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I had been given plenty of warning. There were the comments and suggestions from my parents, but I had foolishly ignored them. Now here I was, clad in my worn somewhat sweaty and dirty scout uniform, sitting on the edge of my bed staring at the floor and the feet of my father. My step mom and brother had left the house for a while so only dad and I were in the house. I had come upstairs planning on taking a bath to remove the grime I had accumulated on my arms and legs form a wonderful afternoon spent down in the woods playing with my rubber toys.
After a few hours of balloon play I had addressed my pent up stimulation which resulted in a surprisingly heavy discharge of my juice over two of my larger inflated balloons. I had blown up all the balloons I had brought with me for the day, and following my orgasm there were at least a dozen that I untied rather than breaking them, intending to enjoy them another day. I had wiped off the cum splattered balloons on my legs before deflating them. Then I folded all the soft distended rubber bags; stuffing them into the pockets of my shorts where they were now producing a slight bulge on either side of my thighs.
Dad had followed me upstairs which was unusual and as soon as I realized he was coming up behind me I got that sudden heavy aching feeling in my balls that always occurred whenever I felt my fetishes might be threatened. Now here he was in my bedroom standing along side my bureau that had the mirror on top. Hanging over the mirror were the four nice well aged balloons attached to their reed sticks that I had way laid from our association carnival about six weeks earlier. The balloons still contained most of their air, but the rubber had become velvety soft and dulled from weeks of inflated exposure to the atmosphere. As a result the balloons emitted that heavenly sweet smell that only aged natural rubber can provide; an aroma that carried me back to some terrifically stimulating times from my youth as I performed my nightly ritual of sexual relief. It was for this reason I was loath to react to the suggestions from my step Mom that the balloons were smelling up my room and from my father that a boy my age shouldn't have any interest in a young child's toy to begin with let along having them hanging about in his room.
Father glared at me then turned his attention to the four balloons on the mirror as he said, "I think it's about time to get rid of these damn smelly balloons, don't you think?"
Yep no question, my delightfully sweet smelling balloons were about to be destroyed. I wondered how he was going to bust them. Dad wasn't smoking a cigarette at the moment but it would only take him a few seconds to light up, or he could just simply apply the flame from his lighter to the tissue thin rubber skins. Burning with a cigarette had been his favorite way of popping my balloons in the past. He seemed to savor the way the burning tip seared through thin stretched rubber. Maybe he was going to let me do the honors. Either way they were about to get busted and blood began surging to my tool in anticipation.
Dad reached up and tapped the first balloon up and forward to the ceiling allowing the stick to clear the top edge of the mirror. The balloon dropped quickly toward the floor in front of me as I deftly grabbed the stick and retrieved my precious rubber bag.
"I know you have a sick thing for rubber balloons but I don't think at your age you need to have balloons around the house, especially inflated like this," Dad intoned matter of factly as he dislodged the three remaining balloons which I grabbed and held with the first. He sarcastically continued, "Don't you think your little step brother and step mom might wonder why a big sixteen year old boy needs smelly balloons hanging around his room for weeks on end. It's bad enough you opt to run around in shorts and knee socks with that silly neck rag round your neck instead of wearing blue jeans like all the other boys your age. I guess you figure short pants are what a sissy boy that likes to play around with balloons all the time to get his rocks off should be wearing. Those sexy shorts give you a turn on too?"
I was hoping my father really didn't expect an answer to his stinging indictments, especially regarding my masturbatory practices when I was alone down in the woods. I returned my gaze toward the floor. After several seconds of silence I glanced up and caught his disapproving gaze. For a moment I thought his lack of additional response might permit me to get away with slipping the necks of the balloons off the ends of their sticks, allowing them to deflate normally for use at a later time. Fat chance.
"Well...Don't you agree, boy?" dad growled.
Hell no, I thought, I don't agree. I love the smell and feel of these balloons and I want them to last forever. I was hoping he was only looking for agreement with his first question about destroying the four balloons. After a moment I did manage a soft "I guess" in reply as I felt the red developing in my cheeks and the blood surging in my cock.
"Well then boy, lets get to it," Dad snarled as he quickly reached in his pocket and brought forth his trusty pocket knife. So that was how my rubber beauties were going to get busted.
He had the blade flipped open in the time it took to get the knife from his pocket over to the cluster of balloons that were pressed against my bare knees. A yellow balloon trapped against my left knee was closest to him and he brought the blade up to the side of the balloon. Then he pressed the super sharp point ever so slowly into the rubber greatly escalating the suspense. The overhead room light was on behind me and I clearly saw the dimple form in the skin of the balloon as the rubber tried to withstand the ever increasing pressure from the point of the knife blade. Alas it didn't take very much. Suddenly the blade punctured the balloon and the rubber ripped with a tired sounding POP, you could almost hear it rip as it flew off in a large spinning sheet like a Frisbee past dad's legs where it hit the wall below the window sill and fell to the floor; a crumpled sheet of yellow latex.
The sudden expansion of air from the bursting balloon thrust the blue balloon that was above it upward where it rebounded off a third balloon in my lap. This quickly sent it rebounding back downward where the end just scraped the point of Dad's knife as he was withdrawing it. POP! Two of my pretty balloons gone in less than a second. This second one just simply split nearly in half and the two large blue sheets of rubber remained joined to the neck and were plastered over my left knee.
"Oops", Dad chuckled. "Got rid of two of them with one stab. Only good thing about all your silly balloons is that they are nice and easy to bust and get rid of."
I still had a green and red balloon left. I watched as dad placed the pocket knife on the top of the bureau. I figured he would reach for a cig from the pack he kept in his shirt pocket to finish the last two off. He loved to burn balloons with cigarettes or just toss them into a fire; this later approach usually without bothering to inflate them first. This always made me sick watching good balloons going up in flames without the fun of busting them first.
It turned out this wasn't dad's plan for the remaining balloons, however. He roughly grabbed the red balloon from me then with the stick still attached proceeded to press the balloon into my left knee while twisting it back and forth. The tired rubber generated a terrific howl of protest as he applied ever greater pressure stretching the rubber over my kneecap. The oxidized balloon tried to put up a fight, but it was no match against Dad's intent to bust it. It burst with a muffled POOF and the stick dropped to the floor. Dad's hand slapped my knee which he immediately grabbed tightly as he said, "You got good solid knees on you boy."
Dad give me a silly grin as he calmly said, "Getting you at all excited, boy?" Oh ya; he most certainly was.
Then he started sliding his had upward toward my crotch while squeezing the sides of my thigh. Dad intended it to be painful and it was. "You got really nice muscled legs already, boy, as well," He quipped. "Every bit as strong as a man's."
At this point his hand was well up inside the leg of my scout shorts and working it's way under the loose gym shorts I was wearing for underpants. Because of the increasing width of my thigh he was essentially pressing downward on my leg at this point. When his thumb finally reached the crotch area between my sack and the inside of my leg he twisted his hand upward allowing his fingers to encircle and grab my throbbing cock.
"It's a real disappointment to me boy that you don't have a real man's sexual desires to go with your manly legs. I would have loved to have found girlie sex magazines instead of a big pile of rubber balloons when I fixed the floor boards to the attic back awhile ago."
Oh oh! This was it. What I had been dreading ever since that discovery, that he would make me destroy all of my balloons and short pants, was about to happen.
Father paused then released his grip and withdrew his hand from my pants leg. "I just hope some how you will eventually grow up sexually and decide on your own to gather up and burn all the balloons and shorts you have."
Dad's comment sounded like a suggestion for the future. Please, please let it be.
"That's a nice pretty green one you have left," Dad mused. "Why don't you take it off the stick and blow it up so we can see how big it will get?"
Wow! He wanted me to blow it up and burst it. Dad felt responsible for my whole balloon 'thing', because when I was a little boy he wanted me to get over my fear of balloons. I knew he liked to see how fearless of balloons I had become so I rushed to do his bidding. Getting the neck off the stick was easy, but the weeks of being tied had glued most of the length of the neck together. I had to carefully pull the sides of the neck apart starting at the balloon end and working toward the bead. Dad became antsy due to the delay and made a move for his knife.
"Give me a sec," I mumbled as I worked feverishly to open up the balloon neck so I could release the trapped air. Finally I was successful and the stale sweet smelling air wheezed out of the balloon. Dad looked displeased. He obviously had just wanted me to add some more air and quickly turn the pretty green toy into shredded rubber.
With the balloon deflated into a super large tissue thin rubber bag I couldn't resist one last chance to rescue my precious fetish so I pensively asked, "Dad, can't I please keep this balloon as a keepsake?"
Dad nearly exploded as he cut things to the quick, "Hell no you can't keep that damn piece of smelly rubber. You already have more than enough balloons hidden around here that I should really make you take up to the dump and burn instead of letting you use them to help you jack off with as it is. Start blowing or I'll destroy it for you."
I stood up and quickly started puffing big blasts of air into my tired toy. Standing gives you lungs more room to expand; besides I had always had the feeling that my father liked to see his big boy when I was wearing shorts standing up because it showed off my legs for him while I was blowing up balloons.
The aged rubber provided very little resistance to my lungs. The balloon quickly became over sized but had barely begun to attempt to stretch the rubber in the neck. It did surprisingly make it to an impressive fourteen inches or so before the tired rubber finally ripped asunder with a half hearted POP. A large glob of shredded green latex went splat on the floor near the spot where the yellow sheet of rubber from the first balloon lay next to the wall. The rest of the balloon flew in slivers that landed on the floor at my feet or drifted back on the bedspread behind me.
Well my pretty sweet smelling balloons were history. Although the large rubber sheets from three of them could be salvaged and would suffice for a few self stim sessions I had little doubt what Dad would make me do with the rubber remains. I certainly didn't think he would let me get to keep and fondle the thin sheets of rubber.
Oh oh! It had been several seconds since I had demonstrated my balloon busting ability to my father but he wasn't moving from his position next to the bureau. As I stood there in front of him with my dirty knees prominently displayed between the hems of my shorts and the rolled tops of my knee socks I got the sickening feeling our father / son balloon encounter wasn't quite over yet.
Father said matter of factly, "Turn out your pockets, boy. I want to see what additional silly toys you have in there that we need to get rid of."
I reluctantly emptied the contents of my pockets on the bed. There was one of my 560 airships that I had sailed in the air several times plus four fourteen inch and eight twelve inch round balloons that I had inflated down in the woods a few hours earlier. Dad stepped past me over to the bed and snagged the airship balloon. He held the neck end in his right hand and the far end in his left which he pulled back stretching the tubular balloon out to nearly four feet. I knew that wouldn't hurt the balloon any because in it's condition the rubber would probably stretch to nearly six feet. It did hurt me though when he directed the stretched band at my right knee and released the far end. The unexpected SNAP and sudden sharp sting caught me by surprise and quickly took the edge off my stimulation. Fortunately I suppressed any vocalization due to the unexpected pain. Dad retrieved the far end of the balloon again and I allowed him to impart a welt on my left knee as well to match the right.
"Hmm," Dad mused. "At least this balloon is good for something besides making you silly. Let's see you blow this one up."
Dad tossed me the airship balloon and I started inflating it from the far end first because If you allow the neck end to blow up first on used airship balloon there is a good chance it will bust before you can get the far end totally inflated. The soft well used rubber tube expanded to about 125% of it's normal diameter by the time the pressure started straining against the neck section and I knew it was about as far as it was going to go. I just assumed dad wanted me to blow it up until it burst, but at this point he grabbed the far end of the balloon in one hand and about two feet from the end with his other. With this I took the balloon out of my mouth and pinched off the neck between my fingers. He flashed me a quick grin as he commented, "I'll bet right about now your dick is harder than this damn balloon of yours." Actually it wasn't, primarily because of the stinging sensation I still felt on my knee caps.
Dad started to turn his hands in opposite directions causing the rubber tube to grudgingly twist in his hands. This created shrieks and squeals as the rubber slid about in his grip. After about a minute of this rubber torture I was fully excited again and offered to tie the neck so that he could have the entire balloon to torture. He shook his head "no" as he brought his hand from the end of the balloon down to where he was holding it with his other. Then before I could really react, he dug his fingers into the sides of the balloon and pulled them apart. The sudden added stress caused the rubber to rip and with a tired POOFT the balloon split open from the neck I was holding all the way to the far end. The suddenly contracting strip of rubber jerked the neck from between my fingers and the nearly foot and a half long rectangular sheet fluttered to the floor along side my dad's right foot. I couldn't resist hulking myself off the side of the bed and leaning forward to retrieve the remains. I fingered the tissue thin strip of rubber as I returned to the bed thinking about all the other busted airship balloons I had re-cycled into colorful leg, arm, and head bands.
Father must have been reading my thoughts because he suddenly said, "Tie that busted balloon around your leg like you usually do. Doesn't wearing silly rubber leg and arm bands make you feel even more sexy when you play with balloons? They certainly call attention to your pretty knees, that's for sure."
A sudden dread swept over me. If he wanted me to fetch more airship balloons to bust so I could make four additional bands for my leg, arms, as well as a headband, or just to grab any of the number I already had made up, it would force me to reveal the hiding place of my using stash of balloons. This would surely result in the destruction of a vast number of my rubber fetishes. Since dad's comment sounded like a command rather than a request I bent over and wrapped the rubber strip over my left knee and tied the neck of the former balloon to the far end.
"Stand up boy, that does look really cute now," Dad laughingly said. "Maybe we should split the outer seams on your shorts so they look more like a breech cloth. It would go better with your colorful rubber bands you like to doll up in."
Oh jeez! Although I had several dozen pair of the scout shorts, every one was precious, especially nice soft well worn one's like I was wearing. I got that twang in my ball room again; and it wasn't for naught. Father reached up and grabbed the pocket knife and was headed toward my legs with it. I mentally anticipated the slight tug on the hems of the shorts I would experience as the razor sharp blade sliced through the folded cotton. Once the hems had been severed it would only take a small pull to rip the legs of the scout shorts straight up to the waist band.
Dad took a step toward me as he bent down. I was surprised he hadn't asked me to turn sideways so he could readily cut the shorts next to the outer seam. I wasn't really focused on what he was doing with the knife so I was startled when I felt the back of the blade press in against my skin just below the rubber band I had just tied on. He jabbed the knife upward capturing the nearly two and a half inch width of the band on the front of the sharp edge of his knife.
"Let's get rid of your sexy band, shall we?" Dad said as he swiftly pulled the blade towards him. I felt the knot in the rubber press against the back of my leg as he yanked the band out a good sixteen inches from the front of my knee. With the stretched rubber sheet tightly pressed over the sharp edge of the knife blade he tilted the blade until the rubber started to slide off. This caused a slit to form in the rubber sheet and in an instant, with a FWOOP sound, the band shot backwards off my leg, hit the side of the mattress, and dropped in a puddle on the floor.
Father looked at his destructive handiwork and then scowling said, "If I hear tell of anyone seeing you wearing any of these silly rubber bands in the future the next thing I'll slit open is all your shorts and you can officially run around looking like a Bora Bora native. Meantime I like seeing you wearing shorts which is why I am not making you get rid of all of them now." Phew! It looked like my vast collection of shorts was safe for the moment.
Next father turned his attention to the other balloons I had extracted from my pockets. He scooped up the soft pile of about a dozen rubber bags and started fingering them. Naturally he was immediately attracted to the two fourteen inchers that still had some whitish residue on them. Father stretched them menacingly between the fingers of both hands as he checked out the obvious evidence of my misspent youth.
"I see you have been having some extra fun with these two balloons," Father amusingly exclaimed. "Tell you what. I want you to show me exactly how you play with them and what you do with these damn balloons when you are alone down in the woods."
Dad paused to allow the magnitude of the performance he wanted me to perform in front of him sink in. Then to be sure I understood what he really wanted to see, as an afterthought he added, "And boy, you sure as hell had better be alone whenever you are jacking off with these damn balloons of yours; hear! Now blow these two juice stained balloons up and shown me just what you did with them this afternoon."
Dad shoved the two balloons in my hand and I blew them both up to about twelve inches in diameter which made them nice and soft and squishy. As I was engaged in this effort dad inflated two of the smaller twelve inchers to a nice soft round size as well and tied them off. I had been sitting on the bed again while I was blowing away.
When I had the second balloon tied off dad suddenly said, "Stand up boy and shed those scout shorts. I want to see what things look like underneath."
I unbuckled my belt and unbuttoned the scout shorts and let them fall to my ankles. Then I stepped out of them and tossed the shorts over on the bed. No question things were mucho gooey just below the waist band of the green gym shorts I was wearing for underpants, but my stem was currently limp city. The thought of having to jack off in front of my father had all but erased any of the extreme sexual stimulus from the previous ten minutes of our encounter. Balloons notwithstanding, how did he figure I would even be able to get a hard on let alone generate any additional boy juice with him standing there watching me.
"Looks like we have to get you pumped up some, there boy," Dad mused. "I can see though that the last few minutes of our balloon busting got your sexy green gym shorts a bit gooed up.
With that statement dad lunged toward me and pushed me backward into a sitting position on the edge of the bed. At the same time as I was falling backwards away from him he grabbed the waist of my gym pants and yanked it down well below my crotch. When I hit the bed he deftly flipped my ball bag with his fingers over the waist band of the shorts . This left my semi limp dick drooping woefully towards the floor.
Dad had the second of the balloons he had inflated, a nice red one, in his hand during all this and he proceeded to press it into my crotch flattening my stem against my lower abdomen. Then he began to twist the balloon, sliding the rubber near the end of the balloon over my dick causing it to roll from side to side. Needless to say my stem quickly regained it's stiffness and began to resist the side to side bending. This further increased the friction of the soft rubber on the underside of the tip. After about a minute and a half of this pleasurable torture he removed the balloon and my staff jutted out at a respectable full attention.
"OK. It looks like you are ready to show me just how my big boy plays with his balloons," Dad intoned matter of factly. "So let me see just what kind of sexy things you do with them."
I had a good hard on, yes; enthusiasm, no. I jammed one of the previously creamed balloons between my knees as I had earlier in the day. It was positioned to receive most of any juice I might be able to generate. I grabbed the second large balloon in my left hand and scrubbed it against the outside of my left knee creating a rhythmic squeaking sound. Meanwhile with my right hand I began furiously stroking my shaft. I could definitely envision under the circumstances my cock collapsing into a limp tube leaving me trapped between the high sexual stimulation of the preceding several minutes and the overwhelming embarrassment my father was putting me through.
Father started grinding the palms and fingers of his hands into the balloon he was holding. He seemed to have a surprisingly good feel for how much abuse the rubber could take because he was able to create a continuous cacophony of snapping sounds as the rubber skin of the balloon suddenly slid under the tips of his fingers, yet the balloon survived one minute, then two minutes. It just kept lasting and lasting. Knowing that the red rubber bag in father's hands was certain to bust at any second really revived my stimulus level and I felt the pre-cum form on the end of my tool where my vigorous stroking began to spread it over the upper end of my shaft. However this in turn reduced the friction from my vigorous rubbing. Damn! I wound up plateaued just shy of orgasm.
Father sensed I was loosing ground. He momentarily stopped torturing the balloon he was holding, turned around and picked the large yellow rubber sheet from the first balloon he had popped from the floor. He tossed the rubber at me as he said, "Here rap this busted balloon around your dick. That ought to get you over the top."
I set the balloon I was holding in my left had off to the side momentarily and quickly wrapped the nearly five by six inch sheet of yellow rubber around the end of my stem. I held it in place with my right hand and resumed pumping away. I grabbed my auxiliary balloon and pressed the soft skin to the side of my face so I could breath in the smell of the rubber.
Dad started snapping his balloon again. He could sense I was almost there. I saw him raise his foot and in slow motion bring it down on the other balloon that he inflated then had dropped on the floor. The balloon flatted as the rubber was compressed under his shoe. BAM! Oh wow! This was going to do it. I was actually going to make it.
I felt the pressure surge as I quickly slid the improvised yellow sheath to the base of my stem allowing my shaft to drop on the balloon I had clamped between my legs. Um um good; what heavenly release. My juice squirted onto the balloon I was holding between my legs, scooted over the top and began to drool down the far side. Just at the moment I shot my load, Dad must have gouged the balloon that he had been torturing for the past several minutes with his fingernails because it POPPED right on cue
Father then reached down and yanked the balloon from between my legs and proceeded to press the cum soaked side down on my left knee. The lubricated rubber didn't make the usual squeaking sound as my knee penetrated well into the balloon. A moment later the over stretched skin tore and the balloon died with a respectable POP. I felt a spray of boy juice on my right leg as the rubber ripped apart. Finally Dad reached out before I realized what he was doing and grabbed the last balloon that I was still holding in my left hand. He pinched it between his fingers causing it to burst almost in my face.
Seeing my father standing in front of me suddenly gave me a feeling of embarrassment and shame. The command performance orgasm I had just experienced definitely fell short of the earlier one I had by myself down in the woods several hours earlier; even in spite of the foreplay with my father busting my balloons in a most sexually stimulating manner. I immediately started coming down from my high as I wiped the residual goo off my stem which I transferred to my right thigh using my right hand. I pulled off the cum soaked rubber sheet with my other hand and dropped it on the floor. With this accomplished I pulled up my damp gym shorts over my already beginning to collapse dick.
Father gave me a tired disgusted look. Then he turned his attention to the remaining uninflated balloons I had pulled from my pocket that were lying on the bed. He walked over and grabbed them, carefully arraigning the distended rubber bags so they were all hanging from his left hand by their necks. He pulled the stack of rubber out to the side and captured it between the third and fourth fingers of his left hand. Then he grabbed his pocket knife again from the top of the bureau and jabbed the point upward into the stack of balloons he was holding. The rubber arched upward and began to stretch between the points where he had the balloons captured between his fingers. Suddenly there was a sickening FWOOP sound as the point of the knife pierced through the stack of balloons instantly destroying them.
"Oops! I didn't think they would go so easy," Dad chuckled. "Hey that was fun, now wasn't it. Now you won't even have to worry about getting any additional jollies from these balloons, now will you?"
To drive home his point, dad released the balloons from between his third and forth fingers as he drew the knife away from his left hand. The necks and the section of the balloons over to the point of the knife puncture stretched out several inches before the tension caused the sharp blade to slice the remaining section of the balloons in two as they snapped back into his left hand. He then tossed the torn balloons on the bed. This sudden added senseless balloon destruction did nothing to slow my rapidly waning stimulation. I felt dirty and somehow humiliated and I just wanted this encounter over with as quickly as possible.
Dad looked over the scene and commanded, "Clean up all this torn rubber and make sure you don't miss even the smallest shard. I don't think we want mom finding anything, understand. Then I want you to take every last piece of this smelly rubber out to the incinerator and burn it. OK son?" Oh wow! Dad had called me son. Once again it appeared he had put aside his anger and disappointment with me.
The only balloons that would pose
a problem as far as small pieces of rubber would be the green one I had
blown up until it burst and the white one Dad had flattened under his shoe.
These were high pressure bursts which caused these balloons to rupture
into hundreds of small pieces. After spending about fifteen minutes of
diligent searching I deposited the rubber remains in a used lunch bag and
took them out to the incinerator behind the barn. As I watched the bag
burn away and the rubber sheets flare up I was thankful that this was all
that was burning this night. Post.on
6/15/2001