The Mounds Hotel Pt. 04

The next morning found the occupants of male-only Mounds Hotel trading their soiled diapers for clean clothes and showers, per instruction, all gathered in the mid-morning light of a perfect spring Nevada Saturday. They stood in the open expanse behind the long-rectangular backside of the hotel – the Mounds Hotel was seated on a hillside, with the back facing a private tract of land called the ‘yard’. The men stood before the yard, just outside the basement where Fred and Ken had luxuriously fucked the night before in a pool of human and animal manure. The back entrance was flanked by a larger loading/unloading door for transporting industrial amounts of poop by dump-truck.

Gentle sunshine pierced through crisp, dry air beneath a cloudless sky that faded from pale yellow on the horizon to a perfect blue above. The land behind the hotel was mostly flat, with an arid rock-garden that gradually melded into a golf-course landscape, with what appeared to be man-made ponds and grass lawns interspersed with rock features; a paved roadway connecting what seemed to be putting-greens and driving ranges extending into the horizon of the yard. It was utterly private; no outside structure was in sight for miles. A cow’s insistent mooing could be heard in the distance.

Fred and Ken stood together in the crowd of thirty or so men, all of different ages, shapes, and sizes; each wearing a devious, anticipatory smile. The college students from last night were all accounted for; standing in a line, linking arms, loosely grasping each other’s wastes, and muttering in hushed tones. A mood of imminent sexual mischief and distortion hung thick and heavy in the air, but everyone was behaving… for now.

“Gentleman, gentleman… good morning… and hello” the characteristically laid back, soothing voice of Al broke the silence, prompting the guests to perk up.

Al strode out of the hotel back entrance and into the yard, just behind where the men stood. Al was wearing a pristinely ironed, pressed pair of khaki trousers, in a relaxed fit, atop glistening leather loafers. He wore a loosely fitted, pail-blue cotton blouse tucked into his trousers, with billowing sleeves rolled up to the elbow; the kind of shirt that an actor from a 1940’s film might wear. Atop the shirt he’d donned a cream-colored tweed vest. A silver watch glistened on his perfectly oiled skin. He wore dark green Ray-bans that obscured his eyes, but he flashed a demonic grin. It was clear that Al was roll-playing, and something good was coming. Fred could feel his penis, neatly tucked around his scrotum in his clean cotton diaper, surge slightly with a flush of anticipation. Ken gripped Fred’s arm and jiggled his knees forth and back, the small hairs on his testicles tingling. Al had left a silver tray at their room door that morning, which, along with a full breakfast, had included fresh diapers, fitted trousers, and white polo shirts for the couple to wear; with a tub of classic hair-styling grease. A handwritten rhyme instructed them simply to:

“Don the diaper and wear these for the day.

Eat what is given you, grease up, and prepare to play”

All the guests that morning had apparently received the same instructions, as they’d arrived in the same well-coiffed, if not old-fashioned, outfits. The men with scalp hair had combed it over or otherwise styled heavily with the soft grease, buffing their hair to grand proportions. Those with beards had similarly applied generous amounts of styling to their faces. The sweet smell of cologne and, of course hair grease, mixed with the constant stench of manure, hung over the crisply dressed crowd.

Al continued. “After all the mayhem… and may I say, mess, you caused me and the staff last night after dinner…” Al turned to the college students and smiled slowly. “And I mean big mess, gentlemen… The staff and I thought it would be important that we stop our poop-play to polish our manners and dress things up a bit. You all need some good-old, formal sport to remind you of how to behave. So, how about, a nice game of golf?” Al bent forward a bit, squatting slightly at the knees in his carefully ironed trousers. “Hmm? What do you say? You’ve all eaten your breakfast and changed, so you’re ready to go, right? The way we’ll play today will begin with some exploration… I have buried your… balls and clubs in the area you see before you. Simply step forth and find your equipment so you can begin playing escort bursa golf, when I say, go… Ready?” Al leaned back on himself slightly and chortled with glee.

“Go.”

Silence. The men turned to each other in surprise, not knowing quite what to do or expect. After some hesitation, a tall, slim man in his sixties named Dale from Cleveland stated that he would go, with a laugh. “What’s to lose in a game of golf, right, men?”

A sweet, round-faced man named Beau from Taiwan laughed demurely and clasped his plus-one’s arm, “We’ll join you! Let’s play, everyone!”

Al stood looking on in smiling silence.

The men strutted forth confidently… until Dale stumbled forth into a ‘patch of grass’, and sunk a meter into the ground with a satisfying squish. Similarly, Beau and his boy slid together across what had looked like a gravel patch, but was actually perfectly smooth, silky wet clay, into a ‘rock’ that was actually a mound of soft… human poop. Their pristine khakis and polos were stained a dark brown. Their faces swiftly changed from a moment of surprise to understanding pleasure. Dale threw back his head and scooped up the filth, smearing it into his silver hair, roiling deeper into the pool of manure he’d slid into for himself.

Beau stood up and stripped his trousers, realizing he’d not need his outfit any more. “Fuck this! There is no golf!” He said, laughing and tossing the ruined trousers to the ground. He lay his round, naked ass on the soft pile of poop that had been a ‘rock’, still wearing the white polo shirt. He crushed the poop pile beneath his own weight, and slid down onto his boyfriend who sat in the mud with a cry of pleasure.

The other men, realizing the prank, smiled at each other and poured forth into the yard, eager to find their own patch of play space. Al just looked on, smiled, and slightly spread his legs apart.

The group of college students quickly found that a golf-course ‘pond’ was in fact a gently heated cesspool of warm cow feces. They dove in and started fucking each other shamelessly in the sunlight, engorged, poop-covered dicks driving into each other through their unzipped trousers. One tall, athletic student named Mattox, who’d been sent on a ‘poop scholarship’ provided by the Mounds Hotel, stood up, dropped his trousers, squatted over the others, and began releasing a dozen wet, 2-foot-long, fist-thick feces onto his wriggling friends, before sliding backward into the mess, his arms outstretched. Meanwhile, in the foreground Dale milked his enormous dick uncontrollably on top of a growing pile of shit, his gentlemanly demeanor giving way to his inner beastly tendencies as he shred the polo shirt and smeared his chest with poop.

The thirty-or-so men mingled and explored, dipping into each others’ puddles and piles. Feces erupted from everyone, everywhere, spontaneously, as the breakfast that morning had once again been laced with the patent laxative formula of the hotel. Some men would squat, make a large pile and deliberately step in it, letting the poop ooze between their toes; others would find a welcoming lap to sit, and let their product ooze forth from the tangle of legs before proceeding to lay back and fuck themselves. Still others would find a secluded, somewhat private pool to stand, fully clothed, and pump out fistfuls of shit into their pants to massage themselves with in quiet, dirty bliss. In a way, it was much like a playground; some men played only with themselves; others exclusively in couples; others in groups. There was no hesitation or shame; only empowered, bellowing laughter; satisfied groans; impassioned sighs; and gratified hissing as the guests rolled and bathed and fucked with their shit in various ways.

The sheer sight of the devolving, feces-strewn crowd and softening, sinking landscape simply caused Fred and Ken to stand close, squeeze their thighs together, and cum at once together, sighing and grasping each other’s crotches in the thrill. They were just about to move to join the other men in the yard for more fun when they heard Al from the behind them.

“Wait a minute there” Al uttered lowly. In the last ten minutes, he’d somehow stripped the golf outfit to reveal another skin tight, latex jumpsuit, this time a deep ocre color that was flanked by a furry neck collar. Al wore the same rubber knee-high boots from yesterday, and he’d donned an enormous, clearly swollen diaper that görükle escort enclosed around the middle of his jumpsuit. He was stroking his scrotum area slowly, gazing at the diaper clad hotel staff as they rolled out a picnic-lunch in the backyard for the men at play. Al looked down lovingly at the bulges of brown sludge hanging around his waist “Oh yes… they only let me take off the diaper for the costume stunts – then I have to put it back on for the rest of the weekend… well, ‘they’ is me because I make the rules” his voice trailed off into a low laugh. “So gentleman… I wanted to meet with you two special guests in particular. I have a plan for us, of sorts.”

Fred grinned at Ken with curiosity and looked to Al. “What might that plan be?”

Al impulsively pressed his hands to his buttocks, producing an indulgent squishing sound. “You see, the potion I’ve created here… I want to bring it to the world. I believe people all over the world should be able to enjoy creating the enormous poop we enjoy at Mounds…” Al gestured to Dale, who was masturbating shamelessly into a pile of feces the height of a lawn chair.

“I love that he made that for himself… you see, these shits of of toilet-destroying scale… of such a size that they can’t contain it in modern sewage systems… are good for us. I sincerely think it would make the world a happier place if men who loved poop played with it in the open, and the world was made to accept that. The health benefits, both to the gut and the psyche, are numerous… more men should explore it, honestly, all men should try it once…just think about it. You two have shown particular wonder that has inspired me” Al bent forward and slid his bulging erection across the folded wrists of Ken and Fred, gently tapping them both with his diaper.

“Aww, well” Ken sputtered with his southern twang. “I’m getting awful excited hearing your mantra, Al… this is big stuff” Ken let out a wet fart and stopped, grabbing Fred’s arm. “Uh, honey? I don’t know but… I think it’s coming!”

Fred smiled with compassion and excitement at the same time. “It’s all good baby, just let it out, let it alllll out.”

In his gentlemanly posture and all-white clothing, Ken giggled breathily and kept farting, in wet, sloppy spurts. What had been a neatly ironed, cotton garment wrapped around Ken’s generous hips was to be desecrated by this man’s wrath. His wet farts continued, sounding deeper, evolving into a soft squirting, squishing sound. Ken stood in place, raising his leather loafers feet one at a time, shifting his weight while holding Fred’s arm. His massive butt released a generous, wet shit, the size of a bowling ball, that promptly sent Ken’s khaki’ed butt creasing down and outward.”

Ken laughed and pressed his legs together, sending the bulge ever outward, and hugged Fred’s arm; Fred stood erect and excited. “Oh, YES. But Ken, honey, let’s listen to what Al has to say, I sense it’s going to be good… it will build on what you’ve just done, I think.”

Al smiled lovingly at Ken’s product and farted sharply and briskly in approval. “Very nice, Ken! Keep that up while we talk! Fred, I know your research as a biochemist has focused on the gut microbiome… I also know you work in the FDA on a clinical trials team…Ken, I know you are a mass-production manager for over-the-counter drugs…” Al’s voice trailed off and he placed his hands over his bulge, feigning shyness before grinning and removing his sunglasses. “So… with your expertise, we can get this potion tested clinically and approved as a supplement, mass-produced, distributed to all over the States… we can bring Mounds Hotel to the masses!”

Fred inhaled sharply, his green eyes coming to life. “I, I hadn’t thought of…”

Ken stood up from his pooping squat. “It would be easy to mass-produce if we have the right formula and process testing!”

Fred loved nothing more than the plan, the anticipation of pooping mischief. This was about to take a new level; he envisioned thousands of men across the world, deserting their mere toilets for the bedroom, the living room, the garage, the outdoors… dumping massive amounts of excrement and playing in it, endlessly.

Al smiled and pressed his palms together. “Yes, yes! Haha! And it gets better for you two… you know, if you go into business with me…” Al pulled a printed contract from behind one of the recently set outdoor dining tables. “You will get a free year-round all-access room here at the hotel!”

Fred thought for a moment, farted loudly, and leaned on his hip. “If you ask me… I’d want to throw in another condition… you know what it is?”

Al smiled hesitantly. “Yes?”

Fred looked at Ken with a grin. “I’d like you to pack out all the poop that Ken and I make here, this weekend, and ship it to our home in Virginia. It may be a truck’s worth, but I want every last smear to reach ours by the summer, and I want it to be wet, stinky, and fresh as if we made it yesterday. I’ve got plans, big plans, for our home playground.”

Al threw his head back and laughed. “Of course, my pirate, of course. I’ll have it sent as soon as you make your last glorious bowel movement on the premises. But I trust you’ll be back soon to make more. And on the note of going home tomorrow, I want to also give you…” Al paused dramatically. “A lifetime’s supply of my potion!! You’ll be pooping more BY THE MINUTE WITH MY POWER! A-hahahahahahahaha!” Al broke down into hysterical laughter, releasing a fresh, barreling wave of shit into his diaper, which sagged to past his knees by this point. Still laughing, Al collapsed slowly to his knees, kneeling back into the bloomphy pile of his full diaper, grasping his chest as he instinctively climaxed, his ejaculation making a sloppy sound inside the rings of poop that obviously surrounded his dick.

Fred and Ken kissed and hugged, turning to watch Al’s bliss.

“Men! Glorious, filthy men!” Al cried, breathing hard as he came out of his climax. “It’s time we put this into a contract and signed” Al put the contract on the dirt ground in front of Fred and Ken’s feet, drawing a curious look from them.

“Go ahead… pee.” said Al. “Pee on the contract. That’s how we sign around here. The paper is thick enough to absorb your piss, and it will react to the acids in your respective pees and change color to a prescribed shade. You can sign it by hand later, but this is more fun! Come on, let’s pee to the deal and go have a poop!”

Fred didn’t need more convincing. He’d waited long enough to get started on the new venture – and he was ready to release. He drew out his flushed dick from his diaper and pants and immediately began soaking the contract laying on the ground before him, blowing a loud, long poot from his butt and running a hot hand through his inflated, greasy hair-do. As Fred kept peeing, he pulled out the hair grease tin from his sagging khaki pocket, opened it, and scooped the contents into his palm, swiftly shoving the grease into his pants and smearing his buttcrack with the soft lubricant. His anus twitched with pleasure and groaned, ready to burst any minute.

Meanwhile, Ken stood gingerly atop the contract paper, careful not to drop any of his new load onto it as he carefully pushed the head of his erect dick diagonally downward, through the left-leg opening in his diaper. He laughed boyishly as he let out a stiff, golden stream down the front of his left khaki-leg. Feeling the warm length of his erect penis stretch across his diaper, soaking his attire in front of his husband and new business partner took him to a stage of bliss he’d not known before.

“Ha! I DO love to pee, after all! It’s the first thing I did here” Ken said with a wink to Fred.

“All for one, and one for all!! In the name of men who love to poop!” Ken cried and slapped his bowling-ball sized shit with a laugh.

Al, who remained kneeling on top of his poop, pulled his cum-dripping, poop-caked dick, now half-erect, out of his diaper and spewed a clear puddle onto the paper he’d laid before him.

“I’m well-hydrated, what can I say” he winked at Fred and Ken.

“Well boys, what can I say… I’m the luckiest, dirtiest man alive. You two go join the fun now! Poop your brains out and come back for lunch in a minute so you can poop even more!”

Fred and Ken joined arms and sauntered into the yard, laughing, kissing, sticking hands down to fondle the other’s dick and balls, poop slipping out into their diapers with every step, diaper bulges growing to three, four bowling balls’ size… they slowly ripped their clothes off as they strayed past all the playing guests, wrestling with the thrill of the unspoken power they’d happened upon – they, they were to start a wave of massive, uncontrollable pooping that would change the sexual and gut wellness of the world, one oversized load at a time. And along the way? They’d reach a nirvana they’d only began to discover… moaning, groaning, laughing men lay in the Nevada sunshine, basking in shit, stench, sex, and unsheathed power.