Regency Estates: Not Cheating?

"Darrell's gonna fuck me," said Liz, "but I'm not cheating on you."

The slur in her speech wasn't enough to garble that. Bret still said, "How's that again?"

"He'll explain it," said Liz, assaying the final three steps to the patio sofa without rolling an ankle, though her spiked heels made that an almost. Her breasts wobbled, nips clearly seeking to slip beyond the loose, low neckline, as she flopped next to her husband. The drink in her hand stayed perfectly level, clearly intending to impair her further.

She leaned to nibble on Bret's ear. "And you can fuck Glynis too. It's all on the square."

Bret, his blood alcohol not too elevated, had been scowling until she said that. He definitely wanted to fuck Glynis, along with about thirty other women in Regency Estates. He even wanted to keep fucking Liz. Until now, it seemed like the latter was his only option.

"What, so, is this wife-swapping?" he asked. "Like, it isn't cheating, because we all agree on it, and everybody's happy?"

"Nobody has to agree, 'cept me and Darrell." Liz then downed much of her drink. "If you don't agree, then fuck off. It ain't cheating because...he'll explain it."

Bret looked out at the cocktail party, similar to every other cocktail party in Regency Estates. There was a party every night, only the location changed, but not so you could tell. All of the large, opulent houses were pretty much the same. So were all of the couples living in them. Bret had a vague awareness of a song about that, sort of funny but maybe insulting. As he tried to recall it, it slipped from his mind. That seemed to happen a lot to him, in Regency Estates.

Darrell and Glynis, looking like the least inebriated people on the Collinsons' pool deck, approached. Bret could imagine them swinging together, or cheating separately. He could believe that there was adultery everywhere around here. He hadn't tried for that himself.

As the other couple arrived, the first synapses that clicked in Bret's brain were macho-aggressive. "Do I have to kick your ass, motherfucker?" Bret growled at Darrell. "Comin' on to my wife?"

"Be cool, Bro," said Darrell, taking a chair across from the sofa. "It's just a way to have fun that's no harm to anybody." He glanced at his wife, who lowered herself onto the chair next to him. "If you do it to my lady, I'd have nothing to complain about."

"Since when are you swingers?" asked Bret, looking at Glynis, at Darrell, at Glynis, at her cleavage.

"We're not," said Glynis. "You know what a germophobe I am, Bret. You think I'd let STIs anywhere near me?" Her auburn hair was in a bouffant that might have reached her head through a cosmic wormhole from 1965.

"So what's all this about?" Bret spread his hands in puzzlement, only then noticing that Liz had dozed off, leaning on his shoulder, blonde tresses a-tumble.

Darrell chuckled, looking at Liz. "I guess she didn't explain."

Liz murmured, "Your job," eyes still closed.

Darrell's eyes turned towards Glynis. "I suppose we could demonstrate."

"You and me, for them?" asked Glynis. She looked at Bret with a crooked smile. "I think we should put it into actual practice." She glanced at Darrell. "If you really believe this isn't cheating."

Darrell's smile vanished.

Glynis winked at Bret. He had no idea what was going on, but his cock thickened.

Darrell looked now at Liz. Bret saw what he saw, that a shoulder strap had slid down her arm, and Liz's entire left breast was exposed, in all its bulk and beauty.

Glynis said to Darrell, "You've always wondered if hers are better." Then, to Bret: "Do you wonder about mine?" She leaned towards him and drew in a large, theatrical breath, straining the deeply-darted fabric on the upper part of her dress.

Darrell nodded, and stood. "All right, yes. I'll arrange it."

Bret watched him thread among the smart-casual-dressed men and dolled-up women. Bret didn't understand how Regency Estates upheld this situation, with every resident affluent somehow and all the kids falling asleep early and staying that way until morning. The place was gated, but more than that. It was walled in, with guards on duty 24/7, hi-res security cams on every streetlight, drone patrols, maybe more that Bret had never seen.

Whenever he thought about that, Bret got distracted, usually by the sight of a woman he wanted to bang. Even Glynis's normal breathing got his whole attention.

Darrell returned less than a minute later, and gestured the others to follow. Bret, with an arm around Liz, concluded that the Collinsons weren't using the Access Room. Nor was anyone else. It was still early in the evening, no serious hanky-panky prospects had formed up.

Bret winked at a few women, believing that his smile wasn't a leer. He told himself that if he came on to them, he might make their husbands into his enemies. A flicker of fear at getting his ass kicked was quickly doused by the thought that he should stay on good terms with the men in Regency Estates. They were successful, maybe favors could be traded. In his mind there might have been an echo from his youth, 'bros before hos,' maybe from his own voice, but that vanished as he made eye contact with yet another attractive woman.

Every house in Regency Estates had a room in the basement that was available to any resident as long as the homeowners weren't using it. It wasn't a Panic Room. Every house had one of those, also, completely controlled by the homeowners. The Panic Rooms were full of electronics and control panels and displays, which could alleviate paranoia, and also boost it.

The Access Room didn't look special at all. Two sofas, four overstuffed chairs, thick plush carpeting, recessed ceiling lights, no windows. Bret didn't see any electronics. For an instant he wondered if they were present anyway. Then he remembered that he might get sex in this place, and that claimed his focus.

Glynis said to her husband, "You talk. Bret and I will act it out."

Darrell still looked unhappy, but said to Bret, "Cheating is physical. We all know that. Men know that."

Liz, dress more or less in place, giggled as she settled on a sofa. "This part is hilarious."

Bret saw that Liz had a fresh drink. He didn't know when she got it. On the way here, when Bret wasn't ogling other wives, he had been focused on the sway and roll of Glynis's ass.

"Women worry about emotions," Darrell continued. "Men, real men, don't. The purpose of this, then, is for a man to gain sexual satisfaction without a woman committing an act that a man would see as cheating."

Bret sneered. "Like phone sex? The woman talks dirty and keeps her hands clean?"

"No," said Darrell. "This is physical. You fuck a woman. But not in a way that what she does can be considered cheating."

"You think I'd

force

myself on her?"

"You definitely won't. She gives consent to this specific kind of fucking."

"Without cheating?"

"Think of it," said Darrell, now looking charged up by his idea. "What is sex, really? The act of a man inseminating a woman. Yet the weakest sort of men are so insecure that they enlarge the concept of cheating to include any other act in which a man actively derives pleasure from a woman, and any act in which a woman takes specific action to give pleasure to a man's genitals. Oral sex, anal sex, handjobs, breast fondling and licking, must all be confined to a married pair, or there is said to be cheating. The weaklings have missed one thing, however. A thing for which our wives are highly qualified."

"So, Bret," said Glynis, "take off your pants."

"Whaaaatt?!"

yelled Bret. He looked at Glynis, with her tiny smile; at Liz, who guffawed; and at Darrell, who was forcing himself to look neutral.

"Of course, all of those sex acts, and more," said Darrell, "can be extra-marital if everyone involved agrees, and approves. What's brilliant about this is, even if the spouses

don't

approve, it can't be called cheating."

Bret had a flash of insight, before he could flash anatomically. "Is this something you're pushing in a divorce case?"

"It is," said Darrell proudly. "In this state, the laws leave certain loopholes. I intend to prove that the jealous husband has no grounds in his countersuit, and my client will reap the entire settlement."

Glynis, again theatrical, licked her lips and said, "I'm waiting, Bret."

Bret wondered if his swelling johnson would simply tear through the fabric. In fact, it barely pushed against the inside of the zipper. "What," he wailed, "is this sex?"

"A titfuck," said Darrell, his heavily fleshed face in courtroom seriousness, "carried out entirely, and carefully, by the woman. The man's orgasm occurs without in any way affecting the woman, physiologically."

Glynis got within a foot of Bret and said, "I'd like to know what I'm working with."

Now showing some strain, Darrell said, "in this demonstration, Bret, you will denude your lower half. And, arrhrm, Glynis will denude her upper half."

"While not cheating," Bret said.

"That kind of exposure is not considered offensive among nudists, some of whom are almost piously non-sexual," Darrell insisted.

With one last look at Liz, who simply giggled, Bret undid belt, button, and zipper, and set free his commando.

Glynis looked, then looked away.

Bret bent to get free of shoes, socks, and pants.

When he was again erect, he erected, as Glynis peeled her dress down to the waist.

Bret's jaw dropped. His hands twitched.

"You can't touch them," said Darrell. "With your hands, or mouth, or even feet. Wait until Glyn is positioned and ready."

Glynis lay on her back on the carpet, and settled the dress fabric just under the base of her breasts. "My husband insists," she said, "that I allow your ass to come into contact with a six hundred dollar dress."

"Straddle her," said Darrell, sounding annoyed. "Keep your hands away, and let your cock rest between her breasts. Then, with her hands, she merges the breasts around it, and does everything else. You kneel there, not touching her skin in any other way. After you ejaculate, you stand up and step back."

Bret laughed, lowering his butt cheeks onto the fabric atop Glynis's rib cage. "I can't wait for you to demonstrate this in court."

"There's video," said Darrell.

Bret settled in, to the extent possible. Glynis's plain face showed no expression, so he decided that there was no reason to look at anything but her vast mammaries, as she lifted them from her sides and engulfed Bret's cock. His tip gleamed with precum before it vanished into warm, soft flesh.

He also decided that there was no reason not to let nature take its course. If he couldn't touch Glynis through action of his own, why wait?

Bret valued the sex he had in the moment, over any other sex at any other time. This sex was made even better by having shown up out of nowhere. He could definitely have spoojed just from the sight of Glyn's tits, with maybe ten seconds of jerking. Yet there was more, she was blanketing his pig, and Bret knew he was going to cum huge. The fact that her tight, rapid pumping made her surgery obvious was no problem. Liz was just as enhanced. Like maybe every woman in Regency Estates.

He glanced at Darrell, and grinned. The jagoff had talked himself into this, just to display what he claimed was legal acumen.

Bret huffed as his cock swelled against the pressure, and his balls firmed for launch mode. He saw Glyn looking to one side, bored. Bret thought,

If I could blast in your pussy, bitch, I'd change your look to worship!

As he started gushing, the sex he had now was nowhere near as hot as what his imagination built around Glynis's hidden vagina.

He heard only his own howls. The Access Room blocked every sound from the cocktail party, and left the party unaware of what happened in the room.

What he heard next was Glynis's voice, aimed at Darrell: "You can add on the cost of cleaning this necklace."

Glynis let go of her boobs, which trailed filaments of slime as they slid away from Bret's putz. Bret's hands and mouth wanted those tits as much as his spent tool wanted her pussy and ass. Struggling with that, and exhaustion, and awkwardness, Bret needed about ten seconds to stand up.

Standing, with his dick dangling and dripping, made Bret feel triumphant. "Okay then! So, Darrell, I can fuck your wife's tits all the time, whether you like it or not! Let me know when you convince the rest of the men here. I've got plans!" Then he looked at Glynis. "Except, uh, Glyn...that didn't do anything for you, did it?"

Glynis pulled disinfecting wipes from her purse and started cleaning herself. "Why should this fuck be any different?"

Liz laughed. The men said nothing.

'Well, Bret," Darrell said at last, "You have no reason to object if I do the same to Liz."

Before Bret could respond, Liz said, "No time like the present!" She stood, and gulped down the rest of her drink.

Darrell's eyes bugged. "Um...well..."

"You made my hubby show his dick," said Liz, sliding down her dress straps. "It's your turn to be a disappointment."

For a few seconds, Darrell was spared that, because Glynis had stood and Liz walked up to her. Bret gawked at the four fabulous, freed breasts of the women who compared notes on their plastic surgeons.

Bret yearned to be able to nut again, from this vision. But he was now totally limp, and would remain so until after the party ended.

Then Glynis restored her dress straps and moved to a chair across the room, and Liz lay on her back on the carpet. As Darrell unsheathed his equipment, Bret remembered to put away his own.

Liz was, understandably, more awkward than Glynis. Liz's hand grazed Darrell's ball sac, making him jerk back and yelp, "No!"

"It's okay, Bro," said Bret. "Maybe I didn't see that." Silently, Bret tried to work out if Darrell, breaking his own rules, opened the door for Bret to fuck Glynis, anywhere and everywhere.

Bret then saw Glynis, scrolling her phone, and had to wonder if she'd already had enough of Bret's penis, doing anything to any part of her. But that thought vaporized, as he recalled that he was the kind of man who had made it into Regency Estates.

Liz enclosed Darrell's shwanz, and started pumping her boobs chinward, then gutward, over and over. "Uhhh," she said. "You're heavy. You've got a fat ass."

"Just do it, do it," said Darrell urgently.

Liz burped, and her body twitched beneath his. "How long you gonna take?" she asked. "You're not even hard."

Darrell tried to change to a nicer tone. "It's great, Honey, I love your tits, what they're doing to me--"

Liz vomited on her hands and breasts, and through to Darrell's scrotum.

"SHIT!!" Darrell yelled. "Fucking drunk BITCH!"

Glynis looked up, and laughed. She slipped the phone into her purse and stood. "I'm going home, Darling," she said as she walked, looking down at Darrell. Then, as she continued, she looked at Bret and said, "Alone. And staying that way." Then, opening the door of the Access Room, again to Darrell: "I'm not letting you in, looking and smelling like that."

Bret didn't think he could escape the way Glynis did. Regency Estates expected husbands to take responsibility for wives who did unpleasant things in public. Darrell was now on his feet, swearing incoherently, limp shlong dripping what it hadn't emitted. Bret leaned down to grab Liz's arms, hoping to find a bathroom here, and then a way to sneak them out.

"You got it right, Bro," said Bret as he got Liz to her feet and started walking her to the exit. "You don't need my approval for my wife to do that to you."