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Bye Bye Shorts #2:- Rover Rip- S= 100
Caught in the act in the comfort of loose fitting
gym shorts dad enlists Rover's help in destroying my "fun" pants.
It was my normal custom when I was hanging out around the house to wear the gym shorts that I had salvaged from the trash in high school. If other family members were home I would maintain some modesty by wearing Jockey shorts under them, but when I was home alone during the week, I liked to be a free swinger and wore nothing under my thin loose gym pants.
During my monthly sexuality peaks during the summer when I was out of school I would often relieve myself during the day in addition to my normal bedtime sessions. One day I happened to be out in our barn when I got the urge. I went up into one of the hay lofts where I had an old orange crate handy to sit on, pulled the waist band down below my balls and set to work. Usually I like to have a few of my rubber toys to massage and smell during the process but I didn't have any handy because the gym shorts didn't have any pockets. I always made a point of carrying a few balloons for such emergencies in the pockets of my scout shorts or the blue denim shorts my friends mother had made for each of us.
I was just about to let fly when I heard a clunk sound. Somebody had climbed the loft ladder and was coming across the outer section of the loft floor. I was so close to orgasm I couldn't have stopped if I had wanted to. It had to be one of my buddies which could be rather embarrassing. Then again maybe I could get myself a mutual sexual partner. I looked up just as my juice squirted on the dusty dry floor boards. There stood my dad glaring at me as he said in an annoyed tone, "So this is how you spend your summer days, hey boy. Whacking your meat when you should be doing some work around here."
There was nothing I could say. I quickly flicked the juice off the end of my stiff bloated stem and stuffed it back into my shorts as I stood and pulled up the waist to keep it contained. The shorts were quite loose and didn't do a very good job in this respect; as a result I was sporting a major tent above my crotch. My father was not pleased with what he had seen.
Dad angrily snapped, "I thought I told you that you were to wear underpants under those skimpy shorts, boy. Then your dick wouldn't be so easy to get to and probably wouldn't get stimulated as much. I had reservations about allowing you to run around here in your Tarzan outfit and now you have verified my suspicions."
As we climbed down from the loft and headed back to the house he informed me that I was to change out of the shorts I was wearing, round up all the other gym shorts I had, and bring them down to him. He hadn't said, but I had little doubt that he was planning to destroy them. I got an achy feeling in my balls and my half hard dick seemed to have no inclination to collapse as I slipped on underpants and a pair of my scout shorts. I rounded up the dozen or so additional pairs of gym shorts I had and brought them down stairs to my father.
As I handed the shorts to him he said, "Now what do you think we ought to do with these sex pants of yours so you don't keep having urges to play with yourself every time you think you are alone?" I couldn't think of anything to say so I just stared at the floor, too embarrassed to look at him.
We had a large German shepherd that resided in a big pen located between the house and the barn. As we headed out the back door father suddenly stopped in front of the gate to the pen and said, "I know. We'll let Buster take care of them for you."
Buster had done a number on blankets we had given him to sleep on in the past. He had dragged them around in the mud and his doggy do do and ripped them to shreds by standing on them and ripping them with his powerful jaws and teeth. My thin cotton gym shorts didn't stand a chance.
As dad opened the gate we went into the pen and Buster greeted us with his usual canine exuberance. I figured father was going to throw him the shorts and my balls and I were hoping against hope that Buster would only mangle a couple of them, giving me a chance later to possibly salvage a few pair. However that was not what dad had in mind.
Buster wasn't much for fetching but his big human interactive thing was playing tug. This was mainly my doing. I had found some inch and a quarter rope and had cut several four foot lengths and tied knots in each of the ends. Buster loved to latch his massive jaws on one end and try to pull the rope away from me. Our tug of wars would last a good half hour until Buster became totally exhausted; and often me as well. Buster weighed over a hundred pounds and he could apply almost that much pull on the rope when he lay back and just hung on the end. He didn't apply just steady pulls, but jerks as well, which really could be rough on my wrists.
Dad commanded Buster to sit and handed me a pair of the shorts as he said, "Here. Grab the one leg and let Buster have the other. Let's see how well your sex pants hold up to some really tough use, shall we."
With the white shorts dangling from my right hand, Buster immediately knew what game we wanted him to play. He lunged for the other leg and his canines punched through the soft cotton like it was tissue paper. His first tentative yank ripped the leg until his teeth were caught on the outer seam and the leg hem. The he really heaved back. The shorts made a sickening ripping sound as the seams at the crotch let go and the shorts split apart at the front and seat.
Since he couldn't pull away any further, Buster jumped backwards for his next tug. Only the waist band was holding the two halves of the hapless shorts together. Buster's second yank caused the half of the shorts he had in his mouth to rip along the waist band, both in the front and the back, once it had been stretched to it's limit. Rrrriiiipppp. At this point the only attachment Buster's half had with the side I was holding was the outer seam that was still anchored to the side of the waist band. The doubled and folded over cloth at the seam wasn't about to rip easily and was securely stitched to the waist, so the next thing to rip on his third pull was the splice where the ends of the elastic waist band had been stitched together. Father was enjoying the destruction of my gym pants immensely and I was getting a rock solid hard on.
The right and left legs of the shorts were all but separated. Dad shouted, "Now grab the hem, boy, and let him rip the leg apart."
I was able to lunge toward Buster and snag the inseam of the leg that Buster had in his mouth before he jumped back for his fourth yank. The seams at the hem were surprisingly tough and Buster's tug nearly dislocated my fingers before the inseam where I had a hold of the hem burst and Buster was left holding a well ripped flat sheet of white cotton.
Dad insisted that I get Buster to rip the other leg apart as well so I got him to latch his jaws onto the hem without involving my fingers that had a tight grip this time on the far side of the leg. Buster threw his weight backward and the hem parted at the inseam with a sudden sharp RIPPP sound as the cotton leg was yanked from my hand.
Next dad tossed me a green pair of shorts. Again I held them up as high as I could by the hem of the one leg and gave them a bit of a jiggle to let Buster know the poor pants were a tug toy. Buster lunged at the dangling green cotton and captured about a quarter of the lower outer section of the leg in his mouth. His first yank mainly resulted in his teeth tearing through the thin cotton fabric of the leg. Buster quickly replanted his hind feet and his second effort caused the shorts to bust in half like the first pair with a satisfying RIPPPP sound as the front and rear seams burst open.
While Buster was working on the pair I had, dad had stepped on the hem of another pair of shorts and was pulling upward on the other leg. The effect on my fun pants was the same. Because dad was slowly increasing his upward pull, as opposed to the sudden over powering jerks Buster was applying, I could hear the tantalizing pops as individual threads let go in the seam of the crotch. After a moment or two the joint where the four pieces of cloth came together between the legs let go and the front and rear seams quickly parted as he ripped the shorts in half.
Not satisfied with just ripping them in half, dad bent over and grabbed the hem of the leg he was standing on and gave it a good yank upwards. The hem didn't bust as easily as the pants had when he ripped them in half. In addition, he was also bent over more because the width of the leg opening was only about fifteen inches so he had a hold of the hem somewhat less than that height above the ground. The combination of the unexpected tearing resistance and his bent over position caused him to pull a back muscle which suddenly nullified the pleasure he was having destroying my shorts. It also prompted him to utter a few nasty words. Dad tossed the ripped shorts on the ground and grumbled that I should just burn the rest of them.
Just burning them would have really sexually stimulated me, but Buster's slower more methodical destruction and the sounds produced as the shorts ripped was providing me with even greater stimulation along with visual scenes I could mentally recycle for future stimulating workouts.
As dad performed a number of twisting and turning gyrations to get the kink out of his back, Buster and I pulled several more of my gym shorts in half. I didn't bother trying to bust the leg hems open because of the risk of Buster nailing my fist with his teeth when he lunged for the other side of the legs. The crotch joint held on one of the shorts and Buster's tugs only resulted in ripping the hem of the leg he had a hold of from the body of the pants. I then wished, after seeing the thin cotton bare edge of the leg, that I had thought about ripping out the hems of a couple of pair which would have made the legs about an inch and a half longer and eliminated the slight added stiffness and bulk of the hems. They would have really felt like there was nothing confining my legs.
Father looked on approvingly as Buster and I finished off the remaining dozen or so gym shorts. Then I had the task of picking up all the torn sheets of cotton. However every time I picked up a fairly intact pair of the ripped shorts Buster thought it was another round of tug. Buster was as dumb as they come and only a stern reprimand and a swat in the snoot with a stick from dad got him to understand the tug came was over.
I carried the ripped remains of my gym shorts back behind our barn and
dumped them in a pile on the ground. Dad produced his cigarette lighter
and the demonstrate that his back would still let him bend over he applied
the flame to the cotton. The shorts burned in a big blaze of flame, but
not as quickly as if they had been hung up and burned individually. It
took almost ten minutes for the last of the flame to flicker out and my
gym shorts were history. 2/12 Post
on 3/00