Dr. Maxx, B.J.

Jordan Maxx, already owning the house as a top doc, hears Brad’s bullshit. Dude’s been rocking a hard-on for three fucking weeks. Time lines up exactly with when she moved in with the horny little shit, and he can’t hide the tent pitching his shorts. She saunters over, cups his face like a mom who can’t stop staring at the obvious bulge he’s pitching nonstop. Nothing’s gonna fix this except her pretty lips sliding over every throbbing inch of that problem. She drops, pops the waistband, and takes the swollen head in warm, wet suction that makes Brad moan like a joke in a porn store. She works him deep, hollow-cheeked and dripping spit down the shaft, keeping it nasty and steady while her hand pumps the base. Jordan hums when she feels his balls tighten, pulls off with a lewd pop, then re-wraps those cock-hungry lips and deep-throats him until her chin taps his sack. Brad stops even pretending it’s just a medical issue; he grabs her hair and ruts her throat the way a stepmom in trouble deserves. Jordan spits, licks, laughs when the thick cock twitches against her tongue, then dives right back down, fuck-faced and grinning the whole greedy time until Brad finally unloads with a grunt so fucking loud the whole neighborhood knows she owns the remedy.