The Dress Ch 03

There was little debate that my ex wife had provided me the most erotic sexual display I had ever seen. And being a single guy, I've seen plenty. Alone in her room, behind her locked door, I watched her pregnant self massage turn into an angry masturbation session. The fact that it was me she was angry with just made it that much more pornographic.

Sure, I had watched without her knowledge. And no, she did not know our son forgot to formally end his Skype call to me. That she continued the call, with the TV on standby, to my leering eyes. If it wasn't for the lotion, my penis would have caught fire from all of the rubbing.

There was little to do Monday but watch the DVR recording I made of her over and over. Despite all of the depravity, vagina stretching, breast oiling, belly polishing, my favorite part was just watching her undress. The voyeuristic pleasure of watching a woman expose herself, when she believes that she is most private, is incredibly erotic. Exciting. Orgasmic.

I spent Tuesday at work thinking of Beth. What she was doing. Thinking of ways to once again turn on the video connection. I couldn't just call her, and she never called me from her room with Skype. I'd have to try and strategize ways to make Tom call and repeat the accident.

Leaving work to pick up Tom, I stopped and grabbed up a new video game. I figured I would reward him for the sexual treat he provided his dad, even though he was only 12 and had no idea what a sexual treat was. Or maybe he did. Kids seem to know much more these days, much earlier.

I picked up Mortal Kombat despite knowing his mom would not approve. Most of the games Tom wanted to play were rated MSN – Mom Says No – and it was an agreement between us that if she didn't know it, she couldn't no it.

I pulled up to Tom's school, on the complete opposite side of the block compared to my normal path. It was just closer to the video game store and saved me two lights. I got out and brought the game, figuring I'd give Tom a little surprise on the spot when he hopped out of the doors.

As I approached the front of the school, I realized bringing the game was a mistake. There was his mom, back to me, chatting on the phone. Beth was watching both the door and my usual approach path like a hawk. And once again, she was interrupting my time with Tom.

I assumed she was keeping an eagle eye out for my appearance due to her recent transgressions. Exposing yourself, in public, to your ex husband, is not on any divorced woman's list of favorite things. But there she was again in the same black, soft cotton dress. Hem cut just above her knees with the swooping back to match the open front.

Sure, it was a dress made for pregnant woman, in the most comfortable fabric known to man, to provide the most relaxed feeling known to woman. The design was meant to flex with a growing body. Breath for the itchy skin. Provide an attractive look for the emotionally sensitive woman with 30 more pounds than she was used to.

Still, walking towards Beth, staring at her ass, noting that once again she was not wearing underwear, the dress seemed less appropriate for the school yard and more appropriate for the bedroom. The problem was, by the time women closed in on their eighth month of pregnancy, their "who gives a fuck" value was starting to peak. They would wear what they wanted, when they wanted.

Instead of walking up to Beth, I aimed for the tree filled park behind the sidewalk she was standing on. Beth didn't notice me, too busy constantly rubbing her belly with one hand, holding her phone with the other. I circled wide, trying to make sure I stayed out of eyeshot and approached from her back.

And what an approach from the back. I stared at her shapely ass, outlined nicely by her dress. Once again, the dress was wedged into her butt. An apparent side affect of not wearing underwear. I wondered if she could even feel the dress buried in her bottom. Not that it was fat, just that her body had so many other aches to focus on.

My eyes moved up her back, pleased at the lack of bra strap streaking across her exposed skin. Instead, I stared at Beth's bare skin from the middle up, and from the shoulder blades in. Nothing around her neck. Straps that formed sleeves, extending just briefly down her arms.

I crept up to a tree about 30 feet away and sat. I was unnoticed. I held up my fingers, blocking out the dress. It was a lame attempt to create the illusion she was naked, possibly bent over in front of me. And then my mind warped even more.

I grabbed my phone, turned on the camera, and began taking pictures of Beth. Taking advantage of the ultra high def feature, I zoomed in on her exposed upper body, capturing her blonde hair and freckled back. I moved low, zooming in on her bottom, capturing the dress poking into her ass crack.

Suddenly, hands filled up my view finder. Beth's casual rubbing of her stomach moved to her bottom. I looked around, made sure nobody was paying any attention to me, and began snapping more. The sneaky thing about phones is you don't have to hold it up and look like you are taking a picture. I just held my phone on my knee and pointed.

Beth's hands moved to the soft, lower flesh of her ass and scratched, moving her fingers into the folds of her bottom, pulling on it as she itched it. Beth opened her bottom gently, as people do when they are comfortable, and itched. Without a doubt, she was fingering her asshole as she scratched.

It was a short, meaningless action, one that disappears into time and space. Unless, of course, someone is taking pictures. I kept pressing the little red square, knowing that plenty of storage space existed. Now, if I had a camera, and had to go get the pictures developed, I would have lost this precious moment. But, the new digital age made moments like this so easy to treasure for life.

Arching, Beth slowly rubbed her back. More basic, every day movements. In her dress, pregnant, sans panty, and butt crease on display, the basic was debasing. I was not concerned. Arching, twisting her upper body, I managed a few profiles of her well defined breast. I was hopeful that the resolution captured her nipples.

After the arch, Beth turned things up a notch and squatted. The same squat that gave me a return visit to her hairy vagina the other day. But, now, thinking she was off by herself, Beth wasn't concerned. I didn't doubt her back was aching, and I performed the exact same move myself frequently. However, in Beth's case, she was wearing breathable, stretching cotton. I could easily make out the white of her ass.

Holding up a dark piece of fabric to skin is deceiving. Just ask the early adopters of lulu lemon yoga pants. How many poor girls bought black pants, expecting to hide everything, only to have people at school tell them the color of their underwear.

Beth's ass was experiencing the same, happy phenomenon. Even better, she was not wearing underwear. So, the pale white butt that began to make an appearance was just that - Beth's pale white butt. It was even more pronounced when the black fabric on her lower back remained dark. Beth's ass was taking center stage.

I filled up my monitor with the exposure. I was shaking, trying not to look at Beth in her exposed position. I had to focus on getting the shots. When I had a few, I switched to video, zooming out, capturing her show. She just kept chatting away to someone about furniture for some room.

Seeing one more tree between us, about 20 feet from Beth, I figured I'd chance it. Leaving the video on, I closed my wallet phone and stood up, pointing it right at her ass while I approached. Closer I walked, quietly on the grass, pretending that I was just carrying my phone as I always did. When I got to the tree, I sat.

Beth was still in her squatted position, like she was peeing, stretching her back. Apparently she had learned her lesson from the other day, closing the front exposure between her legs by pushing down with her right elbow as she held her phone, and pulling up on the bottom hem with her left hand.

With all of the stretching and maneuvering in the front, the back of her dress was hugging her butt. Hell, it was stretching tightly around it. Form fitting to it. If it was clear from my previous vantage point, it was obvious from my new one. The fabric was barely 75% functional. Which meant that 25% of Beth's ass was visible. And 25% of Beth's ass is 100% better than most woman's.

Beth's asshole was on display. The hairs around it. The folds of her vagina, bulging low, like she was about to pee in the woods. The opening to her birth canal. There was none of the double ply, swimsuit material that are now sewn into every pair of yoga pants. This was breathable cotton. America's fabric.

I wanted to crawl forward and pull her dress back. To reveal the other 75%. To watch her pee. To watch her poop. Instead, I toggled back to camera mode and made sure I had the highest definition pictures that I could of the plump, upside down heart before me.

The bell rang. I almost jumped. I moved my body to and made it seem like I was texting on my phone. I didn't even look at Beth. And, she still didn't look at me. Pretending to text, I started another video. They always say "Be ready for the shot." Or something like that.

As the parents and kids were re-united, Beth's turn eventually came as well. Tom popped out, fast walking out to Beth.

"Hey honey...I don't know where Peter is..."

Not "dad" but "Peter." She had her ways to disrespect me, I had my ways to disrespect her. Hers were verbal, mine were nudal.

"Hey...over here..."

Beth turned abruptly, shocked at the voice behind her. Beth's face was clearly annoyed, possibly trying to remember if she passed gas. Maybe not. But, that would have been my worry.

"Can't you say hello!?"

I kept my phone pointed at her, sitting, pretending it was just a random object in my hand.

"I did. You were on the phone and I assumed ignored me."

Which she would have done, though not with her butt in my direction. My eyes picked up on the breasts below her chin. I stood up, holding the phone at an upward angle, but Beth stayed away.

I remembered the game. I left it by the first tree. Tom was by me now, knowing it was our night together and that Beth had just stopped by to say hello.

"Hey Tom, I got us a new video game. It's by the tree."

Beth heard the word "video game" and approached. I turned back towards her and captured her approach. Her eyes were on Tom, running to the bag. My eyes were on the fabric, stretching around her breasts, showing their true shape.

"Let me see it. It better not be violent..."

Beth gave me a look that let me know that she knew that the game was definitely going to be rated MSN. When her gaze was off of me, I casually bent my arm and made sure I was capturing the tits bouncing towards me.

Nipples were definitely leading the charge. I watched them poke on by as Tom opened the bag. He looked up at his approaching mom.

"It's not a shooter game. It's alright."

Tom was trying to act like it was just no big deal. Beth approached with me walking next to her, capturing her profile as best I could.

"Let's see."

Beth took the game and grimaced. She turned to me.

"Mortal Kombat? Really? I think I'm keeping this one. "M" is clearly stamped on the box."

I rolled my eyes as best I could. Tom said nothing. He knew it was a losing battle. I, however, mocked a protest.

"Let me see what the reviews are..."

That was a typical Beth response to anything. So, she could only stand there and hold the game behind her back, away from me and Tom, as I stood 5 feet away from her stretched boobs and videoed them. I pretended to type.

"M O R T A L K O M B A T."

The search result was Beth's pale, swollen cleavage, sheer fabric stretching around dark red nipples, poking out of soft cotton, with faintly visible white skin all around them. I maneuvered my fingers, zooming in on her nipple. The half inch pencil tip was plain as day when captured at this distance.

"Funny Peter...you know exactly what you are going to see..."

Not realizing it, Tom helped out with the photography. I watched Beth's nipple fold to the side, bending from her movement.

"Come on mom...can I have it back...Patrick has it..."

Beth twisted her body away from him, pointing her left breast right at my viewfinder. The nipple was becoming more apparent on he swollen chest as she twisted, pushing her white breast fat hard into the black dress. I practically pointed my phone right at it. Her nipple and I were having a stare down.

"Tom...no...I don't care what your dad see's...he's not getting it..."

Shit. She was right about that. I saw the profile of her left breast, pulling on the fabric, white skin behind it. Brown areola nipple puffing forward. It was clear to anyone who looked. But people didn't look because most people were polite to a pregnant woman walking down the street, forgiving her transgressions. Accepting them as part of the right to bear children.

The nipple show was nice, and thankfully, Beth was too focused on Tom to catch my act. I ended it before she did and backed away, still holding the camera high. Looking at Tom, I acknowledged defeat.

"Tom...it's alright...the reviews are pretty bad..."

Tom looked disappointed, but I was not. We'd just go and get another one. The game had served it's purpose. Beth said her goodbye's to Tom and we both started off on our separate ways. Suddenly, Tom seemed to remember something and turned to run.

"Mom's got my meds. I'll meet you at the car."

Ah, the meds. Pretty soon, we were just going to have to get duplicates of everything. I made it to the car, turned it around, and waited. Tom came running back, empty handed.

"She'll leave them on the front door."

Great. Another duty delegated to dad. Beth's specialty.

...

After about 2 hours of the second purchase of Mortal Kombat, I had to admit, it was probably not the best game for kids under 18. Probably not for kids under 88. Still, we had fun, and I guess that was all that mattered. I hope Beth didn't give the one she confiscated a shot. She might have tried some of the fatalities on me.

We had dinner on the porch, not really talking about much, just enjoying the evening. Afterwards, Tom went upstairs to do whatever homework he might have and I started the dishes.

"Dad!"

It was the usual "yell as loud as you can so you don't have to walk downstairs" yell. I turned off the water and walked to the stairs.

"Can't you come downstairs if you need something?"

Tom didn't understand the question.

"I don't need anything. Just don't forget my meds."

Well, he did need them, or so his allergist said, and he needed them usually after dinner. Hence the request. Tom always remembered to take his meds, he just didn't always remember where they were when he needed to take them.

"Alright. I'll be back in 20."

I didn't really mind bringing things to Tom that he forgot at my house because it usually meant I got to see him at his mom's. But, I considered this a "dead head" run, driving for no real purpose other than save his mom from having to do it. It was a common theme.

But, christ, I was starting to look forward to any interaction I had with Beth. I'm not really sure how I failed to notice the sexuality she exuded over the years since our divorce, but the last week certainly opened my eyes. Maybe it was subtle changes in Beth that I was noticing, her wardrobe, or lack there of. It was beginning to make my penis sore.

Pulling up to her house, I saw none of the meds on the front door. But sure enough, there was her car. Sporting equipment was always left by the back door, so I assumed it was today's pick-up spot for the meds. At least, I figured I'd check before knocking and potentially running into Beth's husband Frank.

I rounded the garage and saw nothing hanging from the back door. Just a random baseball in the bushes. I figured I was just going to have to push the back doorbell and take my chances. I walked up and was lifting my hand when the TV in the small back den came into view.

I paused. My 007 activity in the park and recent voyeuristic activity via Skype had put me in a mood. I was curious. I was interested. I was addicted. I wanted to see more of Beth. Mostly concealed by the 5 foot tall evergreen hedge, the den slowly came into view.

Beth may have changed all of the furniture, but I knew the layout of our old house well. Den to the right of the front door, living room to the left, dinning room to the back left, kitchen to the back middle, and small, comfy little TV room to the back right. There was only one window to the outside and one door to the kitchen.

The show on the TV was one I did not know. Woman, sitting around a couch, talking. A melting pot of society. But, the show on the couch was one I did know. Beth, in her soft white robe, watching television. Her most common position. Seeing her robe draped open and circling her exposed belly, however, was a new addition.

The perpetual belly rub of a pregnant woman. Did it never end? Was the itch never gone? Does the skin bother them so much that underwear must be banished? Bras must be discarded? Bottle of oils and lotions must travel with them at all times? For Beth, it seemed perpetual since I started paying attention.

And I guess that was my problem. I never did pay attention. But now, with Beth polishing her stomach like a bowling ball, circling it, moving the lotion all around it, I was certainly paying attention. I was going to try and pay so much attention.

Beth was slouching on the couch, sitting on a large towel. The robe circled her belly and came together over her vagina, a significant portion of her hormonal bush making an appearance. Her blonde hair, wet and slicked back, made it clear that she just got out of the shower. I guess I walked in on the post shower moisturizing.

The blinds, wide and open, perhaps gave Beth the feeling of privacy and comfort. And her back yard was certainly surrounded by dense bushes with not a window or house within 100 feet. But, from my distance on the outside looking in, Beth was like the picture in a frame. She was the focus.

A picture. There was certainly nobody here, but if Beth caught me filming her, there might be some pretty big consequences. I decided to just watch Beth. Her hands, circling her belly, the black hole of her body that her galaxy seemed to revolve around. The center of her universe. Hands slid lower, pushing oil onto her legs. Opening her robe.

Fuck it. I opened up my phone and turned on the video recorder. With one last look around, I slowly lifted my arm and pointed it at Beth. The small TV was on a table almost directly opposite me, to the left of the door that cut the right wall down the middle. I used whatever I could to rationalize how she wasn't even going to look my direction.

There she was, on my small phone display. Rubbing her belly. Thumbing her belly button. Not aware of me in the slightest. Since I was off to her right and slightly to her back, I didn't get the dramatic between the legs shot. But I got the message. Beth was practically naked.

The robe stayed tied around her chest while her hands slid forward as far as they could along the top of her thighs. Then, while watching TV, Beth moved along the insides, dragged her thumbs along the edge of her vagina, and pulled her hands up along the sides of her bush and back to her belly.

The pattern repeated. 3 times. 6 times. 9 times. Well over a dozen gradual swoops of her body. Just when it seemed Beth was stuck in perpetual motion, she moved to her left and grabbed the bottle of oil.

Back to watching TV, holding the oil, Beth opened the top of her robe and let it drape open. I groaned, unable to control my lust at the heavy breasts that Beth was displaying. Her right boob leaned towards me, seemingly looking at me as the nipple pointed directly at my eyes.