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.