Equality of outcum

As startups become scaleups they inevitably get invaded by bureaucrats from large, slow, institutionalised organisations. Elke’s company now counted more than 120 among their number. The founders were getting restless. Everything felt slow, cumbersome, procedural and progress was grinding to a halt. Frustration built. Tempers flared. Something had to be done. Everyone longed for the days where things just got done. 

Hackathons were organised. One day a month where all the rule books got ripped up. Meetings were suspended. Everyone was brought together to focus on getting one thing done and done well. Everyone rolled their sleeves up and self organised in whatever shape the solution demanded. And it worked. The organisation started to get its spark back. Things got done. 

To keep fostering creativity every 6th hackathon was to be unthemed. People could work on whatever problem they desired, it didn’t have to make sense, it didn’t have to have “business benefit”. It could be completely off the wall. Out of the box or utterly mundane. The goal was simply: be creative. 

It came as a big surprise, to no-one at all, that one such hackathon ended up being devoted entirely to Elke. Elke was extremely fit and strong, due in no small part to her hyper active, physical lifestyle. She never complained (she didn’t dare). That didn’t stop the rumour that she was suffering from lower back pain going viral. In part because, with the excessive size of her chest, it was hard to imagine that not being the case. So as a favour to her, the team dedicated this hackathon to solving her “problem”.

Not having any skills in construction, design or ergonomics Elke was assigned to do the one thing she was best at. Support. In a rare moment of self-pity Elke complained that spending all day in a “breakout room” isolated from the main activity was not doing anything to improve her own creativity. A sentiment which her performance improvement team could not disagree with more. Esher, Tara and Lola seized immediately on this new coaching opportunity. They formulated the perfect plan to push Elke past her preconceived limits to new heights of creativity, effectivity and most of all, endurance. Having coached Elke in techniques of seduction, and giving sexual pleasure of every variety for weeks, this was the perfect opportunity to focus on the ultimate mastery in one area. Elke’s hackathon was going to be a marathon. A suck-athon to be more accurate. Her task was to drain 120 cocks in 10 hours using only her mouth, hands and tits.  

The morning session went slower than expected with most people energised and interested in the hackathon. The morning session tended to be brainstorming followed by furious activity to get everything set up and organised. Men were late to get to her sessions in the breakout room. She was keen to show off all her skills and earn praise from her coaching team. Giving every man her full attention, expertly using her mouth to stimulate balls and cocks. Using her new tongue piercing to great effect to stimulate cock heads and anal rings. Showing off her expert deep throat skills. The men that attended were relaxed and unhurried.

After 3 hours of constant blow jobs she only managed to make 28 men cum. Already 8 behind schedule.  Her nether holes encased in a padded stainless steel chastity belt did not allow her to get any stimulation, nor could she use them to make up time. As lunch time approached she could sense an increasing excitement level in the floor. Whatever people were working on, they were certainly excited about it. Men started filing in faster. The noise level increased.  Her lovingly applied expert skills gave way to stoic acceptance as cock after cock plunged into her throat without pretext. 

At the 4 hour mark, Elke was lying on her back on a bench with her head hanging over the edge. A well endowed man was enthusiastically fucking her throat grabbing onto her tits for leverage. Elke’s sexy courtesan skills were reduced to a singular focus on keeping her throat open to the giant cock and trying to grab a quick breath of air whenever she could. Glug, glug, glug, glug. Hack, cough, gasp, glug, glug, glug. His balls slapped rhythmically against her forehead. White slime covered her face and eyes. Two men to her left were animatedly discussing the bulging of her throat as the cock rammed home, taking a video with a super slow-motion camera. The marathon was now in full swing and Elke was making up for lost time. Her support team was getting her set up for the long haul. An IV drip was installed in her thigh ensuring she remained fed and hydrated. Although she got frequent salty snot “snacks” throughout the day it was not enough to feed the milk factories on her chest. A catheter was installed in her urethra. Industrial milkers ensured her tits remained dry. Large faluses were inserted into her arse and cunt and set to low hum before sealed in the chastity belt again. Sweat was running off her body. To speed things up she was simultaneously stimulating two cocks with her hands ensuring they were primed and ready to replace the one currently in her throat when the time came. A queue was forming outside. Still she was only on 40 cocks after 4 hours.

The room grew exceptionally crowded. Groups of people came to make detailed measurements of her body. All without giving her throat any respite. Arms, legs, chest, neck, fingers. Everything was measured and measured again. She was stretched, arched, twisted and compressed. Whatever they were working on required detailed measurements of every single part of her body, inside and out. 

5 hours in and the marathon was starting to take its toll. Elke was nearly comatose. 55 men came in her throat. She was fighting for every breath. To keep her awake the coaching staff attached her big toes to cables and hoisted her legs straight into the air. This left her ass cheeks exposed for the laser guided whipping robot to paint a fresh canvas on her recently healed buttocks. Every time she slowed down or started zoning out one of the coaching staff would press a button and fresh agony would bloom into her consciousness. Glug, glug, glug, glug. Her throat felt like a gaping hole. The contents of her stomach was resting in a bucket beneath her head. And still the relentless onslaught continued. Glug, glug, glug, glug.

6 hours in and 72 men down. Finally on target. Her coaching staff let her legs down for a quick rest. To keep up the encouragement, and for their own entertainment, they started laying down blows on her tummy with a thick leather strap. Angry red marks covered her sides and abs. Someone got her a pair of swimming goggles to protect her eyes from the acidic slime churned out of her throat. Not that it gave her anything else to look at than a stunning array of arseholes and balls. 

6 hours and 30 minutes. By this time she was so tired and exhausted that the blows on her body did little to revive her out of her stupor. She felt her legs being raised up again. Then she felt something flooding into her bowels. The scalding enema and unfamiliar feeling managed to raise her alertness a few notches. The fluid kept flooding in. She could feel the pressure increasing in her guts. Her tummy started expanding like an early pregnancy. The cramps started wrecking through her body. The man currently in her throat misunderstood her convulsions for passion and doubled down his efforts to ruin her oesophagus. Mercifully the inflow of fluid stopped but didn’t allow her to expel it. She felt suddenly awake and invigorated. Her sudden renewed energy brought her a standing ovation from the assembled crowd. The strong coffee enema was going to keep her agonisingly awake and stimulated for the rest of the marathon. 

7 hours in, 90 men down. Finally ahead of schedule with the prospect of an early finish. Clearly whatever they were working on was very exciting. She could hear the sounds of power tools over the sounds of her throat being viciously pounded. All the men coming in were already excited and came quickly. Another man cums down her throat. Quickly replaced by something different. For the first time that day a pussy was shoved in her face. A welcome distraction, she used her tongue to please the anonymous woman. For 3 minutes she tried her best to please her with her tongue. Another 3 and the woman grabbed her head and enthusiastically mashed her cunt into Elke’s face and tongue. Still it continued. 24 minutes later Elke’s tongue was exhausted and finally the woman came. 30 minutes spent on 1 cunt. She needed to do 6 in that time to stay on schedule. Unfortunately for Elke the next set of genitals presented to her face was another cunt. 

8 hours in. 92 cums. 4 behind schedule. Exhausted. The coaching staff starts to calibrate the whipping robot to the underside of her tits. The pure horror of it keeps her motivated. Glug, glug, glug. 

9 hours. 108 down. 12 to go. Head swimming in red mist. The first blow to the bottom of her tits raises a bloodcurling scream around the dick in her throat. The pain is unlike anything she ever felt. Adrenaline and fear keeps her going. 4 more blows would fall before the end of the hour.

9 hours and 45 minutes. All done! She made it! They hoisted her on their shoulders and celebrated like she’s just won a medal at the Olympics. She was elated. Relieved but with a sense of achievement she seldom felt. People were dancing and singing some song she could barely comprehend. A bottle of champagne was doused over her and she managed to gulp down several mouthfuls of bubbly liquid. The first thing that passed her lips for 10 hours that wasn’t genitalia. It tasted heavenly.

She was wrapped in a towel and given a few minutes to clean up for her big presentation. Her coaching staff held her upright in the shower, scrubbing her body to red shine, and slowly reviving her. When she could stand and looked vaguely presentable she was marched to the main stage to address the crowd. It didn’t even occur to her to wear any clothes.

Suddenly standing in the spotlight in a large theatre room looking at a crowd of a hundred people all fully dressed, laughing and celebrating felt like a nightmare. Except there was no waking up from this experience.    

 “Give it up for Elke!” someone said to uproarious applause. She realised she didn’t register a single word the mc was saying. The applause finally died down and the microphone was shoved in her face. “So Elke, how does it feel?” There was probably a question somewhere in the preamble but nothing came out of her short term memory. It feels good, was all she could think to say but what she said instead was: “Croak”. There was a moment of silence and then laughter as the crowd caught up. She tried to clear her throat. She didn’t speak a word for more than ten hours. Again the expectant silence. “I am happy with how I performed today”. A slow hoarse whisper. Barely audible. Her tongue felt slow and thick in her mouth. Her voice box felt like a grater in her throat. 

Realising that this was going to be a very disappointing interview the MC decided to cut things short. “What an achievement. Is there anything you would like to say to your fans”. As it happens there was something that Elke needed to get off her chest. It had something to do with the 120 stars adorning her chest. 120 stars earns two cums. She was on the edge the whole day. To the surprise of the entire assembled organisation, the first recognisable words that Elke, the woman who just face-fucked each and every one of them, said the whole day, echo’d over the PA system: “Can someone please fuck me”.