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Teaching our German Shepherd to fearlessly bust my balloons is great fun until mom house cleans my room and I come home from school to find Buster is in the house and all my rubber toys are inflated and lying about in his dog pen. Guess what dad asks me to do with Buster when he gets home?Ret. to Bye Bye B & S Index

One thing about a large dog is that there is more to have fun with. It's more easy to relate to them as a pal. I didn't particularly care for dogs but dad felt that when we moved out to the country we should have a large one that would primarily be kept outside for guard duty.

I was fifteen years old at the time and getting sexually aroused from playing with toy rubber balloons was not something that too many teen age boys experienced, so there was little hope of finding a balloon busting companion among my friends at school. If there were others, there was certainly no safe way to make contact. You just can't ask a buddy if he rubs his stem with a balloon to help him have an erection. However, nothing beats the thrill of watching someone (or something) popping off balloons. With this in mind, my thoughts turned to Buster, our big dumb German Shepherd.

Dad on a couple of occasions tried teaching him a few simple tricks, but he was already at least four years old when we got him and I guess you can't teach an old dog any tricks because the only results of his training were to get him all riled up with him racing all over our large yard. The dog spent most of his life in a rather dormant state in his doghouse inside his 25 by 50 foot pen except for perhaps an hour a day when he would burn up all the food he was eating by racing around the perimeter of his pen, chasing some imaginary animal, I suppose.

Some of my friends had large dogs and I knew that for the most part they were terrified to be around inflated balloons. I had witnessed two cases where my friends had teased their dogs by giving them tightly inflated balloons to pop; and when they were frightened off by the explosions right in their faces, the boys would bust a few more right next to them while they were held captive. Buster didn't strike me as being very fearless to begin with, and acknowledging my own fear of bursting balloons for most of my life I realized that I would have to take it very slow and easy if I was going to be able to enlist Buster as my buster. I also didn't want him to become paranoid and carry on if he were to see my younger brother or other kids with a balloon at some time.

Fortunately I didn't have to wait too long for an opportunity to start Buster's balloon training. The next Saturday afternoon the family would be away for several hours. I was wearing my loose fitting gym shorts as usual so that if anything really exciting came out of our first training session I would be wearing the proper attire to conveniently relieve myself.

Our training area would be in the cellar where the sounds of bursting balloons would not be heard by our neighbors. I got a supply of my penny airship balloons, a large supply of sugar cubes from the kitchen, and brought Buster in. I inflated several balloons but only to the point where most of the balloon was stretched. They were still fairly squeezable and about three by fifteen inches in size. Buster was flopped on the floor watching my every move. After I had about a half dozen inflated I called Buster over and rubbed him all over with the balloon. He obviously had no contact or been frightened by balloons in the past. He just stood there fat, dumb, and stupid looking.

After a few minutes I backed away from him a couple of feet and proceeded to pop the balloon I had been rubbing him with. Buster just stood there fat, dumb, and stupid looking and went "WOOF". It wasn't a loud pop and it didn't seem to disturb him in the least. I rubbed him all over again with a second balloon and held it about two feet in front of his face and popped it. Without blinking an eye Buster went "WOOF".

I was beginning to think maybe Buster was well aware that toy balloons burst with a loud bang. I tossed the third balloon on the cellar floor right in front of his massive paws. He looked down and sniffed the balloon then with expectant eyes looked up at me. I jokingly said, "OK Buster, POP the balloon. "WOOF" BLAMMM. Buster came down on the balloon with both his front feet crushing the thin rubber into the rough concrete floor. The sudden unexpected loud bang made me jump. Buster just stood there with a 'did I do good' grin on his snout. I was so taken aback I almost forgot the sugar cube reward. After Buster destroyed the remaining three balloons I had inflated I realized that just busting them was all the reward he needed. I was half tempted to check between his hind legs to see if he had a hard on like I had. After Buster popped a few more of the penny balloons it was obvious his previous owner had enjoyed watching Buster bust balloons, and the operative word for him to bust them was POP.

I inflated a few more really tightly, dropped them on the floor several feet from where Buster was standing. I walked away and gave him the command, "POP the balloons." In two leaps he was across the floor and had pounced on the nearest balloon. "WOOF". The one next to it flew up into the air and he nailed it with a snap of his teeth. "WOOF". The third balloon was also within range and he finished it off with his powerful jaws as well. A third "WOOF". I was hoping he wasn't ingesting any of the torn rubber. The last thing I needed was dad to notice some brightly colored latex sticking out of Buster's ass. I never dreamed we would get this far in our first lesson, so I slipped Buster a couple of sugar cubes and raced upstairs to my balloon stash to get some of my larger round balloons I had managed to waylay from our local carnival.

Again, not being sure of Buster's level of fearlessness, I only inflated the first few to about a 10 inch diameter. I dropped the first one on the floor a few feet from where he was sitting and gave him the command, "POP the balloon." Buster leaped over to the hapless balloon and drove his wide open mouth into the rubber sphere. His sharp canines ripped through the thin rubber like it wasn't there and the balloon disappeared. "WOOF". I had a very limited supply of the large round carnival balloons and I wasn't about to have Buster destroy my entire stock, so I put the other partially inflated balloon aside for my pleasure and blew buster a really tight one to try. I wasn't too sure it wouldn't pop when it landed on the concrete floor so I batted it up toward the ceiling and as it began to drop I gave Buster his command. He bounded across the floor and nailed the balloon with his teeth about five feet above the floor. Wow, did I have a balloon busting machine here or what!

I let Buster finish off one more pink balloon (I dislike pink colored balloons and always pop them off first) and he dispatched it without any hesitation. By this time I had a raging heard on and was about ready to pop myself. I pulled the waist of my gym pants down below my balls and started rubbing my stem with the partially inflated balloon that I had initially blown up. Buster sat in front of me watching my every move. He had worked up a bit of heat from his sudden pounces and leaps and was panting with his huge mouth partially open. The erotic thought of seeing if he would give me a blow job passed momentarily through my head but I would have to be insane to stick my meat into those massive teeth filled jaws; especially after seeing how effectively they destroyed balloons. What if he thought I was feeding him a wiener?

My orgasm came quickly and my first load landed on the floor right in front of Buster. He gave it a quick smell check then slurped it up with his eight inch tongue. I motioned for him to come over to me and I stuck my stem in his face. On many occasions he had given me a real hard on by jamming his long nose up inside the legs of my shorts when I was sitting down. Dogs seem to have a thing for smelling up others dicks. Yep, he gave it a good slurp with his tongue and I felt Whooeeeee. I could see the Buster and I were going to have a new and entirely different relationship from now on.

Actually I didn't involve Buster to any great extent in my balloon play because although I tried to get him to play with them a bit, batting them around with his paws a bit on the floor, I was unsuccessful. As far as Buster was concerned balloons were intended to be broken. He either ignored them or when commanded it was a near instantaneous BANG WOOF. I couldn't afford to go through a couple of dozen balloons in a short afternoon balloon busting session.

I was always as discrete as possible regarding my balloon play. Both mom and dad knew that playing with balloons made me 'silly', which was their term for really sexed up since I was about six years old. They did not want me playing with balloons, not that a fifteen year old boy should be to begin with. I made a point of being very careful to conceal my supply and to clean up the rubber mess if I popped any in the house. I usually carried out my balloon busting several miles away far down in the woods from the house.

About nine months after Buster and I had discovered our mutual love for rubber toys I came in the house after school from the bus stop and noticed Buster was in his usual dormant state except that he was in our living room, not in his pen as usual. I asked mom if he was sick or something and she just said, "No, I have him in here because I have a surprise for you." Her comment immediately put me on edge because as far as I knew she still thought I really didn't care at all about Buster. In any case what would our big dumb dog have to do with a surprise for me.

I went upstairs into my room which was in the back of the house to change from my school clothes to my usual gym shorts and tee shirt attire. As soon as I walked into my room I got an ugly feeling. It was all straightened up and there was a large bag of trash sitting next to the door. Mom's words came rushing back; there just wasn't any way she could know, was there? I rushed to my window and UH OH, there were all my beloved rubber toys nicely inflated all along the rear fence of Buster's pen where the gentle afternoon breeze had accumulated them. I found the scene incredulous. Mom must have invested a couple of hours in blowing every last one of my balloons up. On most previous occasions she had just destroyed my balloons by burning them if they were un-inflated. How in the world did she find out about Buster's penchant for popping balloons?

Needless to say I took a real long time getting changed and coming down stairs. The first order of business after I got my shorts on was to jack off as I gazed out the window and visualized just what was going to happen to a short while to all my balloons. Actually I was good for two goes in about fifteen minutes. I finally knew I had to face the music and I went down to the kitchen where mother was preparing dinner.

"You noticed I finally got tired of all that clutter in your room and gave it a good housecleaning for you," mom said as she gave me a half smile. She continued, "I want you to look through that big bag of junk I collected just in case there is something really important you need, then lug the bag out to the incinerator and get rid of it." I waited for her to say something about my balloons she had blown up; nothing, so I dumbly asked, "What is the surprise you mentioned?"

Mom replied, "You didn't notice out your window I took the liberty of blowing up all those balloons your father and I told you you were not to have and put them in Buster's pen. When your dad gets home we can all watch and see what Buster will do with them." I snapped back, "I hope you had fun blowing all of them up." She shot back, "Actually it was quite an effort, but I thought you and your dad would really enjoy the result. What I really want to know is that all the damn balloons you have stashed around here, because I want you to get rid of every last one. A boy your age shouldn't be interested in balloons in the least." I indicated to her that she got them all. I was really annoyed at myself that I hadn't split up my supply and hidden some out in our barn.

Father soon came home from work. I was worried that my disobedience in having balloons might result in some major punishment, but his only comment was, "OK, lets take Buster out to his pen and see what he will do with your silly toys." I was hoping that this would be zero, because Buster had never attacked any balloons unless he was given the command to POP the balloon. It really didn't matter, however, because they were all inflated and knotted, and one way or another they were going to pop tonight, or best case they wouldn't survive the following day in the bright sunlight.

We took Buster outside and father turned him loose in his pen. Buster immediately spotted the large pile of balloons clustered at the far end and ran over to investigate. He rooted around with his nose for a minute pushing the balloons about but none popped in the grass. Mom hadn't really inflated them very tight. Buster looked over to us obviously waiting for us to give him the OK to finish them off.

Father called Buster back to our end of the pen as he commented, "I would really like to have some pictures of this, but it really wouldn't be too good an idea to show them to anyone else." Then dad turned to me and commanded, "They are your balloons so you can tell Buster to destroy them. I gave dad a quizzical look as I said sheepishly, "How do I do that?" "Why I believe you just tell him to pop the balloons," he quietly replied. I responded, "Let me walk down to the other end where I can get a good view. These are my balloons and I at least want to enjoy seeing them destroyed."

I jogged down to the far end of the pen nearest the major pile of balloons. I then loudly yelled, "Buster POP the balloons." Buster tore down the length of the pen in a streak and plowed into the balloons clustered along the fence in front of me on the ground. Several immediately burst under his paws as he pounced on them. His massive jaws were snapping right and left nailing the balloons that flew up from his initial onslaught. The pop pop pop pops were almost as rapid as machine gun fire. Torn pieces of ripped balloon rubber was flying up around Buster in a sort of cloud. Buster was methodical in that he finished off all the balloons that were within jaws reach before pouncing to the next location. He was literally mowing down the balloons pop pop pop pop pop. Very few got past him. In a matter of twenty seconds he had finished off nearly all my round carnival balloons and about another seventy five or so of the smaller airships. The fact that the wind had consolidated most of the balloons in a single layer and pushed them next to one another simplified Buster's effort considerably.

My balls had started to ache from before father arrived home and I already had half a hard on when I had run down to the far end. By the onset of Buster's balloon attack I was fully erect, and by the time he had finished off the last of my balloons I was ready to 'pop', and this would be the third time in less than two hours. Unfortunately with my mom and dad standing only about 75 feet away I didn't think they would appreciate my relieving myself right at this point. The juice that was dribbling off my stem would just have to wait. Fortunately I was wearing Jockey under shorts under my dark green gym pants, so I wasn't showing any wet spot, at least yet, and the tight Jockey's provided some control over my erection.

I walked back to my parents and dad said, "Some fun. Thank you mother for taking the time to blow all your toys up so we could enjoy seeing Buster finish them off. Now I want you after supper to clean up all your torn balloons from Buster's pen. I don't want him to be chewing on any and getting himself bound up."

After supper I went out and began the arduous task of cleaning up the hundreds of larger pieces of torn rubber. Fortunately because the balloons were not tightly inflated there were not very many small shards to contend with. The task too nearly an hour and it wasn't until I finally got to bed after another hour of homework that I finally got to shoot the load I had been holding.