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.