click... clack... clickclack...
Rainbow’s hooffalls came insistently; almost rhythmically, as she brought up her pace and hurried past the repeating rows of lockers.
Damp, sweaty, tired and uncomfortable.
A number of things were a cause for concern.
The way her tight suit rode up her crack in an almost painfully unforgiving way - it had seemed that with every exhausting maneuver and trick Spitfire had thrown at her her suit tightened more; a prison of sweat, body odor and itchy, sticky, matted fur.
The throbbing ache in her legs that reached up over her flanks; burning raw from the several hours of flying, soaring, twisting and turning.
Above all, though, was the pain that started somewhere in her lower abdomen and concluded at the base of her tail.
Like a bag of rolling, tumbling, heavy marbles that ignited the sensitive walls of her colon with painful, gurgling cramps.
Dash took a moment to try and deduce the source of this worsening agony. The sandwich for lunch? The protein shake for breakfast? The cheese and hay burrito for dinner last night?
It really didn’t matter: all that mattered was securing a private place on that porcelain throne; the bathroom door came into view. Her hooves fell harder and faster against the floor as she built up a canter.
Suit taut over her tightly contracted flanks - a feeble effort to contain the stormy discomfort that threatened to evacuate with no more than a gastronomic gurgle as a warning.
Her mind was focused on just one thing. Hoof to door. Resistance.
She paused, practically skidding in place, the shift of momentum sending her visibly hanging belly into another gurgling frenzy.
The door was locked.
Sweat broke out on her brow. She anxiously reached out and hammered her hoof against the door.
“Sorry! Occupied!”
“Y-You gonna be long?” Dash’s voice quivered with distress.
“Oh, I dunno! I only just got in here...”
“Could ya maybe... ugh... hurry up?”
Her stomach produced an ungodly gargle that sent a ripple of pain right down to her sphincter.
She pursed that hot, sweaty, rubbery sphincter with enough strength to rupture it, though she feared her digestive system held domain over any attempts to detain the release.
Those two tensing cheeks shifted over one another, trading layers of coalescing sweat, feeling the desperate prick nagging from within.
She was going to poop soon, whether she got to the toilet or not.
Her wings perked up and against her control a loud fart slapped with a wet, juicy burst through the seat of her suit; a shrill trumpet call that portended something foul.
“Hurry!”
“Hey! You’re not exactly helping me go any faster!” The mare called from inside, decidedly not shifting anytime soon.
If only she knew what was at stake.
Another low gurgle started in Dash’s belly - a big swelling bubble that stretched her rectal walls and manifested itself in another moist airy patter from her ass. This one came out a little longer, dampened, curdling between those sweaty pillows; warming those tight ass cheeks with a hot plume of sickening sulfur. So hot it almost burned.
The Pegasus lurched forward with a sharp clash of her teeth, squeezing her buttocks together even harder but knowing it wouldn’t be enough, hooves prancing against the ground as she danced on the spot and tried knocking again.
“I... really need to go!”
The mare inside was becoming irritated.
“Why don’t you go find another bathroom, Crash? Can’t you see this one’s in use!?”
The faint plop of something falling into the water was the last sound Dash heard through the door.
This toilet was not an option.
Her stomach called out desperately with another squirt.
Dash, hooves kicking against the floor, and ass belching out a string of short, tight pops of acrid gas, turned to gallop towards the toilets on the upper floor.
As she mounted the stairs, each step drew another parp out of her; amplified by those two tightened buttocks.
As she reached the top these singular farts became one long one; a deep, heavy, wet splutterer that really warmed her crack.
“Ouchie.”
There was no time to waste, though; the last thing she wanted was to sully the seat of her suit with an explosion of liquid shit.
The corridors were starting to become merely pathways; each turning was merely an arrow pointing one way or the other.
All she could see was white on brown. When she got to that toilet, Dash thought to herself, she was going to ruin it.
Decimate it.
Her sweat-slickened cheeks slid over each other as she expelled another gulp of gas between them.
The humidity in that dampened crack of her pants was abominable; beads of shit-scented sweat dotted along the fabric.
Still, her desperate dogged gallop did not slow.
That was, until she almost bumped head-first into an obstruction.
It was Spitfire.
“Ah, Crash! Just the pony I’ve been looking for.”
The cerulean pegasus merely trembled in silence.
“Stand up straight when I’m addressing you, rookie! Show some manners!”
“Y-Yes, M’aam!”
Dash pulled herself up into a tightly obedient position, feeling a silent eek of gas filter out into her outfit.
“Not a bad performance earlier, Crash. While most of the manoeuvres were performed excellently, I couldn’t help but notice a couple were a little sloppy.”
frrraaapt
“D-Do you have to use that word?”
Spitfire recoiled at the sound of wet flatulence, nose flaring cautiously and hoof appropriately finding a place against her muzzle.
“Good grief, Crash! That one sounded a little risky, don’t you think? Smells a little risky, too - whew!”
“S-Sorry! I just really need the-“
“Don’t let me hold you up. You’re dismissed. Just... try not to ruin that uniform too much, Crash. It’s Academy property, you know?”
Leaving her smell to stagnate the air, the pegasus resumed her canter past Spitfire and down the hall.
She was close. Target almost in sight.
Just a few more seconds. That was all she had to endure.
If she could just keep that vice-like grip on her asshole for a few more seconds...
As she galloped she left behind a string of short, sultry blasts. Each one progressively wetter and warmer than the last.
Her stomach growled; her cheeks remained clenched.
She stopped just short of the door and felt yet another hot pocket of sulfur drizzle between her sweat-caked cheeks.
As her gaze fell on those three little words, her heart stopped.
Out of Order.
So this was what true defeat felt like.
“N-No...”
Her hope escaped her, and, with it, the hottest stream of gas yet; hotter, hotter, after a few seconds it became clear she was no longer releasing only gas.
With a spasm in her stomach and a quiver in her extended wings, she blew a mound of hot, runny shit straight into her suit.
What was once just a uniform had, in an instant, become a toilet.
Once the increasingly less irregular spurts started, they couldn’t stop.
Dash stood, seized by her trembling muscles, as her chunky waterfall of fudge filled the back of her suit; sagging with a damp heaviness.
She could feel it running down her legs, seeping through the lycra and slowly pooling under her hooves.
A sudden bluster of gas bubbled through the heap of diarrhea, exploding on the surface in rank swampy bubbles.
The smell was ungodly. Bleaching the air in its utter, contemptible foulness.
Just when it seemed her trots had abated, another squirt piled onto the sagging mountain of scat, stretching the suit beyond its limits.
Even if she could eventually get the smell out of her suit, she would never, ever live this down.
With one final sub-turd-ranean fart of defeat, Rainbow Dash sunk to the ground, pressing herself into her own mess, and buried her head in her hooves.
There was a click just in front of her.
The door to the bathroom swung open.
“Well, that’ll do it! In perfect working order again-“
The plumber was cut short.
He stared at Dash.
She stared at him.
One last bundle of steaming manure emptied itself into her suit.
