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.