Can You Patch The Inner Thigh Of Jeans นิยาย & เรื่องราว

But what was wrong is that I fucking broke up with Patrick! I quickly took a shower and dressed up in a yellow stripped white tank top and a faded blue pegged jeans. For the past months I've been having trouble getting into my skinny jeans. I always manage to pull them up my thighs and then they stop right below my butt area. The wider ones fits after I've done a series of jumping for them to go over my butt but I can't do that anymore. The size of my butt has been increasing rapidly for the past months and I've developed likeness for my other jeans like the mom jeans, boyfriend and pegged jeans. They're easier for me to wear even though they still pretty much accentuated my butt size and hi

But every pass spreads me open just enough that cool air brushes against places that are getting wetter by the second and I press my face harder into the cradle and try not to pant. "I'm going to work your thighs now. Is that okay?" "Yes." He re-drapes the sheet – covers my ass, exposes my right leg. His oiled hands start at my calf – firm strokes, working upward – over my knee, along my outer thigh. Standard. Professional. But when his hands reach my inner thigh, everything changes. His thumbs press into the muscle of my inner thigh – high, close, inches from where I'm aching. He works in slow circles, pressing deep into the adductor muscles, and each circle brings his thumbs slightly highe

I pulled them out and placed them on the bed next to the shirt. Getting dressed was a challenge. I carefully slipped my injured arm into the shirt sleeve, moving slowly to avoid the pain. Buttoning the shirt was tricky. Each button took effort and patience. My fingers fumbled a bit, but I managed to get it done. Next, I sat down to put on the jeans. Bending over was tough with my injuries, but I took it slow. I pulled one leg in, then the other, and slowly stood up to pull them up fully. I fastened the button and zipped them up, feeling a sense of accomplishment.

She’s only wearing jeans and a T-shirt, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a basic outfit ever look so good on a girl before. The jeans are stretched over the curves of her hips so tight they might as well be another layer of her skin. Her waist-to-hip ratio is so insane that if it was any greater I’d start wondering if she had been made in a laboratory. And she’s got one of those gaps between her thighs that’s making my mouth water as I think about what’s hiding beneath. What kind of panties does she have on under there? Does she shave? I bet she does. I don’t know why I think that, but I do.

“The jeans have to come off. Can you just magic them off the way they came on?” He shook his head. “Not now. Not even to show off.” She weighed the difficulties in getting a pair of jeans off and picked up the scissors she’d used on his T-shirt. They’d been nice and sharp and they cut through the tough denim as easily as they’d cut through the shirt, leaving him in a pair of dark green boxers. “I hope you’ve got a good surface on this floor,” she murmured to help distance herself from the wound. “Be a shame to stain it.”

The jean trouser was still halfway through my thighs and suffice to say that my butt was hanging out in the most awkward way. There was no way I was letting him see me this way!! "No please don't! Don't open the door yet!" I yelled. He quickly obeyed and closed the door back. Gosh! This day was turning out to be a nightmare. After a couple more struggles and tug of wag with my jeans, it finally passed through my thighs and I fastened it in place. I quickly glanced at a standing mirror in the huge room and I certainly looked like a mess…. Well that's not a new thing I guess.

After an impatient yank, it finally surrendered, and a pair of faded, torn jeans exploded forth, nearly smacking me in the face. Choosing the absurdly tiny bathroom to change in just in case Adam came back, I pulled on the shirt, feeling the snugness across my shoulders—a reminder that I was broader than Adam. The jeans settled onto my hips, just loose enough to provide comfort while still clinging to my frame. However, their length was a problem; they hung considerably lower than they should have, pooling around my ankles like a gentle reminder of their former owner. Yet, I didn't mind the way they dragged.

I told her “Put on one of your jeans let's see” she said “How would that-” “Just put it on” she cut in “You haven't had any jeans on, you are mostly in sweats, shorts, and leggings" she explained I grabbed the first pair of jeans my hand touched and proceeded to put in on. I was surprised when I put my first leg in and it slipped in easily without me having to struggle. I quickly put in the second leg and the waist was so big that if I let it go it would drop.

When there had been no extra money for anything, I figured out how creative and motivated I am. "Pink shoes we got," I hold them up. "But what else?" She thinks for a moment, her expression pensive. "Jeans like yours." I look down seeing my jeans with the hole in the knee. I guess I should thank my lucky stars that deconstructed jeans are now a thing. These are just so old they're falling apart, but everyone thinks I spent a hundred bucks on them. "Okay girlfriend, go grab them," I hold up the red flannel shirt I'm going to wear over my gray t-shirt. "Grab your pink flannel too. We'll be matchy."

Chapter 2 After dragging for some time I see his rib wound start to bleed, friction from the drag opening up the wound more. I think for a bit before removing my leggings under my jeans and using them to push the open wound back in place and making a knot around his ribs to keep the skin in place. It’s still dark as hell and I sit back catching my breath when the call of fear comes to my ears.