Owner woke with a major morning wood, and stained me with more of his delicious cum, thought Chad as he hung from the bedpost while his owner showered. As the cum dried into his soft cotton body, Chad was able to see the other trophies. There was a purple football jersey number 12. His team wore blue and gold. His number wasn't 12, it was twenty-something, twenty-something - he wracked his brains: Twenty Three! His jersey wasn't there. Right he was jock, someone else was quarterback. Hm, red was lifeguard, yellow construction worker, green was soldier, blue was policeman, indigo was model, and violet was quarterback. Hm, Orange was missing. Chad would be dyed orange. Oooh, maybe his owner would silk screen a blue 23 on him after he was dyed golden orange, then he'd be school colors. But who's the quarterback. Six months for six guys, that would be three years. Did a quarterback go missing from the middle school six years ago? No, wait, it was the college quarterback who was majoring in Phys Ed, when Chad was in middle school who was a student teacher/ assistant coach who had gone missing. That was his jersey. Well, then it was one of Ch-y-front's buddies or teammates who owned him now. Ch? Chet? Charlie? Chuck? Why couldn't he remember his name? Right it was Jock, owner had said so. It had only been a few hours, hadn't it? Concentrate! You can do it, Ch-Ch-Ch-aaaD! CHAD! That was its name. His name. Damn, he needed to be worn badly. Good the shower stopped, he'd be back wrapped around his master's hot ass, and horny manhood. He needed to be stained again.
The owner came out with his towel covering his face as he dried his hair. He turned, and bent over his gym bag. He draped the towel over his shoulders, and reached in the bag. He pulled out a jockstrap.
My jockstrap! screamed Chad's mind, like a pair of y-fronts could wear a jockstrap. But he had worn it. He wasn't y-front briefs, he was a man. He was. He was sure he had been. Who was holding his jockstrap. It was owner of course. No. Who was his owner? Owner is owner! Chad chided himself for thinking anything else. His owner put the jockstrap down, and Chad couldn't help but stare longingly at the flexing buttocks where he belonged. It was only when the buns stopped twitching, as the owner stood up holding his prize that Chad realized his owner had been mounting his jockstrap in a plexiglass frame with his MVP medal. The owner hung it next to the purple football jersey. Chad belonged to him now permanently, Chad thought happily. NO! Chad wasn't happy. He had to escape, he had to get off this bedpost and on to that ass. His owner needed him, and he needed his owner - no he was human. He wasn't underwear. He needed to remember what did his body feel like? Concentrate. Arms? Legs? His own cock and balls, his own buttocks, his torso, his - his fly -no not his fly. It was- he was - he is- he oof! The soiled underwear formerly known as Chad somehow fell from the bedpost and on to the floor.