leatherscatpig, Part 5/5.
People who are into shit are just like you and me. The guy next door may be into it, but you might not know it. They don’t look any different. They work, they have other interests, they do many of the same things that you do. It’s just that they get into a few things you may not. Likewise, the time that scat boys spend together is not all scat, all the time. Which leads me to write about what happened with me and leatherscatpig after he ate my shit for the first time. There was a pleasant afterperiod during which we just kind of hung out, talked, watched a movie (non-scat, non-porn), listened to music. Take away the shit eating part, and it would look just like a quiet afternoon spent with a submissive leather boyfriend. Of course, the faggot never slipped and called me by my first name. It was and always will be “Sir” when the pig addresses me, no exceptions. Likewise, I never failed to call him “faggot.” But the relaxed, quiet time we spent in the hours after the first feeding were very pleasant. I had the opportunity to get to know the faggot better, and vice versa. I learned that leatherscatpig has quite a good sense of humor, as evidenced by his tastes in comedy material. This was also the period during which the faggot started making things for me, including CDs and videos. I found this very sweet. I had shared a part of myself with him, and it seemed that he wanted to share part of himself with me. Meanwhile, the snow was still falling. I remember wondering how long it would go on snowing.
After some of the warm, fuzzy time had passed, a wonderful thing happened. Much to my surprise, I began to feel that I had more to offer the shit slave. Yes, another log, at the very least. When I told the faggot about it, there was a gleam in his eye—this look of pleasant surprise mixed with anticipation and hunger. After all that I’d fed him earlier, this pig was still hungry for more. This must come as no revelation to those of you who know from shit, but for those of you who don’t, it’s worth mentioning that there is somewhat of a feast or famine aspect to this that I’ve learned about over time. It goes without saying that shit is a fairly specialized interest. It’s not for everybody. Sub bottom shit eaters may go for months without a good feeding. And good dom top feeders tend to always be in short supply. Think of the disproportionate number of bottoms to tops in the gay world in general, and magnify it many times. Then you’d have a sense of the hunger out there among shit eaters. Put into this context, leatherscatpig’s eagerness to eat again in the same day is completely understandable.
Needless to say, the faggot set things up again, I chained him to the rimseat again, we took our respective positions, and I fed him again. There were a couple of differences this time, though. First, I felt more confident about my new dom top feeder skills, and that allowed my more sadistic tendencies to make themselves known during the feeding. Second time around, I was more demanding, more insistent, and showed less mercy with the pace of the feeding. It was very much about, “Eat faster, you fucking faggot. Faster. Faster.” I tried to overwhelm the shit slave by going faster this time. At one point I did try to force too much, too fast, and he couldn’t keep up. He begged for a break before he had finished eating what I had so generously given him, and I granted his request. But then it was right back to it. A break is one thing, but leaving my gift uneaten is not acceptable. So he got right back in the saddle and finished what he had started.
The other difference this time was the cleanup approach. After he had downed the last of my shit, he asked me if I would consider laying in the sling for cleanup. I was intrigued by the idea, and hopped into the sling. This allowed leatherscatpig to clean me up from a different, more comfortable angle. And clean me up he did. Again, clean as a whistle. And the process for getting me clean, of course, was much to my liking. What is not to like about a faggot’s warm, wet tongue cleaning my ass and my shit hole thoroughly?
There was another very relaxed, laid back period after the second feeding. There was more talk, more music, more CD burning. By the time it was going for 5:00 p.m., I was ready to wrap things up. I hadn’t checked my e-mail or voice mail since Friday afternoon, and for someone as connected as I am, that was uncomfortable. Besides, after 16 hours or so with the faggot, I was just ready to go. I was satisfied, and there was nothing more I wanted from the shit slave at that point. The faggot packed up my parting gifts, including the comedy CDs and the copies of a couple shit vids. I leathered up and was off, out into the snow. I was amazed at how much snow was on the ground. The whole city had been transformed into a white urban wonderland. As I stood on the platform waiting for the el, my mind began to process all that had happened since Friday night. I reflected on this new experience, and considered where it might lead in the future. When the train arrived, I got on and decided to stand for the long ride back down to the South Loop because my ass was so tender. By the time I reached the Roosevelt stop, I was well and truly exhausted. The walk to my loft from the train was an arduous one due to the snow and my tiredness. I learned later that Chicago had received over 18 inches of snow from the storm.
Great story!