The rules were simple: one fantasy per night, unless agreed to by both parties (Jim added the caveat that the game would last until the heatwave ended, and since Pam had begun to see the merits in "sultry screwing", she didn't protest), and no laughing or otherwise making fun of fantasies would be allowed. Simple and sexy. Neither of them could wait long for it to begin, which is why day two's session began shortly after lunchtime.

The note Pam left for Jim on the fridge that morning said it all. I'll be home by noon; don't ask questions. Jim had to admit that there was something incredibly sexy about the way it was worded, with such assertiveness. He wondered if it was a hint about what was to come, but he didn't think about it too much. Instead, he waited expectantly by the door, like a child or a domesticated animal, for Pam to arrive.

She returned, carrying a bag in her hand. There was no hint on the outside to suggest where it was from; it was just a generic, sturdy brown paper bag with two raffia handles. Jim could tell it was heavy from the way Pam carried it.

Pam entered the house and seemed surprised to see Jim sitting nearby.

"No peeking," she said as she clutched the bag to her chest.

"No fair."

"Those are the rules," she shrugged, "And yeah, I just thought of them now."

"Definitely not fair." He got up and crossed the room to envelop her in his arms, pressing kisses along her jawline and down her neck, but she squirmed away.

"You won't get anything if you're not careful!"

Jim pretended to pout, and Pam raced down the hall. "Ten minutes?" she called to him.

"Ten minutes!" he said.

It took fifteen, but Jim didn't care. Pam strolled out of the bathroom, her hair scooped up in a messy bun at the nape of her neck; she wore a black and white striped bustier with garters attached to thigh high fishnet stockings, while her feet were strapped into a pair of stiletto heels that made her legs appear to go on forever. She posed by the door, and Jim struggled to catch his breath.

"Hi."

"Hi," she whispered, taking a few steps towards the bed, "Fantasy number one... I've always wanted to be…," she blushed a little, which only made the scenario more sexy, more daring, more enticing to Jim as he watched from the bed.

"Screwed senseless?" Jim offered.

Pam nodded. "In the sexiest outfit I own. So now that I own this little number," she wiggled her hips, "It's your turn." It was only then that Jim realized she wasn't wearing panties.

"Is this your fantasy or mine?" Jim asked.

"Mine. Are you complaining?" Pam said, assertiveness returning. She stepped towards him, crossing the distance in a few short steps to straddle him on the bed; through Jim's thin lounge pants, he could feel her warmth and his cock responded accordingly.

"Not at all."

Pam pushed the waistband of his pants down and poised herself over his tip. She lowered herself a little until her lips kissed the glistening head and took him in a just barely enough for him to feel it before she stopped and began to slowly rotate her hips. Jim began to ache, wishing she would just finish him off. He placed his hands on her waist and tried to push her down; Pam took his hands and threw them above his head, pinning them there – with no resistance from a bewildered and incredibly turned on Jim – with one hand.

"You'll wait," she said calmly. She circled her hips a few more times, taking the tip of his penis with her, before slipping down all the way, letting him fill her completely. Jim watched her face flush crimson with pleasure; she smiled at him a little crookedly and brushed some loose strands of hair out of her face with her free hand, but she didn't move. She squeezed, simultaneously grinding her pelvis lightly into his, and he groaned. It became rhythmic -- the squeeze and the grind -- and Jim realized he was so close to coming and Pam had barely moved an inch. When she finally lifted herself, sliding up his shaft, and then dropping back down upon him, Jim thought he might die. She still held his hands above his head, pinning them against the pillow, but she bent down further now, her breasts spilling out of the top of the corset; Jim was a rare breed of man, attracted almost equally to the breasts and the ass, but with Pam's cleavage in his face, he thought it might be high time to declare a winner in the dead heat between the two.

Her breath was on his cheek and he felt her breathe in sharply as she let her other hand explore the juncture between them. When her fingers touched the tender nub, he felt her hand begin to move faster. It was almost his undoing – the outfit first, then the bold language and gestures, now the scintillating sounds coming from her throat. His hips bucked against her, driving her up, and she dropped her head to his shoulder.

"Oh god," she whispered, her breath on his skin and her whisper shivering against his ear. He pushed again, and she met him halfway, the driving force of them both causing explosions where they joined. Her hand moved furiously now; Jim felt his own face warming and sweat began to bead on his forehead. She gripped his wrists tightly then slipped her hand up until her fingers laced between his and she began to squeeze, and even though she wasn't restraining him any longer, he dutifully kept both hands where she wanted them.

She lifted herself and slipped back down again, grinding at the base. He could feel her fingers working furiously between their bodies, and her breaths became moans and more hurried then before, and he bit his lip, feeling his own climax drawing close. She turned her head and muffled her mouth against his neck, still flick flick flicking with her hand. "Jim… god, Jim… I'm coming… "

He turned his head, catching her mouth against his -- wetly, sloppily; she cried out in surprise as his lips met hers, and he moaned because it was so damn sexy he couldn't not make a sound. Just then, she climaxed, clenching around his cock in spasms that caused Jim's orgasm to explode within her at nearly the same time. He drove up and into her once last time and waited out the waves with her as she collapsed against his chest, her tightly held and heaving bosom threatening to squeeze out of the top of her corset with each deep breath she took.

Jim kissed her temple and stroked her hair; for a long time, nothing was said or heard but the beating of their hearts and their own heavy breathing. Finally, Jim heard Pam begin to giggle. "Well?"

"Well what?"

"Was it worth it?"

Pam's laugh was happy, even in its weariness. "Hell yes," she responded, and Jim had to grin at that.

"Good," he kissed her again, no tongue, just lips and warmth and salty sweat. Her lips were so soft, Jim thought he might get lost in them. He smiled at her. "Now while we're on the subject of costumes… ."