"Give me some fucking boxers?" You choke on the word, hoping he doesn't go ballastic at you.
The only thing that strikes you is a pair of white, hanes cotton boxers. "Think of them as trainer boxers, you'll get the better shit later."
You quickly put them on, but they do little for your comfort. The air still blows easy through the loose underwear. Your balls, and cock, still hang free. None the the comforting snuggness of briefs. You open, and close your mouth again a few times, before finally deciding to get it over with. "Give me some fucking jeans." The 'demand' comes out meek, and forced, whilst you swear at home this feels different. Wrong.
A pair of jeans thuds into your chest, you examine them all over. Standard, normal blue jeans. Normal pockets, blue denim, Mustang brand. Just about your size in the waist. "Training jeans too... gotta earn the right to wear labels."
You wonder at what he means, as you put on the pants. The denim is cold and stiff, brand new. You go once more, "Give me a fucking shirt."
A plain white tee is thrown to you, and you quickly slip it on. "Ain't got any attitude behind your words, boy... but gotta start somewhere." He leaves you to shiver in front of your bare room, walking over to his small kitchen...