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.