Gina clapped her hands together once. "Great, I'm glad that's all settled. Darvin, get all of us some beers from the fridge. And get one for yourself too. We've got a weekend to plan!"
I was riding pretty high from our mutual declarations of love, so I didn't give much thought to Gina's peculiar phrasing —
Gina thinks of me as part of the group! 'All of us!' And why not ... I think it's safe to say that as soon as I came in front of (and on) Gina's friends, they became my friends too.
Everything about this situation was giving me the warm and fuzzies. I opened four bottles of Corona, making sure to also cut enough lime slices for four more bottles. Tonight felt like a two drink minimum night.
Just before I headed back carrying all four bottles, Gina yelled towards the kitchen "And bring something to wipe the cum up off Brook and Ang's feet!" I thought I heard Angela faintly add something that sounded almost like "Yeah, like your tongue," but she was far too quiet for her to be talking to me. I grabbed a washcloth out of the sink, put it over my shoulder, grabbed the four bottles, and headed back into the living room.
I handed the bottles out and placed one on the coffee table for myself. I then knelt down on my hands and knees in front of Angela and Brooklyn. My cum was starting to dry on their feet and I was having difficulty finding it. I leaned in only an inch from Angela's feet and smelled it before I saw it. It's aroma was that of slightly sour almonds ... not nearly as unpleasant as I'd expected. Once I'd zero'd in on the scent, finding it visually was trivial. I glanced up at Angela, who chose that moment to uncross her legs, allowing me a glimpse of her yellow panties.
I've never understood a panty fetish — panties have always seemed an obstacle, not an end unto themselves, but glimpsing that provocative pose, put on for my sole benefit caused a drop of precum to bead out, then slowly draw to the floor like spider's silk. I instinctively tried to stop it with my hand but only realized the futility a split second too late. The strand stuck to my moving fingers and enmeshed my hand to my dick as if with thin taffy. I waved my hand trying to disengage from the precum, but the strand was only getting thicker.
My hand grazed my opened beer bottle and the weight of the strand was enough to transfer it from my hand to the mouth and neck of the bottle. One more quick wipe of my dick head by my index finger and again to the bottle, and I had more or less left my hand and dick clean. This mini crisis solved, I had put out of mind where my precum has actually ended up and finished wiping up Angela's, and then Brook's, feet. I grabbed my bottle, took a swig of the unexpectedly salty drink, then looked for a place to sit.
The girls had spread out a fair bit on the couch— their suitcases had been moved from the coffee table to the couch— and they weren't making any attempt to make room for me, so with a slight shrug to myself, I sat down on the floor by Gina's feet, to plot out the weekend's activities.
"Sweetie, finish moving the girls' suitcases upstairs first. Then you can come right back here to drink you beer, while I scratch your head."
