> Going Out to Feed [Scat]
>  by TheHungerTrain
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

> Going Out to Feed
> --------------------------------------------------------------------------

You felt a sting deep in the pit of your wallet as you withdrew funds, hundreds of bits, for today’s night of debauchery. The group of stallions around you chanted, “More, more, more, more” as the bills fluttered from the ATM into your awaiting hoof. You tucked “your” hard-earned cash into “your” wallet. You bowed at your masters’ hooves and presented the hefty wallet to who really owned it: your masters Soarin’, Thunderlane, Double Diamond and Bow Hothoof.

Double Diamond snatched the bifold out of your hooves, “Thanks, piggy bank!”

Bow chimed in with a humorous smirk, “Heh, thanks kiddo, looks like you’ll be buying dinner tonight, as per usual.” He took the cash out of “your” wallet and fanned it under your nose, “Ah, get a whiff of that, moneybags. That's the scent that puts your meal in our bellies.”

Your cheeks turned red as you saw the queue of ponies who were waiting to use the ATM all giving you strange looks. Your attention was reclaimed as Soarin’ lifted your head up towards him. “Here’s your ‘finder’s fee’. Open up.” You opened your mouth and all 4 of your masters scraped their throats before hocking their thick, slimy loogies into your awaiting maw. 

You glanced back over to the crowd and briefly made eye contact with a stallion before his eyes zipped anywhere yours weren’t. His wife gave you a deep, burning leer of contempt. While he tried to look oblivious, his rapidly growing member hanging between his legs betrayed his desires.

Thunderlane pulled you to your hooves and you swallowed your gift. Your masters had decided for a nearby sports bar to be tonight’s destination and they led you, their walking bank account everywhere on nights like these As you followed your masters, you saw a sea of heads turn with you, keeping the same confused, disdainful look on their faces.

Your masters walked abreast down the wide city street, with you in tow not two steps behind them. Bow raised his tail and beckoned you, “Over here, kiddo.” You promptly shoved your muzzle into his asshole. You huffed deeply as Bow ripped a bubbly, raunchy dad fart straight up your nose. Before you could even fully react to the first blast, another volley of his farts hit you in the face with a sound like giving CPR to a whoopee cushion. “Ha! Can you tell the wife’s been makin’ me eat more fresh veggies?”

The group howled with laughter as you couldn’t help but give a stifled cough at Bow’s ripe, vegetal farts. Double Diamond called you over to him, and before you could even get your nose in his plot, he blasted your face with a loud jet of air. Proving as always that Double could be more bark than bite, his gas was comparatively tame to your warped standards.Soarin’ brought you over to him as well. His gas was very beany, almost sweet and spicy from his love of Mexicolt food. 

Some more time passed as you walked to dinner before Thunderlane called you over and you anxiously gulped. He, by far, had the worst flatulence of the entire group. You nervously pressed your nose to his donut and waited. To your surprise, there was no big gust of wind from his ass. Instead, your nostrils caught fire as his silent-but-deadly puff finally hit you. 

The group had to fully stop to wait for you to catch your breath as you choked and sputtered from Thunderlane’s toxic fumes. “Aw come on,” Thunderlane mocked you in a sarcastic tone, “Don’t tell me you’re tapping out before we even get to the restaurant.” Your senses finally cleared themselves as you determinedly continued following your masters.

You finally arrived at Ziggy’s bar, your masters’ favorite place to “prepare your meal.” You followed the hostess to your favorite corner booth. You slid in first so that you were in the middle with Bow and Double Diamond to your left and Soarin’ and Thunderlane to your right. The waitress brought over the menus along with a massive, frosty pitcher of beer and mugs. She had poured four pints before you meekly asked for just a water. “Well, sure thing, sugarcube. I’ll go get that for ya.”

“Hell yeah, that’s right, more beer for us.” Soarin’ took a massive gulp from his mug and blew the bready scent into your nose. The waitress came back with your glass of water and took your masters’ orders. Double Diamond ordered multiple platters of buffalo-style tofu wings. Bow ordered an animal-style triple hayburger deluxe with fries and a full-sized Cobb salad.

Skipping over you, Soarin’ ordered his favorite, a Mexicolt combo platter: tacos, burritos, nachos and plenty of rice and beans; enough for an entire party and he meant to eat it by himself. Thunderlane took his turn tearing apart “your” bank account as he ordered an entire 16” pizza for himself. Loading it with a smorgasbord of the most foul and expensive ingredients, you could feel every addition he made adding dollars upon dollars to the bill. “What will you have, sir?” asked the waitress, looking at you earnestly. 

Before you could answer, Bow put his wing over your mouth and answered for you, “Ah, he won’t be eating here. ‘Cause he’ll be eating our leftovers tonight!” The stallions broke out in a hearty laugh and the naive waitress gave a chuckle.

“Well, with all the food you fellas are ordering, he’ll certainly have plenty to eat.” 

Soarin’ playfully elbowed you, “Oh, if only she knew.” The stallions quickly drained the first beer pitcher. Bow grabbed your head in his hoof and let out a deep, bubbly belch in your face. The thick, yeasty aroma of beer burps quickly filled your lungs as your masters took turns burping on your face and even into your mouth like a kiss.

Eventually, the waitress brought your masters’ food to the table: Double Diamond’s tower of wings and garden salad, Bow’s piled high burger and overflowing Cobb salad, and Soarin’s fiesta of different dishes. You looked in horror at Thunderlane’s abomination of a pizza as she set it in front of him. Green olives, blue cheese, onions, green peppers, jalapenos, and mushrooms? You could tell he was fucking with you, there was no way that was a good combo. “Dig in fellas!”

Your masters all ate like wolves as you sat there with an empty placemat. They loudly chewed their food, teasing you with moans of delight as they ate. Each of your masters used you as their burp-bag, none more so than Bow. His dad stomach produced belches at an alarming rate; every few minutes he gave you another one. Thunderlane held up a slice of his franken-pizza, “Mmm, it’s just so delicious. Too bad you don’t get to eat it… not yet anyway.” 

Eventually, they had finished all of their food. A busboy’s nightmare of empty dishes piled on the table. Double Diamond called you over, “Hey, hooflicker, I need a napkin over here.” Double’s regularly snow white hooves were now coated in the bright orange sauce of his buffalo wings. You licked the spicy, acidic buffalo sauce off of his hooves, even digging your tongue into his frogs to get him clean. “Heh, that’s the closest you’ll get to real food tonight.”

The waitress came back to the table with the bill and Soarin’ tossed you “your” wallet, “Why don’t you do the honors, ‘Deep Pockets’?” Your heart skipped a beat as you saw the grand total: All the massive meals they had ordered each had driven the already mildly steep prices of Ziggy’s to over $200. The bill combined with the tip you left the nice waitress had completely drained “your” wallet, eating through an entire week’s worth of pay in one meal. 

The waitress took the cash over to the register, leaving you holding your empty wallet. “Aw,” Bow fatherly cooed in your ear, “How about we ‘pitch in’ a little?” Bow scraped his throat and hocked a loogie into the open folds of your wallet. The rest of your masters followed suit, filling your empty billfold with their thick, slimy spit. They looked at you expectantly, and you knew what they wanted.

You tipped your head back and slurped the thick spit out of your wallet, tasting the faint remnants of their meals in a cacophony of contrasting flavors. They laughed as they watched you take the hardest shot of your life. You didn’t need change so you left the restaurant. Wrangling a group of buzzed, rowdy stallions home can be best described as an ordeal. Every 30 feet it seemed that one either tried to: burp on you, fart on you, or hit on you. 

Eventually, you manage to get them home with you. Opening the door, you immediately assume the doormat position. You felt the air pressed out of your lungs as your masters dug their hooves into your back and trampled you. Double Diamond’s slight frame didn’t hurt much, and Soarin’ and Thunderlane definitely gave you a good squeeze, but Bow’s thick, muscular dad bod crushed you. You felt the bones in your back crack and pop from his weight. You groaned as Bow gave you a deep-tissue massage better than any professional ever could.

You finally caught your breath after the stallions had sufficiently wiped their hooves on you. They stumbled into the living room of the house they graciously let you pay for. They crashed in a pile on the sofa and flipped on the TV, going right to the sports channel that you paid extra to get for them.

It was amazing how quickly your masters could put away their meal. After only half an hour of being their hoof stool while they watched football, hearing their bellies churn and cook your food, Diamond leaned forward and said, “I don’t know about you guys, but I think it’s dinner time for poor, hungry Moneybags down here.”

The rest of the stallions all mumbled in agreement. Thunderlane ordered you, “Hey, go get us some plates, your meals are ready.” You went to the kitchen and got 4 plates, the special, extra expensive plates that only your “meals” were to be served on. You carefully set the plates at the rear hooves of your masters as they stood abreast, lining up to “pay you back” for feeding them.

From left to right stood Double Diamond, Soarin’, Bow Hothoof and Thunderlane. Laying out the courses of your meal in order, Double Diamond held the receipt in his hoof. “The first part of your meal is primarily made of 3 platters of a dozen buffalo tofu-wings, with notes of a garden salad of lettuce, tomatoes, onions, cucumbers and carrots, totaling a cost of $53.17.”

Double Diamond squatted down over the plate. His snow white ponut squeezed out a gooey, ruddy brown paste with a concert of audible gas crackles. The hot, sour stench of his tofu paste filled the air as it loosely piled onto the plate. He moaned as his peanut buttery shit finally stopped flowing from his ass, leaving him with a heavily contrasting brown ring of sludge on his white asshole.

Soarin’ took the receipt in his wing and continued reading the recipe of your meal. “Your next course is a fiesta of different Mexicolt dishes: loaded nachos, tacos, burritos, enchiladas, and enough rice and beans to feed a party. All in all, my turds cost you $59.62.”

Soarin’ bent his knees, not fully squatting as he prepared to to drop your meal. A series of short, creamy, chocolate brown turds rapidly flowed from Soarin’s ass, hitting the plate with wet “plaps”. Each two-inch segment was absolutely riddled with partially digested corn and black beans; his rapidly growing chunky pile was a mosaic of his used food. Eventually, one last little turd popped out of Soarin’s hole, leaving a full plate of his pungent turds between his hooves.

Up next was Bow. “Looks like our living wallet’s getting quite a show. Time to blow you young fellas’ out of the water. Well kiddo, get ready, this one’s price is a doozy. A triple animal-style hayburger deluxe with monster fries along with a fully loaded Cobb salad ate $65 even out of ‘your’ wallet. You better hope this log is worth it.”

Bow didn’t even bend as a giant woofer of a fart blasted out of his ass. It filled the room with its ripe, vegetal smell. You watched in euphoria as Bow’s thick, juicy dadhole swelled before the greenish brown head of his log crowned. His girthy, olive-tinted hole stretcher grew as thick as your hoof as it glacially flowed from his insides. 

The eight inch tip of his log gently tore off from its own weight and hit the plate with a soft, dry thump. More and more sections of Bow’s poop that would have been respectable logs by themselves broke off and joined their brothers on the plate. The plate was piled high with Bow’s thick logs as the last hoof-sized chunk cleanly fell from his hole. He let out another vegetal blast from his gut and looked back at his massive pile, “Heh, Windy would be proud of that one.”

Finally, the receipt was handed to Thunderlane. “Last, but certainly not least,  your “dessert” will likely be a pudding, made of a pizza with all the raunchiest, most expensive toppings I could drain your bank account and fill your stomach with.” Thunderlane aimed his butt over the plate and exhibited just what his bowels could do. 

Thunderlane’s asshole erupted in a torrential flood of his runny, mushy diarrhea. It spilled onto the plate beneath him like a thin, lumpy pancake batter. Its smell was horrendous; it even elicited coughs and sputters from your other masters it was so toxic smelling. “Heh, must’ve been the cheese.” Eventually, Thunderlane stopped painting the plate with his muck and a drip of his mush ran down his taint as he stood up. “Bon Appetit.”

Before you was a sumptuous feast of stallion dumps that your masters have generously prepared for you. You started with Double Diamond’s buffalo dump. The acid and spice from the wing sauce had not only came through in color and smell, but as well as flavor. The remnants of Double’s salad contrasted nicely with the soft texture. It wasn’t too spicy for you, but its heat was enough to clear your nostrils more than they had been. You thanked Double for his tasty load and moved onto the next dish.

Soarin’s chunky load of turds was a mess of flavors and textures. The spicy, bitter shit and second-hand beans coated your tongue in their muck while the kernels of corn burst and got stuck between your teeth as you chewed. With how much used food that was in Soarin’s load, it really reminded you how you were eating his waste and not real food. Your teeth were plastered with corn and bean skins as you made to eat Bow’s load.

You struggled to fit any of Bow’s turds in your mouth, and even when you did, you could barely manage to chew through his shit’s fibrous texture. You munched upon Bow’s thick, chewy logs as Bow teased you, “How’s that load taste, sport? Worth every penny?” You nodded with a long thick turd sticking out of your full mouth. “Ha! Good boy!” Bow’s fatherly love inspired you to finish his massive load even quicker to impress him.As you swallowed the last thick chunk of Bow’s shit, you beamed up at him with a big smile. “Ah, that’s my boy!” Bow patted you on the back and you finally hovered over your Everest.

The smell of Thunderlane’s lake of diarrhea almost made you weep even before you tasted it. Thunderlane planted a hoof on the back of your head,“Well, what are you waiting for?” He swiftly forced your face into his toxic mud. You immediately began coughing and retching as his almost poisonous shit coated your mouth and lower face like thick paint. 

You desperately tried to keep down the shits you had previously eaten; it would be hard enough to choke down his slop without having to eat a slurry of your own 3-stallion-load vomit. You could hardly manage to swallow dollop after dollop of his acrid butt-batter. Eventually though, you finally licked the plate and whatever you could of your face clean and Thunderlane took his hoof from your head. 

“Well look at you, shitface. You actually managed to eat it all.” You looked down at your belly, distended from the sheer amount of stallion shit you had just eaten. “As a reward, we’ll give you something to wash it down.” Soarin’ had gotten your pitcher from the kitchen and put it on the floor. All of your masters pissed in it at once, rapidly filling the pitcher with their golden, frothy urine much like the beer that fueled their streams. 

Eventually, their piss had slowed to a dribble as the pitcher was almost completely full, even sporting a nice, bubbly head like a tall mug of beer. “Drink up.” You held the pitcher high above your head as you chugged the salty, musky piss of your masters. You swished and gargled mouthfuls of their piss to wash the taste of Thunderlane’s muck out of your mouth.You didn’t stop until every golden drop of their urine was inside of you.

After you finished their beer piss, your masters finally invited you to bed with them. You had gotten the custom designed bed to make for easily cuddling with your masters, arranged around you like the swooping curves of a pine tree’s boughs around its trunk. You cherished the warmth of being in a big stallion cuddle pile, feeling their four sets of big, strong arms gently wrap around you as their body heat proved better than any bed warmer. 

You thanked your masters for a wonderful day, and your heart melted as they all warmly thanked you for being such a good filter to them. You gave all of your masters a loving goodnight kiss. Laying there in the dark warmth between your masters, their deep, mellow breathing is your lullaby as you drift gently to sleep, anticipating what tomorrow holds for you.