A door closed. Chad could hear clothing rustling as it was removed. Suddenly, he no longer felt the heat of his owner. The musky scent faded. He was pulled out of the pocket, and shaken. Then laid flat face down on a table or desk. He saw bits of a tan hairy body with a big dick with black haired thatch, and treasure trail, but he didn't see the face. The body looked familiar, but he couldn't place it. It wasn't Bruno, that swim fag shaved all his body hair. And it wasn't Rick, his hair was light brown. Chad could hear a shower running.
Where was he? Home Ec? An athletic room office? Where were there tables and showers in the school? There hadn't been enough time.
"Yo, jock boy, you wanted to know why you?" Boomed his owner's voice. "Because the best coach in the school deserves to wear the best jock.
Chad was flabbergasted. Coach Sanchez picked him up, and stepped into the jockstrap formerly the school's star athlete. Chad sputtered before he was snapped into place, "B-b-but I'm not a jockstrap, I'm a human being. Besides you just showered and Im dirty from Rod wearin- mmghft!"
His last remarks were smothered as Sanchez's massive manhood filled Chad's too small pouch.
"Haven't you heard, Chad? Old athletes become athletic supporters, heh, heh,heh," laughed Sanchez as he proceeded to put on a clean school coaching track suit uniform. Right, he coached the swim team, and Bruno said they had a night meet. "Oh, and if you haven't noticed, you are self cleaning now. I can wear you for weeks without you getting dirty. Besides I never really got American football, but you totally get it. So with your football smarts, I should be a shoein for head coach when Sinclair retires."