Chad looked hopeless, as he stared up into the coach's face, and at the bottle of detergent labeled "Towelboy" in the coach's hand. He didn't notice the major boner that the coach was throwing until after the coach reached down and activated Chad's cock ring. Then as he fell to the floor he got a good glimpse of the coach's tented crotch before he was tossed into the old washing machine. The water started to fill the tub, and the coach poured the caustic liquid from the detergent in. As the water added it diluted the soap, and Chad felt more comfortable in the hot water. He assumed since he was the only towel he would be washed alone. But then the coach dumped in a load of dirty sweat socks and jockstraps with him. He wondered if they used to be people too.
The machine started churning. Chad felt nauseous. It seemed to go on for an hour or so, he guessed coach used the heavy duty setting. At least he would soon be clean. The machine spun, and drained twice. Then Chad waited. And waited and waited.
It must've been at least a day, but maybe two. Someone finally opened the washing machine and tossed Chad and the other white laundry into a plastic basket.
Come on put me in the dryer, thought Chad, I'm cold.
He heard grumbling, and odd squeaking noise.
"Cannot believe Coach wants me to wring out all this laundry before drying it," grumbled the student teacher assistant assistant PE coach. "He says it will build up my biceps? I got decent biceps!"
Wringer? As the pile lessened, Chad could finally make out the young PE coach working an old fashioned hand wringer over a tub sitting on top of the dryer. Chad cringed as he saw the water squeezed out of a jockstrap. It looked painful.
At last junior coach got to the towel, he was all sweaty from the effort. Chad could see that the assistant coach was only wearing pocketless gym shorts, and a t-shirt, along with his sneakers and socks. He did have a key ring and his ID hanging on a lavalier around his neck. He tried to put Chad in, but the wringer wasn't wide enough, so he doubled Chad over, and began cranking to pull him into the wringer. Chad was fighting as much as he could. The coach was now dripping sweat as most of the doubled over towel went through the wringer.
"Ah," he sighed. He was almost done, just the last couple inches needed to go through. Chad felt pummeled worse than he had ever been before. He relaxed during the pause to try to collect his thoughts. AGONY. The crank started again. CLICK. The metal cockring didn't want to go through the wring.
"Ooof!' grunted the young man putting all his effort into the crank. RIPPPP PING CLINK CLANK CLINK
The ring ripped free as Chad went completely through the wringer. The cockring bounced, wobbled and came to a rest on the concrete floor. The coach stared at the hole in the towel and cursed. He picked up the ring and put it in his - damn, no pockets. He fumbled with the key ring, but the cockring was too large. So finally, he pulled open his shorts and jockstrap, and dropped it into his pouch. He quickly loaded the damp whites into the dryer, and turned it on. He looked at his watch, and sat down in a nearby chair. There was a metalic sound as the cock ring in his jockstrap made contact with the chair.