Snake really worked up a sweat pumping weights in the yard. I was drenched. After ten sets, Snake walked over to the ice chest and grabbed a malt liquor. He opened and tipped back the cold one. Then he sat down on the cooler, and glanced down at me. A drop of malt liquor fell from his lips and splashed into his lap on my face.
Huh? Oh, did I forget to say that I'm Snake's jockstrap. I flex my pouch and in nothing flat, Snake's cock is rock hard inside me. He explodes. His rich cream soaks and fills me. I eagerly absorb up every drop. Then I go back to work milking Snake's delicious venom.
Snake arches his back a third time, and for a third time produces a dry ejaculation. I feel my owner's hand raise my elastic band. Cool air rushes in.
Snake whistles, and says, "Dang, I came five times, and you cleaned up every last drop."
I tighten around his balls, and he adds, "Oh, no you don't. I need a break."
Thumbs in my elastic, and I'm twisting up as I slide down Snake's thighs and calves, and then over his ankles. He hangs me on the stump of a branch that had been pruned from the shade tree next to the cooler.
I was getting kind of puffy in preparation to revert to pussy boi form, when Master Snake removed me from the tree. He put me back on.
"We can't have you turning back too soon, can we?"
He walked around the lake cabin, and filled an old wash tub with water. He could've let me turn back into his slave to pump the hand pump well, but my kind owner worked up a tasty sweat for me to consume while he pumped the well himself. Then he peeled me off and using a corrugated steel washboard he gave me a good scrubbing. Then he produced a hand wringer and rolled me through the wringer. Water squished out of me, and then he rolled me backwards through the wringer, squeezing out more water. Finally, he rolled me halfway through the wringer. He laughed, and left me in the wringer trapped between the rollers just a flattened piece of fabric.
I had expected to erupt into human form and shatter the wringer, but instead a remained just a jockstrap in the wringer. My mind raced. I wasn't human. I wasn't strapped around Master Snake's body, and so I couldn't hear his thoughts or share his senses. My face was pressed between the rollers of the wringer, so I was blind too. I tried think, but with nothing to see and unable to move my mind just ached. I guess it was the sensory deprivation, but the only thing I could think was that I am a jockstrap, and I am property of Snake. I am Snake's jockstrap. I struggled to remember that I was Ry- Ry-, Ry? No, I am Snake's jockstrap.
I'm not sure how long I spent that day in the wringer, but I'm not sure even when Snake took me out of the wringer. It was Snake's boner that woke my mind. I tasted his precum, and realized he was getting off watching some young athlete swimming. The guy was sort of hot I guess, he looked kind of familiar too, but I didn't care as long as his image was making Master Snake hard.
Perhaps because my senses had been so dulled or my mind so inactive, Jason didn't notice that I was aware. His unguarded thoughts were vicious. The tanned blond swimmer had been one of the most popular in school. He was the football team's quarterback in addition to being a swimmer. The poor jerk was now Master Snake's property. He was Master Snake's jockstrap, and he was lapping up the master's cum right now.
I remembered. I was the jockstrap. I had to be the guy in the video. I had to be Ryan Standish. Master Snake was watching my practice videos. Snake had asked me to bring some of my videos from football and swimming events to study my form. After all we were going to work out together, so it made sense for him to see my athletic performance. But it was evident that the only form he was interested in was the form around his crotch.
Snake pretty much wore me all weekend. He finally let me turn back when he needed me to sign the credit card slip for a party he arranged with some of his buds at a biker bar near the lake. I felt sick and used, but I still belonged totally to Master Snake. There was a minor scene when the waitress brought back the credit slip because I hadn't signed my name properly. Snake grabbed the slip read it and laughed.
I had signed, "Property of Snake," instead of "Ryan Standish." I corrected my signature, but I knew it wasn't an error. I no longer thought of myself as Ryan Standish, or even as a man. I was a jockstrap. I was a thing. I was Property of Snake. I am property of Master Snake.