I Do It For My Daughter

Brad Knight and his wife are busting their asses to get pregnant, so they're at the fertility clinic where his mother-in-law, Dava Foxx, runs the show as the top doc. Brad's sweating bullets, knowing Dava's eyes are on him—he can't stand the thought of being the deadbeat who robs her of that grandkid jackpot. But when he slinks back from the private room with an empty jar, Dava's pissed, her patience thinner than a clinic paper gown. He stammers excuses, but nothing sticks; his dick's on strike, refusing to cough up the goods. Dava leans in close, that sharp gaze pinning him. 'Maybe you're just too damn stressed to get hard and fill this thing,' she says, her hand brushing his thigh. Brad flinches like he's been zapped, but she turns on the charm, cooing about how relaxed he needs to be. She's aching for that baby as bad as anyone, so screw the jar—she strips him bare, ready to handle the extraction herself. Brad resists at first, all flustered and horny, but Dava's not taking no for an answer. She drops to her knees and wraps her lips around his thick cock, sucking him deep despite his half-hearted protests. He caves quick, groaning as she deep-throats him like a pro, that expert mouth working every inch. But Dava's not stopping there—her pussy's throbbing, wet and ready. She shoves him onto the exam table and climbs on, impaling herself on his rock-hard shaft. 'Fuck the sample,' she growls, riding him hard. 'I want your baby, all mine.' She's wild with need, begging him to pump her full. Brad loses it, blasting his load deep inside her pulsing heat. The shame hits him like a freight train—he yanks out, grabs his clothes, and bolts from the room without a word.