****** Scatwalk by Sally ******
===============================================================================

Scatwalk


"Fiction for adults only. Can be freely copied and distributed as is (complete
with this header), but not as part of any fee paying service. If you archive it
please let me have access to the archive. Email me if you have comments or if
you have any constructive criticism. By Sally34 (c) 1998"

Until 'The Incident', Brittini Towers was not ranked in the league of
supermodels, although the public may have recognised her face but not her name
from countless magazine covers and adverts for cosmetics. She was slim, full
breasted (real), had a mane of luscious blonde hair (real) and had a moderately
successful career. She had modelled for most of the famous fashion houses.

'The Incident' happened during the highlight of the fashion world; Brittini was
strutting her stuff in the Paris fashion week and was feeling great. The only
thing marring her enjoyment was a nagging sensation in her gut. She assumed it
was nerves, but it was persisting and she began to worry that she had eaten too
much rich food the previous evening; usually she was a very light eater.

She took to the catwalk for the last time, but the pressure on her bowels was
now intense. At the end of the catwalk she stood jutting one hip provocatively
at the audience. This shift in her weight, however, caused 'The Incident'.
Without warning, a loud, explosive fart emerged from her behind. It was obvious
to all who sat and stared at this beautiful apparition that the ghastly noise
had emerged from none other than Brittini Towers herself.

The audience were shocked into silence. Brittini was mortified. Her instinct
was to run and hide her face in shame. A horrible stink started to envelope
her. Brittini was a veteran of the catwalk, however; her rigorous training
clicked in and she walked, as sedately as she could, back to the curtains,
turned for one last stare at the audience then disappeared.

When she had left the audience stood and applauded her conduct. The girls in
the dressing room crowded round to find out what had happened. Brittini however
was weeping at the spectacle she had made of herself.

The next day the newspapers and television reports were full of pictures of
Brittini. Overnight she had been catapulted to fame. She was invited on chat
shows to re-live the experience of 'that moment' and became instantly became a
90's icon for the 'frail humanity' that underlies all human endeavour. She was
discussed, dissected and became a media star overnight. People flocked to see
her model clothes just in case she 'let rip' again. They actually wanted to see
that vision of unearthly beauty show her human side.

The organisers of fashion shows knew this but unfortunately Brittini point-
blank refused to attempt doing her 'trademark' again. The Italians, however,
were less scrupulous. The organisers of the Milan fashion week decided that if
she would not fart for her public then they would have to 'arrange' it. A bent
pharmacist delivered the tablet that dissolved without trace into her mineral
water.....

Brittini started to get the cramps on stage. She barely made it off the catwalk
and into the ladies toilets before letting rip with a powerful, wet bubbling
fart. Brittini couldn't believe it - not again! She still had two more dresses
to model, plus the grand finale and hope that she would be able to finish the
show.

On the second trip up the catwalk a convulsion shook her body. She stopped,
unable to make it to the end of the catwalk and turned slowly round. Something
big was building up in her bottom and the only way to prevent it emerging was
to clench her buttocks together tightly. Sweat broke out on her forehead as she
trod careful step after step towards the curtain. The audience began to realise
something was wrong, a murmur started to go around and the intensity of flash
photography increased.

Brittini never made it. Despite putting one hand over her arse a loud, long
bubbling fart emerged followed by a warm gush of diarrhoea that filled the
flimsy panties she wore and poured down both legs, spattering all over the
floor of the catwalk and even a few of the audience in the front row. The
Italian pharmacist had underestimated the effects of the pill he had given her.
An enormous quantity of gas had built up and emptied the entire contents of her
bowels down her legs and onto the catwalk. This time Brittini could not hold
her composure and dashed back to the curtains, sobbing.

The next model, Marissa Rucci was a local, raven-haired, big-boned Italian
girl. She was totally unaware of what had happened except that Brittini had
coming dashing past her at speed, ahead of schedule. Marissa hastily walked on
the stage and out along the catwalk. Her model training taught her to look up
at the audience and she did not detect the stinking pile of excrement that lay
on the catwalk. One stiletto-heeled shoe struck the putrid pile and she slipped
in the filth. Marissa came crashing down into the shit that slid up her
perfectly tanned leg and over the white cocktail dress she wore. The audience
gasped. Marissa lay sprawling in the muck. It coated her body and hair as she
slipped and slid and tried to regain her footing.

Eventually she stood up, shaking with rage and embarrassment. A stream of
Italian curses erupted from her lips as she wiped her shit stained hands down
the beautiful silk dress. The audience laughed at the spectacle, unsure whether
this was real or had been staged for their amusement. Marissa stormed back up
the catwalk, kicking off the shit-stained shoes as she did. She found Brittini
sobbing in the changing room, still in her shit-stained dress and panties and
pulled the girl up by her hair.

Brittini stared at Marissa in disbelief. She assumed that the show would have
been halted.

"Look what you have done to me with your stinking filth!" yelled the Italian.

Brittini stared through tear-stained eyes and felt the slap of Marissa's shit
stained hand on her face. The other girls began to gather. There was a ripple
of excitement at the thought of a potential bitch fight in the dressing room!
Some girls, although they would never admit it, were secretly thrilled by the
sight of the two gorgeous adversaries covered in shit.

More blows fell and eventually Brittini was forced to retaliate. She gripped
the Italian by the hair, pulled the girl towards her and drove her fist as hard
as she could into the girl's chest.

There was a cheer from the British models who up until then had been watching
Brittini being thrashed. This angered the local Italian models and fights began
to break out around the besmirched pair.

The dress designers looked on in horror as their gorgeous outfits were ripped
and pulled from the models. The girls fought dirty, using teeth and nails on
their opponents. Long legs wrapped around skinny waists, hair pulling was
common.

Eventually, due more to exhaustion than anything else - the fighting stopped
and the girls regrouped to lick their wounds. It was mayhem. The girls were cut
and bleeding, most were semi-naked as the flimsy dresses they had been wearing
were not designed for wear and tear. Tears fell and bosoms (for those that had
them) heaved. The girls comforted one another as best they could.

Brittini was in a bad state - Marissa was much stronger and had sat astride the
slim British model and pummelled her before being dragged off by the hair by
two other girls. Both girls had got covered in shit during the fight and sat,
exhausted, stinking.

The following day the press alluded to 'a fracas' that had happened following
the 'unpleasant incident' at the Milan fashion show. The public were intrigued
by the shitting incident; photos of Brittini shitting on stage sold for high
prices and of course, circulated across the web the next day.

The fashion world was rocked by the incident but began to realise the inherent
scatological interest the public had in thinking about these models shit. The
whole affair was brought to its logical conclusion when, in the Spring
Amsterdam fashion show, the girls walked to the end of the catwalk, turned
their back to the audience, lifted their skirts in demure fashion and proceeded
to defecate at the end of the catwalk. Girl after girl walked to the end of the
catwalk and added to the growing pile of faeces.

The mainly Dutch audience, initially stunned began to applaud every time one of
these superb creatures bared her cheeks and shared with them her most intimate
moment. At the end of the show, however, the stinking pile was almost a foot
high and the aromas wafted over the audience causing nausea and reflexive
gagging for some of the weaker stomached. Nevertheless the show was a stunning
triumph in terms of publicity and bad taste.

Now that defecation is a commonplace event at fashion shows (all thanks to
Brittini Towers), I can't help wondering what they will come up with
next...............

This story is part of White_Shadow's_Nasty_Stories.
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