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.