He was...impressive. And not just the size of his half-hard cock lying wet on his stomach. My pussy clenched, remembering him stretching me out as he took me hard. He was muscled, strong, virile, and scarred. He had fought and killed.And he also raged.“When I asked if you hated fighting, I meant...what happened when you...”“Rage?” he finished. “The fugue state that I can enter where only most basest part of my intelligence acts. My id. I am reduced to pure, animalistic emotions. Rage, lust, hunger. I will keep going, my conscious, higher level intelligence unable to seize control. I am a passenger riding upon a spooked horse, unable to stop, not knowing if I will be thrown and die or if the ride will come to a peaceful stop. Exhaustion, severe wounds, or satiating of lusts is all that will stop me.”He held up his hands, staring at them. “I hate it. I hate how much I need it. I hate how it lurks inside of me, ready to burst out when I am too weak. But I am too afraid to be rid of it.. I looked great. The thong panties were held together by the thinnest string and I could hardly feel them. The lace material was almost paper thin. I wasn't sure they would hold up for an entire evening, much less in the wash.Finally, I slipped on the black dress. The fabric was very expensive and it slipped over my skin with ease. It was shorter than I was used to -- I guess it was clearly too short, but when I looked at myself in the mirror I was impressed by Mike's skill. Who knew he could put together such an outfit. I could feel myself getting turned on and as a result my panties were getting wet.When Jim got home we got in the car and drove to Mike's house. Mike opened the door and the awkwardness began. Mike gave me a kiss on the cheek and welcomed me in. Jim was furious about the dress, but I had calmed him down and convinced him we could get through this. We began with a few drinks. We both drank too much just trying to get through the evening. Eventually Mike asked if I was.
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