Giantess World
While I regretfully believed I’d learned to “live” even with this regularly-scheduled evening storm of drippy flatus and its choir of skin-crawling water-plopping large intestine dispensing, again I couldn’t count on my normal survival skills to withstand Mia’s post-dinner cheese cuts. Not today. Because the inhumane scents she’d been shucking out of her surely-stinging anus already, before ever lifting that toilet seat and crashing her booty hocks down for duty, were categorically more potent and insurmountable than any gas-fissures she’d ever produced while in the act of vacating her meals in the bathroom. Which could only mean that we were now in for something I couldn’t have possibly defended myself against, not even with a oxygen tank, hazmat suit, and a century of slowly building a tolerance to regular whiffs of the foulest protein-stuffed bombers known to humankind. Occasionally in the past I’d been fortunate enough that Mia gave me an errand to run during these bouts of firing her clogged stink into the U-bend of the master bathroom, and then I got to leave the house during the worst of the gut-eruption, even if the reason I was sent off was to grab her a small midnight snack of a family-sized fried chicken bucket. Today, however, I’d either “slept” through the chance to be given such a gift, or my sister truly wanted me to be present and sniff up the absolute height of her anal plague. Someone had to stand witness, just so she could show off, laugh, and revel in her deific strength as the goddess of gas.
Or rather, someone had to lie in witness, because I doubted now that I could’ve risen, even with an adrenaline shot and the house on fire. In a way, that would’ve made for preferable conditions. Plain-old sooty smoke from the flames filling my insides, while unpleasant and capable of extinguishing life on its own, had to taste much better than the sisterly rectal bog of taco paste and tummy juices I was enduring now instead. Even with my nostrils pinched and my lips sealed tight, my smell centers were ablaze with oily buttock fumes and my taste buds felt on the verge of falling off with every cruddy molecule of her refried-bean grit which had been fart-blasted into the void.
Then, despite my internal organs feeling like scrambled egg and my brain cells soaked thicker than a soppy sponge full of Mia’s squealed-out bum fog, it occurred to me suddenly and with surging hope that my sister had no idea where I was right now. For all she knew, and probably surmised, I was still passed out in the kitchen where she’d left me after that up-close-and-personal snuffing beneath her swollen panty-snapped cheek at dinner that made me even more an ungrateful connoisseur of my sister’s festered cow-pie malodor. Certainly there’d been times before where I conked out from her wallowing supper-fluid stench and didn’t awaken until the morning sun was beating down on my face again, heating up the slimy leftover perfume of her ass all over again. And as much as the wet sounds and unearthly smells coming from the giantess’s personal restroom upstairs right now were good reason for my existential dread, this also meant that she just might be distracted enough not to notice if I made my escape.
This was my chance. Right now. With my little remaining energy, and before Mia was through anointing the porcelain can in her latest excreted creations of various matter states, I could crawl to that front door just across the foyer, pull myself down the path, and drag my near-unconscious stink-covered body along the road until the ever-widening mushroom cloud of my sister’s dungy rice-flecked farts was dispersed just enough through outdoor air that I could muster the will to stand again and run for my life, or at least limp. I could make it. Though I felt guilt at the thought of leaving my parents here, and even greater fear to imagine how my sister might react when she discovered I’d fled without her permission during the equivalent of this masterwork symphony of her soiled gullet-spurring toot-streams that she obviously so dearly wanted me to inhale to the breaking point, I would not have a better opportunity than this. From the sound of it, Mia was still ramping up into the climax of her bowel movement, and the thickening steam-waves from her cheek-spread rump were only becoming more complex and oppressive by the second. If I waited any longer for the smell to continue gathering intensity to its yet-unreached potential, my muscles would clam up and I’d be left totally paralyzed on the floor, but regrettably awake, to choke through every last sulfurous puff of lethal breeze punishingly eked from Mia’s backside. Already, stranded at the base of the stairwell, I felt like I was staring up to the top of a volcano, hearing the thunderous churning from within, and just waiting for the magma to spill in hot runny spurts down the mountainside to bury me at last.
Though my body was exhausted into rigor mortis, my skin crusted over with my sister’s defecated sweat-mist, and my lungs rotted from the inside-out by the piquant dairy-ripened density of her every piping vapor, I dug deep and found the will to press toward the exit. Even though I only had to traverse one hallway, it felt like a mile-long journey, and I’m not sure how I found the necessary gusto to reach up and twist the deadbolt when I arrived. All I knew afterward was that my optimism to flee (plus general sensory numbness) had made me oblivious to my surroundings except for the door which would lead to a better life. Of course I could still detect the crashing din and sputtering burbles of Mia’s reeking asshole evacuation, could feel the warmth of her every fart train chewing at my nasal passages and searing in that grody chemically-smoldered empanada flavor, but it all seemed so far away from me then, almost in a different universe.
Everything became real again, however, when just as I reached for the doorknob, a feminine hand much larger than mine slapped against the wood, bracing it shut more effectively than an iron-wrought chain. My heart sunk, as if it had any lower to fall. Quaking, and realizing in a dazed flash that the source of that riotously nauseating sewage-explosion funk had moved much closer to me, and was now heating and distorting the air around me like a personal sun, I looked up to find my sister’s statuesque physique positioned over me in casual victory. As she relocked the door to keep me inside, Mia looked down at her prey, still clad only in her bra and panties, such that her bronze-tanned volleyball-musculature was displayed in all its glistening secreted glory. She ran her fingers through her dark ravishing locks and wiped her brow of the sweat no-doubt earned from grunting and grinding away on the commode, then shook her hand to dispose of the liquid, causing several salty perspired droplets to land on my forehead and cheeks below.
In my terrified delirium, it occurred to me that the position I found myself in now, meekly prostrated beneath an objectively-beautiful super-athlete dressed in her skivvies and bearing a provocative sheen, ironically might’ve been the envy of many idiotic strangers, who surely would have no idea what it was like to actually exist in proximity to my sister, and specifically her pestilence-spreading patootie. None of them might ever have believed, until it was too late to back out, that such ungodly grease-fire blast-offs could originate from a creature so fit and alluring, not to mention magnetically amazonian in size. If a person lacked all sense of taste and smell (something I was now envious of), they might’ve seen only a powerful self-possessed giantess of a girl unafraid to flaunt her talents; the clue, though, to Mia’s true nature was the piece of toilet paper hanging like an animal tail from her bottom, the white strip twirled as it snaked out from under her thong, and presumably still grasped by her clenched cheeks mid-wipe when she came down to halt my exit.
“Whoops! Good thing I caught you before you accidentally left!” Mia brightly chimed, though behind that façade of joy, I could sense her rage at my betrayal. “You sure picked a bad time to leave, huh? This is the time of day when I need you most of all, Hal! Seriously, where would I be without my favorite brother here on standby, just in case there’s a problem with the… plumbing. Or, I don’t know, anything else that might come up! Who knows what could happen if you left me all alone, or worse, if you were all alone, without me to steer you right? Can you even imagine where you’d be?”
No, I truly couldn’t fathom where I might be if I’d chosen long ago to run away from home, perhaps to a different continent just to make absolutely certain that I couldn’t catch even a whiff of my sibling’s spunky cheese-cuts unfurling toward the coastlines and enveloping a whole nation in her blimped-out rectal contents. It went without saying that I’d be “happier” away from my gassy giantess conqueror, able to make my own choices and still detect pleasanter scents; above all, I’d still probably feel like a real person, rather than a living sponge whose existence mattered only for soaking up every last gastric ounce of hazy scud air flushed out of Mia’s anus.
Knowing she didn’t expect an answer, I just let myself spread limp on the floor again between her feet. Naturally I’d have had no chance of opening the door once my sister pressed her hand against it, though ironically, she needn’t have even done that. Once my brain registered how near the broiling aura of bathroom-overflow stench had come, the rampant succulence spinning in a flatulent cyclone around her body and flavored of that unmopped asshole butter was plenty strong to make me lose what little energy I’d scrounged up. In fact, by this point in my sister’s day, even her wheeziest baritone air-plop would hit stronger than if she cold-cocked across the jaw.
“Maybe it was a bad idea to let you just hang around on your own. Here’s the thing, Hal, this family’s gotta be like a team: working toward the same goal, all the time. And sometimes that means somebody has to take charge and be a leader,” Mia explained to me like a toddler with head trauma, though at this point she probably needed to dumb it down even further than that, considering how severely today’s blurted-out poots had raked through my cerebellum and reduced my cognitive functions down to a puddle more akin to a backed-up rest stop toilet than a brain. Still, it was almost funny to hear her pretend to take on a leadership role only now, as if she hadn’t been controlling the whole family’s lives from the first moment she started that rapid post-pubescent growth spurt which had turned her into the uber-athletic story-tall maestro of flubbery toots who now stood above me like I was her latest kill. “But don’t worry. I guess this just means I have to keep an even closer eye on you from now on, especially during this time of day. Why don’t you come along with me, so I have you nearby in case I need something from you? Aw, I guess you’ve had a long day of being a good brother, and probably want a little nappy-poo, so don’t even try to get up. I’ll take care of you. Like always.”
With that, Mia plunged into a deep thigh-spreading squat above me that not only brought the source of her mealy digestive concoctions all the closer to my crippled nostrils, but stretched her wobbly muscled cheeks to their furthest extreme, so there was nothing but hazy air and an insufficient patch of thong separating my lips from her bunghole. She’d dropped so low, her clamped-in toilet paper tail almost threatened to slide out of the fragrant flesh valley and drift all the way down to my numbly-drooling face like a blindfold. Smirking, Mia snatched me by the ankle, then in an instant was power-walking back toward the stairs with me in tow, her pace not slowed at all despite the burden of my body dragging along on the floor behind her like a venerable stuffed animal. The ride upstairs was particularly uncomfortable, even though I didn’t or couldn’t budge, since my sister semi-vengefully allowed my head to bonk along the steps, but in the worst silver lining ever, I could scarcely feel the blunt trauma.
I was so insulated now body, mind, and soul in her sweltering mucked-up cinnamon-chili-enzyme repugnance, undoubtedly the stinkiest chemical swamp of blended-cuisine intestine sludge farts that my sister had ever produced in her life, that all other types of injury (including blows to the skull) felt like little more than playground noogies to me. With every step forward she took, I could hear the horn-blop of her noisy gas escaping involuntarily from her sphincter in wafts so hotly-packed with decaying chocolatey belly-fluid aroma that I could’ve almost believed she’d taken a laxative to ease the transition of all that Mexican goodness inside her, so that she’d be cleansed of everything in one fell swoop. And since Mia was dragging me behind her as she took lumbering leviathan strides back toward the master bathroom, it was certainly clear in my mind that if the giantess was to lose that delicate control over her bowel portal now, or perhaps even “allow” herself to practice those gluteus maximus relaxation exercises again at this inopportune moment, then I’d be facing an onslaught beyond comprehension: something which would ruin me so thoroughly, it would make me wish to be given the ultimate swirly in the toilet by my sister with no end to the head-swishing gargles on that used gray water, just so I could escape it all at last.
Despite my wonderment at this underwear-spilling possibility, Mia made it back to her private palace without letting anything worse than farts out of her panties. Now dispensing with the usual playful sarcasm, she pulled me to my feet and pressed my back hard against the master bedroom wall right outside the open lavatory, before re-entering, yanking her thong back around her thighs, and planting her utterly bare ass down with a plumbic thwomp back on the circular throne which rattled the whole upper floor of the house almost as egregiously as one of her strongest vinegary-excoriated fire-bomb farts. Naturally she didn’t close the door, though I had to consider myself lucky that she didn’t take me all the way into the room with her.
Still, considering the storm cell of stinging lava-spurt heat piping out of the oven-sweaty powder room, and the instantaneous lioness’ roar that was her bubbly anal gushing which nearly bowled me over like a sizzly foghorn directly to the eardrum, I may as well have been laying on that floor, with my ribcage straddled between Mia’s feet, and my cheek up pressed to the pot-boiling plus-size bowl of her receptacle to catch every tumultuous blare and splash. Frankly, I was shocked I hadn’t ended up exactly there, but I suppose my sister didn’t want me to be instantly gassed unconscious and thus miss the big finish. And she surely had to be building toward a climax now, because the hell-borne stink was now reaching the density of a cosmic black hole, and for it to have become much more intense now would not only break the laws of physics, but chew them up, swallow them down, and shit them out.