Cy stood and peeled off the slimy jockstrap, dangling the star quarterback like the insubstantial garment that he'd become.
Ryan continued to produce greedy, guzzling moans as he tried to soak every ounce of the heavy load into nearly saturated cotton fabric.
"Well, fuck, quarterback, we'll have to do that some more!" Cy said aloud, his words transmitted even more strongly into Ry's distracted awareness. Cy stared harder at the jockstrap and saw the faintest impression of Ry's handsome face smothered by the surge of cum that had drenched the cotton pouch.
Ry tried to stop being such a cum pig for one brief second but failed. He concentrated on how good it had felt— how right it had felt.
Cy had truly enjoyed himself. He was an old hand at jerking off, and this had been very different. He'd felt like a real man the whole time he had been jerking off into Ryan, who had basically become his glorified cum rag. He hadn't felt like some whiny, timid queer boy. Had it been the spell or did Ry just coax out a heretofore unsuspected aspect of Cy's sexuality?
He realized Ry was eavesdropping. He didn't want a conversation with Ry until he had figured it all out, so he walked quickly to his room and deposited Ry atop his dirty laundry piled within a hamper.
"Cy?" Ry felt their connection snap.
Before he stepped out of the bathroom into his room, Cy felt his cock stretching as he entertained the mere possibility of keeping Ryan Standish as his personal jockstrap bitch. Why did something so wrong feel so amazingly right?
He thought about Vinnie, the guy who Ry had told him was responsible for changing him into a jockstrap. He needed to have a conversation with Vinnie.