Funny Ranch Porn Videos

Intro, How my life as a contented cuckold began.

I felt my face burning.

Assured by Mitchell's silence, Larry went on. "I like the way they flop." Yes, I was still running, didn't stop, the treadmill continued to move.

My breasts, he meant.

He turned to one of his friends- there were three or four, for the moment only Perry or Billy near, but the others just a shout away from rallying in support.

"Hey," he said, "Don't you like the way they flop?"

Perry, obviously an underling who followed whatever his leader said, answered, "Yeah, but they don't flop. She doesn't have floppers. They bounce. She's hot."

I was wearing a black, white animal print leotard top. I didn't regret choosing it. Why should I let others' eyes determine what I wear? Those rude men could stare and comment all they liked. But it made me more self-conscious. It was sexy. I hadn't expected that to matter. Anyway, slinky, showed my forms, made my breasts come to points. I liked precisely how open it was, free it left me. I didn't regret choosing that top, had because it was comfortable, tight but not constraining. The fabric slid with me, felt good, like a coating of dew. Of course I was wearing a bra. But still those guys said, "Bouncing."

Mitchell didn't regret choosing me, not even then, when he felt terrorized too. ___"That's what I'm saying," Larry said. "She's hot." He glared at Perry for an instant as if to issue a warning not to contradict him and maybe a reminder he had seen me first, then broke into a grin that made it a joke.

Then to Mitchell, "You'd better keep an eye on her so she doesn't fall into the hands of someone less tolerant of foreigners than I am. If you aren't around for protection, some guy might catch your lady alone and give her a real reaming, some guy who's thicker than you, like I am."

Unchecked, they talked freely, enjoying themselves and having an audience, a quietly attentive one.

Servile Perry chipped in, "Doggy style," then scratched his chin, pretending to think and asked his friend while still looking at me, "Do you think monkeys do it doggy style?"

By now a third person had come along, attracted by the commotion. Burly like his pals, with a big beard and completely bald though only in his twenties- thirties?- forty?- matching the others' stereotype of ham-fisted white men- he looked too stupid to talk, but he did, read the scene quickly.

"What have we here? Hubba hubba," he said in slow motion, making curving shapes in the air with his hands. "I'd like to see her do bench presses. Hear her grunt. Want to hear those jungle cries. 'Oh, so hard! So good'!'"

I heard whooping sounds, calls of "More! More!" to cheer on my running at the same time mock it. "Listen to her!"

I wasn't huffing and puffing but tried to quiet even my breathing.

I looked straight ahead, concentrated on pace. Glancing at Mitchell, who of course is as Caucasian as any of them, I saw he had gone pale with suppressed rage, different from theirs and stronger. They were enjoying themselves. He wasn't. He had failed to help a stranger before and now couldn't even help me.

Fortunately, things didn't go so far.Mitchell and I were able to leave. We cut our gym session short. There was no choice. The scene had become so unpleasant, threatening.

On the street right outside, we spotted the guy who had been the original focus of the wolf pack. He stood on a little red-brick park or traffic island just across from the gym. We joined him and talked. He was out of breath, still shaken, said he'd called the police and told them he wouldn't go home without an escort, thought the gang might follow him, but of course the police wouldn't provide that service, so with no choice he'd set off. Even as we walked together, we kept looking back to see if the guys had come out of the gym entrance in pursuit of us- their boredom, need to harass people and feel strong made them unpredictable and scary.

It was impossible to tell if the man beside us was from Poland or another part of Eastern Europe.

Top Categories