AZKi closes the apartment door, holding a small parcel addressed to her. Inside is a brand new pair of white panties and a note from Cover Corporation:

You are required to wear the enclosed panties for a minimum of ONE week starting from the moment of receiving them.

• You may NOT wash or apply any scented perfumes or cleansers to the panties.
• You may NOT wear any other clothing or covering underneath the panties, but wearing additional clothing over the top is allowed.
• Temporarily removing the panties to use the bathroom is allowed.

When your allotted week is complete, place the panties in the resealable plastic bag and return in the pre-addressed envelope.

AZKi sets the note down and picks up the undies, running her hand over the fabric and feeling the texture. She lets out a deep sigh and hooks her thumbs in the sides of her waistband; her digits sinking into the fat of her plump rear end.

"I guess this comes with the territory of transferring to Hololive proper…"

AZKi stretches her own pants outwards from her curvaceous behind, but they still drag against and jiggle her cheeks when she pulls downward and reaches her thighs. Releasing her grip, the pants drop the remaining distance to her ankles and she delicately steps out of them. She dons the fresh underwear and snugs it up to her crotch.

It's a tight fit, no doubt because they tried to find a size that would fit the average Hololive member, and AZKi's ass is on the upper end of that bell curve.

"At least they granted me the kindness of getting to go first."

AZKi zippered up her pants and set a reminder on her phone calendar for the end of the week.

For the most part, the week goes by without event. There are a few dance practice sessions that leave the VSinger hot and sweaty, but AZKi's perspiration mainly leaves her sticky and salty, not smelly. AZKi did have to remind herself each time after getting out of the bath that she couldn't put on a fresh pair of panties like normal. Instead, she was compelled to wear the same dingy skivvies, which became an increasingly gross contrast against the clean feeling from washing her body in the shower.

Still, if you had followed AZKi around for every waking hour that week—even to the bathroom—you would have been hard-pressed to call it anything other than "seiso," or at worst, "ordinary."

So on the seventh day when AZKi took off the panties for one final time to package them up, even she was surprised to see a light brown residue against the back. Shocked and yet curious, she brought the underwear up to her nose and gave it a hesitant whiff.

Farts

AZKi struggled to make sense of it. She had never consciously passed gas while wearing the panties, always going to the toilet to do her business and cleaning herself up properly with the bidet. Yet here was embarrassing evidence to the contrary; and by the smell alone she could confirm it was her own "brand."

There was only one reasonable explanation. Every night while she was asleep, AZKi would rip ass into her undies.

Indeed if you were in the audience of one of the diva's deep slumber sessions you would hear a cacophony of toots, a chorus of braps echoing from the floor futon. The singer's butthole could put on a solo performance as her bottom belted out bassy brown notes for nearly a minute straight, or squeaked out a medley of high-pitched poots from her dumper.

Every fart in the dark would ripple her cheeks like a wave and the hotbox of heat from her anus was baking her cake and cooking her flavor into the stitches of the panties each night of the week. You'd swear there was enough hot air under those covers to inflate it like a balloon and float up to the ceiling.

But when she awoke in the mornings, AZKi was none the wiser to the concerto that transpired.

With a beet red face, she sealed the fragrant undergarments up and dropped the envelope into the outgoing mail bin.

* * *

Aki glares in enmity at the torn open package across from her on the dining table.

She tilts her head back and her beer glass high to finish the last remaining dregs. The golden liquid dribbles from the creases on either side of her mouth as she gulps down the alcohol. Slamming the glass to the table with one hand, she wipes the sleeve of her other arm across her face and resumes staring.

These are the panties she must wear for the next seven days. They've already been worn by her senpai from "Generation 0" and now it's the turn of Hololive's first real generation.

Knowing the package was arriving today, Aki planned ahead and didn't bother wearing anything below. She also prepared by pre-gaming her drinks and finally reached a point slightly beyond tipsy.

"Better get this started."

Aki closes her eyes and slips on the white undergarments, then sits back down in her seat. All things considered, the panties were still in decent shape after over a month of constant use. There was an odour to them, and a few darkened stains in the rear that Aki pretended she was imagining, but otherwise they still visibly looked presentable.

Krck-pssh Aki opens another can of Strong Zero and pours it into her glass.

"The sooner I can forget about this, the better."

The elf begins to funnel down the alcohol, intent on making this a night she won't remember…

*

The next morning, a hungover Aki stumbles into her bathroom and sits down on the toilet. Her head throbbing and mouth dry from dehydration, she groans as she begins to release the toxins from her body into the bowl.

After a moment, Aki realizes things don't sound or feel natural.

She hikes the edge of her skirt up and peeks in between her legs. In her inebriated state, Aki forgot that while she started yesterday without drawers, that had changed by evening. And today—rather, now—she was very much still wearing them, even while she unleashed a torrent of amber-coloured piss.

"Oh no!"

Aki struggles to wiggle the panties down her thighs while still sitting down and squirting pee. She succeeds, but the unbroken stream painted a trail from the front all the way to the back waistband.

Aki sits in near silence as the last drips fall from her pussy and soggy underwear. When no more could be squeezed out, Aki contemplated her options. She wasn't permitted to clean or hose down the now-stained panties, and once she got up from the toilet she was expected to be wearing them like normal.

She rubs the bridge of her nose in thought and then suddenly has an idea.

Aki tugs the undies back up and shivers at the now cold saturated material. On the side of her toilet, she scans down a row of buttons until she finds the one she has in mind.

A low whirring noise can be heard from within the bowl of the toilet and soon the sensation of warm air reaches Aki's thighs. The built-in dryer function of her bidet is coming to the rescue. The hot air quickly dries the waterlogged fabric, but the heat is turning the room humid and the smell is rising.

The mixture of half a dozen different girls' crotch scents wafting in the air beat against Aki's already weakened stomach. Abruptly, Aki feels a burning sensation in the back of her throat. She chokes and panicks, hopping backwards as far as she can and spreading her legs wide on the seat. Her arms once again yank at the fabric of her skirt and she pulls it up to her abdomen to clear a hole in front of her cunt.

Aki hunches forward and sticks her head as close to her loins as possible, then retches a projectile stream into the basin below. The brew is a combo of alcohol and stomach bile that sprays out like a fountain.

After it appears to be over, Aki gathers what little saliva she can in her mouth and spits to try rinsing the acidic taste off of her tongue.

"Uggh, 6 more days to go."