Soft Clothes Novels & Stories

I sighed, and crumpled the paper into a little ball, throwing it over my shoulder before walking to the tiny closet. “You’re not getting out of it this time Aspen.” I said to no one, and started sifting through the immense amount of clothing in the small walk-in closet. Every kind of fabric hung on small padded hangers. Long dresses in every color shimmered under the light, made out of the softest satin and silk only a king could afford. Shelves were stacked with pants and t-shirts, and there was even an entire shelf just for different kinds of under garments. I picked up a small black and red lacy piece, holding it up to the light to get a good look at it before tossing it aside. Who even n

George stepped into the bathroom, yanked the soft towel around his waist away and turned on the shower. The cold droplets of water trailed down his hot tingly flesh and he let out a deep sigh of relief. Reaching for a jar of soap and his sponge, he washed himself clean from the day's work.

The contents of my underwear drawer are probably the most expensive thing in my house. What I lift out of the box has me gasping in delight. It's a white colbalt babydoll material with a lace-covered satin bodice and short flowing sheer skirt that I know will show more than hide. There's also a pair of satin white low-rise bikinis that would barely cover the curve of my ass, and a piece of soft scarf-length material. I pull the long piece of fabric out and run my fingers over it. It's just as smooth as the babydoll.

It was almost intimidating. I moved past the structured suits, my fingers brushing against the expensive fabrics, until I reached the section containing his casual wear. Even his casual clothes were high-end, made of soft cashmeres and heavy cottons. Driven by a sudden, irresistible impulse, I reached out and pulled a structured, deep blue button-down shirt from its hanger.

Not old, baggy clothes that barely fit me, because that's all the shelters had. Now my dresser and closet are full of clothes that fit me. Jeans that fit me and show my figure, khakis for something dressy, and knitted pants for something comfy. T-Shirts that fit just right, and button-downs for something nice. And of course, my favorites, oversized shirts and soft sweaters that hang off one shoulder, perfect for lounging around the house. And they pair perfectly with my new pretty panties.

I cleaned up in the bathroom and headed towards my closet, eager for a change of clothes at the very least. The day had only just begun, and I was uncertain about what it held in store for me. All I yearned for was a sense of tranquility. I rummaged through my closet, searching for something comfortable to wear for the day ahead. Finally, I opted for a pair of soft, charcoal-gray joggers that felt like a warm embrace against my skin. The gentle stretch of the fabric offered both freedom of movement and a sense of coziness, providing the perfect balance for whatever the day had in store.

The shopping bags dig into my fingers as I step out of another store balancing an iced coffee in one hand and my phone in the other. Okay, maybe I went slightly overboard. But in my defense, I haven’t bought clothes properly in years. Real clothes, anyway. Not clearance-rack survival garments that disintegrate after one wash and smell vaguely of sadness. Actual nice things. Soft oversized sweaters, leggings that don’t immediately become see-through when exposed to sunlight, cute tank tops for work, tiny sleep shorts that make my large ass look banging. And maybe, hypothetically, a couple pieces of lingerie. Purely for feminism.

Then I hesitated, standing in front of the clothing aisle longer than necessary. I chose carefully, Soft shirts. A sweater, simple jeans, a loose dress. Underthings. Feminine hygiene things, I don't know which to pick so I took three different kinds. Things meant for comfort, I added basic toiletries, hair ties, soap, toothbrush, anything she might need when she woke up confused and hurting and scared.

Coward. Faced with the prospect of my first day as Alpha Alexander's personal maid, I stood before the closet, contemplating the array of clothes hanging within. Uncertainty lingered as I sifted through the options, seeking the perfect balance. A long-sleeved T-shirt, adorned in subtle patterns that mirrored the sophistication of the Alpha's mansion, emerged as the ideal choice. The soft fabric promised both ease of movement and a touch of casual elegance, suitable for following the bastard's orders. As I slipped into the snug embrace of skinny jeans and pulled the T-shirt over, a sense of readiness and determination settled within me.

Tove joked. Hollyn's mouth dropped open. "You guys play for clothes?" She looked down at her body. "But I'm only wearing a shirt and shorts...which are weirdly called boxers. They aren't boxes, they're material. So I'm a little stumped on that one, but there you go." "We're only wearing shirts, pants, and underwear. It would be pretty even," I said. "Are you scared you're going to start losing?" I cocked one brow up.