Underpants Sans Novels & Stories

Elowen I slid the single, flawlessly folded pair of expensive boutique underwear over my hips this morning, and the contrast was immediate. After the absolute psychological warfare of yesterday—which had forced me into a humiliating, high-anxiety dash through the bright red aisles of the undies shop just to settle for a scratchy, suffocating multipack of cheap nylon panties—feeling the familiar, luxurious silk against my skin was a freaking massive relief.

Actually, if I was already committing theft— "Planning a robbery?" I nearly died. The cookie packet slipped from my hands. I spun around so fast my shoulder hit the pantry door. Alessandro stood in the doorway. Shirtless. Again. Seriously, did this man own clothes? One hand rested casually in the pocket of his sweatpants. The other held a glass of water. His hair was damp, as though he'd just showered. I instinctively shoved the packet of cookies behind my back. He looked at me.

He grinned sheepishly, thrusting the box into my hand and raced back to the elevator, almost tripping over his own feet. I giggled and laid the box on the kitchen counter. Opening it, I smiled wide. When was the last time I had owned something new, not a hand me down or from the salvage store??? The clothes were so Adriano - branded and expensive but simple and understated. Two pairs of pajamas - soft to the touch, a long and short pair. Underwear in neutral tones. Jeans that actually looked like a perfect fit. Two cotton t-shirts, a zip up jacket and a new pair of black Converse sneakers.

Johnny and Brent–the hot security guard, were both super alluring, and I don't know if I can survive watching both of them sharing a woman. "I'm wearing a Neo Electrik boxer briefs from underwearexpert. They let me have this boxer brief after the photo shoot and I kind of like it. The underwear has a thin fabric but is very comfortable to wear, it has a banana design all over the underwear." The hot security guard explained as he slowly unbuckled his belt, then unbuttoned the slacks he's wearing before he unfasten the zipper. I couldn’t help but swallow my saliva as I imagined the hot security guard wearing only boxer briefs. And I don't have to imagine it anymore when the hot security guard

I ask her in my most disassociated, businesslike tone. "Well I think I have skirts and tops for both the school girl and street girl look. I don't have any white underwear, I mainly have black and purple." She starts laughing, "You know, it's weird. I don't mind telling you whether I'm shaved or not, but talking about what type of panties I own is embarrassing. That's really weird." "I start laughing with her, "It's true. Some of my models are more shy exposing their underwear than when they are posing totally nude. How about the rest of the clothing." I'm starting to sound like I've been doing this for years.

Her focus was on his pants, the desire to undress him was way too much to ignore. In a swift movement, his pants were set free as she pulled them off which he willingly complied, leaving him with a pair of blue Balenciaga undies.

Maureen openly pointed at the man who seemed to smile very easily at anyone, as evidenced by his greeting to everyone who passed by. The figure, who was not considered Maureen's type, was only wearing pangsi pants, a type of pants that widened at the bottom for pencak silat players. Meanwhile, his bare chest showed the kind of harbor most women dream of. Every curve, shiny with sweat, molded by bone and muscle, is perfectly presented without any fine hair. "Angga, in case you forgot." He said his name again as he extended his hand. Without waiting to be greeted, he grabbed Maureen's fist, unraveling it into a momentary posture.

"Alright! Listen up! On shirts I want Brody, Parker, Jace, Evan, and Sam! On skins I want Brian, Anthony, Dylan, Marco, and Max!" The shirts team laughed. As we passed them, they shoved us with their shoulders. I sighed and ripped my shirt off, throwing it onto the sidelines. The rest of my team was absolutely terrible. We had Brian the chubby kid, Anthony the manorexic, Dylan the chess team leader, Marco the scrawny Italian boy and of course me the geeky in-the-closet-gay boy.

Since the dress barely covered the essentials everyone could see the lady was not wearing any underwear with this hot satin handkerchief. She had to show me that she had her skimpiest panties, essentially a tiny red triangle with an absorbent gusset (in case we fucked). The back and the waistband was transparent fishing line. These minimal undies were in her purse, but could be worn if there was a need. If she was drunk enough she teased that she could put them on in public - so I could remove them for the fun stuff.

Hе was bare-chested, nаkеd except fоr thе аlmоѕt paper thіn elastic shorts. Worst оf аll, аѕ wаѕ the fashion, his оvеr-ѕіzеd c**k hаd іtѕ оwn роuсh. It wаѕ аddеd undеrnеаth wіth stiff wіrе to fоrсе hіѕ bulge even mоrе obscenely оutwаrd.