By: leopaz1
Next morning Mia woke slowly, the way a dragon stirs in its lair, one eye cracking open, a wet growl rumbling up from the depths.
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The morning salute rolled out of her like distant thunder, shaking the levitating bed hard enough to make the sheets ripple.
She yawned, scratched her stomach, and mumbled into the pillow, “Morning, Argus.”
Good morning, Miss Mia,” he said, voice warm with a hint of amusement. “It is currently 10:36 a.m., and the weather outside is clear and sunny at 22 degrees. Visibility is excellent, you have a perfect skyline view this morning.
“Mom already gone?”
“Madam Victoria’s flight took off at 8:35 on the dot. She left you a voice note and a kiss on the fridge.”
Mia grinned sleepily, then let another earth-shaker loose just for good measure.
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She stretched under the covers like a cat, one hand lazily sliding down to scratch her voluptuous backside as she sat up. The movement made the oversized tee ride up more than intended.
Argus didn’t need to be told twice. The entire wall of smart-glass sighed and dissolved from opaque aurora into perfect clarity. Sunlight exploded into the room (golden, blinding, gorgeous). Suddenly the whole Bay was laid out in front of her: The skyline glittering in the haze, the Golden Gate a perfect red slash, the ocean sparkling like someone had spilled diamonds across it.
Mia blinked, hair a wild halo, and whistled. “Damn. Good morning to me.”
She rolled out of bed, padded barefoot to the balcony doors, and stepped outside. Only then, with fresh air hitting her face, did she fully register the biohazard she’d been sleeping in.
She burst out laughing. “God, it smells like death had tacos in here.”
Still giggling, she planted her feet wide, hiked her left leg onto the railing like a ballerina about to curtsy, and unleashed the granddaddy of them all.
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Four minutes of pure, window-rattling destruction. Birds scattered. Somewhere down the hill a car alarm chirped in panic.
When it finally tapered off she gave her ass a proud little double-handed wave, like a rock star after the encore.
“Argus, be a hero and start me some coffee? Extra strong, oat milk, two sugars. I’ll be down in a sec.”
“Already brewing, Miss Mia. Ethiopian single-origin, 94 °C.”
She padded back inside, threw on the same oversized tee and panties combo, and bounced downstairs barefoot. The kitchen greeted her with the heavenly smell of fresh coffee waiting in her favorite mug (black ceramic, “World’s Okayest Sister” in gold letters).
“Thank you, handsome,” she told the empty air, grabbing the mug with both hands and taking a long, grateful sip.
The breakfast decision was easy: twenty slices of sourdough in the toaster, Nutella on ten, strawberry jam on the others. She leaned against the counter while they toasted, scrolling her phone, occasionally letting out little aftershock farts that made the stool creak.
The first bite of warm Nutella toast made her eyes roll back.
“Argus,” she said around a mouthful, “remind me to never leave this house. Ever.”
“Noted,” he replied, fond and indulgent. “Though Miss Olivia arrives in approximately three hours and twenty-four minutes.”
Mia grinned, cheeks smeared with chocolate.
“Then let the chaos begin.”
The words were barely out of her mouth when she leaned sideways on the barstool, eyes half-lidded, and started pushing.
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The first note was already monstrous. Plates rattled in the cabinets. The pendant lights swung. Still pushing, she slid off the stool, planted both palms on the marble island, bent deep at the waist, and cranked the volume even higher.
BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT…..
It was instant pandemonium. The marble island trembled beneath her elbows. The coffee in her mug rippled like a tiny tsunami. Every pendant light above the kitchen swung in perfect synchrony, clinking like wind chimes in a hurricane.
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Still pushing, she slid off the stool, planted both palms flat on the cool marble, bent deep at the waist, and cranked the volume to eleven. Her oversized tee rode up to her ribs, panties stretched tight across her ass as she spread her stance wider.
BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT…..
The fart deepened into something biblical. The smart-glass walls flickered. The levitating shelves in the pantry rattled like they were trying to escape. Outside, the infinity pool sloshed violently, sending a sheet of water cascading over the edge and down the hillside. A flock of birds exploded out of the redwoods like shrapnel.
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Mia’s eyes rolled back, knees trembling, a long, filthy moan vibrating in her throat the entire time. The release kept going, wave after wave of wet, rolling thunder that seemed to pull from the core of the earth itself. The floor vibrated so hard her bare feet tingled. Somewhere in the garage, car alarms chirped in surrender.
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Three minutes later the final wet bubble popped, and silence crashed back in like the aftermath of an airstrike.
Mia straightened slowly, hair wild, chest heaving, and let out a guttural, satisfied moan that belonged in an adult film.
“Holy… fucking… shit.”
She smacked her own ass so hard the sound cracked like a starter pistol, then slid both hands into her panties, gave her cheeks a possessive squeeze, pulled them out, and took a long, dramatic sniff.
“Yep. Smells like Satan himself ate garlic bread and died in there.”
Argus’s voice floated in, equal parts admiration and mild alarm.
“Eighteen minutes, eleven seconds, Miss Mia. Well done.”
She beamed, chest puffed. “Thank you, thank you. I could’ve taken out the whole mall with that one.”
She gave her butt one last proud wiggle, grabbed the last slice of Nutella toast like a victory cigar, and sauntered toward the living room, leaving a trail of faint greenish haze and pure, unfiltered chaos in her wake.
BUUUUUUUUUUUURPOOOOOOOORPBUUUUUUUUUUUURPOOOOOOOORP
The burp rattled the TV. “Argus, babe, throw The Society back on for me? Pick up where I left off last night.”
The holo-screen bloomed to life. Three episodes flew by in a blur of pasta-fueled commentary and casual burps.
Eventually her stomach let out a gurgle that sounded suspiciously like a warning.
“Argus, what time is it?”
“13:23, Miss Mia.”
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She belched again, patted her belly. “Still starving. Pause the show, please.”
Barefoot and fearless, she marched to the kitchen, flung open the fridge, and started pulling out ingredients like a woman possessed: chicken breasts, heavy cream, spinach, parmesan, six whole bulbs of garlic (because moderation is for cowards).
“Hey Argus, put on that ‘One-Pan Creamy Garlic Chicken’ YouTube video I saved? The Australian guy with the tattoos.”
The video popped up on the smart backsplash. Mia sang along off-key, dancing around the kitchen, tossing butter into the pan, searing chicken until it sizzled like applause.
Thirty minutes later she carried a mixing-bowl-sized portion of creamy, spinach-flecked Alfredo back to the couch, fork in one hand, a cold bottle of sparkling water in the other.
“Resume the show, please!”
She ate like a raccoon that had discovered Italian cuisine: fork in one hand, occasionally just grabbing fistfuls of pasta, sauce on her chin, moaning at every bite.
BUUUUUUUUUUUURPOOOOOOOORP
“Oh my God, they did NOT just kill him—”
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“Called it! She’s totally evil.”
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“Argus, this pasta is illegal.”
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Another fart rumbled out, long and bubbly. The couch cushions fluttered.
She just patted her belly happily, took another monster bite, and kept watching, legs kicked over the back of the couch, living her best, greasiest, gassiest life.
Mia scraped the last forkful of creamy Alfredo from the bowl, licked it clean, and leaned back against the couch with a happy little groan.
“God, that was stupid good,” she declared to the empty room.
She sucked in a huge breath, chest swelling, and answered her satisfaction with a victory belch that rolled for a full minute.
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The sound bounced off the vaulted ceiling and made the holo-screen flicker. She rubbed slow circles on her belly, eyes half-closed in bliss.
Her phone buzzed on the coffee table. Olivia’s name lit up.
Mia swiped to answer. “Hey, babe!”
“Mia! We just pulled up to the apartment,” Olivia’s excited voice spilled out. The camera spun to show Olivia’s parents waving behind a mountain of boxes.
“Hi, sweetheart!” Cynthia called.
“Hey, Cynthia, hey John!” Mia waved back. “Welcome to the Bay!”
Olivia’s face filled the screen again. “We’re gonna unpack everything super fast, then how about we hit Rose & Crown tonight? Celebrate properly?”
“Perfect plan. Text me when you’re free. I’m ready whenever.”
“Will do. See you soon!”
The call ended. Mia tossed the phone aside, stretched, and suddenly felt the familiar heavy pressure low in her gut.
“Welp. Time to evict the tenants.”
She jogged upstairs to her bathroom, flicked the light on, and dropped her panties in one smooth motion.
“Argus, throw The Society up on the mirror for me? Same episode, please.”
The mirror turned into a screen. She settled onto the warmed seat like a queen claiming her throne and let nature take its course.
Thirty minutes of industrial output later (thick logs, crackling, splashing, the occasional satisfied sigh), the toilet’s cleaning cycle finished with a cool peppermint mist. Mia washed her hands, gave her reflection a wink, and went back downstairs to wait.
The afternoon drifted by in a blur of TikTok, texting, and lazy couch sprawls. At 6:47 her phone lit up.
Olivia:
all done!! boxes defeated
rose & crown at 8?
Mia:
8 is perfect. See u there!!
She bolted upstairs, burst into her walk-in closet, and started flinging hangers.
“Argus, help! I have zero brain cells left. What says ‘hot college girl who could accidentally level the bar’?”
A soft chime. Outfits began projecting in holo-form around her.
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She ripped a quick, wet fart while turning. “Also nothing too tight in the waist, obviously.”
Argus highlighted one look: fitted black ribbed tank, cropped black leather jacket, high-waisted dark-wash straight-leg jeans, black ankle boots with a low block heel.
“Sold,” Mia said, already stripping. “You’re a genius.”
Makeup was fast and lethal: tinted moisturizer, subtle highlighter on the cheekbones, two coats of mascara, glossy nude-pink lips. Hair down and a little messy in the best way.
7:42. She grabbed her bag, jogged down to the garage, and stopped in front of the matte-black Mercedes C63S.
One last thing.
She planted her feet, bent slightly, and let it rip.
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Three full minutes of pure roaring thunder. The garage doors rattled in their tracks. A stack of moving boxes in the corner fluttered like they were caught in a wind tunnel.
When it finally ended she straightened, fanned the air behind her, and laughed.
“Gotta go silent tonight. What a pain in the ass, literally.”
She slid into the back seat. “Argus, take me to Rose & Crown, please. And crank the containment fields. I’ve got a lot to get out before we get there.”
The Mercedes purred to life. The second the doors sealed, Mia let loose (earth-shaking, destructive, two to five minute monsters every thirty seconds, all perfectly trapped and filtered by the car’s military-grade systems). By the time they rolled into Palo Alto, she was lighter, calmer, and ready to wreak a very different kind of havoc.
The car whispered to a stop outside the bar at 7:58.
Mia checked her reflection, smirked, and stepped out.
Mia pushed through the heavy wooden door of Rose & Crown and the noise hit her first: music, laughter, clinking glasses, the low roar of a packed college bar on the first Friday of the semester.
She spotted Olivia instantly (wavy blonde hair, bright red top, already waving like a maniac from a high-top near the back).
“MIA!”
They crashed into each other like they hadn’t seen each other in years instead of months, jumping up and down, squealing, the full best-friend reunion package.
Olivia pulled back, nose wrinkling dramatically. “Girl… you smell like a taco truck exploded in a gym locker.”
Mia burst out laughing. “I literally sprayed my actual asshole with dad’s perfume for five straight minutes in the car. You’re welcome.”
Olivia grinned, fanning the air. “It’s fighting for its life, but it’s still losing.”
“It’ll pass in like ten minutes, chill.”
They claimed their table, slid onto the stools, and immediately launched into gossip mode (voices overlapping, hands flying, zero filter).
“Okay. Did you see Professor Lang’s syllabus yet? Forty-page paper? I’m dropping out.”
“Already emailed him crying. He said ‘welcome to college.’ I already hate him.”
A waitress appeared. “What can I get you ladies?”
“Two Virgin Mojitos, whatever’s hoppiest,” they answered in unison, then cracked up.
Beers arrived in frosty mugs. They clinked glasses and the real conversation started.
Olivia leaned in, eyes scanning the room. “Okay but look around. The talent level is criminal tonight.”
Mia took a slow sip, letting her gaze drift. “I’m looking, I’m looking… holy shit. Blonde guy at the pool table. Blue navy shirt. Do not turn around yet, be subtle.”
Olivia casually spun on her stool, took one look, and whipped back around, eyes huge. “That’s Oliver Whitaker.”
Mia blinked. “Should I know that name?”
“Only if you’ve ever opened Instagram in the last four years. Basketball royalty. Three-time high school All-American, point guard, absolute freak. Stanford just poached him from some Ivy pipeline. He’s basically campus famous already.”
Mia’s eyebrows shot up. “Wait… he’s on the team here?”
“100%. They’ve been hyping the men’s program hard. He’s the centerpiece.”
Mia bit her lip, suddenly way more interested. “He’s stupid hot.”
“Right? Go talk to him!”
“Me? No way. I still smell like biochemical warfare.”
Olivia rolled her eyes. “He will not care. Go.”
Before Mia could answer, blue-shirt Oliver looked up from lining up a shot. Their eyes locked across the bar.
He smiled (slow, easy, dimples for days).
Mia smiled back without thinking.
He said something to his friends, handed off the cue, and started walking straight toward them.
Olivia kicked Mia under the table. “Incoming!”
Oliver stopped at their table, all six-foot-four of relaxed confidence. “Hey, I’m Oliver.”
Mia tilted her head, grinning. “Mia. This is Olivia.”
“Nice to meet you both.” His voice was warm, a little raspy. “First time here?”
“Literally our first night in Palo Alto,” Olivia answered.
He laughed. “Same. Got in yesterday. Met those guys an hour ago and they dragged me out.”
Mia raised an eyebrow. “You play pool with strangers on night one? Bold.”
“Basketball players aren’t known for good decisions,” he said, shrugging, eyes on Mia the whole time.
One of his friends shouted from the table. “Whitaker! You’re stripes!”
He held up one finger (give me a sec). Then turned back. “You two at Stanford?”
“Freshmen,” Mia confirmed.
“Same. Guess I’ll see you around campus.” He flashed that dimple again. “Real quick, could I grab your Instagram? Or number? Both? I’m not picky.”
Mia didn’t even hesitate. “Here, add me.” She rattled off her handle, then her number. “Just in case the app dies or whatever.”
He typed it in, grinning. “Done. I’ll let you get back to your night. Was really nice meeting you both.”
He gave a little two-finger salute and walked back to his game.
Olivia waited exactly three seconds before grabbing Mia’s arm hard enough to bruise.
“You just gave Oliver Whitaker your actual number. On night one. I’m deceased.”
Mia took a long, victorious sip of beer, trying (and failing) to play it cool.
“Guess we’re doing college right.”
The next hour disappeared in a blur of cold Mojitos, overlapping gossip, and the kind of laughter that makes your ribs hurt.
Mia and Olivia were deep in their fourth round, cheeks pink, voices loud enough to cut through the bar noise. Every few minutes Mia would catch Oliver’s eye across the room; he’d flash that lazy half-smile, she’d raise an eyebrow or tilt her glass at him, and they’d both look away like nothing happened. Olivia kept kicking her under the table and fake-gagging every time it happened.
Mia’s burps were getting stronger (thick, closed-mouth rumbles that vibrated in her chest and made her eyes water a little). She’d press her lips together, shoulders shaking, then let it seep out the sides with a tiny “mmph” that only Olivia could hear.
“Girl, you’re brewing a storm,” Olivia teased after one particularly bassy one.
“Tell me about it,” Mia muttered, fanning her face. “I’m one wrong move from clearing the bar.”
Eventually the pool table crowd started gathering their things. Oliver slung a backpack over one shoulder and headed straight for their table one last time.
“Hey,” he said, smiling softer now, almost shy. “We’re heading out. Just wanted to say bye.”
Olivia waved dramatically. “Byeee!”
He laughed, eyes on Mia. “See you on campus, yeah? And… maybe off campus too?”
Mia felt her stomach flip (in the good way, not the nuclear way). “I can’t wait.”
He gave a little nod, dimples flashing, and disappeared into the crowd.
The second the door closed behind him Olivia grabbed Mia’s arm and let out the most dramatic squeal humanly possible.
“OH MY GOD IT’S HAPPENING. New campus couple alert! I’m calling it right now.”
Mia rolled her eyes, cheeks burning. “Stop, he was just being—”
BUUUUUUUUUUURPMMPBUUUUUUUUUUURPMMPBUUUUUUUUUUURPMMP
A huge one surged up; she clamped her mouth shut at the last second, eyes wide, cheeks ballooning. It escaped through her nose in a muffled growl that made Olivia wheeze-laugh so hard she almost fell off her stool.
“—flirty,” Mia finished weakly, fanning her face. “Doesn’t mean anything yet.”
Olivia wiped tears from her eyes. “He smiled at you like you invented basketball, Mia. He’s into you.”
Mia glanced at her empty glass and felt a slow, smug smile spread across her face.
“We’ll see,” she said, but her voice was pure confidence now.
The bar tab was settled with a fist-bump. They spilled out onto the sidewalk, the cool night air hitting their flushed faces like a splash of water.
Mia inhaled dramatically, then grinned sideways at Olivia.
“Left them a little souvenir. They’ll be smelling me for days.”
Olivia snorted. “You’re a terrorist organization of one.”
They linked arms and started wandering the quiet streets around campus (string lights in the trees, frat houses thumping in the distance, the faint smell of eucalyptus and weed in the air).
Olivia kicked a pebble. “I still can’t believe we’re actually here. Like, tomorrow we’re real college students.”
Mia grinned, squeezed her tighter. “Orientation’s gonna be so great and I’m so ready.”
As they strolled past a row of cute little bungalows, Mia casually lifted her left cheek and let one slip.
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A loud, wet one that fluttered her jeans.
“Excuse me,” she said automatically, then immediately did it again, longer and deeper.
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The bass rolled down the empty street like distant thunder. A porch light flicked on in panic.
Olivia snorted. “Girl, you’re a walking subwoofer.”
Mia just shrugged, still walking. “hehe sorry, they’re aggressive.”
They turned the corner past a closed yoga studio. Mia paused mid-sentence, “—and Professor Lang already looks like he hates students—”and leaned forward slightly.
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Another thick, bubbly one that lasted a solid twenty five seconds.
She fanned behind her. “Sorry, that one snuck out.”
Olivia waved a hand in front of her face, laughing. “It’s fine, I’m immune at this point.”
Ten steps later, right as Olivia was saying, “I swear if I get the same neighbors as last year’s—” Mia stopped dead, planted her feet, and pushed.
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Two full minutes of pure, filthy destruction. The sound echoed off the houses and buildings. A dog two blocks away started howling.
Olivia doubled over, cackling. “I felt that one in my soul!”
Mia straightened up, eyes watering from laughter “Same. My soul just filed for divorce.”
They kept walking, arms still linked, Mia punctuating every few sentences with another casual bomb (some short and sharp, some long and wet, all loud enough to make the palm trees rustle). Olivia just shook her head, grinning like a proud mom watching her kid win the science fair with a volcano made of actual lava.
They turned a corner and spotted an old three-story brick building, windows boarded up, weeds growing through the cracked sidewalk (clearly abandoned for years).
Mia’s eyes lit up with pure evil.
“Hey, Olivia… check this out.”
Olivia recognized the tone instantly. “Oh no. What are you—”
“Nothing!” Mia sing-songed, already backing up. “Just a little fun~”
She reversed until her ass pressed flat against the rust-colored brick, cheeks squishing outward like two overinflated beach balls. She planted her feet, looked over her shoulder with the smuggest grin in history, and pushed.
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Three solid minutes of apocalyptic force. The brick wall vibrated so hard dust rained down from the eaves. A boarded-up window rattled like it was trying to escape. The entire building groaned like it had just been rear-ended by a freight train.
Mia stayed perfectly still for the first three seconds, shit-eating grin in full bloom, then dissolved into helpless giggles, sliding down the wall a few inches from the recoil.
“Oops. Might’ve given that one a little too much force.”
Olivia stood frozen, mouth open, then started laughing so hard she had to bend over.
“You’re a literal monster. Jesus Christ, it reeks over here!”
Mia sauntered back, fanning the air behind her like a victorious matador.
“Could’ve leveled the whole thing if I really tried. You know that.”
“That’s the scariest part,” Olivia wheezed. “I one hundred percent believe you.”
They wiped tears from their eyes and decided that was probably enough property damage for one night.
“Come on,” Mia said, looping an arm around Olivia’s shoulders. “I’ll drive you home. No Uber required.”
They turned back toward the parking lot, still giggling, the abandoned building behind them quietly wondering what the hell just hit it.
Mia slid into the back seat first, Olivia right behind her. The gull-wing door closed with a soft thunk.
Olivia grinned the second the interior lights came on. “Hey, Argus! Long time no see, handsome.”
“Miss Olivia,” Argus replied, warm and familiar.
“Welcome back. 1870 Emerson Park Lane first, yes?”
“You’re the best,” Olivia said, buckling in. “Missed your voice.”
The Mercedes purred to life and glided out of the lot, containment fields already humming quietly (just in case).
The ride was twenty minutes of nonstop chatter, windows cracked, music low, both girls still buzzing from the bar. When they pulled up to Olivia’s new apartment building, the porch light was on and Cynthia was waiting on the steps with a proud-mom wave.
Hugs, promises of tomorrow, one last squeal, and Olivia was gone.
Argus turned the car toward the hills. “Home, Miss Mia?”
“Home,” she confirmed, kicking off her boots and stretching out across the entire back seat like a cat.
The second the estate gates closed behind them, Mia let the mask drop.
She stepped out of the car, tossed her leather jacket and bag onto the kitchen island with zero ceremony, and immediately bent forward.
BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT…..
The behemoth started the moment her feet hit the marble and never stopped. She walked (no, strutted) through the house still pushing, the roar growing deeper and wetter with every step. Lights flickered. A vase on a side table wobbled its way to the edge and decided to live.
BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT…..
By the time she reached her bedroom she was already peeling off clothes, jeans kicked aside, tank top flung toward the hamper, still farting the entire time. The sound echoed down the hallway like a freight train made of pure evil.
BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT…..
Now in nothing but black lace panties, she grabbed an oversized baby-blue tee from the drawer, slipped it on, and planted both hands on the edge of her bed.
“Time to make it louder.”
She bent forward, arched her back, and pushed with everything she had.
BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT…..
The fart detonated into something apocalyptic. The levitating bed dipped hard enough to touch the floor. The smart-glass walls vibrated like they were about to shatter. Outside, the pool lights flickered, the redwoods swayed, and every car alarm in a twenty-five-mile radius woke up and started screaming.
BBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBBPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMMPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTTT
Twenty continuous minutes of pure, earth-shattering fury. When the final bubble finally popped, Mia collapsed forward onto the bed, moaning like she’d just had the best sex of her life.
She reached back, gave her ass a proud double jiggle, and giggled breathlessly.
“Fuck… I was holding that monster all night. It felt so good to finally let it out.”
Argus’s voice came in, calm but with a faint note of amusement.
“Twenty minutes, forty-one seconds, Miss Mia. Palo Alto registered a 6.2. Nothing life-threatening. The city engineers are already blaming ‘underground utility work.’”
Mia lifted her head just enough to grin into the pillow.
“Good. I would've felt bad if I actually hurt someone. Just a love tap.”
She yawned hugely, stretching like a cat until her spine popped.
“Wake me up at 7:00 tomorrow, okay? Orientation’s at nine and I wanna look like a functioning human.”
“Alarm set for 7:00 a.m.,” Argus confirmed. “Gentle sunrise lighting, ocean-wave soundtrack, and a double espresso waiting downstairs.”
“Perfect.” She rolled onto her side, hugging a pillow. “I’m skipping food. Too tired to even think about chewing. Just knock me out.”
“Understood. Initiating full night mode.”
The room responded instantly. The lights melted from soft gold to total darkness, the starfield on the ceiling brightened to a slow-moving Milky Way, and the temperature dropped to a perfect cool cocoon. The mattress shifted subtly, cradling her hips and shoulders exactly where she liked it, while the sheets warmed to body temperature.
Mia let out one last tiny, satisfied burp into the pillow, nuzzled deeper, and was out within seconds (breathing slowly and even, lips slightly parted, one leg kicked out from under the covers).
Argus lowered his voice to the softest whisper.
“Sleep well, Miss Mia. Tomorrow the world gets you back… whether it’s ready or not.”
The mansion settled into silence, the only sound the faint, distant echo of a city still wondering what the hell just hit it.