Equality of outcum

It’s Thursday evening, and the kitchen is running like a well-oiled machine. Chef wipes the sweat off his brow and lets out a deep breath. The bulk of the work was done. The burners and ovens were shutting down, and the cacophony of kitchen sounds were down to the clanking of cutlery on plates as his select crew were plating up and making sure everything was perfect. He was proud of his well-drilled team. Tonight was a good gig for his catering company, well paid and only 20 guests in a private setting. Still, Chef was not happy. As if to restore balance to the universe, the perfect performance in the kitchen was badly let down by the quality of the waiting staff. One waiter in particular. The only one he could not choose. 

He was glancing in her direction now, seeing her struggle to pick up a single plate on her tray. The entire machine ground to a halt as everyone patiently waited for her to complete her one job. Seeing 5 waiters each loaded up with 4 trays patiently waiting on one of their own was so unreal in this context that it made the room feel eerily quiet. At any other time, there would be some loud and fruity language directed at such a blatant display of incompetence. Such was the protocol. But protocol today was part of why he had to select this squad so carefully.

The focus of all the attention was a very unusual waiter. Dressed in a black french maids uniform, the first thing that came to the attention is the huge, polished, shiny melons protruding more than a foot from her chest. A chest that was currently under considerable strain. The reason for the strain was the tray that was attached to her waist, held up by thin cables coming from the base, center and front part of those pendulous breasts. Breasts that were cartoonishly buoyant, given their size. To stretch the credulity of physics even further, she was trying to pick up a large Chateaubriand sizzling in a cast iron hotplate by pushing her tray underneath it with her hips. The heavy plate pulled down on her large torpedoes, making the middle of her breasts bulge dangerously close to the sizzling meal. The only thing saving her from a brutal encounter with searing iron was an upright bar protruding from her breastbone at a forty-five-degree angle. Two black cables ran from pulleys at the top of this bar towards two heavy clamps attached to her nipples. The cables ran over the pulleys to two similar wheels mounted on her black collar and disappeared behind her back. This was her only axis of freedom. Behind her back, her wrists were bound together by a short chain. In each hand, she was holding a large egg. The two cables criss-crossed from her collar to be attached to wristcuffs on opposite wrists. With this ingenious solution, she could adjust the height of the tray by pulling her hands down her back and pulling her nipples up and away from her chest. Right now, she was using all her concentration to pull her wrist down hard, pulling her breasts painfully by the nipples whilst trying to keep her hands relaxed. If she breaks the eggs, she would be severely punished. 

Balancing the pain in her nipples with the heat coming from below, whilst trying to ignore the painful downwards tug on her breasts, wasn’t even all she had to contend with right now. Earlier in the evening, whilst carrying 4 pints of beer on her tray to the table, one of the guests started complaining about her posture. To ensure she kept a straight back, an elastic strap was braided into the ponytail coming down her back and attached to the hook in her arse. This forced her to arch her back and stick her chest out even further. This had the added effect of bringing her tummy closer to the hot food. And yet that was still not the only challenge she was facing. Locked in six-inch heels, she had to shove her arse out obscenely just to keep her balance. Walking in six inch heels is tough enough by itself, but the poor girl seemed to insist on walking with her legs spread uncomfortably wide. Chefs recons she probably wanted to show appreciation for the special decorations someone gifted her. Ten shiny metal balls hung between her legs. Attached to grommets inserted into her labia, 5 on each side, stretching her labia painfully and swinging and bumping constantly like a Newton's cradle. Or maybe it is the little metal bell hanging from her clit, constantly announcing her movements to all concerned. 

In truth, it was neither of those things. The real reason for her uncomfortable bowlegged waddle was something else protruding from her arse. Vaguely resembling a thick black tail or a flick synthetic feather duster, it hung between her legs, hair splaying out in all directions. Softly brushing the hairs produced a surprisingly strong tickling effect as the special nano-fibers interact strongly with the nerves in the skin. However, it is with constant and close friction that the real effect makes itself known. The tickling grows rapidly to unbearable levels due to the nanofibers generating electricity and very effectively applies it to the nerve endings. But rub too long or too strongly and the capacitor in the base, right in her arse, has to do a sudden discharge, resulting in a painful shock. She seemed very keen to avoid that. Especially whilst carrying a full tray.

Chef shook his head. He heard about rich people getting up to strange shenanigans in their yachts and private villas, but he’s never witnessed anything quite like this. When the situation was explained to him, he nearly rejected the deal on the spot. His business would be over if this ever appeared in the headlines. But the man was very persuasive, and the woman was so keen to show her appreciation. It was the best blowjob he ever had. When he got the team together and made the final arrangements, she was even more appreciative, with him and the entire team, in every orifice. That sealed the deal. That, and the fact that tonight, after the desserts, there would be a special bonus for the entire crew. He signed up for the entire year.

The woman was messy, though. That didn’t sit right with Chef. A kitchen should be hygienic and clean. Chef was the kind of guy that could not even watch Ratatui. Any rat, no matter how cute and how articulate, would ever be allowed in his kitchen. He would have to take that up with her later. But what to be done? The nectar dripping down her legs clearly indicated that she must be getting off on this; that could be handled. But the constant drooling? That was downright dangerous. He complained to the guests at the table, and they told him to put a pin in it! Hilarious pun. Clearly the alcohol was already doing its thing. The four-inch skewer inserted deep in the woman's tongue could hardly be called a pin. This pin prevented her from withdrawing her tongue into her mouth, leaving the appendage dangling off her lips and unable to swallow properly. He had one of the team dry her tongue with a dry cloth every so often, just so it didn’t spill on the food in the tray. One of them packed her mouth with a bag of salt in an attempt to stem the flow. Then there was the blood. The clamps on the nipples had sharp pins, and the design was such that they bit harder as more pressure was applied to avoid them slipping off. He had to draw the line at this point. He wrapped both nipples and clamps in bandages. Having no disinfectant, he soaked them in brine first. She must’ve really appreciated his concern as she danced and sang so beautifully when he applied it.   

Finally, Elke managed to shove the heavy iron plate and the three-kilogram Chateaubriand to share on the tray. Steeled herself, heaved heavily on the cuffs on her wrists, and with a deep groan lifted the entire contraption. She was sweating profusely. Slowly, she started waddling to the exit, past the line of waiting waiters. Given her waddling gait, walking with the tray was a symphony of movement. She had to swing her legs in wide arcs. This sets off a chorus of percussion from the metal balls and the bell dangling from her most private parts. To keep the tray steady, she had to alternate pulling on one wrist harder than the other in a coordinated motion, whilst still keeping her hands relaxed around the eggs. All of this in six-inch heels.

The balls hanging from her labia didn’t look that large individually. Maybe 150g each. But there were 10 of them. Her poor lips distended by several centimeters and were being pulled erratically in all directions as the balls swung, collided and bounced with every step. All these vibrations were translated straight into Elke’s cunt, adding to the arousal and creating yet another control problem for her. All this pain, humiliation and stimulation was getting her very close to cumming. 

Grunting, concentrating deeply, she went backwards through the swinging door, up a small flight of stairs and into the private dining table. The heat from the meal on the tray was starting to really warm her tits causing them to turn a deep red. The party was in full flow. Everyone was talking animatedly. Elke was happy her staff were getting together so well. Painfully, she shuffled all the way to the head of the table to place the dish down. Dave and Angie were sharing the Chateaubriant. As she was setting it down the waiter next to her helpfully warned them: “Careful, the plate is very hot”.

Setting the plate down was another challenge. With her head pulled back by her ponytail, tugging painfully on her arse, and the huge bazoongas painfully stretched out before her, she couldn’t even see the table. She had to carefully bend forward, careful to adjust the nipple cables, keeping her balance in the high heels and lowering the tray to the table. Of course, she would need assistance moving the plate off the tray. Agnie helpfully obliged by holding the plate down with a knife, allowing Angie to slowly reverse away. This allowed Dave the time to feel up the underside of her boobs. “Nice and warm! I think I shall have that hot chocolate now”.

A big glass bowl was placed on the tray, and one of the waiters unwrapped the bandages around her nipples. As the clamps were released, Elke couldn’t help jumping uncontrollably as the blood flow returned to the pained buds. That, of course, set off a cascade of motions around her loins. Each is distinctly painful on its own. Her overwhelmed brain was not registering the insistent tickling coming from her thighs. “Zapp”. The capacitor discharged with an audible sound. The shock made Elke jump even higher, but she pushed her legs out wide.

After she had a few moments to recover, Angie beckoned Elke to bend over. She and Dave started enthusiastically milking Elke’s hot tits into the bowl. Squeezing out milk through her abused nips was painful, but the release of the milk was rushing Elke towards orgasm again. She had not been milked for a day and a half and the release was heavenly. Thick streams of milk gushed out on every stroke. Her arousal was leaking a puddle on the floor. Noticing Elke’s descent into subspace, Angie motioned to Dave. Both placed an elbow on the tray, pinning it to the table. Angie took a hard, fast stroke down Elke’s tail. “Zapp!” Again, the discharge. Again, Elke instinctively tried to jump up, only to find her tits still tied to the table. 

As everyone ate, Elke was freed from her tray. She was motioned around the table as the staff almost absentmindedly milked her tits into glasses, all the while keeping up the conversation as if Elke was just a walking milk fountain. Not as if Elke could make much conversation with the four-inch skewer in her tongue. This was one of the away team's latest challenges. They were slowly, in turns, stretching and strengthening Elke’s tongue. First, they would use one of their precision surgical robots to stretch her tongue, making millions of micro lacerations all through her tongue muscles and ligaments. Then they would inject a filler, steroids and growth hormone. As soon as the swelling went down, they would set her on an exercise program. This involved Elke getting multiple piercings in her tongue. Little barbells would be attached, and she would do weighted tongue curls as part of her gym routine. One of the female staff found this exercise highly erotic and had Elke perform the exercise in the office as often as she could. Elke’s longer, stronger tongue made her quite a curiosity. She could lick her own eyelids. More importantly, she could induce amazing sensations to vaginas and even arseholes. However, to Elke’s dismay, it had the unfortunate side effect of getting too big for her mouth. Elke has developed an audible lisp and started speaking slower and more deliberately. Another side effect was that when she was sleeping, or just relaxed, her tongue would often protrude out of her mouth. Angie found this hilarious and would often encourage Elke through multiple means to let her tongue hang out. She would insert the big skewer like she did this evening, forcing Elke to stretch her tongue to its maximum length for extended periods. Or she would hang a heavy weight of the tip of her tongue until Elke was too fatigued to pull her tongue back into her mouth. Other times, she would just order Elke to keep her tongue out. Elke, by now, would just obey.  

As everyone was having a fantastic time around the table, Elke started reminiscing about how this evening was funded. Her new performance coaching team went from theory to practice very quickly. Sex, they claimed, was about selling. Elke always thought it was the other way around, but who was she to argue with the experts? Confidence is about knowing what you are worth. Apparently fucking people for free around the office was not “taking her skills to the next level.” So she started stripping at a local club twice a month whilst Tara taught her every technique possible to “exploit vulnerable men”. Lola Jean worked on helping her sell her body. The kink and BDSM market got higher prices, so twice a month on Thursdays, she was hired out to some of the most creative sadists and dominants Lola knew. And it seemed that Lola knew all of them. Esher kept working on her mind and her seduction skills.  All the money was used to fund the extravagance this evening.

Elke was startled out of her reverie when a man stood up and headed to the far corner of the room. This was the moment Elke dreaded. Elke waddled over to the same corner and sank down on her knees in a plastic paddle pool. The man pulled the skewer from her tongue. Her tongue was aching after the long stretch, and she had to swallow it a few times to work the cramps out. Then she opened her mouth wide and stuck her tongue out invitingly. She tried her best to “smile with her eyes” as if this was the most fun she had that day. Keeping her mouth and her eyes wide open, she waited as the man fished his dick out of his pants and started to piss straight into her mouth. She kept her mouth open until it was full. The man stemmed his flow, nodded at her, after which she obediently swallowed and opened her mouth for the next sip. Three times the man filled her mouth up. Three times her nostrils were burned by the astringent smell of fresh piss. Three times she had to swallow the vile mixture down. Tonight, she was to be the urinal, so no one had to miss a second of fun. A small tripod was set up with a video camera to capture every mouthful for posterity. When the man was finished, he dutifully licked the last drops of his penis before he put it away. Just for his place to be taken by another. This man’s aim wasn’t as good as the previous, and he pissed straight into her eyes. True to her mental conditioning, she kept her eyes open, looking adoringly at her benefactor. Her eyes stung. To help him out, she shuffled closer and put her long tongue underneath his penis, guiding his flow straight to the back of her throat. Next, all the ladies had to “powder their noses”. Together, obviously. Making use of Elke's tongue again. Elke was starting to feel sick from all the urine she was drinking, but managed to keep it all down. 

With their bladders drained, it was time for dessert. For Elke that meant going under the table and swallowing one cock after another. She could hear them making fun above the table of this new distraction as people would enthusiastically cheer when it was obvious someone had just cum. Elke never felt so objectified, so replaceable. They wouldn’t even know if it wasn't her under the table! She was literally just a cumdump!

After what felt like hours, Elke finally emerged from the table. The party was winding down now. Elke’s bladder was filled to bursting. She moved over to the paddling pool and squatted over a big glass bowl. And waited. Her bladder was bursting. She was desperately searching for someone's attention at the table. Finally, Angie gave a sidewise glance in her direction whilst she was in an animated conversation with Dave. Not even looking at Elke, she held her hand out, palm down. This was the signal. Elke released her bladder, and a stream of urine splashed into the bowl. A mere three seconds later, Angie balled her hand into a tight fist. The universal “stop” signal. Elke clamped down on her bladder but took a few seconds to stop. She would pay for that dearly later. Angie didn’t even notice, didn’t even look at her. But the footage from the cameras will come in later, and there will be hell to pay. Having waited so long just to be partially relieved was agony. Sometimes they would let her do short bursts all day. Keeping her bladder uncomfortably full all day, and making the release so unsatisfying. Open hand again. Sploosh. Fist. Stop. Open. Fist. Ten times Angie made her start and stop. She was putting on quite a show, pissing on demand in front of a live audience, and no one even bothered to look. Elke can’t believe how much she was aching for attention. 

Finally, the evening was drawing to an end. Klaus made Elke jump up and down to make a noise with balls and bells to get everyone’s attention. Elke was congratulated for keeping the eggs alive the whole evening. Angie and Klaus looked disappointed at that. Due to her good behaviour, she got permission to cum. Just as soon as she gave the catering staff their tip. Or tips, in this case.