towel. Time was running out.

My parents kept working feverishly in the background, sensing too that we were about to get bombarded again. They set down the first plates of food, which Mia began scarfing, then went right back to prepping the next heap before she could complain. Just as I crouched to work on my sister's legs, putting me even closer to the hellish epicenter tucked away in those shorts and between her bubble cheeks, I heard the preliminary intestinal groans: like the first quiet pops of a soon-to-be epic fireworks extravaganza. For an instant I hesitated, wondering if I could run off to the bathroom to rinse out the towel and put even a little more distance between myself and Mia's oven-like bowel-minted vapor.

But that second of pause was all it took to tick off my sister. She sighed with disappointment, then reached under the table and grabbed me by my hair like an unruly dog, and with a gentle tug, forced me to squat with my head bowed right between her tanned uber-strong thighs. The grungy scent of her workout became most apparent here while so near to her upper quads, and of course that deep crack lubricated by so many salty droplets of her hardest effort, but these nose-wrinkling odors would become faint memories soon, supplanted by a specter hazardous enough to rattle the walls and leave the neighbors unconscious. Mia kept on gripping my hair, then painfully squeezed for just long enough to let me know that I'd better keep swabbing up her filth, or else. Shaking before I'd even inhaled a single whiff of the next preview of foul hummus-and-lamb-scented excretion, I resumed my duty and closed my eyes for impact.

This morning for her usual mid-breakfast flare-up, Mia chose not to go for a slow release like a series of blown raspberries, but instead went right from those warning gurgles to a full-bodied BBBBLARP more akin to cannon fire. Naturally, I was hit square in the face not only by the oppressive skin-melting heat and the literal gusty wind of her wind-breaking, but first and foremost, by the abominable sense-degrading smell which quickly blanketed the whole house in more of that balmy bacterial hole pollution. It was only "thanks" to Mia's hand still possessively gripping my head that I was kept from simply falling over in a momentary blackout, though maybe a brownout would've been more appropriate under the circumstances.

By crouching down here, my head was also made the first line of defense: like a filter in a plumbing system meant to catch the most execrable substances flushed down the commode. I faithfully absorbed the gas, which could only be described as a cologne specially concocted from the grimiest essences scraped from my sister's acidic belly and subsequent anatomical tunneling. My hand kept swiping the towel on autopilot, kneading the same spot on my sister's sweaty leg over and over, though she didn't seem to mind. My current most important function was simply to sniff up as much of these putridly seasoned last-meal remnants as I could fit in my fragile respiratory system.

"Oopsie. Sorry, lil' guy, I was hoping to get that one out without you noticing, but I'm thinking maybe you might've picked up on a little of it after all," Mia crooned. "Excuse me, everybody! Oh, and Mom and Daddy? I'm super-duper hungry today, and I'm already done with this plate. Can you add more onions and hot sauce to the meat on the next one? Thaaaanks!"

I could've almost laughed at the idea of not noticing her blistering leakage, if it wasn't so depressing. Gigantic and strong as Mia had become, both physically and in terms of gastrointestinal firepower, the only thing that was absolutely impossible for her now was unleashing even a quiet toot without it making everyone nauseous in a quarter-mile radius. Unfortunately, I couldn't imagine my sister ever wanting to drop a fart again without letting it be known far and wide: she crafted those brackish buttcrack-marinated payloads like signature works of art, each one a unique and carefully-spewed burst via the dexterous manipulation of her anal musculature to enslave us with different sounds, flavors, and sensations than the last gassing.

This one was no exception, and I spent several minutes, hunched limp below my sister's chair, while her fist still gripped my hair to keep me aloft like a puppet. Blinking away the tears, I saw my parents on the ground, too, taking a "break" from preparing more starchy fuel for these wet and noisy episodes of Mia's air-ripping symphonies. They held one another and quietly convulsed, but didn't complain, and looked to me with expressions I couldn't quite read: perhaps they were willing me to hang in there, or just apologizing for ever encouraging the kind of confidence in my little sister that eventually grew her into our ruthless overlord.

When the worst of the stinker had passed, I became cogent enough to sit up straight and continue toweling my sibling's statuesque frame. Even throughout this morning's total indignity, and the esophagus poisoning that came with directly imbibing yet another posterior belch, I still couldn't help but admire the superiority of Mia's hard-earned figure. No matter what she did to me, primarily by unloading more squalid methane per-fart into my nose than a herd of cows, it was impossible to ignore that she was objectively "better" than me in so many ways, and no matter how unfair, that was just the way of the world.

Or maybe my brain had just been scrambled after tainting by all the brown-eyed sisterly miasmas porously soaking through my body on a daily basis. It was tough to say which.

"That's good enough, Hal. Thanks for being so thorough," Mia said, as if it was my choice. She loosed her grip on my scalp, allowing me to scamper pathetically out from under the table before her breakfast throne. I barely had the strength to stand, but I managed, if only because I might not be able to stay awake down there if she shot out another grease-fire cloud as a result of this hearty breakfast. "Why don't you sit next to me? Mom and Daddy, you guys too! Go ahead and taste a little if you like, though you better hurry before I finish it all. I'm not waiting up."

As Mia had no more orders for the time being, my parents and I solemnly joined her at the table. Our own appetites as usual were gone, squelched right out of us by stomach-tightening sickness after gulping up so much of her rotten sweaty-assed effluvium, so we just watched and listened to my sister slurping and chomping wild animal-style through the mountains of protein-heavy food they had prepared. No matter how insane the volume of sustenance looked at the start of any given meal, my sister always polished it off with a smile on her face and a burp on her lips, never even seeming particularly full. Just satisfied.

By some miracle, my parents and I were spared any further noxious fumigation for the rest of breakfast, though the last gassy spurt still lingered humid and moist in our nostrils, making us dizzy from the sting. That raunchy ghost of last night's Middle-Eastern feast, festering all night in my sibling's piquant guts and then filtered through her dirty sweat-sogged shorts before finally arriving in our faces, was more than enough travesty for one morning, though I knew we were just getting started. When she finished, Mia leaned back and patted her flat bronzed tummy, full of enough hearty sustenance to feed a whole sports team. To show her contentment, she sighed and breathed out the spiced flavors of her recently-scarfed meal like a dragon's flame. As fragrant as this undesirable preview was, it was but a seed of the turmoil we'd all face later when those same throaty aromas of eggs, bacon, and beans were evacuated out the back end, having been amplified and enhanced by basting in her entrails.

"Thanks for the help, you three. That really hit the spot," Mia announced. She belched once more, then stood to stretch, causing the almost-stagnant stench of the room to reignite around us while her limbs fanned. "I guess we'd better get going. I've got some serious iron to pump, Hal needs to spot me, and I know Mom and Daddy have to get started on cooking me lunch so it's ready when we get back. Ugh, I'm already kinda hungry for it, isn't that sad? But that's what happens when you work as hard as I do: everything you put in your mouth just turns into fuel. Well, don't just sit there, lil' guy, these pythons of mine need to be fed, too. Let's hit the gym!"

Half an hour later, I stood mutedly beside my nine-foot sister while she lay on a bench and repeatedly bench-pressed more weight than I could've lifted if my life depended on it. Earlier in Mia's growth, I might've felt emasculated being made to play caddie to my younger sibling who had become my physical superior in every way. Yet her evolution had grown so extreme now, putting her more into the realm of a mythic amazon rather than just an unusually-tall hyper-talented human athlete, it felt silly for me to be humiliated. One-and-a-half times my height, and brawny as hell without compromising her feminine physique, Mia showed off her iron-wrought anatomy with every difficult pump. Technically I was meant to spot her weightlifting, but my sister would never "need" my help, and I couldn't have done it even if she asked. My purpose was much closer to that of a jester for a queen.

"That was a pretty good one, wasn't it, Hal?" she huffed, slamming the barbell onto the rack and grabbing her protein shake.

"Y-Yeah, um... impressive."

"Damn right it was. Bet you couldn't do even ONE of those, could you?"

"Probably not."

"Ha! That was a trick question, dork. Obviously the bar would crush your little neck if I made you try it. Don't worry about that, though. Leave this kind of work to the people bigger, stronger, and tougher than you. Like me," Mia said. She messily guzzled half the drink, then wiped her mouth and handed me the bottle. "Just do what you do best and go get me some more protein."

I raced away to perform my task in the locker room, as always knowing that dawdling wouldn't be accepted. Dumping a fresh round of protein into the bottle, I was again struck by the fact that I was personally abetting the kinds of substances which would make Mia's evening fecal funk even more robust when it was eventually steamed back out of her anus via a vile combination of loud airy BLAPs and warm jet-streams of continual reek. But there was no time to mourn for that future hair-curling queasiness, and so I sprinted back to my sister's side. I decided to instead just enjoy what little time I had away from the house, which by comparison even to a ratty gym locker room now stunk so badly of my sister's meteoric toilet-essence that our place of residence may as well have been a sewage plant.

Though it turned out I didn't have long to savor fresher oxygen.

"Oh, good, you're back. I can't do this next one without you," Mia barked, accepting the drink and draining its contents again. She waved me toward the squat rack, a part of her workouts I'd come to abhor, due to all the activity it required of her steel buns, flexing and inflating them while practically begging fate to loosen her overly-generous sphincter to whistle a stuffy bean-powered song. The heavy plates were already in place, so I couldn't imagine what she required of me.

The answer came when my sister pressed her palm against the top of my head and forced me down to my knees on the platform. I assumed a seated position, alarmed at the idea of camping right where Mia was about to squat those bulky hindquarters while again shouldering enough weight to conk me out, but too afraid of defying her coaching. Satisfied, Mia straddled my hips with her feet, taking a wide stance, so her pert heiney jiggled above my head like an avalanche waiting to happen. She grasped the bar, the metal groaned, and she heaved it onto her shoulders. This caused a chain reaction of shuddering down her whole frame, especially in those burly yet malleable buttocks.

"Just keep your head down, shrimp, and try not to move. Like, seriously, don't move, or you'll probably get hurt, and it won't be my fault. I'm trying to work on my squat form, which means I need a marker to let me know my cute little booty's gone low enough, and I can't think of a better tool for measuring it than your head! Yes, that's a compliment."

"T-Thanks," I muttered, only feeling more unnerved.

"You're welcome. Now shut up so I can earn my next meal."

She didn't have to tell me twice. I braced myself, desperately wary of throwing Mia off her game and causing her to drop the leaden bar on me or, probably worse, the simple act of distracting her in the middle of an exercise. My sister's temper could be every bit as unpleasant as getting iron dropped on my skull, though both outcomes would pale in comparison to any furious and pestilential reaction she might offer from where the sun didn't shine. And I was right in the line of fire. Paralyzed by anxiety, I sat still as a statue, and let Mia grunt all the way into a deep squat, so her spandex-wrapped cheeks parted and descended, bopping my cranium with their gigantic bouncy heft.

My sister only tapped me with her sweat-dampened glutes before arching back to full height, but even through that fleeting contact, I could feel the sheer mass carried in those lunar ass cheeks, knowing that if Mia decided to sit down just a little further and transfer a mere portion of the current weight from her own body and the barbell into my pansy frame, I'd surely snap like a bamboo pole, and that whomping derriere would follow my prone body all the way to the ground with a deafening slam. Still, this didn't come to pass, and I sweated out my fears under the heat-radiating monument of my nine-foot sibling while she fed the beast, enduring the salted perspiring fog around me which resulted from Mia repeatedly clapping her tush hemispheres while thick sweat dripped like pork fat down the center of her odious crack valley.

Foolishly I believed I might survive this whole ordeal unscathed, just letting my head serve as a home base for my humongous sister's wobbling rump each time her broad backside descended and pulsed with strength that would put Olympic lifters to shame. But then, after Mia had performed nearly a hundred squats with no signs of stopping, I detected something more sinister cutting through the musk cloud of her saline. Accompanied by a quiet pop, a wisp of all-too-familiar anal seasoning, peppery and foul as the dung it suggested, slithered into my airways. I shivered for the first time while playing her butt-bouncer, but dared not move. Then that first warning shot was followed by a series of deafening farts like a bundle of over-inflated balloons getting punctured one after another, and with that flurry came enough eggy protein-oiled murk blasts to suffocate even an experienced plumber.

Over time I'd developed partial immunity to the weaker bouts of Mia's gas, as anyone would have to or otherwise go into a smell-riddled coma. But to receive such a kamikaze rush of that swollen rectal malodor so quickly, with my quivering head just inches below the source, I struggled to keep from coughing up a lung and then passing out cold. No longer capable of holding my seated position, I slumped back in a dead-faint, though I remained conscious, which at this moment was actually to my detriment. Laying below the high-borne arch of my growing sister's beefy quads and twerking monster cheeks granted me a little more precious space between my tortured nostrils and the puckered backdoor orifice currently expelling sufficient swampy gas to lift a hot air balloon.

It wasn't nearly enough distance to protect me, however, nor any of the other gym patrons, who'd been watching my sister's feats of strength with curiosity and amazement, but now turned and ran like they'd seen a volcano splash the first dollops of magma. Certainly the heat pumping in droves from Mia's asshole above me now was lava-like, and her system was gurgling and generating noise similar to stunted lawnmower, complete with the smoky gas puffs that left me in a brain cell-killing high. This time she didn't wait for the last bomb to settle before she unleashed another, and in a span of minutes, the whole weightlifting floor's oxygen was replaced by a pure demonic mist of sizzling excretion-tainted horror.

Here and there I detected the distorted flavors of that meaty breakfast heap my sister inhaled as a mash of protein and gristle, its memory made fiery by the hot sauce and then ghastlier yet after a toxic trip through the gunkiest portions of her intestines. But whatever respite might've been found in those mildly-appetizing flavors was extinguished by the brute-force wallop of Mia's stool scent, fibrous and sense-twisting. Powerless to crawl away, I reacted with an involuntary seizure, writhing on the floor under my sister while she carried on passing wind at regular intervals. All the while, she hadn't even flinched in her perfect squatting form. At the height of each repetition she cooed with contentment and self-pride, then dropped to another powerful crouch and pulled the ripcord again to bloat the room in yet more of her bubbly lard-and-starch-enchanted toots which echoed through the walls like a recently-hammered gong.

I don't know when my body finally found the mercy of a "brown-out," defensively falling asleep after thoroughly washing my lungs and throat in Mia's full supply of breakfast thunder. It could've been just a smell-based hallucination, which I frequently suffered from in her rank presence, but I'm pretty sure I still heard the chorus of my sister's victorious cackles, coupled with her percussive cheese-cuts, even in groggy fart-induced slumber.

When I finally came to again, the zesty sting of day-old Middle-Eastern scorch and grease-soaked breakfast beans straight from my sister's oily hole still lingered in my nostrils, and I coughed in the way of a near-drowning victim who'd just been gifted the kiss of life. Except of course any moisture I felt came not from a good Samaritan's mouth, and only from the inherently sweaty liquid-stench atmosphere still plaguing the gym with the bubbly essence of a nine-foot athlete's bowels. I'd actually hoped to awaken back in my own bedroom, perhaps after Mia decided I was too useless to lug around as her servant when I wasn't strong enough to withstand protein-thickened gas more explosive than a match dropped in a petrol line.

But I wasn't so lucky. Instead, I found myself deposited in a heap of dirty laundry and towels in the gym locker room, all of it spongy and damp with feminine saltwater and "enhanced" with the rich poison of egg-and-falafel toots. The sheer volume of pore-oozed excretion should've given the owner away, but a quick whiff of my perspired bedding told me exactly who all these articles belonged to, and I crawled meekly off the pile of Mia's used rags and clothing. Only a powerhouse of my sister's dedication, both to the workout and to producing horrendous bodily liquids with which to torment me, could actually require a mid-weightlifting session outfit swap.

Though the sour punch of Mia's sweat was still infinitely preferable to the mealy, toilet-destined dark forces she could summon out of her rump, I wasn't totally free of her worse substances even here, since I couldn't help but notice several discolored stripes down the center of her underwear which weren't stitched patterns. In case I had any doubt they were skid marks, too, the scent of fossilized shart followed me as I trudged unwillingly but necessarily for the door, reminding me too of the janitorial horrors I'd have to endure later for my regular chore of cleaning her private bathroom. I re-entered the gym floor on my knees, as I still hadn't gathered enough strength following that migraine-inducing slow knockout while my sister repeatedly squatted her bulbous steel-hard glutes into my head. Then again, Mia might go easier on me if I approached her showing some humility, so even when I felt my stamina returning, I faithfully arrived at my sister's side again on all fours like the loyal pet she treated me as.

"Oh, good. You're awake. Finally. That wasn't exactly the best time to be taking a nap, you little lazy-bones, right when I need you most to help me pump up those gains! Well, good thing I'm a super-cool sister, and forgive you for being so inconsiderate," Mia said, towering above me and per usual not bothering to hide her grin, despite the seriousness of this scolding. Finishing a set of bicep curls using fully-loaded barbells, my sibling slammed the metal plates back to earth and inhaled deeply, while fresh sweat rivulets already painted her glamorously-tan workout-sopping figure, as though she hadn't changed ensembles at all. "This is good timing, though. I've been thinking of a great new way to train for squeezing every last drop out of every single lift, and you're the perfect person to help coach me."

Though I didn't expect to be promoted to coach, after serving as the literal inanimate marker for her undulating ass cheeks earlier, I didn't for a moment let myself believe this "new" job would end any differently than the others. Obediently nodding, I let myself be led away by the gym's lone remaining member, given the way her rippling heat waves of anal-fouled pork-and-pepper aroma had effectively claimed the whole building as hers forever. We made our away from the free weights over to the yoga mats. Here, Mia dropped to her haunches as well and spread her sculpted bronze legs out in a near-splits position, though since I was still bowed by weakness from olfactory onslaughts and general submission to her dominance, she continued to loom over me, even seated in preparation to stretch.

"Yep, a good workout can't just be ALL about lifting the heaviest weights, even if none of the other losers in this gym could even touch a fraction of what I can handle in my sleep," Mia announced. "So I'm going to do a little... well, I guess "hot" yoga is the right word, huh? And it's definitely going to get even hotter in here. Only with my own spin on it. And you're going to help make sure I do everything exactly right, shortstuff."

Again I bobbed my head and waited, breathless, as Mia assumed the first pose that made her ass flaunt more egregiously, the bountiful curves of those moony cheeks straining the fibers of her shorts. While it was relieving to be away from my sister's multi-hundred-ton dumbbells which could so easily paralyze me if she dropped one too flippantly, I doubted I was any safer, even on a blank foam floor with relatively open air, while she performed this zen-like exercise. High ceilings or not, there simply wasn't enough space to contain the pent-up gaseous runoff currently stocked in Mia's intestines, and of course the most dangerous weapon of all wasn't the iron bars which could've snapped my neck, but my sibling herself, and the nuclear fallout of sweat-stained meat-simmered farts just itching to be puffed my way.

"Just a little further..." my titanic sibling breathed, reaching herself yet further forward on the mat, while her legs remained outspread, thus continually stretching the span of fabric pressed across her ever-widening crack. I sat behind Mia in abject fear, my gaze dedicated to that flimsy layer of elastic cloth all-too-thin to protect me from an eruption. "...and then we'll get to the REAL exercise. Watch this, Hal. Maybe you'll learn something. At the very end of the stretch, I make sure every muscle is fully engaged, and then I just... relax!"

True to her word, Mia's burly figure firmed when she clenched every bit of her athletic anatomy, showing off sculpting that would've looked more at-home on a monument to a Greek goddess. Then just as quickly, the nine-foot conqueror relinquished all control, which evidently including unleashing the hold on her sphincter, first in lockdown mode and then loosened like the mouth of a full balloon about to blast off. A deep grumble gave way to a high-pitched squeak, and then a fuller, wetter implosion of fog-state defecation. For an instant, an air bubble inflated the back of her buttock-tight shorts, briefly containing the rapidly-expanding new odor-cloud, and then it all came gushing out in a balmy wind through the breathable fibers. She sighed with the contentment of a practiced yogi, and pitched even further forward, so that abominable ass was propped yet higher, ensuring the trajectory of its flatulent payload would spray right into me on its path to refill the whole gym. As I'd come to recognize well, the searing lines of heat fanned out from Mia's conveniently-spread cheeks like sizzling mirages on highway blacktop, instantly creating a fresh film of stinky sweat on my face, and redoubled by the actual flavor of the rectally-belched bomb which accompanied that sweltering rush.

Even though I was already crouching close to the ground, the violence of my sister's new yoga "technique" was enough to knock me straight back again. I heard her chuckle at my dramatic but entirely-earned reaction, as her laughter came in stuttered bursts much like the horn-blats of her gas spiking the squalid air around us and raising the temperature to the level of an oven. Again I squirmed on the floor with Mia's ass again hovering so close by, only with those buoyant cheeks flared as far apart as she could manage, and she showed no signs of ending this stretch yet. If the seam of her shorts split at any moment, and that was certainly a possibility either due to the tenacity of her musculature or simply deterioration of the cloth after so many slimy sewage wafts, I had no doubt that I would see directly into the valley of her crack, with that puckered orifice closing just briefly enough to prep for shooting the next spiraling bout of asshole smog of directly into my mouth.

"Hope you're keeping a close eye on me back there, coach!" Mia cheered. "Because if you're not, then we'll just have to do it all over again, until you can learn to be a real team player!"

She grunted, then, seemingly exerting herself to push out an even louder and more profound rip of anal chemistry. The extra effort forced me to smell the digested-and-processed remnants of not only her bean-heavy breakfast and carnivorous dinner, but other feasts from throughout her week: undercooked steak, foreign spices, broccoli, and fatty animal liver, all having been simmered to an infinitely-worse bouquet in my sibling's guts over time, rotting and roiling together amongst her enzymes. Every newborn pump of her smell was first punctuated by another baritone groan from Mia, when she again clenched her whole beefy physique, then the wobble of her drum-tight ass cheeks flexing and spreading to let out the next specially-prepared storm of shitty, skin-stinging, throat-closing scents.

From there, my nine-foot keeper gracefully shifted into a different pose, albeit another that ensured her enormous booty was aimed at me, with her cellulite-laden glute globes spread to promise that only a thin layer of spandex separated my helpless nose and lips from the filthy grunge to come. And then the process repeated, dousing me in boggy air hot enough to fry an egg, though of course the end result would smell almost as bad as the breakfast that was already passing through my sister and being turned into gaseous blurts. Though I actually hoped to be knocked out once again, if only for protection from the rest of this "yoga" session, my body refused to shut down this time. Perhaps it was out of fear for displeasing her in my role as coach, or just fate having a laugh at my expense, but for the life of me, I couldn't brown out again.

So I laid there for upwards of an hour, enduring the hellish grit of her oxygen-soiling flavors and sopping up enough of its pestilence that my body now probably smelled as awful as the inside of my giant sister's butthole. Mia seemed delighted at my extended participation this time, too, occasionally looking over her shoulder when she changed poses so her dark ponytail whipped from side-to-side, grinning down at me sprawled on the mat in close range of her hindquarters to know I was still awake and suffering, before she sighed and spewed another hyper-humid ten-second toot. At several points throughout her yoga practice, I felt myself experiencing minor seizures, and even going into a state of mindless odor-sucking while unaware of all else, but I simply couldn't fade into protective unconsciousness again, no matter how much I hoped.

Though I offered no commentary of my sister's flawless exercises, since my throat was too pained and poisoned to do more than croak for mercy, I don't think Mia actually required verbal commentary, and not just because her technique as beyond reproach. My facial expressions and overall floor-writhing subjugation were plenty to let her know that the workout was a total success, at least by her usual metric of feeding me an endless stream of her beefy farts. When at last the mat was gleaming with freshly-spilled sweat, and Mia was again a glistening tan goddess of might and must, she leapt up from the mat, hooked her fingers in the scruff of my shirt, and proceeded to drag me backwards out of the gym like a sack of potatoes, still warming my face with the final rancid blips of her back-end all the way.

The next day, an hour or so after breakfast, though it was always hard to perceive time correctly after my brain was put on spin-cycle by such a relentless assault of bubbly keister-hole emissions from my big sis, Mia was forcefully leading me by the hand like a small child toward the shopping mall. I could tell immediately she hadn't showered after her gym time, since she still wore her weightlifting musk on her glamorously sweat-glazed body like a badge of honor, with the stink pouring out of her pits, tits, and crack with a hot-and-spicy hormonal aroma, a bit like how I imagined gladiators of yore might keep bloodstains of their victims painted on their skin for a while afterward, just to show off.

Having regained enough strength since yesterday to walk on my own, I still had to toddle after her as fast as I could to keep up with those long pounding strides, aware all the while of her freshly-exercised buttocks looking perkier than usual and a little swollen from extreme effort: each cheek clenched and jiggled just below the level of my chin while the giantess strutted. Though she seemed to have gotten most of the bad bombs out of her system for the time being, it was impossible to stand this near to her rump and not recall how easily she might announce the next surprise air raid with a foghorn-like BLAAART, followed by a gaseous dispersion scented of acid, unwashed porcelain thrones, and rotten cottage cheese. As I was still in recovery mode now, even one such fissure warming my face would knock me clean on my backside again, but Mia probably wouldn't even pause in her stride. When she wanted to shop, nothing could stop her, and apparently this was an emergency, since my ever-growing sibling was finally too tall and burly to squeeze into even her previously-largest garments.

"C'mon, slowpoke," she said, as we entered the building. The brief mercy of being outside was gone now, and already back in this space, which was far more enclosed than the gym, I could detect the vinegar-and-corn-chip reek of her salty exertion odor, as well as a significant after-taste of meaty fart essence that must've clung stickily to her overheated skin like an incubator. "We don't want to keep them waiting, after all."

I doubted the owners of the store we were headed toward would be too disappointed if Mia didn't show up at all. As usual, she'd called ahead to make sure they could wait upon her while she tried on the latest fashions tailor-made for a nine-foot-tall uber-athlete. I knew they were ready, because the mall was deserted now except for the special clothing shop: after getting Mia's call, the terrified but dutiful workers must've given everyone else a warning and thus a chance to escape before the living-breathing storm-cloud of withering toot-stank arrived to filled the halls and stores with grubby perfumes concocted from the chemical reactions in her sweaty pores and hardworking digestive juices. I, of course, had no such luxury to evacuate, and so it would be up to me and the poor owners to endure and sop up the multi-faceted stinks of the dark-haired volleyball queen.

"I'm heeeeeere!" Mia announced as she lumbered into the shop, with me still in tow behind, though I suspect this declaration was unnecessary. As I knew all too well, my sister made her presence known in a new location long before even opening her lips, either by the concussive slam of her weighty sneakers, the grumble of her eternally-unsatisfied gut, or most prominently, the pre-emptive haze of grease and excretion-smoke that wrapped around Mia at almost all times like a tornado no matter where she went. The effect was particularly alarming on days like today following a heavy protein-loading series of beany meals, followed by another workout where her sphincter was trained to flare and fire on command.

Like I guessed, the three young women who ran the shop, each already shivering and eye-watering despite the surgical masks they wore, were standing at attention like servants. Though I pitied them, I couldn't help but shake my head; they'd either need to toughen their senses up, or skip town, because my sister had scarcely begun to redecorate this place with her latest odors. Mia had never laid a hand on the girls to physically dominate them, as she had with me and my parents, but such a gesture wasn't needed to control these ladies and make them her on-call fashion aides. The sight of her amazonian frame towering above them, and the palpable threat created by her never-ending streams of broiled wind redolent of beef lard and used adult diapers, were more than enough to make them her part-time bitches on the same level of desperate obedience as me.

"W-Welcome back, ma'am," one of them whimpered. The other two nodded. The way they spoke, they may as well have had a gun pointed in their faces, and on occasion, I wondered if such a scenario might be more pleasant than being held hostage by her ass instead. At least a bullet would only need to be experienced once; punishment from Mia, conversely, could drag on indefinitely, infecting every bite of food, breath of oxygen, and moment of sleep with her wretched Port-a-Potty-esque whiffs.

"Thanks, it's good to be back! You can probably tell just from looking at me, but I'm getting just a liiiiiittle too big and strong now for those other outfits to work for my figure anymore. Seriously, are people only designing stuff for babies and anorexic girls now?" Mia complained. Leaving me to slink to my knees beside her, my sister crossed her toned arms over her bosom, glowering down at the trembling trio of workers with an adoring smile. "So, I guess you girls will want to take my measurements so you can whip me up something that I can finally wear out in public without worrying about it ripping, but that also makes my ass look awesome. But, that can't be that had, when it already looks spectacular on its own. Think you're up to that? Great! Oh, and Hal? Why don't you go find me a snack to tide me over until we stop by the taco buffet place after this? I have a feeling it'll take these cuties a little longer to measure all of me, what with there being so much to cover and stuff. Cool, thanks, shrimp!"

I was grateful for the chance to get away, if only temporarily. The food court restaurants were still staffed by one fearful worker apiece, probably the losers of a short-straw drawing, and though I dreaded the return to that all-you-can-eat taco bar later, I made do getting Mia fried chicken and French fries. Of course in the past, when vaguely instructed to acquire food for my sibling, I came back with smoothies and fruit, items that might not create quite such an oily implosion of briny eruptions later in the day from her backside orifice; I quickly learned not to do that again, however, when my sister reluctantly ate the healthier offerings I'd brought, while sitting on my head and forcing me to experience the after-effects from so close up, that my numbed nose practically was buried in her puckered brown-eye during every gout of flatulence.

Already on my return toward the clothing store, I didn't even have to remember exactly where Mia was; I could just follow the billowing smog of her ripe vapors, flavored especially of the bacon and baked beans we'd shoveled down her throat as fast as she could chew this morning, though now fermented in her stomach such that it made me feel a sense of déjà vu back to the rather abhorrent bathroom-cleaning duty I'd suffered last night. I'd recognized the rancid identity of her unladylike farts so grossly then that she may as well have been sitting on the commode and actively using it at the same time I was scrubbing the bowl, considering how richly it tortured my nostrils, and that familiar aroma intensified the nearer I came back to the store. I felt my knees going weak, but pressed on, not eager to keep Mia waiting, when she could so easily worsen the air quality by molding my face into the sweaty crevasse between tan rock-hard glutes while these fried foods broke down to sizzling dreck in her midsection.

I found a delighted-looking Mia standing at full height with her athletic arms outstretched and powerful legs spread in a wide stance like the Vitruvian Man; two shopkeepers used ladders on either side of her, and struggled to get the tape measurements to the far reaches of my sister's nine-foot wingspan without losing their balance. The third girl had the most dangerous job, standing in front of and behind Mia, and crawling between her steep gams to swap positions and wrap the tape around another pillar-like segment of those thunder thighs. I was fairly positive that the worker would've preferred to walk around my sibling's statuesque form, but at Mia's imposing insistence, was probably made instead to duck her head each and every time beneath that looming derriere, knowing full-well the horrors it might unleash while her face was mere inches from the rectal spout. Seeing the trio hard at work, while tremoring all the worse from Mia's incessant cloud-burst of gristly pork-and-brimstone scent, the equivalent of an aerosol-version of the runs, again I couldn't help but feel I was looking upon unfortunate slaves constructing godlike golden-bronze monuments to their masters, or in this case mistress, except of course my sister was her own idol.

Stepping up to the group, and seeing the apprehension in the girls' faces at the "snack" matched only by Mia's lip-licking and belly growls, I looked to the workers with apology in my stink-wetted eyes, and held each breaded foodstuff item above my head to feed it directly into my sibling's jowls. This truly felt like the most royal moment the nine-foot giantess had created for herself in a while, having four lesser bodies there laboring to arrange her clothing and sate her appetite, and none of us politely mentioning the fact that we were turning violently green-facedly nauseous from the volume of fatty, volcanic, breakfast-themed intestine-belches currently heating the room like a furnace.

Surprisingly, Mia didn't go for the more vocal parps today, the kind that evoked a whoopee cushion factory blowing up due to a gas leak, because she was seemingly more amused by the fact that she could so "skillfully" flood the mall using silent-but-deadly malodor. I might've been objectively impressed by her ability to spread her stink so thoroughly through the whole building without her anus simultaneously imitating a blaring klaxon, if I wasn't also made to sniff up the firsthand effects from such lung-scorching closeness to the source. And here I was, pushing more deep-fried junk into my taut-and-toned brunette mega-sibling's maw, all so she wouldn't have to pause the outpouring of putrescent cheese-cut winds.

Soon after jotting down the incredible quantities of my sister's dimensions, the three workers split apart to search for pieces of clothing that might be altered to fit the svelte yet contradictorily-hulking titaness's frame. They moved with urgency, tossing unsuitable garments aside in a flurry, not only in hopes of satisfying Mia and sending her away from the mall ASAP, but also knowing that, in lieu of clearing her throat and gently asking that they hurry up, the giantess would simply frighten them into panicked searching by piping more beefy rippers into the room, until they could barely walk or see straight enough to judge the items' fashion value.

Adding insult to injury, my sister did break the silence to request that the girls shut the doors for her own "privacy," though I suspect she meant privacy not for her exposed body, but more in the way of someone who prefers to close the bathroom door before a deuce-dropping session that leaves the whole house stinking of ass, burnt cheese, and motor oil. Of course, my sister is special in that she has no problem leaving the door wide-open for doing her business; in this case, I think she just wanted the four of us subordinates alone to cook in the wet and musty fecal-fumes amplified in a closed space. Though it nearly made her burst into tears from terror at the even-more grievous sensory crippling to come, the worker obeyed my sister, then went back to searching double-time for usable clothes. Luckily, the girls had enough practice after Mia's previous growth spurts, rising up whole inches overnight and making the previous oversized styles obsolete, that they were ready with a few candidates.

Sealing the shop doors did indeed ramp up the brawny punch of tepid tear gas putt-putting out of my sister's active bunghole with only the most innocuous fart-whispers. I backed myself into a corner, wiping my watery eyes and trying to calm the smell-inflicted shakes wracking my body in the way of an alcoholic deprived of drink, though of course I was just fiending for clean air now. Per usual, my sister had demonstrated her greatest superpower to turn any given room into a sauna swirling with her reeking bowel-baker essence, and though the workers were affected just as badly, they soldiered through and took turns helping Mia try on a variety of outfits. Not that my sister couldn't have done this part herself, of course, but she wasn't about to turn down such princessly treatment, probably even practicing some of those muscle-loosening "yoga" moves whenever one of the unfortunate girls had to help pull her skirts and pants down from the back.

"Nope, not that. That is SO last season!" Mia would balk at one selection.

"Uh-huh, no WAY I'm getting caught dead in that color!" she'd say about another.

"Yeah, right. That's gonna shred the second I raise my arm over my head."

"You've got to be joking. A girl with tits HALF the size of mine would bust right out of that."

"How absorbent is this material? Do smells wash out of it? Or, stains?"

"Do you really think that makes my ass look good? Obviously you haven't taken a good enough look first, then. Here, you tell me if this looks as good as it can!" she'd threaten, waving her colossal bubble booty in the traumatized worker's face and even twerking in time with the release of more muted machine-gun farts. "Get that through your little head, girl! Seriously! Bring me something I can WORK!"

After a whole hour of showing my sister each permutation of material and accessories, trying on practically all merchandise in the store while sweating and tooting through every scrap of it in the process, Mia was satisfied with some hot-pink midriff-baring tops and a few sets of short-shorts that hugged her ass cheeks like a pumpkin. Thanking the nearly-unconscious girls for their help, and asking them to simply put the bill on her running "tab" rather than pay up now, my sister finally allowed the doors to be thrown open again. The workers couldn't comply with this permission fast enough, as one nearly collapsed at the first grateful gulp of oxygen, and another puked into a trash can while my sister marched happily out of the store with an armload of new clothes that complimented her ascendant nine-foot stature, and the other hand gripping my hair by the scalp to lead me to the dining area.

The stink-bombs had been contained to one store for an entire hour, even though no set of doors could ever completely prevent a few sharply-crappy wisps of miasmic butthole fustiness from Mia leaking out of the place it was trapped inside like a demonic spirit, but some shoppers had cautiously re-entered the mall in the time since, possibly choosing to ignore the relatively-light odor or chalking it up to run-off or a busted sewage pipe somewhere. Unfortunately, the moment my sister and I re-entered the shopping mall proper, she was free to plop fresh hurricane-wind toots in every corner of the place, squeezing out lengthier squealy notes that streamed for several painful seconds, and also blast ear-splitting anal claps accompanied by bloated death-like rankness that smelt of raw egg and proctology tools. Using the full complement of her gastric toolset, my sister performed an acrid symphony for the thinned crowds still foolish enough to venture within a one-mile radius of her butt after a meal.

At first Mia kept up the same oblivious act, smiling and strutting while causing passerby to shrink away, covering their mouths and running for the bathrooms to wretch. However, my sister's ego was simply too big to keep this game up forever, and quickly she elated herself again with the fun of openly and playfully bullying the much-squatter unfortunates she encountered. Some folks she simply chased in circles or into stores by turning her enormous dumpster and launching stink-missiles after them. Others were backed up against the walls, pinned there by an unwanted embrace with Mia's rump, and then made to absorb a sputtering series of turbulent meaty wind-breaks, all while crying and feebly pleading with my sister to stop, though she was generally laughing too loudly to hear their humble wishes. While any logical person probably knew they should've sprinted away at the first foul sample they picked up, by the time Mia was stalking toward a new target to submerge in sizzly fried-chicken-skin farts, they were immobilized by disbelief and fear, and then it was too late to do anything except sink to the floor and perspire in the eye of the smelly storm.

"I hope they stocked extra stuff for that taco buffet," Mia commented to me while rubbing her washboard tummy, when at last she grew bored with the pitiful resistances of all the strangers she could dominate using the lightest puff of molten breakfast and stomach juices. "Last time they ran out of jalapenos and hot sauce when I was barely half full, plus the meat was super-dry, and I'm sorry, but that is just unacceptable..."

The workers must've learned from their mistake the previous visit - and they would've had to be brainless to repeat the same grievances, considering Mia showed her dissatisfaction as a customer then by vaulting over the counter, grabbing the employees by their hair, and pressing them both headfirst against her bum, one face per cheek, until the gas burgeoned out like salsa-flavored anal ammonia.

When we arrived in the food court, my sister was giddy at the sight of the taco buffet piled high with extras of every ingredient, including the spicier goodies that gave her stink-haloed asshole a particularly fiery reek, and a glistening liquid layer of cooked-in grease on the ground beef that was sure to enrich the goings-on of my giant sister's guts into the smelly stratosphere. Part of me had hoped the workers might be courageous and empty the platters before fleeing from the mall, but of course I knew this would only delay the inevitable. If Mia intended to enjoy an all-she-could-eat smorgasbord of tacos for lunch today, she was going to have it.

Naturally, my sibling being who she was, I couldn't just slink into the distance of the rounded dining hall and wait for her to serve her own unending appetite. She took a seat in the center of the large room, where everyone could see her, and snapped her fingers at me like a butler to go fetch round one of the taco onslaught. Frankly, I was probably lucky to have Mia regard me more as a servant, since that at least meant she saw me as a living creature, as opposed to the times she seemed to view me more as an animate object, like a sweat rag or a special Hal-shaped sponge meant exclusively to absorb her meat-drenched farts. Foolish shoppers still lingered in the food court, examining their purchases and eating meals from the other restaurants, since the taco bar was marked "CLOSED" in preparation for its singularly ravenous MVP customer.

Shaking with every step, and already smelling the first hints of her fumes that had leaked all the way from the clothing store, I approached the taco stand, grabbed two plates, and began stuffing taco shells with sustenance. Mostly beef was used, since I knew the fatty protein was my growing amazon of a sister's priority, but I ensured to use plenty of hot sauce, jalapenos, and cheese too: the anus-scorching sputter and the decaying dairy funk, respectively, which would so horrendously complement the bloated cow-flesh gristle of the main course.

While putting as many tacos as possible on each dish, I exchanged a silent thousand-yard gaze with the workers behind the counter, probably in the same way as soldiers preparing to run across no man's land together into gunfire. When I could fit no more, and I heard Mia clapping impatiently from across the court, I hurried back, but not so fast that I spilled a single precious taco; any such wastefulness would probably result in my sister having me lick the pieces up off the ground while she performed a deep teabagging-squat above my head and flavored my floor-tainted snack with her own gutsy ass pollution. I was sweating already, and she hadn't even begun to super-heat the air in here and turn it poisonously putrid with her excrement-laden wafts, but still I set the tacos down in front of the queen of the food court.

"Thaaaanks, Hal! You're such a considerate brother," she swooned, as though I hadn't done this under direct orders, at the risk of having my head used as a gas-sopping seat cushion for the whole lunch if I stupidly refused. The first taco was already halfway to her lips, but she paused to beckon me closer. Snatching me by the shirt, she drew my ear near enough to her mouth so that her whispered message was mine alone, in between crunchy oil-dribbling bites of taco: "See that red lever over by the big door, shortstuff? Behind the glass? That's the lockdown thingy they use to close everything up in here, so nobody breaks in at night. Go pull it, then pull the whole handle off, and come back to me. Don't talk to anybody."

Startled, and feeling my heartbeat dangerously hasten even before I'd smelled the first diabolical rectum-juice whiff pushed out of her hole by the volume of fresh taco meat piling down her GI tract, I shivered in my sister's grasp. I knew the answer already, but still had to confirm: "W-Why?"

"Because I don't want all these new friends around us to just leave all of a sudden, for no reason at all!" Mia innocently replied, then added with more dominating seriousness: "I want them to stay with us in here."

She gestured to the fifty-or-so shoppers still idiotically trying to savor their meals, though a few had already begun to detect the leftover traces of the nine-foot athlete's salty poots trickling in from down the hall, judging by their scrunched faces. Part of me thought I should've tried to warn them before now, maybe yelled for them to run while there was still time, but then a selfish side of me also knew that if I ruined my sister's fun by removing fifty potential fart-sniffing noses from the room, she'd simply make up for the lost numbers by making me draw open-mouthed gasps with my face buried between her naked glutes until I'd eaten exactly fifty times as many of her squalid mealtime air-bombs. So I probably wouldn't have told them to run after all. Did that make me a bad person? Maybe, but I'd also suffered too many mornings, noons, and nights inflating my lungs with Mia's fizzly gases to get caught up on morality like that.

A minute later, I'd casually approached the lockdown lever, removed the glass, pulled it, then broken it off before anyone was the wiser. Metal grates came down over all the exits around the food court, including the restaurants - excluding the taco bar, of course, which had to remain free to fuel the beast of her intestinal chorus. A few strangers' heads turned in response to being trapped inside the food court, still wrinkling their noses at the slowly-fouling oxygen, but none thought to flee for their lives. Sighing at my part in their upcoming pains, but knowing also that I had no choice, I sat humbly beside my sister while she polished off the first sixteen tacos quicker than a speed-eating champion. All there was left to do was wait.

"Looks like I'm all done!" Mia teased, pushing the empty plates at me. "I could use a little more. Would you be my favorite brother again and help me out? Oh, and you went kinda easy on the hot sauce last time. Seriously, don't be afraid of putting more. I really want to light a fire in here."

She patted her stomach for emphasis, but of course I knew my sister was far more excited about setting a gaseous blaze to the atmosphere of this entire food court, rather than inside her own guts. In her opinion, "better out than in" was a way of life, not just a mantra. Despite Mia's assurance, I also knew I had every reason to be afraid of adding more spice to the ultra-processed fuel for the dirty bomb she was brewing in her own intestines. Fear or not, though, I knew a second helping of insufficiently-sauced tacos would be intolerable: specifically, intolerable for me, when the gargantuan warden that was my little sister made me guzzle a whole bottle of the stuff while she pinched my nose at the sweaty upper cleft of her muscular booty cheeks.