Ryan intended to demand that Pemberbottom help him by taking him to Vinnie for restoration.
Instead, the stultifying effects of the jock-itch spray combined with the stench of crotch sweat to dull Ryan's thoughts and make him more complacent as a jockstrap.
"Wear me," Ryan found himself begging. "Put me on and wear me. I want to be worn."
Harris listened as a high, shrill voice reminiscent of Ryan Standish's voice if he had just breathed helium, begged him to wear him.
"This is so freakin' strange," Harris remarked as he continued to stare blankly at the faint impression of the big's jock's face in the cotton pouch region of the jockstrap.
Ryan tried to clear his thoughts. Dammit! He hadn't meant to beg Pemberbottom to pull him over his cock and balls. Ryan groaned. Eeew! I don't want to see that!
But he did want to see it. "I'm a jockstrap," he intoned. "I need to support your cock and balls in my pouch. Please, it's my destiny."
Even if he was high, Harris decided to go with it. He shucked off his pants.
"Nooohhh!" Ryan tried to come to his senses. "Oh yes!"
Harris tucked his equipment into the jockstrap. "Wow, this jockstrap feels really good," said Harris, who didn't really have all that much experience wearing a jockstrap.
"Of course, I do, Pemberbottom," Ryan argued. "I'm your jockstrap."
Wait! He had messed up. He might be a jockstrap, but he wasn't Pemberbottom's jockstrap. Pemberbottom didn't own him! Pemberbottom didn't..."
Harris copped a feel of his own junk in the tightly-fitting jockstrap. The sensations felt so good that he moaned out loud.
Ryan moaned, too, as he forgot all his objections to being Pemberbottom's jockstrap.