Reality Kings took CFNM to the corporate world with a scene that made my suit-and-tie fantasies explode. The setup was a high-rise boardroom—glass table, leather chairs, city skyline through floor-to-ceiling windows. Five fully clothed female executives in pencil skirts and blouses, four naked male interns with cocks at attention, clipboards in hand see full list like they were presenting quarterly reports. The head executive—a brunette with a bun tighter than her pussy—stood at the head of the table, pointer in hand. “Gentlemen, your performance review begins now.”
The first intern stepped forward, cock bobbing. She circled him like a shark, heels clicking on marble, then stopped behind him and delivered a sharp slap to his ass. “Posture.” He straightened, pre-cum dripping onto the glass table. She made him read his “report” aloud—sales figures—while she stroked him slowly, stopping every time his voice cracked. The other executives took notes, one filming on her phone, another snapping photos for the company newsletter (anonymized, of course). The close-ups were obscene: his cock head purple, veins pulsing, her manicured fingers slick with lube.
The power lunch escalated. The redhead executive drew a chart on the whiteboard: “Orgasm Denial vs. Productivity.” She chose two interns, made them edge while she ate a salad at the table, fork scraping the plate in rhythm with their strokes. The blonde executive used a ruler—literally—to measure cock length, then made the shortest guy eat her out under the table while the meeting continued. see full list The camera caught everything: her skirt hiked just enough, his tongue working through sheer panties, her face calm as she discussed Q3 projections.
The CFNM secret climax was a “merit-based promotion.” The executives voted on who deserved to cum. The winner—a guy with a thick 8-incher—was bent over the conference table, pants around his ankles (wait, he was naked), while the head executive pegged him with a strap-on hidden under her skirt. The losers jerked off in a circle, cum splattering the glass table in perfect arcs. The head executive ended the scene by wiping a streak with her finger and writing “Approved” on the whiteboard in semen.
The office power lunch wasn’t just porn—it was a corporate takeover. The CFNM secret turned every meeting into a potential orgy, every performance review into a cum-soaked ritual. I replayed the scene during my own Zoom calls, pausing on the moment the redhead’s fork scraped in sync with the edging, the blonde’s calm face as she came on the intern’s tongue. Reality Kings didn’t just film a meeting—they filmed a coup. Get the subscription. Climb the ladder.