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It was the usual hustle and bustle as we rushed to get out of our school clothes and into our gym outfits. Like many of the other boys I wore my gym shorts and tee shirt under my school pants and shirt. Most of us wore Jockey style underpants under our gym shorts. Those who opted for boxers generally carried their PE kit with them and faced a time handicap because they had to strip all the way down, slip on a supporter or in some cases nothing under their gym pants, which they would then put on. Keds sneakers were used for footwear for the school day as well as the gym classes by many to eliminate the time required to change shoes.

It was wintertime so I figured the class would be the usual indoor routine of calisthenics to insure that we would all be sweated up and somewhat odious for the remainder of the school day. This would generally be followed by mass volley ball game with close to thirty kids on a side because the gym class was overcrowded as was the school overall. My PE class had more than fifty fifteen and sixteen year olds all sporting our thin dark green cotton gym shorts and white tee shirts for the benefit of the study hall 'peanut gallery' that was located in the balcony of our combination gymnasium / auditorium. This audience only added to the humiliation all of us who weren't athletically proficient felt during our twice weekly 45 minute workouts.

Since I had developed an unusual attraction for short pants and boys that wore them, I found gym class to be a mixed blessing. There were about a dozen of my peers who didn't look at all bad in the loose fitting rather short shorts we wore. These guys were generally of stocky build with relatively short legs and wore somewhat oversized shorts. I really admired them and often wondered if they found the expanse of flesh from the hem of my shorts to my crew socks in any way attractive or whether they also secretly enjoyed the cool freedom and comfort wearing our gym shorts provided. I also wondered if any of them had enjoyed creaming themselves while wearing them.

Except for some of the Italian boys who were somewhat dark skinned naturally, I was the only one that I could see who had bronzed legs due to sun exposure. Except for the few who were in scouting, where our gym instructor who was also the scoutmaster insisted that scout shorts were the uniform of the day year around, my fellow classmates appeared to be not into wearing short pants at all; what a pity. I had secretly hoped, since my father had forced me to wear shorts to school the first day of my junior year, others might take courage and indulge in the cool freedom short pants provide. Instead, because of the physical confrontation my bare knees provoked, wearing shorts was officially prohibited in the junior / senior high school.

As we clambered up the steps from the locker room in the cellar to the gym floor I saw our gym instructor, Mr. Mack, ahead of us carrying a cardboard box. Usually he would have our one and only volley ball cradled in his arm. When we hit the floor we all lined up in front of the last row of permanent seats for inspection and the roll call. Mr. Mack, our gym instructor was military through and through and "Here sir" was the only acceptable response to our names being barked out. Following this, to his gruff hup two three four, he had us march out onto the floor forming ranks and columns so that we were relatively spread out. The next ten minutes he had us huffing and puffing through six or so of the Army's daily dozen exercises; just enough to get us nicely beaded with sweat. He then had us re-form into a line again in front of the auditorium stage.

With this formality out of the way 'Mackey' stood in front of us and announced, "We are going to try something different today that I know all you boys will enjoy and get a real bang out of. It will get your lungs in shape and is an exercise you can easily do at home."

After this proclamation he went over and retrieved the box he had been carrying and ordered us as we filed past him to grab an item from the box and form a circle in the center of the floor. As the first boys in line grabbed into the box I saw the perplexity and dismay registered on their faces. I also saw the brightly colored bags they had clutched in their hands. BALLOONS! My balls began to tingle as the impact of what I was about to experience suddenly struck home. Then almost immediately apprehension set in- would I be able to keep my self under control and not expose my fondness for the rubber toy that I soon had clutched in my sweaty palm. As I reached in I saw that the box must have had well over a thousand balloons in it and I could envision the remaining thirty or so minutes of the gym class occupied with all us boys in our short pants running around having a royal popping good time. It would be a major miracle if I didn't cream my shorts right in front of all the other boys and the hundred or so kids in the balcony.

The balloons were the heaviest I had ever seen. The rubber was so thick that the balloon remained in it's roundish as molded shape when lying in the palm of my hand. They were from an auto dealership in the city and had to be either 14 or 16 inchers. When we each had received our exercise equipment and formed a circle the gym instructor strode to the center to explain the drill while the boys fidgeted with the rubber bags they were holding.

As seemed to always be the case, whenever Mr. Mack needed an athletically inept subject to demonstrate an exercise or skill he always seemed to select me. The fact that he was buddies with my father and that I really had guts enough to wear scout shorts to school might have made me his preferential whipping boy, I don't know. In any case his outstretched hand and beckoning finger led me reluctantly to his side. Little did he know that this was one athletic endeavor in which I felt confident that I excelled over all my peers.

He explained that we were to use deep lung fulls of breath to inflate our balloons. Then he turned to me and said in a somewhat sarcastic tone, "Since you like to wear shorts like a little kid, show us how young boys blow up their balloons."

I felt the rush of blood to my cheeks as I turned slightly towards the balcony and planted my feet apart firmly on the floor. This let the legs of my shorts hung free from my thighs which I then tightened up to get some nice muscle bulge for the benefit of all my viewers. I placed my left hand casually on my hip, brought the neck of the balloon to my lips and started puffing with deep lung fulls of air as had been directed. Oh baby, these were tough balloons. I had little doubt they were intended for outdoor advertising use not children's playthings.

Mr. Mack was immediately impressed with my blowing style and made no comment as the balloon expanded obscuring my view. I kept right on blowing and soon had the distended pear shape rubber bag inches from my face.

"Whoa, whoa, that's big enough fella," Macky bellowed. "The idea is not to bust it...yet."

Macky then proceeded to tell us that when we had them fully inflated as I had just demonstrated, we were to let the air out. Then we were to blow them up again, and again, and again, for ten times. When he said this I released the neck and the air escaped with a noisy fttttpppppt sound.

"No no, Henery, leave your balloon blown up," Mr. Mack admonished as he suddenly looked at me. Then he continued his original thought, "After the tenth time you blow it up then you can have fun busting them."

As an afterthought he sneered and said, "If any of you boys are afraid to bust balloons or if any of you all really like balloons you can take them home to play with or use for more exercise at home."

Fat chance. None of us would want to be labeled as a sissy baby that liked to play with balloons. I had little doubt however, that at least half of my bare legged buddies that were ringing me would have a major trauma if he insisted that we had to bust our balloons by blowing them up until they burst.

While he had been saying these things I began replacing the air that I had allowed to escape from my balloon. Mr. Mack was again looking intently at me along with everyone in the auditorium as I stood in the center of the circle forcing hefty lungfull's of air into the nice dark blue balloon in front of my face.

"Way to go, Henery. I can see you really like balloons. I'll bet you play with a lot of balloons while you are running around in your short pants at home, am I right?" Mackey commented sarcastically as the auditorium filled with titters of laughter. "I know boys that really like to wear shorts like you do aren't afraid to bust balloons. Why don't you go ahead and show us all how big it will get before it breaks?"

I didn't like the thought that maybe he knew just how right on he was. That dread was making it relatively easy to keep my tool in a semi retracted state. His comment generated no small amount of titters and laughter, especially from the study hall students in the balcony. I suspect my fellow PE mates were more restrained knowing that they shortly might be required to demonstrate their balloon popping skill as well.

I continued to huff and puff into the blue orb floating in front of my face. There was a sudden hush throughout the auditorium as everyone's attention was riveted on me, or at least on the balloon that they knew had but seconds to live.

Macky's balloons were very hard and strong and the balloon obviously contained a good deal of synthetic rubber. As tough as the balloon was, when blow came to pop, the neck fully expanded without it busting. I had a good deal of trouble containing the bead of the neck between my lips as the ever expanding balloon was forcefully trying to pull it away. Finally I had to take my left hand and press the far end of the balloon in toward my face to retain control of the neck. I had the fingers of my right hand extended as best I could in front of my eyes which I had closed as an added precaution because this baby was really going to explode with some significant force.

BOOM! It sounded like a giant firecracker going off. The acoustics in the combination gym / auditorium were none too good and the explosive sound echoed back from the expanse of brick walls adding to the intensity. The balloon literally shattered into hundreds of small fragments of blue rubber. The half inch section of the neck still pinched between my fingers was by far the largest piece of the remains.

I turned to Mr. Mack, smiled, and casually said, "Did I do well?

It took Macky a second or two to respond as he was obviously taken aback by the loudness and severity of the explosion I had just created. "Yes yes, Henery. That's the way boys who like to wear short pants burst balloons," he said almost breathlessly. "Boy it really did go with quite a bang, didn't it?"

Macky had me return to the circle of boys, but not before insuring that I had another exercise balloon to use. Then on his signal we all started inflating our balloons.

"Blow two. Blow two. Hup two t'ree four," Macky chanted cadence as though we were still doing the push-ups from just minutes earlier. "Ca-mon wimps. Big deep breaths. Show those balloons who is boss. They're just thin rubber; let's see you get 'em blown up real good now, you hear."

I was mesmerized by what I was witnessing, but at the same time wondering if our macho gym instructor had slipped a cog. Ten inflation's at this pace was going to tax me to the limit. The rest of the boys, many of who probably hadn't blown up more than a couple of dozen balloons their entire lives, not to mention the smaller lads, were sure to hyper-ventilate before the ten 'repetitions' were completed. This new sustained effort had drained the initial stimulation from my balloon bust, but this only forced some of my boy juice into the crotch area of my Jockey undershorts.

While we strained our youthful lungs to the limit, Mr. Mack walked around inside the circle calling cadence and trying to insure that everyone's balloon was sufficiently inflated at the end of each repetition. Naturally many of the boys on the far side behind him just stopped blowing during the time they were out of his line of sight. I took note that many of my bare kneed buddies seemed to be enjoying the workout with their rubber toys.

Watching boys my age running around in shorts, even the rather skimpy gym shorts, I found stimulating and exciting. To see them blowing up balloons as well presented me with the ultimate visual treat. I couldn't help wondering how many found our balloon play stimulating, even more so while they were wearing shorts.

By the time I had performed four cycles of inflation / deflation, we were all hopelessly out of time with one another. Some of the smaller boys and the older ones who were balloon sissies had barely completed two cycles. It was obvious that Mackey would have to rely on the integrity of each student as to whether they had completed the required ten inflation's. It soon became apparent that the balloon timid half of the class was going to cheat to the fullest extent they could get away with.

I was well winded and my lungs were aching by the time I completed the required ten inflation's. I took my balloon to tear drop shape each time and it didn't seem to get much softer or easier to blow even by the tenth time. A few of the more macho guys thought they could shortchange themselves by busting their balloon after just a few inflation's. I spotted two boys that actually over inflated their balloons until they popped. The rest of the premature pops were the result of out and out fingernail gouging when Mackey's back was turned. There was a noticeable difference in the sound. The former let go with a reverberating BOOM. The far less inflated balloons that were gouged went with a less intense POOM sound. Mr. Mack wasn't being fooled. For whatever reason their balloon popped those without a balloon to blow soon had another personally thrust in their hands.

After about five minutes the blowing and popping had pretty much come to a halt. The troops were just plain totally winded. Several had inflated balloons in their hands that they had presumably blown up ten times. Some were banging them on their legs or hips while others had them clamped between their hands and were rubbing them creating annoying squeals and squeaks from the protesting rubber.

At this point Mr. Mack officially called a halt to our balloon exercise. After screaming at the boys who were rubbing and torturing their balloons to knock off the noise, he announced that everyone was to let the air out of their balloons and line up for a balloon busting contest. Ho boy, I thought, This will really separate the wimps wearing shorts from the boys wearing shorts.

After having us line up he passed out fresh balloons to the few boys that had busted theirs. Thankfully for the boys that would certainly have trouble popping their balloons off he had us facing away from the study hall audience. Those of us who still had balloons that we had been inflating were going to be at a disadvantage because our balloons would get twenty percent or more larger before they would pop than the fresh ones he had just handed out. This would require considerable additional air on the part of those of us who had at least made a good faith effort to perform his balloon exercise.

At Mr. Mack's signal, a shrill blast on the whistle he always had hanging about his neck, we all started huffing and puffing away. Standing in line as I was I couldn't see how well my short panted compatriots were fairing, but the boys to either side of me seemed to be doing their utmost to get their balloons inflated and popped. I really wanted to be the champion balloon buster even though I realized it would only add credence to my buddies opinion that I not only spent a lot of time running around in shorts but blowing up and busting balloons as well.

I figured I was about a breath or so away from finishing off my balloon when the first resounding BOOM reverberated through the auditorium. No question it was the result of an over pressure burst. Three more booms echoed in the gym before the balloon in front of my face sounded it's death knell. I couldn't see who the initial poppers were but the sound had come from near the end of the line where several of the big husky farm boys were standing. Additional pops followed mine in quick succession and the sound as well as the overall scene of watching my gym class inflating and popping balloons made controlling my stick near impossible. It was really oozing and I was certain I would be showing a wet spot in the front of my gym shorts at any moment. There was a limited amount of juice that my Jockey shorts could handle before the ooze soaked through and created a wet spot on my gym shorts.

I was impressed by how many of my fellow classmates managed to pop their balloons. I would bet that for half of them it was probably the first time they had ever purposely blown up a balloon until it burst. The fear of ridicule is a powerful motivator especially among teen aged boys. From what I could see at this point, looking down the line of boys each way, there were less than a dozen left who were still fidgeting with their balloons. I was sure Mr. Mack would have some nasty unkind remark to make about their seeming lack of intestinal fortitude relative to popping balloons, but to my surprise he didn't and just commanded them to let the air out of them. A few complied by popping them apparently with their fingernails and the rest just released the necks and let the air escape with an audible frrrupt sound that generated another round of titters and laughter from the balcony. The couple of chaps I identified as having failed their destructive assignment were sporting rather scarlet countenances.

I couldn't imagine what Mr. Mack was going to do for an encore. We still had a good 15 minutes of gym class time left. It turned out he wanted us to have a balloon sit and pop race. He had a couple of the boys set up four folding chairs against the far wall of the gym. Then he had us line up single file and count off in fours as he paraded past handing out another round of balloons to all but the few students who still had now deflated toys. We then formed four columns at the opposite end of the gym as he had us blew our balloons up to their normal size of about fourteen inches in diameter and tie them off.

At the shrill signal from Mackey's whistle the first kid in each column raced across the gym to one of the steel folding chairs and flopped on his balloon to bust it; or in some cases to try to bust it. When this simple destructive task was accomplished he was to race back and tag the next fellow in line who would repeat the balloon popping procedure. The height of the balloons on the chair seat made it mandatory that all but the tallest kids had to leap into the air to get their butts well positioned over their toy.

Of the first four racers only one busted his balloon forthwith. One had his balloon escape and squirt out from under him. The other two managed to knock over their chairs as they jumped backwards to try to mount their balloons. They hit the floor with a thud as their balloons shot away across the gym floor. I could see this was going to be a lot rougher on the troops than Mackey had anticipated. It was also apparent that the correct approach was to face the chair as you hopped on the balloon.

Most of the balloons I saw were not overly inflated and, with the tough thick rubber they were made of, would take a lot of abuse to get them to pop. To exacerbate this situation was the fact that the more timid balloon blowers had the least inflated balloons and also tended to be the lighter whimpier kids. The first few quickly discovered the tough balloons were more than capable of supporting their thin cotton clad asses even when they hopped on them. The infrequent sounds of balloons popping was drowned out by the roar of laughter from the study hall students who had a good overhead view of our balloon busting efforts as well as the other PE teem mates who were shouting them on.

I quickly got a sexual stim on watching the balloons squish out to the side under the boys asses. Watching the balloons getting squashed under their bare legs and thin cotton covered butts I couldn't help wondering if any of them felt at all the way I did.

Along with the roar of the crowd and the shriek and squeal from the tortured rubber as the balloons were squeezed and crushed was the boom boom boom as the auditorium reverberated with the sound of successful relay participants. I was about fourth in line in my team and as I raced up to the chair, my last stride I hopped into the air throwing my legs as far out to the sides as I could, squished the balloon between my thighs, and landed square down on the seat of the chair. The balloon didn't stand a chance as it disintegrated into hundreds of shreds of torn rubber. It didn't even provided much of a cushion, so my buns slammed down on the chair fairly smartly when it died. As soon as I got myself turned around I ran back and tagged the next kid in line.

There were fourteen boys on each team except for one that only had thirteen. It took the better part of the remaining fifteen minutes of gym class for the last team to finish up. Some of the poor lighter kids found it almost impossible to bust their balloons by sitting on them. Some finally bent the rules by placing them on the floor and just plopping their ass down on them. This generally got the job done. They came running back thoroughly embarrassed and disgraced.

Finally all the team members had their balloons popped. Mackey commandeered several boys to fetch push brooms and clean up the thousands of pieces of ripped rubber that littered the one side and end of the gym floor. Fortunately I wasn't selected and I managed to get myself and my sticky half a hard on down to the locker room and into my school pants without anyone noticing that our class time had gotten me more than a little bit "excited".

As I exited the locker room Mr. Mack pulled me over to the side and said, "I really liked watching you bust that balloon for us. In your cute gym shorts you looked like a little kid who was really enjoying himself. Sometime when we have the chance you will have to show me some more of your balloon busting techniques.

Mr. Mack #2- Shorts Turn On-                                                  <Ret. to Top>

In a matter of just a few minutes from the close of our scout troop meeting the three dozen or so other boys along with the assistant scoutmaster had taken their leave. I wasn't in any rush because I would only have to wait for my father to finish up his meeting at the Elks club before we could drive home to our house in the country.

Our scoutmaster who's vocation was PE and health instructor at our high school was a bull of a man, somewhat stocky, who was almost always clad in scout shorts and knee socks at scout related functions such as our weekly Wednesday night meetings. It was well known amongst all the boys in school that he really had an eye for boys that wore shorts and that had their good looking legs exposed. I knew if he had his way school uniforms for boys and girls would be the order of the day and all the boys from seventh through twelfth grade would attend classes clad in shorts and knee socks as many of our British counterparts did during the early fifties.

Mr. Mack kept himself in shape and made a point of requiring all of the troop members to do likewise by allocating a good thirty minutes or so of each meeting to vigorous PT workouts which he would perform, without ever showing any signs of tiring, along with us . He wore regulation scout shorts that were of ample size to permit him a full range of hip motion as well as bending and squatting, but his massive thighs pretty much filled up the legs of his new style scout shorts. As a result I didn't find him sexually stimulating in his uniform compared to some of the other shorter less leggy well built boys that could turn me on and start me oozing.

I had finished helping straighten up after our meeting and was standing a few feet from Mr. Mack with my rear and the palms of my hands resting on the edge of one of the long tables in the scout hall. I could see he was eyeing me up as he did every week, only this time the two of us were all alone. Mackey appreciated young boys legs, and he seemed to take a liking especially to mine. I don't know if this was because of being a close lodge buddy with my dad or that he knew that in my case I had them exposed to the environment every waking minute save for the hours I spent in school outside of the twice a week PE class. If it weren't for the ridicule and open hostility that led to conflict the first day back to school my junior year I would probably be wearing knee pants and long stockings in class at school as well.

As if feeling a need to break the silence Mr. Mack said, "You know, boy, you really do look good in your scout uniform. I wish these newer shorts had fuller cut legs like the older style ones you are wearing have. They have to be more comfortable and they show off your strong manly legs to better advantage."

I was sure they did show off my legs as I assumed he was referring to the fact that the generously sized, not too long legs, afforded a much better up pant leg view than the newer, longer, more modestly cut scout shorts did. I grabbed the hems at the outside of the legs and tugged outward so he could appreciate the value of the extra material. "Yes I really do like this style better," I offered. "They give me complete freedom of movement without any binding or pulling of the legs at all. I wish all the guys had shorts to wear like mine."

"So you like to see the other boys in their shorts, do you," Mack said with a surprised tone.

"Sure I do. I think boys especially and even most men look good wearing loose fitting comfortable looking shorts. Even better if they wear them with military style shirts, knee socks, and heavy high top boots," I responded. "I think our scout uniform with shorts and knee socks really gives some of us boys a rugged tough as nails look."

Mr. Mack was all smiles as he walked over to me. I just instinctively knew that he wanted to touch me and my dick that was rapidly springing to life was hoping he would. Using my hands I pushed my butt up on the table and let my legs dangle over the side. Mackey seemed to sense I wanted him to fondle me and as he stepped in font of me he did not hesitate to clamp his massive paws down on the front of both of my thighs just above the knees. He didn't squeeze hard, just tightening and relaxing his grip on the sides of my legs. Then he reached down with his thumbs and ran them over my kneecaps. Oh oh oh, it felt good.

Suddenly I felt discomfort in my crotch and I realized as I sat there my rapidly expanding tool was caught in the folds of the fly of my shorts. Without hesitation I reached down and pulled out the front of my shorts to facilitate full upward mobility of my hardening organ. Hell I didn't care if Mackey noticed my maneuver. He was certainly well aware that he was revving up my sex engine to full throttle.

Mackey was smiling and had a benevolent fatherly look as he said, "You enjoy this, do you? Feels good, doesn't it?"

"Un huh," I murmured.

"I enjoy feeling your nice tough skinned knees and firm muscled legs as well," Mackey added. "I really appreciate the fact that you are not ashamed or afraid to wear short pants and, according to your dad, prefer shorts to long pants. Is this really true?"

I weighed my response options before replying, "Yah, I suppose I'm just a little boy at heart and I guess I think if I can keep on wearing short pants I at least won't feel like I've got to become an adult. Yes I prefer shorts because unless I'm in really rough brush or other situations that are rough on my legs shorts are a hell of a sight easier to move about in than longs. Also nice loose ones like these allow me to take a pee real easy; I don't have to fool around with a damn fly, I just hike up my pant leg and let fly. And so far I really haven't had any trouble wearing shorts in cold weather."

Mackey started working his massaging fingers away from my knees and up my thighs as he said, "And you don't feel in any way sexy when you are wearing shorts, especially shorter loose fitting ones such as your gym pants? Do you enjoy watching the other boys during gym class?"

His fingers were now operating up inside the legs of my scout shorts and my stem was at full alert. It would have been foolish to deny the obvious so I replied, "Sure I feel sexy when I wear shorts, and seeing some of the other guys with good looking legs and nice baggy shorts gets me stimulated as well."

"I figured as much," Mackey replied. "Comfort, coolness, and good looks wouldn't give you near the incentive you seem to have to wear shorts essentially all the time especially in public places that expose you the taunts, jeers, as well as the physical and verbal abuse that I know you have encountered. I sort of have the same feelings as you, but because of my age and position in the community I have to be much more restrained as to when and where I expose my legs. It's one of the great things about being involved with the scouts. The true official scouting uniform calls out short pants, and that's why I insist that will be what the boys and leaders in this troop will wear."

I let myself lay back across the table so Mackey's massaging fingers had a clear shot all the way up the legs of my shorts to the belt at my waist. My generous cut scout shorts had plenty of slack across the hips for him to get at least one of his massive fists well up inside the loose cotton and with tantalizing slowness he took advantage of the additional entryway I had provided.

His thumbs slid around under my sack for a minute or so before he proceeded to move further up inside with his right hand. After a moment to withdraw his left hand which he then used to support himself. Then he leaned further forward toward me his right hand capturing my shaft between his thumb and fingers. Then he slid his fingers up my dick as if trying to coax my already oozing fluid out of my stem. When he reached about halfway up he gently rubbed my sensitive gooey tip with his forefinger. Whee, the muscles in my legs tightened involuntarily at the sudden surge of ecstasy. Wow! Another sixty seconds of Mackey's attention and I would surely shoot my load right into my shorts. This would really create a big time problem as far as getting home without dad noticing.

Mr. Mack was obviously aware that his hands on attention was about to create a sticky situation because he suddenly withdrew his hand and stepped back with the comment, "I think you are getting pretty excited here boy. Wouldn't want you to mess yourself, now would we?"

That was an understatement, I was seconds away from enjoying a massively splendid orgasm. I instinctively grabbed for my belt, got it unbuckled, and my scout shorts fly unbuttoned. I heaved myself into a sitting position and scooted my butt forward off the edge of the table dropping me to my feet. Then I let my scout shorts drop to the floor. I deftly stepped out of them as Mackey bent over and picked them up. He was fondling the soft OD cotton and made no attempt to hide his enjoyment of handling my pants as he brought the front area of my scout shorts up to his face.

Mr. Mack's eyes were riveted on my pristine white gym shorts I was wearing as under pants. They were nice and loose in the legs with generous slack at the waist. Most of this was now being taken up by the tent that had formed as the result of my stiff out thrust tool. Mackey admired the view for a few moments before he said, "You really do fill out a pair of gym shorts nicely. There are about sixty of you boys in my gym classes that really have the legs and build to look really good in shorts. I really look forward to seeing your strong youthful bodies each week."

Then Mr. Mack used his hand to signal my next move which was to hump my butt back up on the table, swivel ninety degrees, and lay lengthwise down on the table across in front of him. Again he stepped forward to the edge of the table whereupon he gently clamped his right hand over my throbbing dick while he used his left to gently massage the inside of my left thigh. Oh oh oh did it feel good. I had discussed at one time with a few of the older scouts what it might be like to have Mackey play with us and it was turning out to be every bit as enjoyable as we had ever possibly imagined.

Mr. Mack was beaming and actually beginning to red up in his face from excitement as he said, "Beginning to feel really good, boy? I've been wanting to see just how much of a load a stud that looks as good as you in short pants has available to shoot."

"Oh oh yes, it feels really good," I murmured. "I know you have always sorta taken a liking for me and I've wondered what it would be like to have some fun like this myself."

Mr. Mack started working his right hand up and down the length of my stem. He seemed to know exactly how far along I was. As I started into climax he smiled as he replied, "Good. I like to give the boys that have demonstrated they are men by not being afraid to show their bare legs out in public, some real hands on pleasure. Now I want you to hold back as long as you can. Understood?"

I nodded my head as Mackey deftly pulled the waist band of my gym shorts down and flipped my sack over the top to keep it in place. He gave my now exposed stem a few gentle caressing strokes. Then as I began to hold back on my release he suddenly leaned forward and shoved my dick way up into his mouth. His tightly clenched lips as he moved his head in and out just coaxed the sexual essence out of my very being. I could hold back no longer and with a mighty spasm of my loins I shot a massive load of my boy juice into Mackey's mouth. He swallowed hard to clear his throat of my sticky goo while he maintained a firm seal on my stem with his lips. It felt like his tongue was lapping up the additional amount that I ejected from my two or three after thrusts. Oh man, was I ever one mass of tingling ecstasy.

Mackey took his time in disengaging his lips, permitting me ample time to slowly glide down from a most fantastic orgasm. The spontaneity and the person of Mr. Mack made it far and away more stimulating than the real life hand jobs from Bob or Dave could have ever been.

I was so far into ecstasy land that I didn't even notice that Mackey had gone to the lavatory and fetched some wetted and dry paper towels until he gently cleaned the residue off my slowly collapsing stem. He was grinning as he said, "Now how was that. I think you really enjoyed your fun there boy."

As he finished my clean up he pulled up the waist band of the gym shorts allowing my sack and now rubbery dick to drop down into it's normal abode as he added, "One thing for sure you have a good set of balls here boy. They really do allow you to shoot a man sized load. And there is no denying they also give you the guts to show off your good looking legs and letting the world know that you aren't afraid of getting your tough skinned legs busted up. I really admire that in you, boy."

I sat up and slid off the table as Mackey tossed me my scout shorts. As I bent over, pulled them up, and got everything buttoned up and the belt buckled, I suddenly was filled with dread as to what Mr. Mack might want from me in the way of a return favor. He was standing there a few feet away and as I completed dressing I avoided his gaze.

Mackey seemed to sense what I was thinking as he came over, slapped his huge paw on my right shoulder and gave it a bone crushing squeeze as he said, "I'm glad I was able to give you some stimulation. You looked like you really enjoyed yourself, I know I did. Now it's time for you to hit the road. I think you have had more than enough pleasure for this night. Sometime in the future I will be more than happy to get you all relaxed again like you are now. Remember our annual parent / scout party is next month and I figure we will have a large number of balloons for decorations that you might enjoy. You looked like you got yourself a bit aroused when we had the balloon exercise class in gym the other week."

Oh geeze, if he noticed my "excitement" I wonder how many of the other boys did as well. A sudden shadow of dread washed over me as
I stood at attention, gave Mackey a snappy scout salute, turned and walked out the door into the brisk night air. Yes indeed, I would be more than willing to let Mr. Mack play with me again- and if balloons were involved as well. The thought was just too much to contemplate in my present totally relaxed state.

Mr. Mack #3:- Scout Balloons-                                                         <Ret. to Top>

It was the night of our yearly scout troop show and tell party where the boys would bring their dads along for the awards and advancement ceremony and get to hear a speaker from the council as well as see pictures and movies relating to the previous years scouting activities. The church hall was decorated with streamers and clusters of twelve inch balloons were hanging from the ceiling everywhere. There had always been some balloon decorations at the previous events, but whoever had done the job this year must have been really full of wind because there were ninety six balloons adding their color to the scene.

The ceiling height was a good nine feet so the rubber toys were out of ready reach unless a scout boosted a buddy up on his shoulders. In previous years when the meeting wrapped up and we left the church the balloons were always still intact. This was both because of their inaccessibility and I suspect the fact that most of the kids had their fathers in tow and didn't want to embarrass themselves by attacking the balloons, which I'm sure most would have been more than willing to do. After I got home I would fantasize for several weeks as to the fate of the balloons and who got to enjoy busting them.

Dad stayed for the initial portion of the meeting then left to go to his meeting at the club along with a few of the other dads who attended the same club meeting. Because they were getting a late start there was no rush for me to get down to the club for our trip home. In previous years dad did not have the other meeting at the club so when things wrapped up we just headed home like the rest of the scouts. This year I would have a chance to stay and maybe find out who the lucky kids were that got to help clean up.

At long last the final show and laugh home movie had run its course and the fidgety fathers with their sons in tow headed out the door. Our scoutmaster Mr. Mack came over and asked me, since he knew I had a good deal of time to kill, If I would stay and help with the clean up. I tried to conceal the sudden erotic rush I felt as my tool leapt to life. Finally I would get to view the likely demise of nearly one hundred balloons at the hands of the other clean up volunteers. I might also discover whether any of my knee pants clad scout buddies really really enjoyed balloons the way I did.

It took but a minute or two for the dads to thank the scouting officials and Mr. Mack for the effort they expended week after week whipping us boys into men. Suddenly I realized that Mackey and I were the only ones left in the place. My balls began to get that heavy aching feeling that always comes from expectations prior to potentially major upcoming sexual encounters.

We set to work cleaning up everything at floor level and re-arranged the hall back to its original condition. After about a half hour of effort all that remained were the streamers and balloons hanging tantalizing out of reach from the ceiling. As I awaited further orders, Mackey disappeared for a minute or two while I suddenly realized that the uncomfortable pressure in my shorts from my uncontrollably expanding tool was going to make it nearly impossible to keep my sexual interest in balloons from Mr. Mack.

In short order Macky returned with a four foot stepladder that he positioned under the first of the many clusters of balloons. He lit up a cigarette as he motioned me to come over and mount the ladder. Displaying a wide grin and a twinkle in his eye, he waved his cigarette about and said, "You climb up and pull the decorations down and I'll take care of the balloons with my little balloon buster here. A lit cig really pops them off in jig time"

As I mounted the stepladder I felt the wetness at the tip of my stem smearing boy juice around on the inside of the thin cotton gym shorts I was wearing as underpants. I could feel the red building in my face as I realized that within a few minutes the wetness would surely soak through to the fly area of my scout shorts and reveal the nearly uncontrollable excitement I was experiencing. I reached up and pulled down the cluster of eight balloons with the attached streamer that were tied together with a light cotton string and let them drop to the floor. Mackey was standing next to the ladder and as the balloons floated down toward the floor he apparently positioned the upturned lit end of his cigarette toward them. I was looking over toward the next cluster and wasn't paying any attention to what he was about. Suddenly POP POP POP POP! I felt some of the flying sheets of torn rubber hit my legs. Because I never expected he would bust them before they even hit the floor the unexpected loud noise from the dying balloons that reverberated throughout the hall gave me a start.

In a sarcastic tone of voice Mr. Mack said, "Did those balloons popping scare you, boy? The other week when we had the balloons in gym class you didn't seem to be afraid of them. I really enjoyed watching you blow your exercise balloon up until it popped. You really looked cute standing there in your sexy gym shorts showing off your pretty legs while that balloon kept getting bigger and bigger in front of your face until it burst."

"It just surprised me," I replied. "I didn't expect you to bust them so soon."

"Why, do you want to play with them some before we get rid of them," Mackey said with a twinkle in his eye. "Maybe you even want me to play with them and you too. Boys that aren't afraid to wear shorts and like to blow up balloons usually enjoy having fun with them. I hear tell you like balloons a lot. That's why I figured you might really enjoy helping to clean things up tonight with me. What do you say, boy?"

The answer to his question was certainly a resounding "Yes", but I didn't dare respond. In fact, to try to keep my heightened stimulation under control I couldn't even look at him as I got down from the ladder and moved it over under the next cluster of balloons. How the hell much did he know about my balloon thing or was he just suspicious and fishing around. There was no hiding my love of wearing short pants, and having him play with me previously was deniably stimulating to say the least.

I stared at the floor as I mounted the ladder and pulled the balloons loose from the ceiling; but this time I was prepared for Mackey's cigarette intercepting their decent to the floor. Again there was the loud sharp POP POP POPs as his cigarette seared through the thin tightly stretched rubber skins. Mr. Mack said almost whimsically, "Boy these silly balloons sure do bust easily. My cig really does a number on them."

As I climbed down the ladder I tried not to sound too excited as I commented, "Well they are only made of thin rubber and rubber does burn easily. It doesn't take much to bust them. Use for decorations and to have fun busting is about all they are good for."

As I moved the ladder once again Mr. Mack replied with a chuckle, "Well boy, now I just don't know if that's true in your case. No question in my mind you like busting them but I kind of get the feeling that you seem to really enjoy being around them and having fun playing with them, is that true?. I'll bet that "little boy" inside you that likes wearing short pants all the time really enjoys blowing them up, rubbing them, and just playing with them good and hard until they pop."

I could feel the flush of embarrassment in my face at the truth of his words. The growing wet spot below my belt buckle would soon confirm that I really had a sexual thing for both balloons and short pants. Mr. Mack was standing directly behind me as I climbed the ladder and was getting ready to pull down the balloon cluster. Suddenly I felt Mr. Mack's firm grip on the back of my legs at the knee. I instinctively pulled away as he commanded, "Hey boy, I know you like me feeling up these pretty legs of yours from the last time. You should know if you are going to wear sexy shorts like you do to show off a pair of legs like you have that you should expect to attract some attention; which I think is really what you want, now isn't it?"

The tingling feeling in my crotch ratcheted up a notch. No question our first touchy feeley session was fantastic and the present super stimulated state of my balls demanded that I was going to need to dump my load immediately if not sooner. I resumed my position and reassuringly said. "No no, that's fine. I really did enjoy the last time. I guess you did too."

Oops, I suddenly realized I might have overstepped my bounds stating the obvious as there was dead silence and Mr. Mack really pressed his thumbs hard into the back of my knees. After a few moments of excruciating pain generated by his vise like grip Mackey almost sighed as he replied, "Yes I found our last encounter very rewarding as well. I have always admired your good looking legs and your willingness to wear shorts even in difficult situations just so you can show them off. I understand from your dad that you really like to go out of your way to cut and skin up your legs. I must say I have never seen a boy with such tough and tanned leathery skinned knees."

I just stood on the third step of the ladder with my feet about thirty inches above the floor as Mr. Mack continued to rub his thumbs into the back of my knees. I was sure that he intended it to be painful and to this end he succeeded mightily. I bit my lip to keep from expressing any discomfort. When he discovered he wasn't going to be successful in eliciting any complaint from me he lightened up and began working his hands up my thighs. His fingers massaged the flesh and muscles of my legs as he moved upward into the generously cut legs of my scout shorts and finally up inside the gym shorts. After a few moments he slid his hands down to my knees again as he said, "Don't want to get you too excited too soon, now do we. There are a lot of balloons for you to enjoy getting rid of as well as clean up to do yet that we had better take care of before we have any serious fun."

He released his grip on my legs and I proceeded to pull down the cluster of balloons. This time Mackey kept his cigarette in his mouth and just let the balloons drop to the floor. He was watching me closely as I got down from the ladder. I had my eye on the balloons that were gently rustling about on the floor wondering how Mackey was going to finish them off. As I was about to move the ladder he moved toward them and deftly positioned the toe of his shoe over one of the balloons then slowly pressed down. The balloon flattened out under the force as the rubber stretched to the limit. Finally the pressure was too great and the balloon exploded with a mighty BANG as shreds of torn rubber flew about sideways across the floor and the remaining balloons danced about from the sudden release of air. Watching my expression closely Mr. Mack repositioned himself and again applied his foot to the next helpless rubber orb that popped just as smartly. He was obviously looking for a response from me relative to his new mode of balloon popping.

Needless to say his stimulating balloon popping activity had my full attention as I walked slowly backward with the ladder to get under the next cluster. At least it was now taking him some time and effort to finish off the balloons instead of just waving his cigarette through the cluster as they fell to the floor. Watching each of them hopelessly fight for their lives under his shoe was far more sexually arousing than just seeing them evaporate in mid air. I soon made Mackey aware of my intense interest in his new activity when I painfully backed my ass into the corner of one of the tables. He smiled knowingly as he said, "You enjoy watching me bust them like this better? Let's see what else I can do with the next bunch that you might find stimulating."

I quickly scrambled up the ladder and unhooked the balloon cluster and streamers, tossing them to the side as before. This time Mackey grabbed on to one of the eight balloons flattening it between his massive hands. As I looked down he began twisting his hands as he pressed them inward on the trapped helpless toy which screamed in protest as his palms and fingertips scrubbed over the rubber skin. POOM! The balloon suddenly popped and the remaining seven dropped away from him. Mackey made a quick grab for them and apparently jabbed one of them with a fingernail because a second balloon immediately popped as he tried to keep them from hitting the floor.

As I came down from the ladder he latched on to another balloon from the bunch and was in the process of crushing and rubbing it; all the while watching me intently. I knew he was looking for signs of arousal and I had little doubt I was giving them to him. The screeching sounds of tortured rubber followed by the inevitable POP as the pretty playthings succumbed to his abuse as he methodically burst the remaining balloons in the cluster had me nearly ready to shoot my load right in front of him. I was totally mesmerized by his destructive activity and just stood and watched without moving the ladder as he finished them off one by one.

After the last balloon succumbed to his torture I still stood there in a trance. Mr. Mack knew he had me as he said, "You really did enjoy watching me bust the balloons like that, didn't you? Getting you all excited, am I? Good! I like to see you when you get sexually stimulated."

After a pause he added, "Well come on boy, let's get a move on. We have a lot more balloons for you to enjoy watching get busted. Hey, why don't you pop off the next bunch? I want to see how you enjoy busting little children's rubber toys."

Fair enough, I thought. Very unlikely, but not impossible, Mackey might get some jollies being around balloons and watching them getting popped as well. More likely he was getting his jollies knowing that the highly exhilarating balloon popping thus far was getting me ready to POP. I moved the ladder and released the next cluster that he again allowed to drop to the floor.

As I got down from the ladder I really didn't know what kind of show Mackey wanted to see. The clear translucent balloons were just beginning to oxidize nicely and had that sweet rubber smell. I would have loved to have an hour or so to try to untie the necks on as many as possible so I could take them home for later sensuous play. Mackey's expectant grin made it clear, however, that he was anxiously waiting to see me turn the pretty toys into bits and pieces of torn rubber.

Since the balloons were at my feet I planted my foot on the one closest to me and pressed down ever so slowly. I could feel the resistance to my pressure build as the rubber grew tighter and tighter; the balloon flattening under my shoe until it finally ruptured with a loud sharp BANG sending slivers of torn rubber flying about on the floor. I finished off a second balloon in the same manner. Mr. Mack didn't seem too impressed with this popping procedure which simply copied what he had done. He obviously was looking for some sexually stimulating popping so I bent over and grabbed the remaining six balloons and sort of pressed them up against the front of my legs and scout shorts. There just was no way I could just apply enough inward pressure to pop any of them with this method. After a few moments of scrunching them around on my knees and the front of my shorts I simply dug the tips of my fingers into the outer balloons I was holding until the two of them popped. I then grabbed two of the remaining balloons and finished them off in the same way. Finally the last two I had pressed up against my crotch area. I think I was really subconsciously trying to hide the growing wetness that had formed below my belt buckle and as a result I hesitated busting them.

Mr. Mack's gaze was riveted on the balloons at my crotch. They were still tied together by a short piece of string that had bound all eight in a cluster. Realizing I had to do something to get rid of them I finally swung my left leg out to the side as I grabbed one of the balloons and stuffed between my knees. Using the ladder to keep me balanced I forcefully brought my left leg down toward my right. The balloon flattened over the flesh on the inside of my knees with the characteristic squeaking sound. Even with the inertia of my moving leg, however, I didn't apply enough pressure to bust it. My left leg just sort of bounced back out to the side again. Then with the ladder for support I raised my leg way out to the side and slammed it inward with all the force I could muster. Squeak POOM! The balloon burst as my feet whacked together. Phew, success.

Mr. Mack was obviously pleased with my effort. "Way to go, boy. That's really good exercise for your legs as well. We will have to give that exercise a try in gym class the next time we have a balloon workout."

He was right about the exercise bit. The remaining balloon wasn't inflated quite as much as the first and it took me four attempts to get it to pop between my legs. I also felt I good deal of complaining from the little used muscle that ran down the inside of my left thigh.

On to the next bunch of balloons. I didn't dare look down at my crotch. I just knew my scout shorts had to be showing signs of wetness. As I mounted the ladder and pulled down the balloons I figured Mackey had to be on to me and knew that my being around the rubber toys and watching them get busted had me really sexually stimulated at this point. As I dropped the balloon cluster to the floor Mackey grabbed my right leg and indicated he wanted me to remain standing on the ladder. He was standing behind me as he picked up the eight balloons and reached them around in front of my legs. He grabbed two of them in his massive paws and proceeded to squash them on my bare knees. Fortunately he planted his left shoulder behind my knees to keep me from being pulled over backward as he applied pressure and the balloons flattened on my legs. There were squeaks of protest as the rubber repositioned itself over my knee caps, stockings, and hems of my shorts. Finally the pressure was too great and the two balloons burst almost simultaneously with a resounding POP POP. When the balloons popped they blew the other six beyond his reach and the palms of his hands slammed against my knees. His fingers began massaging the flesh on the side of my legs. Oh wow it felt good.

"Did you like that, boy," Mackey chortled. "Why don't you get down now and squash the rest of them off under those tough skinned knees of yours. I want to see you bust them with your pretty legs."

I walked around the ladder and positioned myself over the remaining balloons so that I would be in position to drop forward on my knees and squash down on two of them at one time. Since Mackey seamed to want a show, I rocked forward pressing my knees slowly into the yielding rubber orbs. The balloons tried to escape out to the front but I pushed forward with my toes and got more of the flattening rubber under my legs. The necks stretched way out to the side as every available inch of rubber skin tried to contain the building pressure. BOOM BOOM! The two balloons let go as my knees slammed to the floor. I caught myself with my outstretched hands and pushed back up on my toes. Then I duck walked to a position where I could flatten another pair of the brightly colored toys. Squash, squeak, BOOM BOOM! In seconds two more were gone. At this point the two remaining balloons from the cluster had too much freedom of motion so I had to grab and hold them in position in front of me as I sank my knees into them to finish them off.

I could tell my balloon / knee contact popping approach pleased Mr. Mack no end. He was all smiles as I moved the ladder and he followed me over to the next cluster of balloons to be destroyed. As I was reaching up to pull them down he said, "I really loved seeing those pretty legs of yours smashing down on those balloons. Do you like the feel of your knees sinking into the soft squishy rubber?"

At this point I knew I wasn't kidding Mackey in the least relative to my balloon stimulation so I just agreed with him, "Yes, it feels really neat. You should try it sometime when you have your shorts on." (Because of the auspicious nature of the occasion it was one meeting during the year when he wore long scout trousers instead of summer shorts as was his custom).

Without warning Mr. Mack reached up and grabbed the fly area of my scout shorts. His fingers instantly discovered my rock hard stem that was jutting up toward my belt buckle. "Ho ho, now what do we have here?" Mackey chuckled. I think these silly damn balloons are getting you all excited alright, now aren't they? It also feels like you might be getting a little damp in your pants. You are a bit old I would think to be wetting yourself like this, don't you think, boy?"

I tried to ignore Mackey's satirical jabs, although they were right on the money, as I pulled the next bunch of balloons loose. He had turned my tool loose and rather than dropping the balloon cluster I kept them in my right hand as I got down off the ladder. I turned towards him with the balloons positioned somewhat in front of me to try to hide the damp area in question and asked, "How should we get rid of this bunch?"

Mr. Mack thought for a moment and then responded, "First, so you don't have a problem later on tonight, I think you should shuck your scout shorts before you get them any more messed up with your boy goo. I know you wear gym shorts under them. The thin cotton and added leg exposure of your gym pants will give you much better feel from the balloon contact and if you cream yourself we can always toss them and your dad won't be the wiser."

His suggestion made good sense. The last thing I needed was to try to explain to dad why I had a sticky wet spot in the front of my scout shorts especially after staying after the meeting to help clean up a room full of balloons. Since it was a "look sharp" night I had put on brand new unworn shorts, shirt, and knee socks; and a damp spot would be more than a little noticeable. So I dropped the balloons, undid my belt and fly buttons, and stepped out of the baggy scout shorts. My dark green gym shorts had to be very noticeably wet in the front. I could feel Mackey's eyes following my every move as I walked over to a nearby chair to hang up my scout shorts. As I walked back toward him and the awaiting balloons on the floor he said laughingly, "Boy you really do have good looking legs. And you look a lot better in nice short shorts. You even look like a boy that just loves to blow up and bust balloons."

Mackey's sarcasm brought the red to my face. I avoided his intense stare as I bent down and snatched up the bunch of balloons from the floor. I turned away from him and just stood there not really knowing what to do with the balloons in my hand. At this point I was just wishing they would suddenly all just go POP, including the remaining clusters still hanging from the ceiling, and I could escape from the certainty of my fetish being revealed.

I was jolted back to reality as Mr. Mack barked, "Now that you have the proper balloon busting pants on, why don't you stick them one at a time under your ass and squash them on that chair over there? Those nice thin shorts should give you a real good feel of the rubber on your cute butt and up against your balls, don't you think?"

What I thought was that it probably would feel great but at the same time I was questioning the probability of getting whacked in the nuggets when the balloons would bust under me. I had popped balloons in this manner on several occasions at parties as well as on my own during Friday and Saturday night balloon play sessions when my parents were out, but I was always wearing heavier longer legged shorts.

I didn't think I had any option as far as complying with Mackey's suggestion so I tore the string holding one of the balloons to the others in the cluster. Holding the balloon by the neck I reached between my knees and centered it neatly on the seat of one of the steel folding chairs. Then I slowly settled my butt down on the rubber toy. I could feel the balloon flatten under my ass cheeks as it squished out to the sides and back. The neck distended upward to the front pressing firmly up against my sack. Because the balloons were still relatively well inflated I didn't expect any of them to actually support my weight. They just wouldn't be able to flatten enough without bursting to provide a sufficient load bearing area. I was right. Just before I relieved the last of my weight from my legs the balloon popped with a thunderous metallic sounding BOOM as my fanny slammed down on the seat of the chair. I wasn't stung at all by the flying rubber shrapnel. The balloon just evaporated out from under me. I had to admit the thin gym shorts did give added stimulation from the balloon contact and I must say I really enjoyed the feeling.

I tore the balloon cluster apart and proceeded to sit pop the remaining seven balloons from the cluster. All of them burst readily under my weight as I repeatedly lowered myself down on the helpless toys I had trapped under my ass. As I was finishing off the last few, Mr. Mack walked over to a counter at the side of the room and returned with a brightly colored box. Before he even opened it I could see that it was the source of the balloons that we were in the process of busting. He sat the box on a chair, opened it, and grabbed a yellow balloon that he immediately started inflating. He stopped when it was about nine inches in diameter and, yanking vigorously on the neck, proceeded to knot it. I suddenly wondered if our remaining balloon busting was going to be limited to the already inflated survivors or if he might have me engage in ripping some virgin rubber that was left over from the original gross.

As Mackey finished tying his balloon I had just flattened and busted off the last balloon. Mackey brought the balloon he was holding over and indicated he wanted me to sit pop it as well. As he handed it to me he said with a grin, "Try this one. It should put up more of a fight before your ass busts it."

And that it did. Not being nearly as fully inflated, the rubber was able to flatten out over most all of my ass cheeks and the metal chair seat. The balloon had no trouble supporting the bulk of my weight as I tried to raise both my feet off the floor. It was impossible, however, to stay balanced on the squishy orb for more than a second or two. The super tight rubber skin made a brrrupt brrrupt sound as it kept re-positioning itself under my thin cotton covered ass cheeks.

Mackey seemed to be enjoying my air seat as much as I was, so I just sat on my yellow air cushion for a good minute, knowing full well that I would have to bounce down really hard in order to get it to bust. As I was about to stand in preparation for this final destructive sit, Mackey who was standing in front of me moved forward, bent over, and clamped his hands down on the tops of my thighs at the waist. He then proceeded to add his weight to mine that was bearing down on the thin rubber skinned air bag supporting me. The balloon complained as he added pressure until suddenly it could take no more and the balloon burst with a loud POOM as my ass dropped the inch or so to the chair seat.

Bent over as he was, Mackey's face was near mine, and I was suddenly assaulted with a combination of bad breath and stale cigarette odor. Worse he seemed in no rush to remove his hands and the weight he was applying. He moved his thumbs from the inside of my thighs at the crotch and proceeded to run them up the front of my firm tubular rod. The thumb action felt good but the pressure he was applying to the top of my legs with his palms and fingers was borderline painful. I squirmed a bit on the seat as Mackey commented, "Don't you like what I'm doing?"

"No it hurts," I blurted out.

My sudden negative response to his overture took him by surprise and he quickly released the pressure on my legs and stood up with a glowering look on his face as he snapped, "What is the matter, boy. You seemed to like getting your dick rubbed a bit last time."

I quickly replied, "No, no, that part was OK. You were hurting my legs, that's all."

Mackey looked annoyed as he said, "What is this? Tough legs like yours and you can't take a little pressure on them. Maybe you are just a little boy wimp that gets himself all sexed up with balloons and wearing short pants."

"No I'm not," I replied half to myself.

"Well I damn well hope not," Mackey roared. I like to see he men wearing shorts not balloon playing little boys. Let's get a move on, we have another four batches of balloons to bust before we can sweep up the place."

As I moved the ladder under the next cluster and stepped up to pull down the balloons I could feel the stimulation rapidly draining from my tool. There was no way a sixteen year old enjoying balloons, even just to bust them, was a he man thing. The flush of embarrassment just wouldn't leave my face. Mackey let the balloons I had pulled down drop to the floor. As I got down from the ladder I wondered what "modus poppus" he had planned for them but he just let them bounce and roll about on the floor as I headed over under the next cluster.

As I was reaching up I felt Mr. Mack's fingers on my left leg. He had stuck his forefingers down inside the roll at the top of my knee stockings. He then proceeded to pull the stocking and enclosed garter down over the bulge of my calf as he said in his authoritative tone, "These formal knee socks look sort of silly with your sexy green gym shorts. In any case the colors don't match very well."

He pressed the crumpled donut of hose down on the top of my oxford and then proceeded to lower my other stocking as well. Feeling his fingers and the stocking sliding down my leg sent shivers up my spine and quickly reversed the exodus of fluid from my organ. Finished with his stocking retraction he took a firm grip on my newly bared calves and proceeded to massage the muscles in my lower leg. The pleasure he was obviously getting from groping my legs apparently made him oblivious to the pain his large tremendously powerful hands were causing me. I decided I would grin and bear it rather than risk getting attacked again as a sissy little boy as I managed to get the balloon cluster torn loose from the ceiling. As the balloons floated to the floor I was wishing to hell he would turn me loose and start squeezing them like he was squeezing my leg. They would sure enough pop in short order and I would experience a lot more stim and a lot less discomfort.

I pulled down the next two clusters without incident. Meanwhile Mr. Mack was standing over by the table next to the box with the unused balloons as he watched my every move like a hawk. I made a point of putting a little extra swagger in my walk and handling of the step ladder for his benefit. Surprisingly I didn't feel silly parading about in my somewhat damp gym shorts for his obvious pleasure as I went about my task.

The last cluster was near where Mackey was standing and I saw him come over as I mounted the ladder. Again his hands were on my legs as he with surprisingly tenderness slid his hands up inside the legs of my gym shorts and his thumbs played about my anal opening. I stood on the ladder frozen in place as his hands and fingers played a melody of ecstasy about my groin. His fingers gently fondled my jewel case and then deftly played their way up my now quite rigid skin flute. This I was really enjoying and I could feel the sudden rush of pleasure well up within me. My stem began to ooze in earnest and I was well on the way to creaming right in my gym shorts.

Damn. Just as I was about ready to express my manhood Mackey gave my thighs a hard squeeze followed by a stinging swat on my rear. It wasn't particularly painful but it sure derailed my orgasm dead in its tracks. I was annoyed and suddenly angry as I violently pulled down the balloons, busting two of them in the process.

Mr. Mack sensed my displeasure at his interrupted advances as he said condescendingly, "I don't want you to have your fun just yet. I want to see you enjoy yourself with these balloons we still have to get rid of. I can tell you really get your rocks off when you are having fun busting them. Now you have a whole bunch that you can finish off at one time."

I didn't have a clue as to how he wanted me to bust them. Mackey went from cluster to cluster gently kicking them to a central spot on the floor. A quick calculation revealed there were thirty eight tissue thin rubber orbs awaiting their final fate. I walked over to the pile of rubber toys and looked over to Mr. Mack for instructions as to how he wanted me to destroy them. He then walked over and before I realized what he was about he swung his left foot against my feet at the same time pushing me in the direction of the balloons. I dropped down so fast on the pile of balloons I was lucky to get my right hand outstretched to break my fall. There was a sudden cacophony of loud POPs as my body and legs crushed about dozen balloons. Normally if they had all been loose most would have just squirted away and escaped getting flattened, but tied together in groups of eight only about two dozen managed to escape my knees, legs and torso, grinding them into the hardwood floor.

Rather than just getting up I made a point of getting up on my knees and corralling the escaping balloons with my hands as I stuffed them under my legs and squashed the pretty sweet smelling playthings to death. About a half a dozen had shot some distance across the floor as the result of my initial fall and were well beyond easy reach. Mr. Mack retrieved them and I thought he was going to bring them over so I could add them to the shredded rubber remains of the other balloons. Instead he took them over and placed them on the end of the table with the unused balloons. I got to my feet and walked somewhat stiffly due to the bruise on my hip from my sudden contact with the floor over to where he was standing.

Mr. Mack bade me sit on the edge of the table and I had a feeling the almost unbearable pressure in my balls was finally going to be relieved. Then he went over and tore one of the balloons loose that were lying on the end of the table. With it clamped in his massive right paw he proceeded to squash it down while twisting it about on my left knee and dangling leg. The rubber screamed in protest as he gleefully tortured the balloon on my bare flesh. It was similar to my father applying balloons to my upturned knees when I was a young lad of five and the pleasurable remembrances suddenly kicked my juices into high gear. The balloon popped all too soon but was quickly replaced by another that was applied to my right leg. Mackey was grinning with delight at my more than positive response to his stimulating balloon play with my legs. This second balloon lasted but a short time as well.

Then Mr. Mack had me lie on my back lengthwise on the table and handed me one of the balloons telling me I should enjoy it. Then he grabbed the next balloon and applied it to my quivering body starting at my ankles and tantalizingly working his way upwards. All the while he kept twisting it and making it generate the most stimulating squeaks. Up, up, over my knees, the front of my thighs, and finally up over the damp gym shorts and my throbbing stem that lie immediately beneath. Here the balloon ended its upward excursion as every so slowly Mackey applied greater and greater pressure to the rubber that was scrubbing the cotton gym shorts over the sensitive tip of my organ. Meantime my olfactory organ had been enjoying the sweet essence from the rubber of the balloon I was holding all the while and as I zoomed towards a climax I began squeezing and rubbing it in cadence with the activity of his balloon.

Mackey seemed to have a canny sense for the exact moment I was going to blow my load. Perhaps it was the sudden stiffening of my leg and abdomen muscles in preparation for a heavenly orgiastic release. I don't know, but in any case, a little extra pressure from his hand caused the balloon he was stimulating me with to suddenly evaporate with a muffled POOM just as my life's essence sprayed all over the inside front of my gym shorts. With this orgiastic release I unconsciously gouged the balloon I was holding and it added its final explosive POP to my final exhilarating moment of ecstasy.

I lay on the table panting from this final physical explosive effort. Mr. Mack reached over and was rubbing his forefinger about over the soggy front of my gym shorts as though trying to smear my sexual fluid over as much of the front of my groin area as possible. It felt like there was more than plenty to go around. I could feel that I was one gooey dude.

After a couple of minutes my organ relaxed from its strenuous but oh so pleasurable effort and collapsed into its usual short soft self. At this point I sat up and dropped to my feet off the table. Meantime while I had been floating down Mackey had begun to sweep up the debris from the meeting that mostly consisted of the crape paper streamers and the shredded and torn remains of all the decoration balloons we had busted. I could feel my goo oozing its way down the front of my shorts towards the hem line. When he saw that I had recovered to some extent from my glorious experience he came over to me, and pointing at my messy state of affairs, laughingly said, "I love to see boys cream gym shorts like that. You did an excellent job. You really shoot a good size load there boy."

I took this to be a complement as Mackey continued, "I wonder if you would indulge me in a bit of pleasure as well?"

"Oh oh here comes the payback," I thought. Just thinking about the possibility of having to play with Mackey, or horrors get his tool in my mouth, caused my stomach to flip. Some of my buddies had real cannons. A brute of a guy like Mr. Mack surely must have a howitzer. Accommodating all his juice in an acceptable way would be a most disgusting challenge to say the least.

"I'd like to have those soggy shorts you just messed in."

Mackey's continued comment jolted me back to the here and now. Wow the sucker has a fetish for cum soaked boy's gym shorts. It didn't even register in my mind that, up until a few years ago when the school stopped providing them, he had access to hundreds of gym shorts that the boys would throw away at the end of each school year. I liked to think that some had been exposed to boy juice and little doubt that most all would smell of boy sweat and urine. He could enjoy these without any danger of exposing himself to direct contact with boys as he had just had with me. I quickly responded, "Sure, I can't take these soggy shorts home with me tonight."

I was about to slip the soggy pants from my loins when Mackey yelled, "No, don't you take them off. Let me take them off. There is nothing I love to hear more than the sound of cotton gym shorts being ripped off a boy."

The gym shorts were from the athletic store in the city and I hadn't worn them more than a few times. They were cheap and fairly thin cotton but they still had a lot of pleasure left in them. I hated the thought of them being destroyed on one hand but having Mr. Mack perform the deed as well as observing his excitement would be quite stimulating for me as well. I had witnessed a number of boys getting their gym shorts ripped off them after the last gym class of the year as well as a couple of occasions when my father decided it was time for me to dispose of dirty ones I was wearing. I found having shorts ripped off me very exciting, so I moved over toward him and turned sideways so he could get a good grip on the hem of the pant leg.

Mackey planted his left foot against my left foot, grabbed my side below my arm with his left hand, and bent over and snagged the hem of the leg in his right. I expected him to just give a mighty tug that would burst the outer seam of the shorts open all the way up to the waist band. Instead, however, he pulled the leg tight against the inside of my thigh as he slowly increased the tension on the hem. His left foot and hand kept my leg from being pulled toward him as the ever tightening hem dug into the muscle on the inside of my thigh. I was impressed by how much abuse my cheepie gym shorts were able to take. Finally as the pain in my leg really started to build we heard the soft pop pop pops as the stitches where the hem was sewn together at the outer seam started to go. Suddenly there was a crescendo of pops as the outer seam gave way and ripped all the way up to my waist; generating that stimulating ripping sound created when a pretty perfectly good pair of shorts are just wontedly destroyed.

"I love the sound and feel of shorts busting, don't you?" Mackey said as he grinned from ear to ear. "I'll bet you get the same fun out of popping your silly balloons; am I right?"

As I turned around to present the other leg to be ripped I mumbled, "Yah, balloons are real fun to bust. I love watching the ripped rubber flying about when they pop. I sort of like having shorts get ripped as well. Having something I really like and enjoy just getting destroyed gets me excited too."

Mackey braced himself against me as he again applied tension to the un-ripped leg. Like the other, it too finally was unable to withstand the applied stress and ripped asunder with a most sexually satisfying sound. Without moving his foot or bracing hand he then grabbed the waist band and pulled outward on it. The elastic readily stretched to the limit imposed by the cotton at which point the waist band began to dig into the flab above my hip on the far side. The waist was heavier and wider than the leg hems and I wondered if he could apply enough tension to bust either the front, back, or side seams. No sweat. Mackey was big and plenty strong. As my back was about to be wrenched out of line the waist band parted at the back of the shorts and with an almost sighing sound the soft cotton ripped from the waist down to the crotch. Mackey got a fresh grip on the torn leg and with another tug ripped the inseam of the leg open as well. When the hem had parted a second time he released his grip and the torn rag that had been my sexy but soggy gym shorts a moment before fell in a crumpled heap about my ankles.

I kicked the torn cotton away from my feet and Mr. Mack picked the remains of my gym shorts and dumped them in the large trash bag we were using for all the debris that we had been cleaning up. I felt a little foolish just standing there with no pants on, my knee socks crumpled about my ankles, and my scout shirt flopping loosely about my waist. I made tracks over to the chair where I had put my scout shorts as Mackey called out, "Hold up a minute. Go to the men's room and clean yourself up a bit first then you won't be so uncomfortable or smelly. You want to look right sharp for your father, now don't you?"

I had to agree it sounded like a good suggestion although I was a bit leery traipsing about the hallways with my private area in the buff. I quickly got myself washed up and as I finished Mr. Mack showed up with my scout shorts in hand. He watched approvingly in the rather cramped men's room as I pulled them on. When I had the belt secured I retrieved the tops of my knee socks and pulled them smartly up to their proper position just below my knees. Then we walked back into the hall to sweep up the hundreds of torn rubber fragments and the crape paper streamers along with some incidental food droppings.

Along with the box of unused balloons there were still two inflated balloons remaining from our bust off still on the end of the table where I had had my pop off. Mr. Mack took note of them as I finished stuffing the last dust pan full of rubber debris into the waste bag. Not that I really needed any more balloons, since I had thousands at home, I wondered if Mackey was going to offer to give me any as a reminder of our fun.

Mr. Mack picked up the two balloons and came over and handed them to me as he laughingly said, "Here, why don't you take these two home for fun later tonight. Tell your dad you want to use them to help you get yourself off again when you get home as a result of the fun you had helping me clean the place up tonight."

Yeah, sure, but boy he did have my true desires right. But he couldn't seriously expect a sixteen year old who was already way out of the social norm by wearing short pants outside on a cold February night to actually also carry a couple of balloons several blocks through town to the club where our car was parked. Even wearing an official scout uniform my bare knees often got flak and snide comments from both young and old alike when they would spot me on the street, even during the heat of the summer. In addition, dad's suspicions regarding my conduct during the balloon clean up would be hard to allay and presenting him with two souvenirs from the night's activities would really flip him out.

Mackey seemed to be reading my mind as he said, "A husky tough skinned leg scout like yourself that isn't afraid to wear shorts should be able to take care of himself if any body gets smart ass about the balloons. Heck, if any one sees you with the balloons just tell them they are for your younger brother. Your dad will know what they are really for."

I really wasn't interested in chancing having to take care of myself but before I realized it Mackey had me as well as the balloons out the side door into the brisk February night air. I looked at the silly little boy toys I had clutched in my hand and gave Mackey a plaintive look. He said, "OK, I'll drive you down to your dad's car. I'm disappointed, though, I thought you had more guts than this."

In short order we spotted our car near the club. Since I obtained the privilege of driving I had a set of keys so I would not have to go into the club which I would have normally done in cold weather prior to getting my license even though my bare knees often generated numerous stares and comments. It did not appear as though anyone was on the street as I quickly slipped out of Mackey's car with my rubber toys in tow and got into ours.

As I waited for father's meeting to finish up I fondled and smelled the balloons I was holding. This started my juices flowing once again and my stem got all nice and hard. This was totally nuts. Dad would obviously know I had to have gotten myself super excited helping with the clean up, I was sporting a stiffy to prove I was still "excited", and had two rubber souvenirs to remind me of the past hour's fun. I decided I had better get rid of the balloons forthwith and was looking around to see if anyone was out on the street that could identify the source of the two pops I desperately wanted to generate when dad exited the club and came striding up to the car. Rats, What explanation could I give him?

Dad came around and got into the drivers seat. I was holding the balloons in my lap. As he pulled out his keys and got the car started he said, "Well I see you brought home some more toys to play with. Did you have fun helping to clean things up?"

I wasn't up to any verbal sparring so I truthfully replied, "Sure we had a lot of fun busting the decorations."

"That's good," Dad said cheerfully as he gave the balloon nearest him a good squeeze causing it to squeak in a delightful manner. "I wouldn't want to see you disappointed."

Then he suddenly reached under the balloons and grabbed the fly of my shorts. "Yes indeed, I can see you are still having a good time from all your balloon busting. How did you finish all of them off? There must have been close to one hundred."

I was surprised at his interest in my balloon popping spree. As we drove off I gave him more details than I prudently should have although I did omit any references regarding Mackey applying balloons to my private parts and my resulting display of manhood. As we neared our house dad sarcastically said, "I suppose you want to save those balloons you have here up in your bedroom to remind you of the fun you had tonight. You can keep them for a week or two but I am going to come up and bust them for you if they start to get too smelly and they stay around too long; understood."

We turned into our drive and dad stopped the car. He grabbed my left knee and gave it a squeeze as he said, "Did you shoot a good man sized load for Mr. Mack tonight?"

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