Fueled by vivid mental pictures of Chris Hemsworth and jock Ryan Standish, both in various states of undress, Cy couldn't keep his hand away from the pouch of jockstrap Ry.
Ry groaned as he felt Cy's immediate growth inside the pouch, pushing out against the interior of the fabric pouch as Cy's fingers groped and squeezed the exterior of the pouch.
Cy's fantasies grew more lurid. Ry received some of the leaked mental imagery, including Cy imagining Chris Hemsworth fucking jock Ryan Standish.
"Hey!" Ry protested.
"What? You're a catcher, just admit it," Cy interjected.
"Catcher?" Ry analyzed the word. "I'm the quarterback. We have to teach you about sports."
"You're a bottom, Standish, just like me," Cy giggled, then groaned.
Ry kept picking up Cy's fantasy about Hemsworth's mighty thrusts into jock Ryan's ass. Suddenly, he got the image of Loki watching.
"Loki!" Cy giggled. "The actor's name is Tom Hiddleston. He's hot, too."
Ry the jockstrap sensed the heat in the way Cy's thoughts began to combine the mental images of Hemsworth, Hiddleston, and Ryan the jock into some twisted fusion of the three into one super muscular, sex-crazed beast. He would have been jealous if, at the same time, he hadn't been flattered as Cy including mental snapshots of Ryan's naked human body in the fantasy.
"But we've got to talk," Ry said. "I'm not a catcher..."
Cy felt really, really close and didn't want to deal with Ry's denials at the moment.
"Will you just shut up and act like a real jockstrap?" Cy murmured as he squeezed his cock inside jockstrap Ryan's snug embrace.
Ry started to protest, but when he tried he found himself rendered voiceless. Or perhaps thoughtless. Regardless, his protests didn't reach his wearer.
He tried to tell Cy to stop. The words appeared as if written on a page but then slowly faded, leaving the mental page blank. He started to scream the name of his wearer. The name was on the tip of his non-existent tongue, but then it vanished.
He tried to shout a reminder that he was Ryan Standish. He was Ry. He was Ry the jockstrap. He was a jockstrap.
When he finally remembered what it was, the jockstrap became more content. It floated along with the cascading sensations it felt as its wearer jerked off inside it.
Cy groaned and gave a "yee-haw" that might have embarrassed him had there been any listeners. He felt his cock explode inside Ry's pouch.
"There you go, hungry boy," he thought and squeezed the pouch.
Ry didn't respond.
Cy extended a tentative, questioning tendril. "Ry, you still mad cause I called you a bottom?"
He sensed contentment, another dim awareness at peace with its existence.
It felt the warm cum seep into its cotton pouch. It felt right. It was a jockstrap. It no longer even remembered Cy and Ry.