He’s looking at me–please wear me today sir, please–it’s been weeks, I’m so hungry. He can sense it, my need, my desperation, and as if too tease me, he pulls me out, running his hand along my mesh, my elastic–his jock, I’m his jock.
I wasn’t always a jockstrap, but those memories are so far away, so distant, I wonder now if I only dream of being human to pass the time between wearings. Still, it wasn’t simply a tease, first one leg, and then the other, and I squirm a bit, so hungry, and as soon as I snap around him, I start working his cock, and my voracious hunger surprises him a bit, because he needs to lean against the wall.
“I see someone was a bit hungry,” he says, but doesn’t tell me to stop. His cock is hard now, distending my pouch, and I milk him, absorbing all the precum I can, and then he shoots, and I suck down his cum as well, and in moments, I am as dry as ever.
“Is that enough, or do you want some more?”
He knows I could never get enough. A moment later, he pisses right into me, but I know better than to let even a single drop escape myself, and when he finishes, I am slightly damp–satisfied for the moment, and pleased that, for at least a day, I will be close to my master, where I belong.