We had made the huge mistake of waiting last minute to process our car registration. My wife Melissa and I had just moved out of our apartment to a new house and in all the dust of packing boxes and unpacking boxes, the date had slipped both of our minds. I had just started a new job and was completely lost in it, leaving my wife to come across the forgotten envelope in a hurried panic.

She had been having a nice relaxing morning up until then. She was planning on doing some yoga after a relaxing shower, slowly unpacking boxes and decorating in the comfort, and privacy, in our new home. Maybe later she'd change and get to the know the neighborhood, which was closer to the city than we had ever lived. But the second she saw the date written in red, she knew she had to leave immediately.

Melissa hopped in our car and raced to the DMV hoping to beat the line and put the whole affair behind us. She called me on the drive to let me know but I was stuck in a meeting, my phone buzzing on my desk. She sighed and parked and walked towards the building, some people looking her way a bit surprised, maybe because she was in such a hurry. It was a typical grimy DMV building, she thought. People during the day mulling about. The line wasn't so bad all things considered but it had been open for about half an hour.

My wife got into the non-appointment line and for the first time since she had picked up the envelope, she gave herself a chance to catch her breath and think about how crazy the rush had been. She was glad that she had at least taken the time to enjoy her shower this morning. The summer heat was no joke in this part of town and since my wife is half asian, her hair tends to frizz a bit if she leaves it on its own in this temperature. But no, she had taken some time to admire her own reflection earlier that day, looking at her nice big eyes, her soft features, appreciating her lips, acknowledging that her body was looking slender and fit thanks to all the yoga she was doing. And then she dressed for the exercise she'd have to do later that day.

It was at the same time that she had had this thought that a gentleman cleared his throat behind her. He didn't even have to say any actual words, it was the throat clearing that told my wife everything. First of all, she could tell that behind her was a salty older man, probably in a jacket one size too big. And second of all, she knew he was clearing his throat to tell her something. There was an excited hesitation in his throat clearing. My wife's brain automatically ran through her morning routine to explain, before he even said anything, what he was about to mention. See my wife had planned on being home alone all day so after her shower and moment of self-affirmation in the mirror, she put on a nice comfy tank top and these really sexy yoga pants she had just bought. These were yoga pants only for her. Thin, very thin, very tight, and very low. Lower than she had thought when she bought them. They were meant only for her enjoyment, a treat to herself for hitting her exercise goals.

But now she was wearing them at the DMV and the man behind her leaned forward and whispered in a croaking voice "Hey uh miss, I think I can see your ass."

Just for your reference, Melissa is gorgeous in a girl next-door kinda way. Like if you saw a hot scientist or librarian in a movie that wasn't trying to draw all the eyes on her, but at the same time can't help it. She's a petite half asian woman, very perky b cups, dainty tiny dark brown nipples, a beautiful smile, very nice thick thighs but the part of her body that always catches the attention of strangers is her ass. It's big in the best way possible. It could be described as a bubble butt, an apple bottom or spankable. It jiggles with every step. When she buys a bikini set, her ass strains the bikini bottoms. She's honestly a bit self conscious about it. So when she bought those yoga pants and the cashier at the register warned her that they get a bit see through when they stretch, she hesitated for just a second. But after reminding herself that no one would see her in them, she shrugged it off and handed over her card.

The gentleman tapped her on the shoulder. "Miss, I don't know if you heard me, I think I can see your ass."

To make matters worse my wife realized at this very second that because she was home alone, she didn't put on anything under her tank top or yoga pants. Nothing at all. She couldn't bring herself to glance down at her legs to see what the fabric was doing. All she could do was ignore this man and hope the problem went away.

"Next!" the woman at the DMV desk called. My wife stepped forward. "Hi," my wife smiled, holding back the panic, just trying to get through this, "I'd like to file my car registration. Or renew it. Sorry I don't know exactly what word I'm looking for." The woman laughed. "Don't worry honey, let me go get you the forms."

The woman left. My wife stood there at the desk. The older man behind her turned and asked a younger guy "Hey am I crazy or can you see that lady's ass?"

"Oh no," the younger man said, pulling his headphones down, "I can see her bare ass. Crack and everything."

My wife looked around for the woman. She was sorting through folders. Nervous, my wife shifted her weight.

"Damn!" the younger man said "did you see that jiggle. Fuck that's a nice ass."

"Oh god that's gorgeous," said another voice, a sort of eager older male voice, behind my wife's back.

She couldn't take this. She had no idea how many guys were behind her and she had no idea how thin her yoga pants were. She looked at the DMV woman who was still searching for the proper papers. She was taking so long. My wife couldn't handle it and she let her her eyes drift down to her legs to see what the situation was.

Painted on would be overstating it. The yoga pants didn't look painted on. Paint still covers with some sort of color. These were now less than painted on.

My wife had been playing soccer a few weeks ago and in an attempt to kick a goal, she had slid and cut her knee a little. Just a little. When my wife looked down she could clearly make out the healed cut on her knee. She started shaking.

She brought her eyes to an area of personal importance to see how much of her modesty was maintained. There, in the DMV, in public, in our new neighborhood, my wife looked down and saw her vagina, visible. Clearly visible. Covered only as much as shade from a tree covers your body. It was just as if someone had turned down the lights on her naked lower half.

The DMV woman came back and put the papers on the desk. "Sorry that took so long. Could you remind me your name again?"

My wife heard one of the guys whisper "I think that's the top of her ass crack!" He was right. These yoga pants were so low that even if she tugged them up, the top of her ass crack was definitely showing.

"M-Melissa Lake," my wife said. She was struggling. She had no idea how she could have left the house like this.

"Alright Mrs. Lake, could you fill out these papers for me?" the woman asked.

My wife nodded and leaned down to start filling out the papers. And that's when she felt the tip of the older gentleman's finger on the top of her exposed ass crack. "It is," he reported.

Melissa's eye's grew wide. "Don't worry about them," reassured the woman, "once you fill this out you should be okay to go."

But the papers were impossible to focus on. My wife felt that stranger's finger start to run down, very slowly following the line between her cheeks. Even though she knew she was wearing fabric, it didn't feel like it. It felt like this man was running his finger down her naked married ass. She could feel the tip of his fingernail, she could feel the grooves of his fingerprint. He kept bringing his finger down and down and down and down, running it down her entire ass, until he ran it up for a second tapping my wife's shaven pussy.

The man paused and retracted, as if that move was an indecent gesture he hadn't meant. My wife was petrified. She was staring forward blankly.

"Mrs. Lake?" the DMV woman prompted, slightly pulling my wife out of her daze. My wife shook her head and started filling out the information. But as she did she felt the strangest sensation. It took her a second to know what it was. But when she heard one of the men say "oh hello there" she realized the old man had parted her cheeks.

He was exposing her to the audience.

One of the guys peered over my wife's shoulder looking at the paper work, then leaned back and said "hey everyone, say hello to Melissa Lake's asshole."

She knew from the tone in his voice that he wasn't talking to the others. He was talking to his phone. He was streaming the moment. The video played back on his phone "say hello to Melissa Lake's asshole."

It was too much. She looked back, over her shoulder. Behind her were at least twenty men, all different ages, different backgrounds, most of them with phones out. She turned back around to fill out the paperwork. She felt one hand tap her ass. Then another. Definitely another hand. Then another, this one had rougher skin. She was racing the humiliation, trying to fill out the paperwork as quickly as she could. She was getting close. So close.

But then she stopped in her tracks. Someone was poking her with a finger. She tensed up and squirmed and in this, she jolted back a bit and the finger pushed and she heard a quiet snap and a strangers finger entered my wife's ass.

It was only for a moment. She knew this because the finger instantly retracted and she knew that now everyone was looking at her exposed hole, not even blocked by the translucent yoga pants.

Something snapped in my wife. Her hand steadied. Her daze settled. She looked down at the paperwork and what she did was she bent forward and parted her legs. She showed them everything down there. She let the take pictures and video while she filled out the paper work and she finished and handed it over. The she grabbed her ID and walked to the car, the men parting, letting her pass, and then rushing behind. My wife walked through the parking lot, ass on display, and when she got to the car she bent down in the drivers seat, back to all the gawking men who cheered. She spread wide while pretending to look for something, revealing all of her secrets, and then stood up, got in the car, blew them a kiss and drove off.

I found out about this all later that day. I didn't really believe it until I saw it on some sties I check out. And then I really believed it when men kept coming up to my wife at the grocery store saying "Melissa Lake, right? Listen, I'm sorry if this is weird but I jerk off thinking about your nice tight asshole." I really believed it when we met our neighbors and Carl asked Melissa to turn around so he could see the famous ass everyone is talking about.

But I think the craziest time was when some college guys swung by one day with print outs of my wife in those yoga pants, asking for her to sign them so they could put them up in their frat house and instead my wife asked if they wanted new pictures.

If you go to the frat house or the college bar bathrooms or know what picture frames to look behind in the pizza place, you'll see pictures of Melissa sitting on our couch, in a just shirt with Greek letters, knees up, showing you her secrets.