By: leopaz1
Mia drifted awake the way a dragon stirs in its cave: slow, warm, and already dangerous.
She was sprawled on her stomach, one leg kicked out, the other bent beneath her, hips slightly elevated by the thick pillow she’d dragged under her pelvis sometime in the night. The sheets were twisted around her waist, her oversized tee had ridden up to her ribs, and her black cotton panties were long gone (probably kicked off hours ago).
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A steady, wet, low-volume hiss purred from between her cheeks, warm air brushing the backs of her thighs in a constant, lazy stream that had been going since the moment she slipped into unconsciousness.
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She could feel it: a gentle, endless ribbon of pure morning evil sliding out of her like a secret she was telling the mattress.
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Mia gave a sleepy, satisfied hum, slid one lazy hand behind her, and hovered her palm an inch above her bare ass. The soft whoosh of heated air kissed her fingers, steady as a hair-dryer on low.
“Good morning, Argus,” she mumbled into the pillow, voice thick with sleep and victory. “How long have I been farting?”
“Good morning, Miss Mia,” the AI answered, a trace of affectionate amusement in his tone. “You have been emitting a continuous low-volume release for the last seventeen minutes and twelve seconds. Shall I classify it as ‘ambient wake-up fragrance’?”
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Mia’s lips curved into a wicked little smile. The fart kept going, warm and wet and utterly shameless.
“What time is it? And is Mom up?”
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“9:24 a.m. Madam Victoria left for her morning run twenty-one minutes ago. She is currently on the ridge trail and should return in approximately eighteen minutes.”
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Mia rolled her hips once, savoring the feeling, then decided playtime was over.
“Alright, let’s give this morning a proper send-off.”
She pushed.
The gentle purr detonated into a full, two-minute earthquake.
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The entire bed vibrated so hard the levitating frame dipped and wobbled. The smart-glass walls flickered in alarm, the aurora ceiling stuttered, and somewhere far below a stack of plates in the kitchen rattled like chattering teeth. When it finally tapered off, Mia let out a long, filthy moan of pure pleasure, rolled onto her back, and giggled like a maniac.
She slid two fingers between her cheeks again, gave a curious sniff, and immediately recoiled with theatrical disgust.
“Sweet baby Jesus, that’s weapons-grade. I could bottle this and end wars.”
Her stomach answered with a deep, ominous gurgle that vibrated the mattress.
Mia sat up, rubbed the offending belly, and raised an eyebrow. “Hungry, little monster, or—”
A wet, swampy blast cut her off.
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“Oh. Definitely option two. Morning dump it is.”
She rolled out of bed, gloriously naked, and padded into the bathroom palace. The heated marble welcomed her feet like warm sand. The smart-glass toilet alcove irised open with a soft sigh, the seat already lowering and warming to exactly 37 °C.
Mia dropped onto the throne like royalty claiming her seat. The moment her cheeks spread, the dam shattered.
The first wave came fast and heavy (thick logs crackling out of her like felled redwoods, each one splashing into the reinforced bowl with a deep, resonant boom). She sighed, long and filthy, eyes fluttering shut as pure relief rolled through her body in waves. Phone in hand, she opened TikTok and started scrolling, one thumb lazy, hips rocking slightly with every fresh push.
Fifteen minutes of industrial output. The toilet’s disposal matrix hummed quietly beneath her, teleporting waste into the mansion’s dedicated bio-reactor (Argus worked overtime to keep up). The bowl never even came close to filling; it just kept swallowing everything she gave it.
At minute twenty, Mia decided it was time for the grand finale.
She set her phone on the floating marble ledge, stood up, turned around, and squatted slightly over the bowl, feet planted wide, knees bent, hands reaching back to spread her massive, glistening cheeks as far apart as they would go.
“Argus,” she said, voice trembling with anticipation, “measure this last bitch. I want records.”
“Measurement protocols engaged.”
Mia closed her eyes, took a slow breath, and pushed.
“Hooooly… fuuuuck…” she moaned, the words stretching out into one long, filthy note.
A single, unbroken rope began its descent (slow, impossibly thick, gleaming dark and perfect). Twenty-five centimeters in diameter at the crown, growing to thirty-five as it stretched her open. It poured out of her like soft-serve from hell’s own machine, heavy and relentless. One meter… two… five… ten… the coil rose like a brown tower, breaching the waterline, climbing the porcelain walls in perfect, hypnotic spirals.
Mia’s legs shook. Sweat beaded on her lower back. She pulled her cheeks even wider, fingers sinking into the soft flesh, moaning shamelessly as the pleasure bordered on religion.
Round and round it went, stacking higher and higher, the weight of it tugging deliciously with every inch. The coil reached the rim of the bowl, kept climbing, and began piling on top of the seat itself.
Argus’s voice was hushed with something close to awe.
“Warning: you are approaching maximum bowl capacity.”
Mia laughed through her moans, tears of effort and joy pricking at the corners of her eyes.
“And? Come on, Argus, that’s pretty normal for me,” she panted, a crude smile splitting her face.
The turd kept coming, coiling on top of the seat like a soft-serve mountain, rising higher and higher until the tip was inches from her still-spread ass.
Finally, with one last wet pop, the inhuman log came to an end.
Mia stayed squatting for a second, admiring the impossible coiled monument that nearly brushed her cheeks again.
“Phew. That’s a fucking huge bitch.”
She straightened up slowly, legs trembling, and glanced back at the tower of doom.
“Argus… stats?”
“Final log: sixteen meters in length, average diameter thirty-five centimeters. Total volume displaced: approximately 1,540 liters. Congratulations, Miss Mia.”
Mia burst out laughing, wiping sweat from her brow.
“That’s awesome. I could’ve gone waaay longer. Maybe tomorrow.”
She pressed the cleansing panel. Warm water jets and soft air blades kissed her clean in seconds, followed by a cool mist of peppermint and aloe that made her shiver with delight.
Then she sat back down properly and relaxed.
A five-minute torrent of pee followed (strong, golden, hissing like a firehose into the mountain she’d just created). When the last drop fell, the seat gave her one final warm kiss of air, and she stood.
Clean, lighter by what felt like twenty pounds, and smelling faintly of glacier mint instead of genocide, Mia strutted back into the bedroom, belly flat and satisfied, hips swaying with the swagger of a girl who had just started the day by casually rewriting the laws of biology.
She spotted the crumpled black cotton panties lying in a tragic heap on the marble. Curiosity (or masochism) made her pick them up with two fingers, bring them to her nose, and inhale.
The reaction was instant.
Her entire body recoiled like she’d sniffed pure plutonium.
“Holy fuck!” she wheezed, laughing so hard she nearly fell over. “These are done. Like, legally dead. They smell like a chemical spill in a chili factory that’s been dead for a thousand years.”
She flung them across the room. The auto-laundry chute opened like a hungry mouth, snatched them mid-air with a soft magnetic tug, and whisked them away for what would probably be a three-day decontamination cycle.
Mia padded to the dresser, hips swaying with the lazy confidence of someone who had just rewritten biology. She selected fresh panties (soft dove-grey boyshorts printed with tiny cartoon avocados that read “Nice Cheeks” in pink cursive), slid them up her legs, and gave the waistband a satisfied snap.
Then she headed downstairs.
Halfway down the grand staircase she opened her throat and let the morning salute fly.
BUUUUUUUUUUUURPOOOOOOOORPBUUUUUUUUUUUURPOOOOOOOORPBUUUUUUUUUUUURPOOOOOOOORPBUUUUUUUUUUUURPOOOOOOOORP
The burp rolled through the atrium like a tuba solo from hell, deep enough to rattle the crystals on the chandelier. She followed it with a nasty, wet fart that slithered out of her like a living thing.
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She fanned the air behind her with theatrical flair.
“Argus. Tell me we still have coffee that isn’t terrified of me.”
“Ethiopian Yirgacheffe, freshly ground forty-one seconds ago, Miss Mia. Temperature 94 °C. Waiting in the kitchen, along with oat milk and a shot of courage.”
Mia grinned and sauntered into the kitchen just as the front doors slid open with a hiss.
Victoria strode in like a goddess who’d just finished conquering the mortal realm for cardio. Black sports bra soaked with sweat, tiny charcoal running shorts that barely qualified as clothing, skin glistening like polished bronze, ponytail flicking like a battle standard. The second she crossed the threshold a thirty-minute SBD finally sighed to a stop.
“Good morning, my beautiful city-killer,” she sang, voice bright and lethal.
BUUUUUUUUUUUURPOOOOOOOORPBUUUUUUUUUUUURPOOOOOOOORP
Mia answered with a greeting belch that could have peeled paint.
“How was the run?”
“Gloriously sunny. Birds are screaming, deer are fleeing, and I’ve been silently crop-dusting the entire ridge trail for the last thirty minutes. I feel fantastic.”
She inhaled dramatically, nostrils flaring. “God, I reek. Haven’t taken the morning dump yet; saving the best for home.”
Mia wrinkled her nose, waving a hand. “Yeah, I can smell you from here. I just dropped sixteen meters of pure evil upstairs. It felt like giving birth to a redwood. Wonderful.”
Victoria’s eyes sparkled with maternal pride.
“That’s my girl. Give me thirty-five minutes to change, annihilate a toilet, and then we’re hitting the supermarket. This house is a food desert.”
She casually hiked one long, tanned leg onto the kitchen island like a ballerina at barre, angled her hips, and unleashed a casual three-minute demon straight into the open air.
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The stench hit like a biochemical weapon. Mia stumbled back, coughing and laughing, waving both hands frantically.
“Mom! Boundaries! Airspace violation!”
Victoria just winked, already jogging up the stairs.
“Love you too, baby! See you in thirty-five!”
Mia grabbed her coffee (black, scalding, perfect) and retreated to the upper lounge to wait. She knew from long, traumatic experience that “thirty-five minutes” in Whitmore-speak meant “anywhere between thirty-five and fifty when morning dumps and industrial-grade flatulence were involved.”
Thirty-seven minutes later the entire mansion was still gently vibrating from the twin apocalypses happening in two separate bathrooms (deep, rhythmic booms, the occasional muffled moan of relief, and the faint whine of Argus’s waste-disposal matrix working overtime).
Finally Victoria appeared looking impossibly fresh: high-waisted white jeans that hugged every lethal curve, cropped lavender hoodie, hair in a high ponytail, sunglasses perched in her hair like a crown.
“Ready, destroyer?”
“Born ready.”
They descended into the underground garage, heels clicking on polished concrete. The fleet waited in perfect rows (Bugatti, Lamborghini, G-Wagon, the Sprinter), but today Victoria tapped the fob for the Rolls-Royce Phantom: matte-black, privacy glass darker than a black hole, interior scented with oud, leather, and subtle menace.
The gull-wing doors rose like a bird of prey spreading its wings. They slid into the back seat, legs stretching across the starlight headliner that shimmered like the Milky Way.
“Argus,” Victoria said, sipping from a fresh travel mug, “Whole Foods run. Autopilot, maximum privacy mode. And for the love of God, keep the windows sealed; we’re both still weapons-grade.”
The Phantom purred to life, glided silently up the ramp, and whispered out of the estate, Argus at the invisible wheel. In the rear-view reflection the two most dangerous women on the West Coast sat side by side, sipping coffee, sunglasses on, already plotting which aisles to clear first with their mere presence.
Argus eased the Phantom into a spot right in front of the sliding glass doors, the matte-black behemoth looking like a stealth bomber that had accidentally landed among minivans and Priuses. The gull-wing doors lifted with a soft hydraulic sigh, and the two most dangerous women in Northern California stepped out into the bright morning sun. Mia immediately pinched her nose and fanned the air in front of her face with theatrical disgust.
“Mom, I’m serious, that fart was a war crime. I think my sinuses are permanently scarred.”
Victoria threw her head back and laughed, the sound bright and unapologetic, ponytail flicking like a victory banner. “Please, baby, yours was tremendous. You’re officially gassier than I was at your age, and that’s genuinely terrifying. I’m so proud I could cry.”
They each seized an oversized cart and rolled into Whole Foods like beautiful invading armies, sunglasses on, hips swaying, carts already rattling with intent.
Victoria snapped her fingers. “Divide and conquer. I’ll take fruits, vegetables, carbs, bread, grains, everything that turns us into walking biochemical weapons. You handle meat, dairy, and anything that screams ‘heart attack and happiness.’ Go.”
They split like special forces.
Victoria’s cart became a biochemical arsenal within minutes. She swept through produce like a hurricane: towering pyramids of broccoli, cauliflower, cabbage, asparagus, onions, garlic, every color of bell pepper plus the spicy ones that made the employees sweat just looking at them, celery, carrots, tomatoes, potatoes, sweet potatoes, canned corn by the case, spinach, lettuce, mushrooms. Fruits followed in obscene quantities: bananas by the bunch, apples, oranges, mandarins, strawberries, blueberries, grapes, avocados stacked like green grenades, lemons and limes rolling everywhere. Then carbs: ten-kilograms sacks of basmati rice, every imaginable pasta shape, tortillas, fresh sourdough loaves, bagels, quinoa in bulk. Her cart was a ticking time bomb of future destruction.
Mia’s cart, meanwhile, looked like a carnivore’s fever dream and a dairy farmer’s retirement fund. She hit the butcher counter hard: trays of lean and regular ground beef, chicken breasts and thighs by the dozen, thick-cut bacon stacked like bricks, Italian sausages, chorizo, extra-spicy links, eggs in cartons towering dangerously high. Dairy aisle next: gallons of whole milk, blocks of cheddar, mozzarella, parmesan, tubs of sour cream, Greek yogurt, flavored yogurts, butter, cream cheese. Then the pantry raid: cereals, jam, six industrial-sized jars of peanut butter, four giant Nutella, olive oil, salt, black pepper, chili flakes, garlic powder, curry, turmeric, cumin, smoked paprika, oregano, and an entire basket of hot sauces ranging from “mildly concerning” to “probably illegal in three states.”
They met again in the spice aisle like two generals comparing war spoils, carts so full the wheels groaned in protest.
Mia leaned on her handle, cheeks puffed out. “Mom, I need to fart. Like, right now. It’s knocking.”
Victoria didn’t even blink. “Let it rip, baby. I’ve been pushing the nastiest SBDs for the last ten minutes. This aisle already belongs to us.”
Mia angled her hips and unleashed.
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A minute-long silent killer rolled out, thick, wet, and completely demonic. The stench detonated like a stink bomb in a sewer. Nearby shoppers froze mid-reach. A guy reaching for cumin dropped his entire basket and staggered backward, eyes watering. A small child began wailing. An elderly woman clutched her pearls and speed-walked away.
The Whitmores just smiled serenely, angels in yoga wear and devastation.
Victoria patted Mia’s shoulder. “Got everything?”
Mia glanced at the two overflowing carts and laughed. “We basically bought the entire store. Twice.”
Checkout time.
They rolled up to the only open lane, carts forming a small mountain range of groceries. Victoria started loading the belt with practiced efficiency while Mia stood behind trying (and failing) to look innocent.
Victoria opened her mouth to say, “I’ll pay,” but what came out instead was:
BUUUUUUUUUUUURP
A monstrous, six-second belch that echoed off the high ceilings like a tuba solo from the deepest circle of hell.
She slapped both manicured hands over her mouth, eyes wide in perfect, utterly fake innocence. “Oh my goodness, excuse me, everyone! Something I ate is really upsetting my stomach.”
The cashier, the bagger, the three people in line, the toddler on his mother’s hip—every single soul in a twenty-foot radius turned and stared in open-mouthed horror at the stunning, elegant woman in lavender who had just produced a noise that belonged in a locker room after taco night.
Mia was doubled over her cart, wheezing silently, tears streaming down her cheeks, shoulders shaking so hard the cart rattled.
Victoria finished tapping her card with a sweet, angelic smile, grabbed the receipt like nothing happened, and the second they were outside she burst out laughing, the sound echoing across the parking lot.
“I should’ve gone bigger. Ten, maybe twelve seconds. Really made them remember us.”
Mia wiped her eyes, still giggling. “Their faces! I think the cashier’s soul actually left his body and ascended.”
“That was nothing,” Victoria said, waving a dismissive hand, sunglasses flashing in the sun.
Mia took a dramatic inhale, squared her shoulders, and answered with everything she had.
BUUUUUUUUUUUURPOOOOOOOORP
Louder, longer, wetter, a full fifteen-second monster that rolled across the parking lot like a sonic boom of pure chaos. People loading groceries froze. A Prius alarm went off three rows away. A seagull literally fell off a light pole and flapped away in terror.
Mia grinned like a demon who’d just won the lottery. “Yeah. Now that’s how we scare them.”
They loaded the trunk in record time (Argus had already popped it open and extended the cargo ramps). Bags disappeared into the cavernous space like offerings to a very hungry god.
They slid back into the cool, oud-scented cocoon of the back seat, doors closing with a soft, final thunk.
“Argus,” Victoria said, still giggling, dabbing at her eyes with a manicured finger, “take us home. Maximum privacy mode. And maybe crack the sunroof half an inch we’re still a little… ripe.”
The Phantom purred to life, glided silently out of the parking lot, and whispered toward the hills, leaving behind a grocery store full of traumatized civilians, one very confused toddler asking his mom if thunder could come out of pretty ladies, and an entire parking lot that now smelled faintly of victory and chili flakes.
The Phantom whispered up the driveway and slid into the garage like a panther returning to its den. The doors lifted, and the girls stepped out into the cool, dimly lit space. The moment Victoria’s feet touched the concrete she angled her hips slightly and began a low, continuous hiss of pure evil (soft enough that she could still talk, but steady enough to make the air shimmer).
“Grab the light bags first, baby,” she said casually, voice perfectly normal while a low river of death poured out of her. “I’ll take the heavy ones.”
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Mia laughed, already hauling grocery bags. “You’re already starting? God, Mom, you’re insatiable.”
They made trip after trip, arms loaded, the trunk slowly emptying. Victoria never stopped the entire walk from garage to kitchen; she kept the fart flowing like a toxic soundtrack only they could hear.
bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbppppppppppppppppppprrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmpppppppppppppppffffffffffffffffffttttttttttttttttttttbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbppppppppppppppppppprrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmpppppppppppppppffffffffffffffffffttttttttttttttttttttbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbppppppppppppppppppprrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmpppppppppppppppfffffffffffffffffftttttttttttttttttttt…..
In the kitchen they attacked the mountain of groceries with military precision. Bags exploded across every surface: broccoli, cauliflower, beans, cabbage, onions, garlic, entire battalions of peppers, fruits stacked like ammunition, rice, pasta, tortillas, kilos of chicken, bricks of cheese, jars of peanut butter the size of Mia’s head. They bought enough food to survive a zombie apocalypse or cause one.
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Victoria moved to the island sink to rinse the vegetables. She bent slightly at the waist, hips tilted, and finally let the volume climb.
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The release detonated from whisper to full roar in half a heartbeat. The entire mansion shuddered, windows rattled in their frames, the chandelier danced, a wine glass on the counter slid an inch and stopped. The stench hit like a sulfur bomb detonated in a gym locker left to rot for a century.
Victoria straightened slowly, eyes half-lidded in bliss.
“Aaah… that was a good one.”
Mia, stacking yogurts in the sub-zero fridge, dropped to her knees without hesitation, crawled over, and shoved her face a respectful six inches from her mother’s still-steaming backside. She inhaled theatrically, eyes watering, then popped back up with a devilish grin.
“Hehe. Powerful and smelly. Ten out of ten, Mommy. I felt that in my soul.”
They finished unpacking (every cupboard, drawer, fridge, and pantry now stuffed to absolute capacity), then migrated to the living room like two very satisfied apex predators returning to their den.
“Argus, put the TV on please. Local news,” Victoria called, flopping onto the sectional, legs thrown over the armrest.
The massive screen bloomed to life. The anchor looked appropriately grave.
“…officials remain baffled by yesterday’s unexplained 7.3 magnitude event centered in the hills north of Palo Alto. Seismographs registered two distinct pressure waves, and dozens of witnesses reported seeing twin mushroom clouds rising hundreds of meters above the redwood canopy. Authorities are investigating possible secret military testing, though the Pentagon has issued a strong denial…”
Shaky phone footage filled the screen: two glowing amber-green clouds towering over the forest, lightning flickering inside them like a storm from hell.
Victoria and Mia looked at each other and lost it completely.
“That wasn’t even our biggest one yesterday,” Mia wheezed, clutching her stomach.
Victoria wiped tears of laughter from her eyes. “Amateurs. We were literally just warming up.”
She was mid-sentence when her nostrils flared. A wave of pure, concentrated death rolled over her (rotting corpses, boiled eggs, and a hint of last night’s Inferno Deluxe, now aged to perfection).
Victoria’s eyes widened. She turned slowly to her daughter.
Mia just smiled, innocent as a poisoned cherub, cheeks slightly puffed.
“Took you long enough, Mommy,” she said sweetly. “I’ve been pushing this nasty little baby for the last five minutes or so.”
Then she bore down.
The SBD became a full, house-shaking roar.
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The couch vibrated so hard the cushions bounced. The screen flickered. Somewhere upstairs a painting tilted on its wire. When it finally ended, Mia collapsed sideways with a long, filthy moan of relief, eyes rolled back in bliss.
They spent the next hour sprawled across the sectional (feet up, occasional wet burps and lazy farts punctuating the commentary as the news replayed the same terrified eyewitness interviews on loop).
Eventually Mia’s stomach let out a growl that sounded suspiciously like a blue whale demanding tribute.
“I’m starving.”
Victoria was already standing. “Creamy chicken-mushroom pasta.”
“Oh yeah that sounds delicious.”
They flowed into the kitchen like a well-oiled machine of destruction and culinary genius.
Ingredients appeared in perfect order: three kilos of chicken, three kilos of pasta, an ocean of cream, mountains of mushrooms, entire bulbs of garlic, bricks of parmesan. Victoria sliced chicken with surgical precision while Mia cleaned and chopped mushrooms the size of saucers. Water boiled in the largest pot they owned, pans sizzled, garlic hit hot butter and perfumed the entire floor.
They worked in perfect sync (Victoria seasoning, Mia tasting, both burping and farting in casual counterpoint). Cream poured in a slow, glorious cascade, parmesan melted into velvet, pasta folded into the glossy sauce until every strand gleamed like it had been dipped in gold.
They planted two absolute mountains that could have fed a small village and carried them to the island, sitting side by side on the stools like two very satisfied apex predators about to devour their kill.
Victoria twirled a forkful the size of a softball.
“Bon appétit, baby girl.”
Mia was already chewing, eyes half-closed in bliss.
“God mom, these are delicious.”
They clinked forks and dug in, the kitchen already beginning to fill with the gentle, promising rumble of things to come.
The kitchen island was a graveyard of empty plates, two forks lying surrendered in a sea of creamy sauce. The girls ate like wolves who’d been starved for a week (heads down, elbows out, occasional happy grunts, the wet sound of pasta being inhaled, and the constant bass note of satisfied burps).
Mia finally pushed her plate away, licked parmesan from her thumb, and stood.
“Sparkling water? I’m about to float away here.”
Victoria nodded, mouth full. “Yes please, baby. Extra cold.”
Mia padded to the sub-zero, hips swaying, and as she bent to grab two frosted bottles she let one rip.
BUUUUUUUUUUUURPOOOOOOOORP
The burp echoed off the marble like a cannon shot. She straightened, bottles in hand, grinning like a devil.
“So, Mom… serious question. What was your biggest fart ever?”
Victoria chewed thoughtfully, swallowed, cracked open her San Pellegrino, took a long, dramatic sip… and then answered with a thirty-second monster that started low and wet and climbed into a roaring crescendo that rattled the empty plates.
BUUUUUUUUUUUURPOOOOOOOORPBUUUUUUUUUUUURPOOOOOOOORP
She sighed, wiped her lips delicately with a napkin, and leaned back.
“Biggest or longest? The biggest was when I was pregnant with you, no contest.”
Mia’s fork froze halfway to her mouth. “Wait… pregnant with me?”
Victoria’s eyes went distant with fond, terrifying memories.
“When we’re pregnant, our gas literally multiplies by a hundred. Every burp, every fart was a nuclear weapon. I had to restrain myself constantly, and even then they were obscene, catastrophic, city-clearing events. Your father took me to his restaurant, and I cleared the entire menu eight times over. They would’ve kicked us out if he wasn’t the boss.”
Mia snorted, then ripped a quick fart of her own.
PPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTT
Victoria didn’t even flinch, just leaned slightly and answered with a bassy blast.
BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT
“In the car on the way home,” she continued, “I was already ripping earth-shakers. Argus had every filter on max and it still wasn’t enough. Your poor father who could already withstand anything I throw at him, was turning green, eyes watering, begging me to roll the windows down. I told him to drive as far from civilization as possible. We both knew it wouldn’t matter.”
She paused for effect, sipping again.
“I got out in the middle of absolute nowhere, planted my feet, and let go. That single fart (my biggest ever) is the reason for The Shattering.”
Mia’s jaw actually dropped. She set her fork down with a clink.
“No way… the 2025 Shattering? The 13.2 event that triggered the global shockwave, destabilized the volcanic arc, and was officially explained as a ‘multi-plate cascade rupture’? That was because of you?!”
Victoria smiled serenely, like a proud parent at graduation.
“Twenty minutes for the main event. Then I kept ripping similar ones for three straight hours because the pressure just wouldn’t stop. Now the Longest single continuous fart, though? Two hours and fifty minutes. That was after I already had you and your sister. I just… collected everything for a day and let it all out in one go. Best feeling of my entire life.”
She punctuated the story with a casual, wet burp that fogged the kitchen windows.
BUUUUUUUUUUUURPOOOOOOOORPBUUUUUUUUUUUURPOOOOOOOORP
Mia screamed, eyes wide, hands in her hair. “Two hours and fifty minutes?! That’s insane! My record is one hour twenty two! How is that even possible?!”
Victoria shrugged like it was nothing. “Practice. Hormones. Spite. And an entire day of broccoli and beans.”
Mia shook her head, awestruck. “I don’t think I’ll ever top that. Like… ever.”
Victoria reached across the island and cupped Mia’s cheek, deadly serious.
“Stop right there, baby girl. You absolutely will. And you’ll surpass me by miles. At your age your farts are already insane. I’ve never heard raw power like yours, not from me, not from Grandma Esther, not from anyone. Last year your ‘Nuke’ was almost as strong as my Shattering. Trust me, sweety, your levels are going to be apocalyptic. You’re going to make history books blush.”
Mia’s eyes shimmered with pride and mischief. She leaned sideways and answered with a long, proud blast that shook the stools beneath them.
BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT
“Thank you, Mommy. I love you.”
Victoria pulled her into a quick, fierce hug. “Love you more, my little world-ender.”
They finished eating in contented silence, plates scraped clean. When they stood to clear the table, Mia was still shaking her head in disbelief.
“I’m never getting over the fact that you literally rewrote geography because you ate too much food.”
Victoria grinned, stacking dishes like trophies.
“We are weapons of mass destruction, baby girl. And honestly? That’s the best damn thing about us.”
She punctuated it with a final, satisfied burp that rattled the empty bottles.
BUUUUUUUUUUUURPOOOOOOOORPBUUUUUUUUUUUURPOOOOOOOORP
And somewhere in the walls, Argus quietly updated the family record book with a new entry:
“Note to self: begin designing Titan Mode Mk III – continental defense grade.”
The plates were scraped clean, the kitchen already beginning to hum with the low promise of what three kilos of creamy pasta would soon become. Victoria stretched like a satisfied cat, grabbed two large Greek yogurts from the fridge, and tossed one to Mia.
“The sun's perfect. Deck chairs. Now.”
They padded outside in bare feet, spoons in hand, yogurts balanced on their stomachs as they flopped onto the oversized loungers by the infinity pool. The late-morning sun poured over them like warm honey, the hills shimmering in the heat.
Mia scooped a spoonful, licked it clean, then rolled onto her side to face her mother.
“Okay, I know I’m obsessed, but… why is GHD only a girl thing? Everyone I’ve ever known who can do what we do is a girl. Do guys just… not get it?”
Victoria lowered her sunglasses, eyes soft but serious. She placed a gentle hand on her own toned stomach.
“It’s not just a girl thing, baby. It’s a very specific, very female thing.”
She sat up a little, voice shifting into the calm, precise tone she used when she was teaching something sacred.
“Inside us,” she said, pressing her palm a little harder against her belly, “there’s a receptor called ER-G4. Almost no woman on Earth has it active. I do. You do. Your future daughters will. It’s a mutated estrogen-linked regulator that hijacks digestion and turns fermentation into a superpower. When normal women eat broccoli, they get a little bloated. When we eat broccoli… well, you’ve seen the news.”
Mia laughed, but kept listening, wide-eyed.
Victoria continued. “Everyone produces methane and hydrogen sulfide. In us, those gases hit the ER-G4 receptor and trigger a chain reaction. We convert them into hyper-compressed clathrate clusters (tiny cages of gas that store a thousand times more volume than physics says they should). That only happens with the enzymes tied to the XX chromosome. Men can’t trigger the cascade. They physically cannot.”
She took a slow breath, enjoying the sun on her skin.
“Then there’s the pelvic resonance effect,” she said, almost reverently. “Our pelvic anatomy is naturally curved in a way that creates a resonance chamber. In most women it does nothing. In us? Every pulse of pressure bounces and amplifies. That’s why one of our farts can shake a house… or level a county.”
Mia’s spoon had stopped moving. She was staring at her mother like she was hearing the origin story of a goddess.
“And the final key,” Victoria finished, voice soft, “is the mt-GAS21 mutation. It lives in the mitochondrial DNA (passed only from mother to daughter). That’s why no man can ever have true GHD. The mutation, the receptor, the enzyme cascade, the resonance chamber… Every single piece requires female biology. You inherited the complete set. I inherited it from my mother. She got it from hers. It’s our legacy.”
Mia sat up fully now, yogurt forgotten.
“So only girls can get the mutation… only girls can activate all the things that make it this extreme?”
“Exactly,” Victoria confirmed. “Mitochondria comes from Mom. ER-G4 only wakes up under female hormones. The gasotransmitter cascade needs XX enzymes. The resonance chamber only exists in our pelvis. Every single domino has to be female.”
Mia blinked. “And Dad figured all this out… how?”
Victoria’s smile turned wicked.
“Years of very thorough research. Blood tests, hormone panels, pressure readings, resonance scans… and, well, a lot of very controlled and sometimes not-so-controlled farting and burping sessions. Different diets, positions, volumes. Your father is a scientist… and a little bit of a pervert, if I’m honest. He loved every experiment.”
Mia burst out laughing, cheeks pink. “Oh my god, I knew it.”
Victoria grinned. “He still has the data. Terabytes of it.”
Mia leaned back, staring at the sky. “So… are we the only ones? Like, in the whole world?”
Victoria shook her head. “We’re probably the strongest line, but not the only one. Your father synthesized the genetic marker and found scattered matches (a few thousands of women across the planet). Some know what they have. Most don’t. They just think they’re unusually gassy.”
Mia’s eyes sparkled. “That’s so cool. Imagine finding other girls like us. A secret club for walking WMDs.”
Victoria laughed. “I would pay good money to watch that support group.”
Mia bit her lip. “Is GHD, like… a secret? Does anyone else even know it exists?”
Victoria’s smile faded into something more serious. She lowered her voice, even though they were alone on a thousand-acre estate.
“The public has no idea. But governments? Oh, they know. They’ve known since your grandma accidentally took out half of France’s South east in 1997. Our family has quiet agreements (cover-ups, satellite blackouts, the occasional fake earthquake report). Without their help, we’d have been exposed decades ago.”
Mia’s jaw dropped. “So we’re basically… secret agents? Superheroes who have to be contained because our asses could end civilization?”
Victoria reached over and booped her daughter’s nose.
“Exactly, baby girl. We’re the most powerful weapons on Earth… and we come with a lifetime supply of yogurt and daddy issues.”
They both dissolved into helpless laughter, the kind that only two women who could accidentally trigger Armageddon with a bad lunch could truly understand.
The sun climbed higher, turning the pool into a mirror of pure gold. The only sounds were the soft clink of yogurt spoons and the occasional lazy burp drifting across the deck chairs like summer breeze.
Mia licked the last of the honey off her spoon, set the empty container aside, and rolled onto her stomach, chin propped on her folded arms.
“I can’t believe I never asked more about this stuff,” she said, voice soft with wonder. “I just… accepted it. But why does it get worse when I’m happy? Or when I’m upset? Like, my emotions are literally controlling my ass.”
Victoria lowered her sunglasses again, the teacher-voice returning (gentle, precise, proud).
“Because GHD isn’t just in your gut, baby. It’s in your blood, your hormones, your nerves. Emotions affect every system in the body, but for us the feedback loop is dialed to eleven.”
She stretched, abs flexing under the sun.
“When you’re happy (laughing, relaxed, dopamine and serotonin flooding your system), your digestion speeds up. The bacteria in our gut go into overdrive. More food gets fermented faster, more gas gets produced, and the ER-G4 receptor wakes up like it’s been invited to a rave. That’s why a good laugh can turn into a ten-minute bass solo.”
Mia nodded slowly. “Okay… but sadness is the opposite, right? When I’m sad I barely fart at all… until suddenly I do and it’s terrifying.”
Victoria’s expression softened. She reached over and brushed a strand of hair from Mia’s face.
“Sadness slows everything down (heart rate, digestion, even breathing). But the disorder doesn’t stop. The gas just accumulates very, very slowly… and it gets denser. More compressed. When it finally decides to come out, it’s like uncorking a bottle that’s been shaken for months. Quiet for days, then one release that rattles the windows. In theory, the deepest, strongest farts come from the saddest moments.”
Mia swallowed. “Good to know.”
Victoria chuckled, then grew serious again.
“Anger is the scariest one,” she continued. “Anger floods you with adrenaline. That hormone makes every muscle contract harder (including the ones around your pelvic resonance chamber). The vibration frequency spikes. Gas compresses more violently. When you finally let go, the force is… well, you’ve seen what happens when we fight.”
Mia winced, remembering the time she’d slammed a door and accidentally cracked the foundation of the east wing.
“And love?” she asked, quieter now, cheeks pink. “Why does everything feel so… intense when I’m with someone I really like?”
Victoria’s smile turned warm and knowing.
“Love and affection release oxytocin (the bonding hormone). It lowers every threshold in our body, including the one that keeps the pressure sealed. You become more sensitive (emotionally and physically). A tiny flutter of gas that you’d normally ignore suddenly feels huge, urgent, electric. That’s why episodes can slip out so easily around someone you care about.”
Mia burst out laughing, hiding her face in her hands.
“Hehe every single boyfriend I’ve ever had has passed out cold at least once!”
Victoria threw her head back and cackled. “Orgasmic farts are on another level, baby. The oxytocin spike plus the pelvic contractions? Unbelievable force. Your father still brags about the time I knocked him unconscious for a whole day. Woke up smiling like he’d been to heaven.”
Mia shrieked, covering her ears. “Mom! I do not need that visual!”
Victoria reached over and ruffled her hair. “Oh, come on. It’s natural. And one day you’ll understand exactly why he still calls it the best night of his life.”
Mia peeked through her fingers, cheeks flaming, but a shy little smile crept across her face.
“I hope so,” she whispered once more, voice soft and dreamy. Then she grinned, sharp and proud. “Okay, emotions mess with everything… but thanks to you, I can actually control them now. Like, really control them.”
She didn’t wait for permission.
She drew a slow breath, abs flexing, and unleashed a long, rolling bomb that started low and climbed into a snarling roar.
BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT
The sound ricocheted off the hills, scattering birds from the trees. The pool water rippled in perfect circles.
“See?” she said casually, as if she hadn’t just announced her presence to three counties. “Deep one.”
BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT
Another breath, a slight shift of her hips, and a heavier, wetter blast thundered out (lower, richer, vibrating the deck chairs beneath them).
BBPRMPFFTBBPPPPRMMMPFFT
“Quick earth-shaker.”
Then she smirked, closed her eyes, and let the real demonstration begin.
“And then… there’s the longer releases.”
She bore down.
BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT
The first note was soft, almost polite… then it swelled into a five-minute continuous monster that shook the entire estate. The deck trembled. The infinity pool sloshed violently, sending waves over the edge. Lounge chairs scooted backward on their own. Somewhere inside the house, glassware chimed like alarm bells.
Victoria watched with the serene pride of a master watching her apprentice surpass the lesson.
When the final echo finally died, Mia opened one eye and grinned.
Victoria slow-clapped. “Show-off.”
Mia stuck out her tongue.
“You taught me,” she said. “Complete control. I can start, stop, shape, aim… most of the time.”
Victoria’s smile turned a shade more serious. “Most of the time is the key phrase.”
She sat up straighter, placed both feet flat on the warm teak, and without any visible effort began a deep, low, perfectly controlled growl (barely audible, but so bassy the deck boards vibrated under their bodies).
bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbppppppppppppppppppprrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmpppppppppppppppffffffffffffffffffttttttttttttttttttttbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbppppppppppppppppppprrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmpppppppppppppppfffffffffffffffffftttttttttttttttttttt…..
“Control is everything,” she said, voice perfectly level while the low rumble continued beneath her words. “You decide the volume, the pitch, the duration…”
bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbppppppppppppppppppprrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmpppppppppppppppffffffffffffffffffttttttttttttttttttttbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbppppppppppppppppppprrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmpppppppppppppppfffffffffffffffffftttttttttttttttttttt…..
Mia rolled her eyes affectionately. “Mom, I know this lecture—”
Victoria ignored her, eyes narrowing in concentration.
“But the second emotion slips in (anger, love, sadness, joy), the control can slip.”
bbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbppppppppppppppppppprrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmpppppppppppppppffffffffffffffffffttttttttttttttttttttbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbbppppppppppppppppppprrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmpppppppppppppppfffffffffffffffffftttttttttttttttttttt…..
As she spoke, the growl deepened… then began to climb.
“If you start losing it…”
The sound grew, widened, thickened. The pool began to tremble again. A deck umbrella toppled.
BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT…..
“…you can endanger everyone around you.”
The fart detonated into a full apocalyptic roar.
BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT…..
Mia couldn’t hear her mother anymore; the bass swallowed every other sound. The deck shook so hard the lounge chairs slid backward. The hills echoed. Three minutes of pure, escalating destruction (the water in the pool formed standing waves, the glass railing vibrated like it might shatter).
BBBBBBBBBBBBBBssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss
Then, just as smoothly as she’d lost it, Victoria reeled the monster back in. The roar collapsed into a growl, then into a deep, wet purr, and finally into a silent, deadly SBD that she let drift for one more minute before cutting it off with surgical precision.
Silence fell, broken only by the soft splash of displaced pool water settling.
Victoria turned to her daughter, calm as ever.
“You get it?”
Mia, hair slightly windswept, nodded with a sheepish grin.
“Yes, Mom. Don’t worry. I do.”
Victoria reached over and flicked Mia’s forehead gently.
“Good. Because one day you’re going to love someone so hard you forget your own name… and I want you to remember how to keep the planet in one piece while you do it.”
Mia laughed, flopped back, and let out a tiny, perfectly controlled five-second bubble of agreement.
The sun had climbed high enough to turn the deck into a skillet. Victoria stretched like a cat, yawned, and stood.
“I’m going to take a little nap before round two starts brewing,” she announced, already padding toward the house. “Wake me if the house starts floating.”
Mia grinned. “Will do. I’m changing into a bikini and living in the pool for the next few hours.”
Victoria disappeared inside with a lazy wave.
Mia jogged upstairs, swapped the boyshorts and oversized tee for a crimson string bikini that barely qualified as clothing, and bounced back down. As she hit the pool deck she called out, “Argus, hit me with the summer playlist. Volume eight.”
A smooth, bass-heavy beat rolled out of the hidden speakers (R&B mixed with Latin trap, exactly the vibe she wanted). She dove in with a clean slice, surfaced laughing, and floated on her back, hair fanning out like ink.
Twenty minutes of lazy laps, flips, and just drifting later, she hauled herself out, water cascading off her skin. The second her feet hit the warm teak she threw her head back and let go.
BUUUUUUUUUUUURPOOOOOOOORPBUUUUUUUUUUUURPOOOOOOOORP
The burp echoed off the hills so loud a flock of birds exploded out of a nearby oak.
She flopped onto the lounger, adjusted the backrest, and grabbed her phone.
“Call Olivia.”
The ringtone barely finished one bar before Olivia picked up, practically screaming.
“MIA! Tomorrow! I’m literally dying!”
Mia laughed, settling sunglasses on her nose. “Same! What time do you land?”
“Flight gets in at 1:17, so I’ll be at the new place by 2-ish. Are you still good to hang ouT?”
“100%. Want me to come early and help with boxes?”
“Nah, my parents are flying in with me, so we’ve got the heavy lifting covered. But I cannot wait to see you.”
They fell into easy chatter (new apartment gossip, which clubs were worth hitting, the usual). Ten minutes in, Mia’s cheeks puffed slightly.
“Hold up one sec,” she said sweetly.
She rolled onto one hip, lifted a leg, and unleashed absolute hell.
BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT
A solid sixty-second monster that sent visible ripples across the pool and made the deck chairs vibrate.
On the other end of the line there was total silence… then a shriek.
“WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT?!”
Mia lowered her leg, fanning the air with a grin. “That one was extra bad. Sorry, not sorry.”
Olivia was wheezing with laughter. “Jesus Christ, warn a girl! I thought a jet just took off in your backyard!”
They talked for another hour (plans, gossip, the usual chaos), until Olivia finally had to go pack the last of her stuff.
“See you tomorrow, you human natural disaster,” she teased.
“Counting the hours,” Mia shot back.
Call ended.
Mia stretched, hiked one leg high onto the backrest like a cannon, and decided the day deserved an encore.
BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT
The release rolled on and on (two hundred and forty seconds of pure, earth-shaking thunder). Water sloshed over the pool edge. A lounge cushion scooted six inches.
Somewhere inside the house a picture frame tilted.
When it finally tapered off, Mia dropped her leg, inhaled dramatically, and immediately grimaced.
“Fucking hell, it reeks. Like death ate a bean burrito and died again.”
She cackled, grabbed her phone, opened TikTok, and scrolled away like a queen on her throne, legs spread, sun on her skin, and the faint greenish haze of victory drifting lazily above the pool.
The sun was starting to dip when Victoria wandered back out, hair messy from her nap, wearing one of Alex’s old Harvard shirts that hung halfway down her thighs.
Mia glanced up from her phone. “Good nap?”
Victoria didn’t even answer. She just bent forward a little, planted her feet, and let one rip.
BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT
The pool water jumped; a deck chair actually scooted. She straightened up, sniffed once, and grimaced.
“Ugh. That one was rank. The nap was perfect, thanks.”
Then she cannonballed straight in.
She surfaced, slicked her hair back, and grinned. “Are you coming or just gonna sit there baking?”
Mia was already on her feet. “Give me two seconds to stop laughing.”
For the next half-hour the pool was pure chaos: cannonballs, races, underwater handstands, splashing wars, and nonstop laughter. Every time one of them surfaced they let out a wet burp or a bubbly fart that sent ripples across the water.
Eventually they floated side by side, arms hooked over noodles, staring at peace.
Mia tilted her head. “What time’s your flight tomorrow?”
“8:35 a.m. Brutally early.”
Mia pouted. “Time’s going too fast. Tomorrow I’ll officially be alone. Like… adult-alone. It’s weird.”
Victoria smiled, soft and nostalgic. “I remember my first year at Harvard? I’d been with your dad for exactly one year. I was eighteen, moving across the country to my dream school, convinced my life was a movie. I was so excited I barely slept for a week.”
Mia smirked. “Well for me the only thing missing is a boyfriend?”
Victoria splashed her. “Oh, hush. You’re at Stanford, you’re gorgeous, and you can burp the national anthem. You’ll have to beat them off with a stick.”
Mia laughed. “I hope they’re cute. I literally spent an hour on the phone with Olivia earlier planning our ‘hot college guy’ strategy.”
Victoria hauled herself out of the water in one smooth motion, stood on the edge, and smacked her belly hard.
BUUUUUUUUUUUURPOOOOOOOORPBUUUUUUUUUUUURPOOOOOOOORP
The burp was so loud it echoed off the house like a gunshot.
“Plus,” she said, grinning down at Mia, “if you burp like this, you’ll definitely get attention.”
Mia’s eyes narrowed in challenge. She sucked in a huge breath, chest swelling, and answered with a deeper, wetter, longer monster.
BUUUUUUUUUUUURPOOOOOOOORPBUUUUUUUUUUUURPOOOOOOOORPBUUUUUUUUUUUURPOOOOOOOORP
Mia finished with a triumphant grin. “Like that? Pretty sure that just scared the entire freshman class away.”
They spent the rest of the day parked on the couch (some trashy reality show on, feet tangled under the same blanket, trading commentary and the occasional casual burp or fart like it was the most normal thing in the world).
Right as the sun disappeared, both their stomachs growled at the exact same time, loud enough to drown out the TV.
Victoria paused the show. “Hungry?”
Mia was already standing. “Starving”
The Caprese salad was obscene: thick slices of heirloom tomatoes still warm from the garden, fresh mozzarella that oozed the second you cut it, basil leaves the size of playing cards, all swimming in cold-pressed olive oil and aged balsamic so thick it stuck to the fork. Next to it sat two family-size bowls of garlic-shrimp pasta (al dente linguine tangled with plump prawns, pools of golden butter, and enough minced garlic to ward off an army of vampires). They carried everything to the coffee table on trays, kicked their feet up on the ottomans, and attacked the food like it had personally offended them.
“Pass the chili oil,” Victoria mumbled around a mouthful of shrimp.
Mia slid the bottle over without looking. “This tomato is so good it’s stupid.”
They ate fast and messy (forks clinking, oil dripping down chins, occasional moans of happiness). Between bites they roasted the people on screen.
“Look at her face right now,” Mia said, pointing with a shrimp tail. “She knows she’s lying and still thinks she’s winning.”
Victoria snorted so hard a little piece of basil shot out of her nose. “She’s been lying since episode two. I’m invested in her downfall.”
Every few minutes one of them would lean, let out a casual wet burp, and keep eating like nothing happened. Little warning farts bubbled out whenever someone reached for more parmesan. The living room slowly filled with the warm, garlicky smell of dinner… and something far more sinister brewing underneath.
When the plates were scraped shiny, Mia flopped sideways, rubbed her bloated stomach, and let the pressure answer for her.
BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT
Three straight minutes of rolling thunder. The glass coffee table scooted an inch. The TV flickered. A decorative vase on the shelf wobbled dangerously.
She waved a hand behind her ass, eyes half-lidded.
“Holy crap, Mom. Dinner was perfect.”
Victoria grinned, set her own plate down, and answered with a deeper, two-minute monster that made the couch bounce.
BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT
They looked at each other, noses wrinkled, and burst out laughing.
“We’re revolting,” Mia wheezed.
“Revoltingly talented,” Victoria corrected.
They carried the plates to the kitchen, came back, and flopped again. Mia stared at the ceiling for a second, then turned with a slowly spreading evil grin.
“Okay, hear me out… we have some time to kill and full stomachs. What if we did a little fart-off? Most individual farts in twenty minutes wins. No mercy, rapid fire, everything counts.”
Victoria’s eyebrows shot up. Then her face broke into the exact same evil grin.
“Baby girl, I thought you’d never ask. Twenty minutes of pure chaos.”
They scrambled into position like it was a UFC weigh-in.
Mia dropped straight into doggy style (knees wide, chest down, ass up, face buried happily in a throw pillow). “This angle is undefeated. Gravity is my co-pilot.”
Victoria lay flat on her back in the middle of the rug, grabbed her own ankles, and pulled her knees to her chest until her butt pointed at the ceiling like a howitzer. “Old-school cannon position. Respect the classics.”
They looked at each other, nodded once, and shouted, “Argus! Official count. Every single fart. Twenty-minute timer. Start on three!”
Victoria counted down, voice already shaking with laughter. “One… two… THREE!”
Instant bedlam.
BPRFFTBPRFFT
BPRFFTBPRFFT
BPRFFTBPRFFT
BPRFFTBPRFFT
BPRFFTBPRFFT
BPRFFTBPRFFT
BPRFFTBPRFFT
BPRFFTBPRFFT
It wasn’t even individual farts anymore; it was a continuous machine-gun barrage. One thunderous blast every single second, sometimes overlapping, sometimes perfectly synced. The living room became a war zone: the coffee table walked itself halfway across the room, picture frames rattled on the walls tilted in unison, the chandelier swung like a pendulum. The air turned thick, hot, and eye-wateringly foul.
BPRFFTBPRFFT
BPRFFTBPRFFT
BPRFFTBPRFFT
BPRFFTBPRFFT
They kept going, faces red from effort and laughter, grunting little encouragement between blasts.
“Come on, old lady, is that all you got?” Mia taunted, then immediately answered her own challenge with a fresh volley.
BPRFFTBPRFFT
BPRFFTBPRFFT
BPRFFTBPRFFT
BPRFFTBPRFFT
Victoria just cackled and doubled her output.
BPRFFTBPRFFT
BPRFFTBPRFFT
BPRFFTBPRFFT
BPRFFTBPRFFT
BPRFFTBPRFFT
BPRFFTBPRFFT
BPRFFTBPRFFT
BPRFFTBPRFFT
At the twenty-minute mark Argus’s calm voice cut through the storm like a referee.
“Time. You may cease.”
They didn’t stop right away; both unleashed one last long, filthy victory roar (a hundred and twenty seconds of pure destruction) before finally collapsing, moaning in relief and triumph.
BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT
BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT
“Stats!” they shouted together, breathless.
“Miss Victoria: one thousand one hundred sixty-nine releases.
Miss Mia: one thousand one hundred seventy-five releases.
Winner, by six farts: Mia.”
Mia shot up onto her knees, arms in the air like a champion boxer. “Let’s goooo! In your face!”
Victoria rolled onto her side, laughing so hard she could barely breathe. “Six farts difference? Rookie numbers. We’ll definitely need a rematch.”
They both took a dramatic, exaggerated inhale of the toxic air and immediately started flapping their hands like they were trapped in a chemical spill.
“Holy God,” Mia gagged, still grinning.
Victoria wiped tears from her eyes. “We just weaponized dinner. This room needs an exorcism.”
They fell against each other, wheezing, proud, and gloriously disgusting, the entire living room now a certified no-fly zone and neither of them caring in the slightest.
The living room was still humming with the aftermath of their twenty-minute war when Victoria finally checked the time and groaned.
“Alright, monster, I’m out. That 8:35 flight is going to murder me if I don’t get at least four hours.”
Mia yawned in agreement. “Same. I’m gonna crash too.”
They stood up at the same time. Victoria opened her arms wide and pulled Mia into a crushing hug (the kind that lifted her daughter an inch off the floor).
“You’re going to kill it this semester, baby,” she whispered into Mia’s hair. “I’m so proud of you it hurts.”
Mia squeezed back just as hard. “I’m gonna miss you so much.”
“We’ll visit. Promise. And Thanksgiving is literally right around the corner.”
Mia laughed against her mom’s shoulder. “Next time don’t wait until the night before you leave to tell me you’re coming. Bring Isabella too. I miss my little tornado sister.”
“Deal,” Victoria said, planting a loud kiss on Mia’s forehead. “Love you more than words.”
“Love you most.”
One last squeeze, one last cheek kiss, and they parted (Victoria heading downstairs to the guest wing, Mia padding barefoot up the levitating staircase).
In her bedroom the door slid shut behind her with a soft hiss.
“Hey, Argus,” Mia said quietly, already peeling off her bikini top. “Night mode, please? Twenty-one degrees, the whole cozy thing.”
The lights melted into warm sunset gold, the ceiling turned into a slow-moving starfield, and cool air breathed across the room. “Perfect, thank you.”
She was halfway into her panties when her stomach cramped hard.
“Oh no… hold on.”
She froze, one leg still in the air.
“Argus, quick question… Can you throw Titan Mode on in here? Like, right now? I’m about to murder your sensors.”
A low hum answered her. The invisible containment field snapped into place.
“Thank you, you’re a lifesaver.”
She dropped the clothes, turned, planted her feet wide, reached back with both hands and spread and spread her cheeks as far as they would go.
BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT…..
The first note was a warning… then the dam completely shattered.
BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT…..
The bed shook. The starfield glitched. Inside the Titan bubble the air turned thick and amber. Mia’s eyes rolled back, knees trembling, one long, filthy moan spilling out of her the entire time.
BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT
When it finally ended she let her cheeks slap together, gave them a proud little jiggle, and exhaled like she’d just come up for air after a year underwater.
“Holy shit, Argus… Thank you. I was not about to wake Mom with that one.”
Argus’s voice was warm and a little amused. “Anytime, Miss Mia. That one was quite impressive.”
Mia laughed breathlessly, finally pulling on her panties and oversized tee. “I’ll take the compliment. You can drop Titan Mode now, I’m good.”
The hum vanished; fresh air rushed back in.
She crawled into bed and flopped face-first into the pillows.
“Hey, Argus? Throw up the big holo-screen for me? Ten feet, headboard. And can you start The Society, season three, episode one? I’m too lazy to find the remote.”
The screen bloomed above the bed like a private cinema. She made it halfway through episode two (eyes getting heavier, voice slowing to mumbles of “no way she did that…”) before her hand slipped off the blanket and her breathing went deep and even.
Argus waited another thirty seconds, then gently killed the projection, let the lights fade to total black, and fine-tuned the mattress one last time so it cradled her perfectly.
“Sweet dreams, Miss Mia,” he whispered to the quiet room.
Outside the window, the California hills slept under the stars, completely unaware that the most dangerous eighteen-year-old on the planet was snoring softly in unicorn panties and plotting tomorrow’s chaos.