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I was fairly handy with tools and on numerous occasions I would do minor repair and maintenance jobs for many of the elderly widows and single women that lived in the area and didn't have a man around to house for such tasks. One such women was in her mid thirties and lived about 2 miles from us in a fairly isolated farm house. Her legitimate occupation was waitressing and tending bar at the small combination bar, restaurant, hotel, down the street that served as the social center of our rural area. It was widely rumored, however, that she also ran a home business that provided customized entertainment for male guests. My buddies and I often wondered what form the entertainment at her house would take as we perused the pages of girlie magazines one of us had managed to get our hands on.

I did not think at all about these things when dad informed me that she had some repair work she needed done on a porch roof and wanted me there early Saturday morning. He was always lining up jobs for me to augment my allowance.

As I was getting dressed Saturday morning, Dad who was also up came into my room and informed me she wanted me to show up for work wearing my complete scout outfit, not just the shorts that I was planning to wear. Then he added "Use your gym shorts for underpants. And, oh by the way, she wants you to bring some of your balloons".

A cold chill suddenly went through me. Does everybody in the county known I have a thing for balloons? Geese, she must be planning to pay me with her 'services'. It wasn't unusual that I might be compensated for my work on occasion with a large tin of cookies, a cake, or pie, but INTERCOURSE!.

Next fear set in. What if I can't perform. The thought of my ego being crushed in such a devastating way was too much to contemplate. As I gathered up my tools I decided the safest course of action was to treat the job as freebie. I would simply say 'no charge mam, glade to be of service, good by', then high tail it out of there.

Another part of me, however, was saying, 'chance of a lifetime'. I finally listened to the second voice to the extent that I threw a several dozen balloons in a paper sack and took them with me. As I drove over I thought 'good old dad. He's trying to get me sexually mature; bless his heart'.

I was well aware that most fathers wouldn't have been nearly as tolerant and understanding as he was two summers ago on our hike.

She met me at the door and showed me the repairs that needed to me made. At least this just wasn't just a set up to get me here. Her rear porch roof needed a good day's worth of repair. She wasn't a bad looking women; reasonably slim with an athletic build. I figured she must work out because hauling food and lifting beers down at the hotel might account for her upper body build but wouldn't keep her legs in the shape they were in. Having a shorts fetish I was naturally attracted to legs, normally boys or men's, but hers were nice. They were topped off by a relatively brief pair of nice loose fitting navy cotton shorts.

The work took me about 6 hours during which time my concentration was continuously distracted by the 'stay and enjoy' or 'run and flee' thoughts that were battling for control of my brain. I finally got the work done and I finally had to go in and let her know I was finished. I'm sure I looked like a scared little kid (which I was) when I came into the large farmhouse kitchen.

She had me sit on one of the wooden kitchen chairs and insisted on getting me a soda (pop) to drink. Then she started telling me how much she enjoyed seeing my young muscular body and strong well tanned legs when I was wearing my scout uniform and that I really turned her on. Then after saying first off that my father had nothing to do with the payment she was planning to give me and that he only agreed after several months of her prodding she came right to the point that it was time for me to experience adult male sexual experiences. Man my face felt like it was burning up.

Finally she finished up her schedule for the rest of the afternoon by making it perfectly clear that I was free to leave at any time if I felt threatened or uncomfortable. Would this be OK?

What could I say. I was trapped in her kitchen by a half finished bottle of soda. Her presentation seemed genuine. She had allayed some of my anxiety, and frankly I could see me kicking my ass for the rest of my life if I didn't at least stay and check out the entertainment and education she (and my father?) had planned for me. Then she asked me if I had brought some of my balloons.

I said, "Yes," and went out to the car to fetch them.

I was definitely getting aroused by the anticipation of balloon fun with a partner as I re-entered her kitchen. She wanted to see the balloons so I dumped the bag full on the kitchen table.

"Oh," she said. "These look like nice sized ones," as she picked up a 14 incher.

"Would you like to blow this one up for me until it bursts. I love to see he men wearing military uniforms blow up balloons until they pop."

Military uniform? Indian army perhaps. I replied, "Are you sure you want me to bust it that way. The rubber really flies all over the place."

She responded, "Don't worry about it. I have a vacuum that will make short work of picking up torn rubber balloons."

So I set to work huffing and I puffing and in short order the kitchen reverberated with a sharp loud BAMM. The sound was defining in the confines of the kitchen. She said, "Ohhh, that was fun, here pop this one."

I obliged and quickly added additional scraps of rubber to those already on the linoleum floor. The she asked if I would like to see her blow one up until it burst. This was a bit of a mental surprised. With the exception of Linda and Bob's younger sister my limited experience around girls with balloons was that they only broke them if it was a necessary part of a game. I had only seen a few girls when I decorated the prom and no women deliberately inflate balloons until they popped, and the thought that they were certainly capable of doing so and enjoying it to boot never entered my mind. It didn't take her long. In short order the balloon joined the other busted ones on the floor. I was really getting turned on by now.

She grabbed another balloon but only inflated it to normal size; then tied it off. She had been standing while busting her first balloon, and as she sat down she stuck the balloon she had just inflated under her ass on the kitchen chair. The balloon squeaked in protest against the wood surface. The neck stretched out beyond the hem of her shorts as the balloon fought to support her weight; which, I was somewhat surprised, it did.

"Why don't you try this," she offered. I blew up a balloon and stuck it under my ass as well. I was heavier and / or I had it more inflated because it gave out one squeak of protest then went BLAM and my ass cheeks suddenly slammed down on the hard chair. She was still supported by her balloon as she started wiggling her hips with a rhythmic bouncing motion with the balloon squeaking in time. Finally the rubber had enough and flew out from under her fanny as she landed on the chair seat.

"I like doing that," she said. "It makes me feel so very good down here."

She was pointing in the direction of her vagina. We both repeated the experiment. This time I did not inflate my balloon as much and it was able to support me. We both went through the bouncing twisting motion to finish them off.

By this time my gym shorts were really beginning to get messy. She sensed that I was getting near climax as she said, "Why don't you grab your balloons and we will go into my playroom. Oh wow! FUN! FUN! FUN! I would finally get to see her 'office'.

I stuffed the balloons back into the sack and followed her into her 'playroom'. I thought she must not consider herself as a professional or she might have used the term 'office'. We entered the biggest bedroom I had ever been in. A tell tale ridge on the ceiling indicated that it had originally been two rooms;  probably the parlor and dinning room I surmised. Against the long wall was the largest bed I had ever seen. It was wider than it was long. I thought it would make a good trampoline. Then maybe again, that's what it was used for. There were several chests and dressers and hanging racks with what appeared to be several costumes as opposed to dresses hanging from them. In the one corner away from the windows the walls were covered with a dark fabric and there was a heavy wooded chair that I suddenly realized, holy shit! it has straps on the arms.

I immediately wondered what the hell does she do in here? She was following my gaze as I took in the room's furnishings and sensed my 'flight' impulse. She ventured "Some of my friends enjoy rough games."

I though to myself, 'I bet those whips and leather outfits hanging along side help set the mood.'

"Shall we take off our shorts and get more comfortable?" she asked.

Oh yesssss. Aside from the girlie mag pictures I had never seen a girl or women naked, except of course my mom when I was little. I knew what I would be looking at because our gym instructor who also taught health had really covered the topic of a women's sexual anatomy in great detail. I somehow felt he really enjoyed teaching that part of the course.

I dropped the scout shorts and took off my boots, neckerchief, shirt and undershirt. She indicated if I felt more comfortable I could leave the gym shorts on. I am shamefully un endowed and always the butt of comments from other boys on the diminutive size of my tool, so I mentally thanked her for her consideration.

"Shell we blow up some of your balloons so we can have some more fun first," she purred.

I loved the thought, but I was still pretty psyched from our kitchen play so I said, "The balloons are pretty childish, aren't they? I think I can do all right without them."

"Heavens no, not at all," she said. "I have several friends that bring their toys with them to help them have a good time here, and this includes balloons as well as other rubber articles. I love to play with balloons before and during sex myself. It sure beats some of their other toys."

She reached over and opened the bottom drawer of the bureau and pulled out a black rubber overshoe. "These really turn on one of my friends, but it doesn't do a thing for me."

We both started blowing up the balloons and tying them off. She stated that she particularly liked the sixteen inch ones because of their size although she said she still enjoyed busting the smaller twelve inch balloons. I had brought about a dozen of the larger ones and when we had them and the smaller ones all blown up she said it was time to start playing with them. During the whole inflation interlude the bulge in my gym shorts never subsided and I couldn't seem to keep my eyes off her, ummm well, erogenous zones. She corralled some of the inflated balloons at the head end of the bed to the extent possible and we both flopped down on our sides facing each other with our heads resting on the large bolster across the top of the bed. There were several balloons between us as well.

She grabbed a balloon and started to massage me with the latex bubble from below my knee all the way up to my chin with special attention on my breasts. My little tits got hard as a rock and really pushed out. We were less than 2 minutes into our play time and I was already near climax. I cautioned her, "Whoa whoa there. I'm going to mess myself any second."

She just smiled and said I should hold it back and let the feeling come and go, washing over me like a wave. Oh yah, easier said than done. While she had the balloon down on my knee she must have given it a pinch with her nails because the balloon suddenly went pop. The sudden noise allowed my sexual tide to ebb a bit. She said, "You know, I enjoy being rubbed too."

I grabbed a balloon and started stroking her in the same manner. At this point I suddenly realized she had I thought, to my untrained eye, mammoth breasts. The blouse she had been wearing with her shorts was fairly loose fitting and since she had disrobed I had been concentrating on a lower portion of her anatomy. I liked the way the balloon squeaked as I pressed it down on her breasts. Suddenly she said, "Whoa tiger, that hurts. A women's breasts are sensitive and that much pressure hurts. But a light touch- ohhhh, now that really feels good."

I quickly apologized and hoped that I wouldn't forget that important point of my sex schooling.

She whispered, "I am beginning to be about ready. How are you?"

She had to ask! A few moments before she had gently pulled down the waist of my gym shorts and secured it under my scrotum and had been gently rubbing a super soft yellow balloon on my most sensitive spot. I blurted out, "Yes yes. But don't you need any protection."

She softly replied, "You are a true gentleman. Many of my friends refuse to allow me to give them a 'raincoat'."

I don't know where she got it from but a moment later I felt her soft fingers unrolling a thin rubber sleeve on my now throbbing tool. She pulled me toward her and we connected automatically. As dad would have said, 'my horse knew exactly where the barn door was'. She pulled me towards her tightly as though wanting to squeeze the sexual juice out of me. I tried to fight the wave of release that was flooding over me feeling that she needed more time. It was hopeless. The dam burst and a wave of pleasure poured over me. No hand job ever came close to giving me the release that I was feeling.

I felt totally drained. It had been both and emotional as well as a physical release. I sensed that she had not quite made it to the level I was experiencing so I said apologetically, "I'm sorry. I just couldn't hold back any longer."

She said, "Oh baby, you did just fine, just fine."

After a minute we separated and she got up to clean herself off. There was a bathroom off of the playroom and she was back in a moment with a towel and damp wash rag which she used to get me freshened up. There wasn't much; the condom had done it's duty. I just lay there spread eagle fashion, too relaxed to even move. I was reminded of a cartoon I had seen once on the dash of truck my Dad had borrowed to do some moving. It showed a squaw sitting in a teepee knitting and a rather emaciated brave that looked like he had been hit by a truck lying out in front. It was captioned 'A Well Spent Buck'. Now I fully understood the point of the cartoon.

I was experiencing ultimate relaxation. I could easily have spent the rest of the day just lying on the super sized bed; but I knew she was due to go to work soon. As much as I hated to make the physical effort to move I didn't want to end this magical moment. She was again lying along side me after the clean up and as I started to get up she whispered, "Whoa big boy. There is more to come."

I flopped back down on a couple of balloons that had rolled down off the bolster when I had lifted myself up. They squeaked in protest as they squirted out from under my shoulder. She grabbed the one that was trying to escape over her head and started to rub me with it. I said, "No mam, no. That was wonderful but I just can't go again."

"Don't be silly. A he man like you can handle a lot more lovin'. Just let me show you," she purred.

She continued, "Besides, we still have some toys left to pop. Let's get some fun out of them. Are there any ways you particularly like to play with or break your balloons? I don't know why but I enjoy anything that results in a balloon ultimately bursting."

Wow! Was this going to be a command performance or what? We still had eight or so of the inflated sixteen inchers and perhaps two dozen of the twelve inch balloons on the floor or the foot of the bed. I really wanted to see her squash a few more balloons under her voluptuous ass.

She was naked while I still was clothed in my gym shorts. I cringed at the thought of her bare buns getting stung by the flying rubber. In addition her nudity made me feel uncomfortable and the thought of her in the buff bursting balloons as we had in the kitchen didn't appeal to me; so I suggested she slip her blue shorts back on. Of course, the fact that I find shorts sexy especially when framing a pair of nicely muscled legs was an added factor. She thought my suggestion was fine and slipped on her shorts sans panties.

The only wooden seated chair in the room was the 'iron maiden' job with the arm straps in the corner of the room. She took a bunch of the twelve inch balloons in each hand over to the chair. She dropped all but one which she quickly jammed between her legs. Then she backed up and just flopped on it. As in the kitchen the rubber squealed on the polished wood and the distended neck thrust out between the hems of her shorts. She rolled her butt around on the balloon (the chair was unusually wide and deep) on what you could say was an air ride. I was surprised that the thin rubber had no trouble supporting her weight. Then she stopped with the neck pressed upwards against her pussy, deftly pinched the neck with her fingernails, and with a sharp POOOOM she dropped down with a jolt on the chair.

She smiled at me as she grabbed another balloon. This one succumbed to her multiple vertical bounces. A next one she sat on and instead of rolling around on it like a ball, she twisted her tight ass causing the tortured rubber to slide on her shorts as well as on the seat of the chair. The balloon really squealed in protest before letting go. She finished off the last two she had with this twisting routine. She said she loved to hear the sound of tortured rubber before balloons would bust. Needless to say I was transfixed the whole while by her performance completely oblivious of the rock hard tool that jutted out into my baggy gym shorts.

Then it was my turn. There were five of the smaller 'sitting' balloons to dispose of. I lowered myself carefully on the first one as I enjoyed the pressure of the rubber skin pressing on my ass cheeks through my thin gym shorts. I pushed back on the balloon so the neck would press up against my balls. I few seconds of this and my already revved up tool was ready to go to work again. After about a minute of air ride it only took me one bounce to put the balloon out of it's misery. The other four I managed to break rather quickly especially when I applied the ass twisting action as she had. I was really interested at this point in getting some one on one bed action going.

As I was finishing up my balloons on the chair she walked over to the dresser and lit up a cigarette.

"Have you ever seen what these will do to your pretty rubber toys?" she asked.

I indicated that my father had been more than happy to demonstrate to me on several occasions how easily rubber will burn. She put the cigarette in an ashtray and then walked over and picked up one of the tightly inflated sixteen inch balloons. She held it up in front of her, retrieved her cigarette, and with a grin slowly kissed the rubber skin with it.

The BANG was awesome as two sheets of suddenly ripped rubber fluttered to the floor. I grabbed another of the large balloons off the floor and batted it in her direction. As it passed by she intercepted it with her burning weapon. BANG, another dead balloon. I fetched a few more of the large balloons off the floor and sent them in her direction for her to pop off before she finished her cigarette.

After she crushed out her balloon buster I tossed her another balloon and we batted it back and forth. I loved seeing her muscular legs sticking out of her shorts as she moved and stretched to return my serves. Finally the balloon hit the sharp corner of a table and with a sharp POP died a sudden death.

Finally she suggested it was time to get me aroused once again, so we rounded up the remaining inflated balloons and put them and ourselves on her expansive bed. She asked me if I liked her shorts and seeing her wear them and I said yes. I slid my hand up the leg until my fingers found her crack . They then just naturally started exploring this warm moist cave.

Suddenly she gasped, "Whoa tiger, we're supposed to be getting you aroused. You keep that up for another minute and I'll be the one who is shot."

I said I was sorry. I really didn't know what I was doing; but I sure enjoyed doing it. She got up and removed her shorts and started rubbing me all over with one of the nice big balloons, really pressing them firmly against my flesh. Those that survived much longer than a minute she made a point I suspect of popping with her nails. It didn't take any time at all of her attention and I was ready to go again.

She pulled down my shorts once again and dressed my member with a clean rubber raincoat. Additional rubbing of the sensitive tip of my tool with a balloon resulted in a relaxing quiet squeak. I indicated it was time and we mated. This time I was able to get synchronized with her and we both came together. WOW! that heavenly release followed by a totally relaxed euphoric state. Time was running short, however, and after a few minutes when she recovered she got up and cleaned us both up. We redressed. This was one afternoon I would never ever forget.

As I was getting ready to leave she handed me the bag with the few balloons that were left from our fun. Then referring to the 4 surviving balloons on the bed she asked, "Here, do you want these?"

They had been knotted and I couldn't very well take them home inflated, so I said, "No".

She looked at me with a wicked grin and walked over to the dresser and picked up a metal nail file. Then she ever so slowly pressed the tip into each one. I could see the rubber fighting the rather dull point but to no avail. Pop, pop, pop, pop, and in seconds they were also gone.

I had no intention of asking her for any remuneration for my labor. I could only guess what the delightful time I had spent with her would have cost anyone else. As I was leaving she was most adamant that the afternoons pleasure was all hers, and insisted I take $10 for my repair work. I headed home one happy 'laxed puppy.  Rev. Date 4/03.

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