Viva Sin City

We gazed out at the Las Vegas skyline, at least as it looked from 12 floors up. "The last time I was standing on a balcony at this hotel," Hilda said, "I was with a woman named Michelle, who loved standing outside totally naked and covered in shit after we'd had a scat session, enjoying the view."

"Sounds wonderful," I said.

"It was. Her mother Debra was also with us. Quite the scat queen, was Debra."

"Oh, wow, mother-daughter and company," I mentioned. "That must have been very sexy and exciting. I wish I was there, too." I put my arm around Hilda's shoulder and she hugged me around the waist.

"I'm afraid that was a girl's-only extravaganza, so you would have had to arrange some other time. You would have loved it, though; the mess was incredible. Six women, no make that seven, making love to each other totally covered in shit, with most of the women arriving with at least one container of saved shit to use. The amount on hand was awesome, and none of it went to waste. Debra would have had a lot of fun with you."

"And vice-versa, I'm sure." I was picturing that scene basing it solely on what I knew about Hilda, imagining the other unknown-to-me women were just like her in desire and willingness, and what all that shit must have felt and smelled and tasted like, everyone spreading and feeding one another with it, limbs and torsos intertwining in sheer ecstasy. It must have been amazing.

We stepped back into the room and just then the outer door opened and Sadia walked in carrying a number of items. "You've been here before, Hilda, so you know the routine," she said. "I keep these in a special place for my scat customers. Here is some plastic sheeting that's been pre-cut to fit in that vacant section of the floor I mentioned, and another for the bed, some extra sheets and extra towels. You're here for a conference, right?"

"That's right," said Hilda. "The Farallon."

"There must be fifty conferences going on somewhere in this town at any given time. I think I've heard of that one, but not like if it was held in this hotel. Anyway, before you leave in the morning, put everything that's soiled, if anything, though Hilda, unless you've had a major religious conversion or you're not really Hilda but just a pretender, I'm sure there will be plenty of soiled items... just put them in that large black bag in the bathroom. It will be taken away and replaced with clean items. All the maids are paid extra for doing that, among other scat-related cleanup chores."

"Don't worry, we'll leave them a nice tip before we leave," I said.

"Have a blast, the two of you," Sadia urged, "just remember it's a hotel and not a scat resort. I had to almost ban a group from Michigan not long ago because of their extravagances, though they apologized and paid for the damages."

"We were just on the balcony," said Hilda, "which made me think of Michelle. Have you seen her lately?"

"Only once since her mother passed," Sadia answered. "She was able to time her last visit so we could be together. You know Michelle, so into scatting just like her mother was, no holds barred. I wish she would visit more often."

"Speaking of visiting, we hope, no expect, you to join us whenever you can. Like tomorrow, for instance. Remember?"

"Sure, about 11 p.m. It's all arranged." They grinned at each other as if they were in cahoots on something, or maybe it was just they had spoken on the phone and had worked out a time for all of us to get together.

Sadia looked at me and smiled. "Hilda's told me all about you, James, and I look forward to finding out for myself just how accurate she was."

"I've been told that women sometimes exaggerate certain things in those circumstances; I hope I'm not a disappointment to you."

She laughed and said, "If Hilda's kept you around this long, I'm sure you won't be that." I liked her cool confidence, so similar to the way Hilda was, and definitely looked forward to the following evening.

***

We didn't scat that first night, and after breakfast the next morning we took the monorail to the hotel where the Farallon was being held. There was a good crowd in attendance, and we ran into a few people from other offices of our company, recognizable from the nametags we wore. Every other presentation seemed to be about how AI was going to transform the business, and ways we should be preparing ourselves. It was interesting at first, especially the hands-on demonstrations (more of these were expected over the following two days) and then not so much. Late in the afternoon we returned to our hotel.

There was a nice restaurant there, at which I made a reservation for us a couple of hours hence. In our room we decided to put our two-person tub to good use, and we took a bath together. It felt good soaking in the hot soapy water after spending most of the day on our feet. At one point Hilda rinsed the soap off my cock and sucked me, deep and slow. She took it deep down her throat until her lips were touching my belly. She is reluctant to suck me so deep when it's coated with shit for fear of choking, but that wasn't the case now and it felt fantastic. She put her hand on my cock to stroke me which limited the depth I could reach in her throat, but her speed increased and I was building to a climax quickly. I groaned and exploded, dumping my cum in her mouth. She got all of it, showed it to me, and then swallowed.

We got out of the tub and helped each other dry off. Usually Hilda, once in a naked state, likes lingering that way, but she was eager to get dressed. She told me before we left home she had bought a couple of new outfits as planned and couldn't wait to show them off to me. She went to the closet where she had hung them up, picked one, and brought it to the bed. She removed it from its protective wrapper and held it up. It was a light-blue minidress, and when she held it to her body, seemed to barely conceal her pussy.

"I was hoping to find one in lavender, like the one I imagined earlier, remember? but had to settle for this blue one. Like it?"

"It's gorgeous," I told her. "You might get arrested, however, wearing it in public."

"Not in this town, are you kidding? This is a going-to-church outfit." She had it on by that time and, indeed, it reached only to the top of her thighs and just barely covered her ass. The neckline was cut very low, almost to her nipples. She leaned forward slightly over the back of a chair and asked me if I could see her ass.

"Not standing up like this," I said, "but if I squat down a little like this" (and I scooched down), "I can for sure."

"Good," she replied. "Perfect. Let's see how clumsy men become around me dropping things so they can bend down and gaze at my ass."

"Are you going to wear anything underneath?" I asked.

"Now, why would you think I'd spoil it by doing that?"

"The ultimate man-torturer, that's my sexy Hilda all right," I chuckled.

With the dress in place and a pair of tan sandal heels on her feet, we made our way to the restaurant. The pleasure I was experiencing of being with Hilda like this was profound and two-fold: not only was I with this beautiful sexy woman who was all mine, but every guy in the place would be jealous of me. Had to be, unless he were blind. It was obvious even before we got to the restaurant: men turned and stared, it was like a spotlight was on her in the elevator, and when we stepped off and Hilda grabbed my arm, how tremendous did that make me feel! Wow!

We had dinner, which Hilda made sure was rich in fruits and beans and leafy greens ("just thinking about later upstairs with Sadia," she said smiling) along with several glasses of wine. When we finished, we went into the casino, Hilda drawing attention from every direction, like iron pellets to a magnet. We stopped at a few of the gaming tables to observe (and be observed, at least one of us), even placed a few bets at a roulette table, but, typical of my luck, lost. When it comes to money wagering, I'm reminded of an uncle I have who complained his whole life that the only thing he ever "won" was when they instituted the draft lottery during the Vietnam War and his number was chosen almost immediately, guaranteeing he'd be drafted. I always could sympathize with my Uncle Frank, because I seemed to have inherited his luck. His wife, my Aunt Ellen, was a beautiful person, though, in both body and spirit, and everyone would remind him how lucky he was in that department, which he never denied and knew was true... exactly the way I feel about Hilda.

After sashaying around the casino a few times, having mesmerized many men, and women, too, with that light-blue minidress that showed off her gorgeous legs almost to the top of her thighs, we went into the lounge for a drink. I said to Hilda while we stood at the bar, each of us sipping another vodka tonic, how all those longing gazes made her feel.

"Considering what I'm wearing and where we are, the atmosphere of the place, pretty hot and sexy. A better question might be how does it make you feel?"

"Like the luckiest guy in the world."

"Good, because you are. And I'll show you why. But first, I almost forgot, do you have a handkerchief on you?"

I told her I did, and she asked to see it. She unfolded it and saw it was a large one, which pleased her immensely.

"That should do perfectly," she smiled, folding it haphazardly and handing it to me. I put it back in my pocket and forgot about it.

We finished our drinks and left the bar, heading for the elevators. My mind started racing, imagining us tumbling naked onto the bed in our room, our hands and mouths devouring each other, our all-consuming fetish cravings ready to explode, literally, from our bodies all over us. But when we reached the elevators, Hilda kept walking into a corridor, one that seemed to lead to offices that at this hour were empty and locked, to a black leather couch along the wall, where she sat and signaled me to do the same.

"Let's sit here for a minute," she said. "I just want to see something."

"I thought we were going to the room," I said, "but okay." It looked like we were spying on someone, but nobody came down the corridor. "What's up? Are you waiting for Sadia?"

"No," she answered. "I'm feeling incredibly sexy and daring and want to do something with you. I just want to see how deserted this hallway is." As we sat there I began to wonder if she wanted me to fuck her right there on the couch. I put my hand on her knee and slid it up her thigh to her pussy. She closed her legs capturing my hand, but didn't remove it. I leaned toward her to kiss her and after I did, I whispered to her that if she wanted to and thought it was safe enough, I'd fuck her on my lap.

She smiled at me but said she had a better idea. After several minutes had elapsed and no one had come along, she said, "Good. It's what I was hoping." She pointed surreptitiously to a spot across the way. "There's a little alcove in front of that door over there. See it?"

I looked toward where she was gazing and said I did.

She turned to face me and taking my arm said, "Let's go over there. I need to take a shit, James, and I want to do it in your hand right here. Then I want you to hold it while you cover it with the handkerchief and we'll walk to the elevators and go upstairs to the room. It's probably going to smell, and anyone near us, especially in the elevator, will smell it. Neither of us will say a word, act like nothing is out of the ordinary. They will probably all look at you, guessing what you're concealing under the handkerchief, but most likely won't say anything. How does that sound, Mr. Luckiest Guy in the World? Erotic? Sexy? Fun?"

I thought for a moment and said, shaking my head in amazement, "Hilda, sweet, sweet, Hilda. The things you come up with, you just blow my mind sometimes! Holy shit, that's so fucking incredible and risky, even scary as hell! But sexy? Fuck, yes! Fuck, fuck yes!"

"Good," she said. "I thought you might like it."

"But suppose someone does say something?" I asked. "Goes a little crazy even. Then what?"

"You'll just have to be resourceful, that's all. Keep thinking about what it will be like once we get to the room. That should help."

"Oh yeah," I said. "I'm thinking about that already. Let's do it!"

We got up and moved to the small alcove. We double-checked the corridor one last time for intruders, and then Hilda pulled her dress above her hips. It dawned on me this was another reason she didn't wear panties. I knelt behind her and ran my tongue through her ass crack and licked her asshole. The tip of a turd suddenly appeared, which I also licked, and thought for a second to hold my position and take her turd in my mouth. But then what? Walk through the lobby with a shitlog protruding from my lips? That certainly sounded wonderful to me, and I was sure Hilda would be just as thrilled, but everyone else would probably head off screaming. So I held my right hand beneath her ass, told her I was ready, and waited for her shit to fill it. She defecated a solid brown log, a bit firmer than was usual from her, but pliant enough to curl into my hand and then around onto itself once, making a neat pile. It smelled pungent but not overpowering. She said she had more but would hold it in reserve until we got to the room.

I stood up and she reached into my pocket for the handkerchief. Unable to resist the temptation, I held my hand up to our faces and asked her if she wanted to taste with me. I stuck my tongue out and ran it all over the pile, just tasting, not digging into it making a mess. I held it up for her and she did the same, and then kissed me, touching her tongue to mine. I held my hand palm up and she draped the handkerchief over the pile of shit.

"You've got three holding options," she said to me. "One, you can hold it like a waiter carrying a plate out in front of you, though everyone will know what's under the handkerchief quickly that way from the smell. Two, you can hold it down at your side, maybe keep it hidden along the side of your body, but just don't drop it -- what a fiasco that would be! Or three, you can hold it Napoleon style partly under the front of your jacket."

"I think I'll go with Napoleon," I said.

"Okay. You can always alternate to another position if that one doesn't feel comfortable."

"None of them will be comfortable, but that's the point, right?"

She kissed me and said, "That's the idea. But think how fucking horny it will make you! Make us!"

We walked down the corridor and once again to my surprise she continued past the elevators out into the crowded lobby. She was going to milk this for all it was worth. She whispered to me to just follow her, that we'd take a little promenade around the lobby to the casino and then back again. She was walking next to me.

"That shit isn't as smelly as it sometimes is," she whispered to me. "Too bad."

"I can smell it just fine," I replied, also in a whisper, "and people are starting to look at me. I have a feeling they don't find it quite as delectable as I do."

"Just ignore them. Or smile back roguishly, that might be more fun."

She seemed to be zeroing in on the most crowded sections of the lobby to amble through. A few times she stopped and engaged me in conversation, as if signaling to everyone that she was definitely with me and a co-conspirator in the secretive shit play that was occurring in their midst. Once I felt the handkerchief begin to slip off my hand and had to quickly reposition it or the pile would be in plain view. I tried once putting my hand to my side, but it was so hard managing things down there; I was afraid someone would knock the handkerchief off or I'd drop it, and brought it back under my jacket lapel again. This put the odor back at everyone's nose level, but gave me better control.

A few people were really noticing me now and beginning to talk. The shit-pile was also beginning to soften into mush from the heat of my hand, and I started worrying it might start dripping through my fingers. Hilda realized that, too, and decided to head to the elevators before things got out of hand (no pun intended). Two other couples joined us on the elevator, both having pushed floor number buttons lower than ours. To my surprise, Hilda pushed the 11 button for us rather than 12.

"We're on the twelfth floor," I reminded her.

"My mistake," she said and pressed 12.

Hilda began chatting to me about something, but I had no clue what she was talking about. She did this to distract the other two couples from wondering too much about that strange odor they were no doubt noticing, figuring they would be too busy eavesdropping on what she was saying. They looked at each other, indicating they were aware of a strange smell, but not 100% sure where it was coming from.

Finally, one of the women said, looking at me, "Phew. That smell."

Hilda immediately responded, "Yes, I know. We're sorry. There was a plumbing issue in the rest room near the exercise room, what a mess, and being in the wrong place at the wrong time, some of it got on my husband's shirt sleeve."

"Yeah, sorry," I put in. "That's why I'm trying to hide it under my jacket with this handkerchief. It smells horrible, I know. So embarrassing. The hotel will get it cleaned for me, and promised us a free night, as well."

"Oh, that's okay," the woman said. "I'm glad they're compensating you for the inconvenience, at least."

"Yeah," Hilda said. "They're pretty good at this hotel."

One couple got off on the third floor, the other on the fourth. When the second couple got off and we were alone, as soon as the door slid shut, I took my hand from under my jacket and lifted the handkerchief. Both of us were feeling very horny, what with the shit in my hand, the risk, the close call, and now being alone in the elevator, and I held the turd to her lips to taste again and she sucked one end of it this time like it was a cock, moaning slightly. As she savored the log I said, "That was good thinking, with my shirt sleeve."

"It was pretty lame, actually, if you think about it," she said, "but whatever. It worked." Her thoughts and desires were clearly on what was happening at the moment. "Fuck that, here, have a taste of me," and she turned my wrist and directed the log into my mouth. I sucked it a few times, delighting in its earthy texture, and then wiped our lips with the handkerchief. The elevator stopped again at the eleventh floor.

"Come on," Hilda announced. "We're getting off here."

"But we're on the twelfth," I insisted.

"I know. Come on."

We got off the elevator and she led me to the emergency stairs a few yards away. We went through the door and into the stairwell and climbed half way up between floors to where there was a landing. She stopped there, reached back and unzipped her dress, and took it off. Completely naked other than her heels, she said, "Get me all filthy right here, James. Spread that shit all over me now. When you're done you go to our room and open the door for me and I'll come running in naked from here."

Fuck, I couldn't believe this woman sometimes! She's the sexiest most fucking depraved and exciting woman I've ever met, and like she said she would, was about to show me why I was the luckiest man in the world. She broke the log in half and began spreading it all over her tits and up to her face. My half I smeared on her midsection and pussy and then all over her ass. Both of us were on full alert wondering if anyone would come barging through either of the two doors of the stairwell and what that would mean for us. The danger of that only added to the thrill, and we probably prolonged our stay covering Hilda's body in poop beyond what we should have, but neither door ever opened. I was still fully clothed so had to be careful, but couldn't resist sucking her tits after they'd been totally blanketed in shit and asked her to wipe some on my face and lips.