Tweener Baseball Pants Novels & Stories

They were both relaxing in the their own sanctum. Warren was looking very cozy in his set of pants and a dim shirt that had certainly been better days. Melissa, meanwhile, looked miserable in an immense blue and white striped football pullover that Laura knew had belonged to Warren, who was a competent Sunday afternoon player of baseball. Melissa outfit was paired with a stretchy blue tights. She was about the size of a baby whale.

“The baseball one.” I laid the baseball themed t-shirt on the bed beside him as I walked the other two back and hung them back in the closet. I walked over to his dresser and picked out a pair of denim shorts to match and his socks. Walking over, I laid them beside the shirt as he started squirming out of his pajamas. I walked out the door and across the hall into our bathroom and grabbed a washcloth, running it under the water until it was hot before wringing the excess water and carrying it across the hall.

Every time we met, either as Red or as his personal assistant, he was always wearing a tux, dressed to the nines in corporate wear, and mostly in monotone tuxedos. But today, he is wearing a short-sleeved button-down shirt that hangs on him with deliberate oversized ease. The shirt itself has different colors, it's like an art canvas but the base color is black, with some extra interesting colors that I didn't think would look good if they were thrown together. His pants? His pants are my favorite part of this fit, he is wearing gray sweatpants— I know you know what they say about a man in grey sweatpants. They hang loose and free, pooling softly at the ankles brushing against his shiny whit

The blood had been wiped away, leaving only a slight swelling as proof of his injury. “Remove your pants,” instructed the boss. Fear shot through me as my mind began to race in search of a non-sexual explanation for such a request. None were revealed. I watched in horror as the twins untied their shoes and removed their socks, before slipping out of their respective pants. The final pieces of clothing to leave their muscular bodies were their boxers. Another lightning bolt of terror shot through me at the sight of their cocks. They were large, though far less impressive than their physiques indicated. Still, I doubted a young little thing like me could handle either one of those members, let

I rifle through the options, a plan forming as my fingers brush against a pair of black compression shorts that would leave little to the imagination. If the twins want to keep me in the dark about this bond between us, perhaps it's time to test its limits. To push back against their secrets with weapons of my own. I select the shorts and a matching sports bra in deep purple, the fabric soft but supportive. The outfit reveals more skin than I'd normally display—toned arms, flat stomach, long legs—while remaining practical for exercise. I twist my hair into a high ponytail, securing it with an elastic band from the vanity.

Chapter Twenty-Two I pulled on the black lace shorts, trying to give myself a bit of coverage. It didn’t help. Bash walked ahead of me, and I couldn’t help but notice the way this white t-shirt hugged his shoulders. Or how his black jeans seemed like they were made for him. The fabric gripped his round ass, making me want to see if it felt as good as it looked.

“I’m sorry, did you say something? I was highly distracted.” I pulled back and rolled my eyes. “Says the man in the grey sweatpants.” “What about my sweatpants?” “Lift up your shirt.” He followed my instructions and exposed his muscular abdomen and the oh-so-enticing V that disappeared beneath the waistband. “Damn.” I blew out a breath and fanned my face. “Those are totally hot.” “Wait, my sweatpants are hot?” “Oh, hell, yes. You didn’t know that grey sweatpants are the male equivalent of lingerie?”

I frown at him, sure I must be hearing wrong, because that cannot be an actual word. “Did you just come up with that?” I ask sardonically. “Nope. It’s an actual thing. Panties for men. Designed to be comfortable and sexy," he says, running his thumb over the silk edge. "And very breathable." "You would actually wear that?" I’m already picturing him in it and I have no idea why it’s affecting me this way, but I’m overheating. "Under my jeans? Sure." He shrugs, holding the black lace up against his denim to check the contrast.

Wren said. “Thank you for that, and you’re right, I will tell you. Changing the subject, do you want me to write anything up about today?” Lindsay asked. “No, but I would like to be a fly on the wall when Little Bob explains those uniform pants to his wife. Before I leave, I will ask him what size he wears and get him a couple of pairs courtesy of the federal government,” Wren said. “That means the $70 pants will be about $700, right?”

His touch would be enough for me to melt in his arm. He opened his shirt and threw them on the floor. My gaze followed the white piece that gracefully joined his coat. When my eyes returned to him, he was working on his pants. The button was undone, waiting for us to pull them down. I was able to see his Calvin Klein boxer beneath his pale blue pants.