Giantess World
The chaotically-breezy effect was so extreme, I could’ve sworn I felt my chair starting to tilt on its axis purely from the concentrated outward-pouring dosage of my sibling’s gusty rectal woes, though this could’ve easily been a hallucinatory side-effect of existing within two feet of the strongest gas-pass I could remember my sister ever delivering since she grew that first unnatural post-pubescent inch, because the stink itself was putting my senses on spin cycle.
Nearly toppling to the floor, either from literal imbalance or merely the result of having my insides instantly rotted by an asshole grotto cloud in fifteen seconds flat, I gripped the table to keep steady, sweat dripping down my brow and my breathing unconsciously reduced to ragged half-gasps. Part of me believed it might be smarter to let myself fall to the ground, perhaps even conking out cold if I was lucky enough, yet an irrational notion brought on by the girl’s rancid gas like a bad acid trip instead told me that if I let go and fell off the chair, I would die or even worse, vanish into an endless void consisting only of my sister’s cow-fleshed corn-chipped soul-devouring flatulence.
So I hung on to the table for dear life, nearly-totally despondent, perspiring and hyperventilating and letting the palpably-pushing hot wind from Mia’s upward-angled booty meat rush over me every few seconds to renew the strength of that first ongoing tuba-blare fart melody from hell. The smell was unlike anything I could’ve described previously, even to my own past self, the only person besides Mom and Dad who could’ve even begun to comprehend the sizzly spiced beef-broken cancerously-painful depth of Mia’s airy pups tonight. There truly weren’t words this time, however, and not only because my brain was now on the verge of getting cooked by toxic anus-juice fumes back to a kindergarten level of intelligence.
How could one young woman create something like this, albeit one nine feet tall, bottomlessly hungry, and built like an all-events Olympic prodigy? The temperature in the room and probably the whole house didn’t just rise by a solid thirty degrees like we’d been dropped in the desert in the middle of a heat wave; the usual reeking odor evolved into a new mythic beast far beyond anything I’d inhaled before, intestinally garlicy and brine-drenched and chemically unsound; the viscosity of the poisoned oxygen itself took on a broth-like quality, akin to swimming through sludgy pond water whenever we moved a muscle in the not-so-thin air.
Across the table, my parents weren’t doing so well either, even with the benefit of slightly more space separating them from their vindictive daughter’s rotund buttock backdrafts. Dad’s head rolled back, his eyes glazed over as he drooled like a stroke victim; Mom was white as a sheet and doubled over, probably about to hack up the last several of her scant meals. None of our reactions had any visible effect on Mia, however, who kept right on merrily chowing down at top speed, though I knew on the inside she was absolutely beaming and probably-laughing her heart out at our shared misfortunes. Part of the fun for her, per usual, was to go about her business, as if we weren’t all currently trapped at the epicenter of what just might’ve been the most pungent cascade of cheesy fat-greased protein-thickened derriere smog to every enthusiastically plop out of her grimy orifice before.
“Oh, I can’t even tell you how badly I needed these extra calories. Especially with all those extra workouts? My favorite brother knows what I’m talking about, dontcha? I just have to get as strong as I can on and off the court, you know, and this is the only way to do it,” Mia remarked, her sunshiney tone not even mildly wrinkled by the lung-atrophying aroma of a thickly clogged commode that she’d obviously developed such a crucial immunity over. “Like they say: you only get out what you put in.”
Somehow still hanging in the fight that my respiration had become, I couldn’t disagree with my sibling’s giggled statement. And seeing how Mia was hellbent on putting “in” several farm creatures’ worth of edible carcass mass, a mountain of cheese, bread in every form, enough scorching salsa to put a hole in any mere mortal’s toilet bowl, and several unsoiled gallons of jelly-state cooked animal oil on a night when her belly was surely already busting at the seams with similarly meaty atrocities, it was only nature’s cruel intention that she would then accordingly put “out” a fart-tastic cloudburst of yet-untold proportions which so assaulted the innards of our family that it would’ve been more pleasing to burrow ourselves completely in a month-old compost heap and light that whole rotting garbage pile on fire.
“Whoops, it looks like they forgot to pack the triple-extras of the hot sauce. Oh, well. Nobody’s perfect, are they? Well, almost nobody,” Mia drawled with disappointment, with a smile that ensured we knew exactly how little of a self-confidence problem she had. “Hal, can you do me a biiiiiig favor and find that new bottle in the fridge? I’m about to run out of spice, and if that happens, I might just be so sad that I’ll need to keep you nice and close as my cuddle-buddy for the entire rest of the night. And it might get a little… bumpy. Especially if the sadness makes my stomach feel funny.”
This threat should’ve been more than enough warning to make me leap from my chair like a shot and start dousing her food in condiments, but I was truly so stricken, frozen in time by nausea with all my senses going haywire, it felt like I was hearing my sister’s call from a mile away and filtered through a nightmare. Luckily, Mia was perfectly willing to help break me from the stupor when, after I despondently ignored her for ten seconds, she snatched my hair by the scruff and wrenched my head so hard toward her hip that I flopped horizontally on the chair.
My overheated face and toxin-clogged airways were now placed even more directly in the path of my sister’s behemoth ass cheek, its roundness nakedly exposed save for that sliver of thong, the mass still clenched and hoisted off the seat platform for better distribution of the blathering toots making their way out like soaking-wet serpents. Hot as the room felt already, scalding to the point of stuttering my brain like a computer on the fritz, the dispersion of sour peppery digestion winds currently firing out of my sibling’s hyperactive asshole was distinctly steamier, cutting enough that I might’ve forcibly withdrawn even in my scarcely-conscious state, if not for my sister’s authoritative hand clutching me so near to her cruelly generous rump.
“Sorry, Hal, maybe you didn’t hear me the first time,” Mia politely snarked, while snuggling my stink-numbed features closer to her practically-naked buttock brawn. Just then, a cloudy bead of anal sweat rolled into the giantess’s dark-tan crack, squiggled along her upraised glute flab, and dribbled onto the bridge of my nose. Even before it dripped past my nostril, the gooey droplet smelt of frightfully-discolored toilet paper after a particularly shredding rake through the flesh valley. “But now that you’re so much closer, maybe you can hear me better. Would you pretty-pretty-pretty please with a cherry on top get me more hot sauce, so I don’t have to feel sad?”
Even though the order was restated, Mia kept on squeezing the top of my head to the point of nearly ripping my hair out, while steadily transitioning my head over from my own chair to the space just beneath her bulbous cheek. There, she’d created just enough room to conveniently position the skull of her smaller elder sibling for use as a seat cushion just before that pliant boulder of booty heft came crashing down to twerk out the next slovenly fart-mist blob directly from her anus into my rasping lips like a skunk’s liquid projectile assault. This scared me into writhing with life again, though nowhere near strong enough to resist Mia, but it seemed she was only trying to spook me awake for her use as a butler again. Giggling, she lifted me by my scalp all the way out of the chair like a marionette, then gave me a shove to get started.
“Now that’s what I call a team player!” she laughed. “Look alive out there, Hal. Let’s see some hustle!”
Stumbling as if high, drunk, and lethally venom-infected all at once, I staggered toward the refrigerator past my parents, who by now could’ve either been in a coma or simply too weak to react to the squalid bubbled-up bedpan stench still endlessly whizzing as a barnyard-hinted aerosol from Mia’s caboose. I almost fell, but caught myself by grabbing the handle and yanking the door open. Immediately I grabbed the sauce bottle, already afraid of my sister getting impatient and stalking around the table to slump her cumbersome derriere down so fast that my legs snapped like twigs, purely as a lesson not to dawdle.
However, the cool blast of air inside the fridge, though still effusively flavored of the giantess’s next bathroom pool-dropoff, nevertheless felt so good on my gaseously perspiring body that I couldn’t help but hunch and almost moan with this fleeting relief. Though it hurt me to shut the door again and plunge back into the scorching seventh circle of hell that was the family kitchen on Mexican food night, I did so anyway, trusting that any longer spent away would earn me that teased nightlong stint as Mia’s cuddle buddy. And I had no doubt that I’d specifically be “cuddled” not in her arms, but beneath the back-breaking weight of her bronzed caboose, with her too-tight panties pulled around my neck like a dog collar and my nose positioned in such a way that it almost burrowed through her grungy portal’s brown puckered skin, all the way into the inner sanctum of her final food depository, where there awaited only monsters.
“There’s that go-getter spirit I like to see so much! Go ahead and drizzle some on, Hal. Don’t be shy. I can handle the heat,” Mia proudly announced with a grin that made it clear she knew the rest of us weaklings most certainly couldn’t handle it. “Chop-chop!”
Immediately I complied, upending the container and drowning my sister’s current plate of food in spicy fluid which was sure to have the same effect of pouring nitrous in a tank just before a race, albeit much smellier than the black exhaust from a tailpipe. Even smelling the stuff from this distance with my arms outstretched tickled my wounded nostrils all the more, since Mia liked her condiments blazing. Still, I’d have happily chugged this entire body of tongue-flaying hot sauce in one go, if not a whole crate of it, if only it meant I could be teleported out of this house and planted in a rose garden or a cologne factory: anything to reset my senses and allow whatever still-functioning bodily systems remained to heal from this skid-mark fragrant debauchery boiling the air. Hell, I’d have been fine getting dropped off in an abandoned hostel restroom, because such a place would likely smell of a fresh mountain spring compared to any given evening in our household, when all Mia’s daily feast-fodder was pumped out the backend as condensed sphincter smoke.