For the next half hour, Ryan Standish got put through the wringer, quite literally, of the washing machine at Horst's home.
Horst simply chose the settings at random, knowing as little about operating a washer as he did about the amount of bleach to add to the wash.
He saw one that read “fast/slow” and figured that sounded like a good arrangement and turned the dial's setting to it.
"Horst, what are you doing?" Ryan asked as he felt the chamber fill up with water. Suddenly, the chamber began to spin, producing a fast, highly agitated washing cycle. He tried to scream some more, but the rushing of water in his non-existent ears made his attempt sound more like the "glug, glug, glug" of a drowning butterfly.
Ryan screamed wordlessly as his bleach-scorched fabric form felt like it might come apart at the seams as the washer vigorously agitated him and the rest of the laundry items.
Finally, the agitation ended, and a slow-paced spin cycle, as Ryan tried to recover from the intensity of the agitation cycle. His jockstrap body clung helplessly to the side of the machine. He felt like he might be dizzy for days.
He also felt oddly incomplete, but the extent didn't become apparent until Horst fished him from the laundry and Ryan "saw" one of Horst's fingers poking through a hole in the front of his pouch body.
"What are you doing?" Ryan protested in alarm. Perhaps it was the intensity of his alarm, but he finally punched through Horst's barricaded thoughts, and the big galoot heard his question.
"Sorry, looks like there's a hole," Horst said. He wiggled his fingertip in the dime-sized hole. Ryan moaned from the unexpected sensation. It felt weird, but oddly arousing, almost as if he was sucking on the big jock's finger.
Next, Horst spun the jockstrap, which ultimately widened the hole in the pouch as more strained threads gave way.
"Stop that!" Ryan protested.
Horst chuckled, but removed his finger and dangled Ryan by a strap.
"You caused this," Ryan fussed. "You and that bleach!"
"Relax. It's just a little hole."
Ryan exploded. "A little hole! How would you like someone punching a little hole in you."
Horst frowned, but he figured it best to just let Ryan get his complaints out of his system before he tossed him into the dryer.
Ryan really didn't want to spend any more time as laundry in a machine. "Just hang me up," Ryan said. "Let me air dry..."