3 comments/ 30237 views/ 8 favorites Rickie Rai, Lingerie Model By: quandom This story is dedicated to a different Rickie. She dressed like a hooker, had a heart of gold, and was the hottest thing I ever clapped eyes on. The girl also taught Sunday school. xxxx I drove the Jaguar down off the highway, around some winding chicanes and through the palm groves that sheltered Morningstar Beach. It was clear and sunny, and when I wound the top back, I could smell the salt on the breeze from the ocean. How long had it been? Six years, give or take? Eight of us, all recently married, brought our young wives to Morningstar for a long weekend in paradise. It was bikinis, sun lotion, barbeques, wine and relaxed evenings with friends. Carol and I, and the others too, stayed in a comfortable old beach house owned by a new guy in the group - Jerry Rai, some kind of investment banker. Jerry seemed okay in his own way, but I'd be reluctant to have him minding my money. And then there was his wife. She was very young and very beautiful, but she didn't quite fit and he treated her like shit. I flew for a living, so eventually I lost contact with the group from Morningstar and there was never any reunion. I moved to Hong Kong to captain Cathay Pacific's 747s on their long haul routes. A well paid dream job? Well I guess it was, but I was away so much it eventually cost me a wife. And after six years I found each eight hour stretch in the cockpit with a bunch of flight engineers was as much fun as a neighbourhood watch seminar. I never joined the mile high club or saw an exhibitionist airhostess do a striptease for the cockpit. Myths Does this sound like I'd become a 38 year old pain? Well I had, and I knew it. And Carol leaving had hurt too. Finally, there was a one night stand in a Sydney hotel room with a flight stewardess who hadn't come upstairs for love and romance -- she'd simply decided to fuck the boss. I took a grip, resigned, and left Hong Kong. I'd made some terrific real estate investments, inherited a modest amount from my dad, and what with the severance pay, I figured if I'd handled it right, I might be able to pull off the new career I was considering. Don't laugh. I'm an airline jock who paints, quite well actually. I've had my work shown in a few exhibitions, but my real talent is collecting. I have an eye for emerging artists, which comes from the blue, certainly not from any family artistic bent. The de Burgh family's only bent connection is my two lesbian aunts. I stumbled on their leather bondage collection, and puzzled over a huge dildo, when visiting them many years ago. It turned out the aunts had made their kinky start with incest, as daughters fucking their father. When the shit finally hit the fan, he told his wife he'd kept his incest down to one-to-one encounters -- he disapproved of group sex. They were the other de Burghs. I'm not joking. I considered finding a coastal resort town with a gap to open a gallery, and got seduced by the idea. It was a good excuse to spend a week driving back up the coast road, making a leisurely examination of my options. Three days into my road trip I arrived back in Morningstar, and stopped. I checked myself into a motel room, and took the turn off the highway down to the beach. It was a weekday and quiet so I was able to pull over on a grassy knoll overlooking the bay. I had a swimsuit with me and pulled it over my butt in the car, grabbed a towel, and walked down to the sand. There were maybe twenty people and as I dropped my towel and bag on the sand I noticed the closest sunbathing body, about twenty yards away, belonged to a beautiful young brunette in a red bikini. She was massaging lotion into her shoulders, her face disguised by reflective sunglasses. The water was clear and cool and I swam for twenty minutes, and body surfed a couple of small breaks. I dried myself off, and lay down on the beach to get some sun on my back. I was there five minutes when I heard sand scuffing, and realized a pair of long, slim, suntanned legs was standing in front of me. I heard a voice. "Sorry to disturb you but aren't you Harry? Harry de Burgh?" I sat up, surprised, and staring. "Yeah, that's me. But do I know you?" She smiled and slid her sunglasses up on to her hair, revealing dark brown eyes, and a very pretty face. "So you really don't remember me?" she teased. Actually, she did look familiar, but I still couldn't place her, which was surprising as she pretty much defined "unforgettable." An absolute dead ringer for Jessica Alba, save for one thing. She had the body, the sultry face, and the pert little ass, but upstairs this beautiful beach babe was seriously stacked. Embarrassed, and stumbling, I rose to me feet, trying not to stare down her cleavage. "Sorry, I think I know your face, but...." "It's Rickie -- Rickie Rai. You and your wife were houseguests at our place --the beach house over there with the verandas and gardens. Remember?" Now I knew. But of course - the girl was Jerry Rai's reluctant young wife. "Silly me --hi Rickie," I said offering my hand. "So you're down here with Jerry? How's our man, the banking whizz?" Her face puckered and there was an awkward pause. "Well he's not here of course. You don't know what happened to Jerry?" she asked incredulously. "No, I've been living in Hong Kong." "Well that explains it. We'd split up before Jerry went inside -- he's doing time. Four to seven years for share market and tax scams, and lucky it wasn't longer. It's meant a mess for me even though we'd divorced. The tax guys were hell, but I kept the beach house, and my own stuff. That's why I moved here to live." Rickie squatted for a moment, giving me a peek up her long tanned thighs, and decided she'd sit. "So where's Carol. Did she come down with you, or is she back at home?" I shrugged and told her the short version -- the one you give when it's you who's been dumped, and don't feel like explaining. Rickie listened, nodding sympathetically, and for a while we chatted back and forth about the people who'd been with us on the Morningstar weekend. Then she made an observation I hadn't expected. "So Carol's the cheating wife run off with some rich guy? Well no surprises. I got to talk to Carol for a bit. Everyone thought she was a two-timing bitch. You knew that, surely?" Actually I hadn't. That thought had been taboo. But I nodded anyway, and we settled easily into more do you remember Fred, Mary, Sally, stuff. Rickie was fun. I'd remembered a reluctant, rather sad girl, but with no Jerry on her case, Ricky sparkled. In fact, she was like a bottle of joy. She stood up, brushed the sand off her cute little butt, wriggled it jokingly, and said "So, Harry de Burgh, did you know we girls called you Harry de Hunk? I need one more swim. You want to race me?" I chased her, laughing, to the water. The surf was light, running at about two feet and Rickie bobbed about in it, her back to the waves, laughing and chatting, her stunning tits bouncing in her brief bikini, each time she rose to let a crest surge past. But then a bigger wave caught her by surprise, knocked her into me, and suddenly her legs were wrapped about my butt, her arms round my neck, as she struggled with the surge. We both went under, and she came up, spluttering, and pulling her bikini top back over her pointy, jutting breasts. "Sorry, gave you an eyeful there," she said, not knowing how horny she'd made me. She'd given me an instant hard-on. Or maybe she did notice. "I've got to go back in," she said, turning towards the shore. "There's an electrician due at the house." We got back to our gear, and while we'd been relaxed, suddenly it was the awkward moment where we either said goodbye and good luck, or someone put a foot forward. "How long are you here?" she asked. I lied. Now I didn't want to leave the next morning. "Maybe a few days -- it depends." "Then drop by home for a drink. The electrician should only take an hour. You know where I am - so six o'clock? xxxx Rickie opened the door wearing a white wrap that showed off her slim, tanned shoulders. She popped a Bud for me, poured herself a glass of wine, and we began where we'd left off. Much as I didn't know her well, the small connection of that weekend six years ago had given us an easy start. And Rickie was straightforward, informed, and lively. A girl it was easy to like. I'd begun telling her about Hong Kong when her phone buzzed and she excused herself to her kitchen, leaving me sitting on the lounge. I skimmed through old women's fashion magazines on her coffee table without much interest. Then a swimsuit magazine caught my eye. The cover girl was Rickie, and I saw she was the model on the other covers too. I held up the swimsuit girl when she walked back in, bringing another drink. "Sorry, I'd thought you were a secretary. But a fashion model --looks like you did well?" She seemed wistful. "Yeah, I did it a while, and it was fun. But Jerry insisted I give it up when we married. He couldn't stand competition to his own success." "So you've done with modelling now?" "No, not done at all. I got back into it after the divorce -- I needed the money badly. But I was 26 and had lost ground. Editors and agents forget. Still, there's good catalogue work, most of it is modelling 'young mother' sort of gear." She pointed to her bust. "But these still work. I still do swimsuits. Hell, I even did lingerie for a bit. Rickie Rai, the hot lingerie model." She rolled her eyes, and giggled. I realized she was relaxed talking about her body. It was her job. "Was lingerie fun or a bit scary?" I asked. "Ok at first, but the lingerie catalogues got raunchier. Now it's also tiny thongs, teddies, sheer panties, and the whole erotic fantasy bit with stockings, suspenders, and a garter belt. If you model, you do their whole range, and it's not just still shots. After Victoria's Secret, all the lingerie brands wanted sexy video parades for their websites. 'Dress like a hooker' is the motto. Actually I got a rush doing them -- then the day came where it got out of hand. "'Can you pull that panty gusset into your pussy so it wedges?' they asked. Then next on the list, they brought out red crotchless panties. Saying 'no' is complicated. I was near the end of their shoot, the client had spent a heap, and pussy flasher panties were the new thing in their range. "I was reluctant -- crotchless was taboo to me. But I agreed to some stills with my legs closed, so I didn't look a total slut. Then they started on the video too and I said 'no way.'"--." "Sorry, I didn't mean to be nosey. You don't have to talk ---" "No, it's okay, it's just shop talk," Ricky said, tossing her hair. "Well not quite, because I've never talked about it to someone outside. "You're full of surprises," I said. "But it's past history now?" "Not really," said Rickie. She hesitated, and then walked over to her laptop, which was sitting up on the counter. "What the hell - you'll find out anyway. Here, look at what I mean," she growled. "I'll google 'Rickie Rai Bare Pussy,'" she said, frowning. I was discovering Rickie is very direct. She clicked enter, turned the screen to me, and I saw the list of lingerie and celebrity porn websites. "If you google Rickie Fucks, or Beyonce Nude, or Paris Hilton Suck -- in fact just write 'fuck' beside any celebrity name-- and you probably get sent first to the list of these same dozen sites. Your voyeur can find Hillary Clinton Pussy but at least it's a joke. You get a shot of Hillary Clinton with a cat. "The porn sites pick up the lingerie brand video shoots. Like Kylie Minogue riding the bull for Agent Provocateur knickers. Boy, Kylie Minogue -- what a great ass!" Rickie clicked into the list of sites and pointed at the screen: "So here we've got Lingerie Model Panty Fuck. There's no panty fuck -- just me in that damn lingerie shoot. It's everywhere." The screen was filled by Rickie pouting down a catwalk in a scarlet bra and panty set, with suspender belt, stockings, and red high heels. Next she strutted out a blue teddy, then black leather boy shorts, and finally a white corset bra, garter belt, and stockings. Hell, she looked hot, she was sex on fire. The next scene came up, and Rickie was on a couch, her lipstick glistening, with a horny male model leaning over her, showing a bulge in his designer briefs. She reached up, stroked his hair, and a close up showed the panty crotch tucked deep into her pussy lips. Rickie punched my arm, and giggled. "I'm meant to turn you on Harry. Could you show a bit more interest, or are you more the knitwear voyeur? My boobs stand out good in sweaters." "Yeah I'll look at your knitwear, but can you lend me a pen to write down this website?" She laughed, and the last of the small tension we'd had watching the laptop, disappeared. She went to the fridge to get herself another glass of wine."So is there still enough model work?" I asked. "It's not bad. I get by fine if I can sell a painting a month. Maybe it's safer if I show you my paintings," she said. With our glasses in hand, she led me to the back of the beach house into a studio with large windows that opened to a view across a small lawn and garden. She had a half finished canvas on an easel, two tables laden with trays, paints, and brushes, and three walls of paintings. Not landscapes, but people at the beach. People sun bathing, and children at play in the water. There were old people with lined faces and sagging bodies, and young people exhibiting taut lines and vanity. Groups, individuals, some in still studies, others playing games. She watched as I took my time, appreciating how much she looked inside her subjects. She was good, very good. "Rickie, they're terrific. How long have you been painting?" "After daddy died, there was me and mom, and times were tight." Rickie's face had turned to a mask." I was sixteen when I won an artist's scholarship to the Pratt Institute. But then came the first modelling job and suddenly there was money, I was young, you can guess the rest. I can't complain, except for the Jerry mistake. That was just dumb. "I didn't start back painting till a couple of years ago, so that's ten years not picking up a brush. I'm way behind where I ought to be." We stood in the studio talking about Rickie's art and ambitions, and she grilled me closely about mine, and my gallery plans. We ordered in pizzas, opened another bottle, and it was my best night out in years. Rickie held me for a moment as I left, and kissed me lightly on the lips. "You're sad, Harry," she said. "Life's better than you think." I drove back to my motel room. I hadn't felt like this in years. I caught myself feeling happy. xxxx We met for a swim in the morning and coffee in the afternoon. Rickie was seeing a girlfriend that evening so I said the next night I'd take her to Uno, a smart new restaurant a few minutes up the coast. "Uno? No shit? It's the biggest new thing - I've read the reviews. I'll have to dress up." I spent the day anticipating, talked to a realtor, and looked at two possible gallery locations. xxxx The weather channel said a deep low hanging off the coast was a twenty per cent chance of coming ashore with gale force winds. It was already raining steadily when I took the road down to Morning Star beach, and pulled into Rickie's house. I sprinted up to the veranda, and she answered the door, her hair blown and waved, and dressed in a slinky white sheath that stopped just above her knees. She teetered on spiked high heels. "You like?" she asked, throwing a pose. I liked. I presented her the flowers I'd brought, and then, as she took them into the kitchen to find a vase, the storm front struck. It was a cocksucker. Nasty - the windows shook and rattled, a thunderclap burst immediately above, and we heard a lightning strike nearby. "Don't worry, we get a couple of these each season," said Rickie. "They pass in half and hour. I'll make drinks, if you phone and say we'll be late." The storm was still blowing full force an hour later when her phone buzzed. "Damn it, I was all dressed up and looking forward to this," she grumbled as she came back in the room. "That was Ronnie, the snoopy neighbour. There are two big trees down over the road. We're stuck here. "But don't worry. I'll throw something together. How about we have pasta?" We heard another lightning strike, and the power flickered, and died. We were stranded in blackness. "Best laid plans of mice and men," she grumbled. "I've got heaps of candles. When I find the matches, could you light up the fire? There's one set in the living room, and logs beside it. No power, so no pasta. I'll make up some cold things, and open more wine." We ate by candlelight beside the fire, which roared noisily up the chimney as each new gust shook the beach house. The rain squalls rattled the iron roof. We sat there, me wearing my jacket, and Rickie dressed for going out, squeezed into her tight sexy dress. xxxx It must have been ten o'clock. The wind had died, but the rain was heavy on the roof, and the power was still down. No music, no television, no books, just candlelight. "Maybe it's the night for playing cards? Can't do much else," she said. "I'll find the pack." We agreed on poker, plain old fashioned, but poker's best with money on the table. After half an hour it flagged, and we chatted on, opening the second bottle as we unwound. "It's a bit dull without betting. Did you ever get to try strip poker?" Rickie asked. "Yep, it was years ago when we wanted to peek. Everyone got chicken the moment it looked serious. Nothing happened." "Same for me - a cheerleader girl got down to her trainer bra, and it all went quiet." I cocked my eye. Rickie was a little tight. "OK Harry de Hunk, it's a cheerleader sort of a game. Put another log on the fire. We stop whenever I want to." I thought about it. Discarding one bit of clothing at a time, Strip Poker odds were stacked against guys. When girls dress up like Rickie had tonight, they have a lot of bits and pieces. She tucked her knees under her legs, and I got a glimpse of stocking tops, brown thighs, and suspenders. I'd have to play some damn good hands, or I'd be bare before she got to her buttons. Ricky lost the first to jacks, and took off her big gypsy ear ring, then winked playfully at me as its partner went with the second hand. We watched each other over the cards, the fire sparking, the rain pelting, as we played. My oxfords dropped on the floor followed by her high heels, a pair of watches, a tie and belt, her bracelet -- all the harmless stuff. Then the Strip Poker crunch began. She had Kings to my nines, and I had no choice but take off my shirt and sit bare chest. "You look good Harry," she purred as she flowed on with a straight to my pair of tens. She still had her dress on, and there I was, considering my trousers. "Tell you what. Why not change the rules and make it gentler," Rickie suggested. "We can do either clothes or a forfeit. So your choice is the trousers off, or I want you to come here and nibble my ear. That's easy." "Ok, the ear," I said and leaned over against her. She snuggled up beside me, lifted her hair to one side, and I dabbed her ear with my tongue. "Don't cheat," she said. "It's a minimum thirty seconds." I softly nibbled and licked her ear again, and then I moved to the other one. She giggled. "Bad boy - I didn't say you could put your tongue in." Rickie lost the next hand, and I said I wanted her to kiss me, a big juicy French one, tongue in. She climbed up on my lap, put her arms around me, and I think we went more than the thirty seconds. She tasted sexy, and the perfume on her neck made me dizzy with desire. I was on a roll, and won the third hand in a row. Ricky looked up at me, stroking my bare chest. Then she stood up abruptly. She turned her back to me and faced the fireplace. Rickie Rai, Lingerie Model "The zipper -- it's at the top of my neck. You'll find a couple of hooks too." I struggled with the hooks, and then slid the slipper down her long elegant back till it reached the white panties stretched over her curvy little ass. "Slip it off my shoulders," she ordered. Then, still with her back to me, she pulled the tight white sheath over her tits to her waist, slipped it over her backside, and dropped it to the floor. She stood still for a moment, and then turned to face me, her body silhouetted by the fire. This sounds silly, but I know I gasped out loud. She looked like a Playboy fantasy of a nurse in white lingerie. Her body was beyond beautiful, tanned, soft, and firmly shaped. I looked at the white corset bra jutting out her breasts, her erect nipples, the shimmering white lace panties, the tiny garter belt and white stockings. The sheer eroticism was theatre, but rang bells in my mind. The penny dropped. "But this is one of the sexy lingerie outfits you wore in the video," I gasped, my eyes on stalks. She laughed. "Remember, I told you I'd dress for you tonight. I just wasn't sure you'd get to see it." I went to grab her but she pushed me lightly away, eyes challenging. "Poker's poker, rules are rules," she said. "You've got to win to sin. Otherwise it's non consent." Rickie won my pants next and didn't offer any forfeit, so I was left in my underwear, my cock bulging, her staring at it. Then I won the next hand and didn't offer her choices either. I thought she'd be cautious and just unroll a stocking, but she looked me in the eye, hooked her fingers into her panties, pulled them down over the girdle and nylons, and stepped out of them. Her dark bush was trimmed to a neat brown triangle. Below I could see the split at the top of her pussy lips, which were long enough to quiver as she tossed the panties aside, and faced me. "I deserve a special forfeit,' she breathed."The insides of my knees are really, really sensitive. I want you to lick me behind my knee, Harry." She lay back on the carpet, shot one long leg in the air, unsnapped a suspender, and rolled a sheer white stocking up to her ankle. I put the leg over my shoulder, and ran my lips down her calf to the underneath of her knee. With her leg high in the air I was looking straight down her thigh at her large pussy lips which had opened, and glistened with her moisture. A small trickle of white girl-cum leaked from them. I hadn't realized she was so excited. I licked and tickled the back of her leg with my tongue, and she wriggled and moaned .I licked again, and after the thirty seconds I began to lap my way down Rickie's thighs towards the pink of her sopping pussy, but she grabbed my hair and grumbled, "Rules, rules, you've got to win it." She rolled the stocking back, fastened it, and then showed up with a pair of Queens. Rickie looked at me. "Now I want to see your cock," she breathed. I nodded --I had no choices left. My prick was so hard and excited I struggled to lift the elastic over the tip, and it sprung out and whacked her hand. She held it, wide eyed. "Fuck," she breathed. "You got a huge cock - you looked big in your shorts, but 'endowed' is hardly the word." Rickie licked her lips and lowered them towards the tip of my straining member. "Rules," I gasped. "You got to win for fellatio." She ignored me, and crouched in front, slipping my foreskin back over the tip of my cock, as she began to stroke it. In a moment her tongue was on it, wetting the head, and licking the pre cum that had began to ooze from it. Her tongue played with the slit at the tip, and she ran her red fingernails along under my balls, opened her mouth wide, and pushed her lipstick painted lips over the helmet of my excited cock. She sucked it a further inch into her mouth, and began to play with me, grazing my cock with little nips of her teeth. Slowly, pausing and sometimes gagging, Rickie slid her mouth inch by inch down my cock. When I felt it touch the back of her throat, Rickie began rocking back and forward, sucking and slurping, her mouth pushed wide open. All the time she kept her brown eyes fixed on mine, smiling up at me from her blowjob, her fingernails gently scraping the back of my hanging balls, her red lips working on my cock. With Rickie on her knees, I was looking straight down the front of her corset bra into her deep cleavage. It was strapless and low cut, and the moment I tugged the lacy cups down, her breasts tumbled out. They weren't implants -- these were natural -- big tits, but firm and shapely when they swayed beneath her. I cupped my hands under their weight, feeling their lovely softness, and she moaned as I began to gently rub and squeeze her hard nipples. Rickie pulled her mouth off my cock to catch her breath, and then returned to its tip, flicking her tongue along the most sensitive path below the clock slit. My balls began to spasm and, I softly pushed her head back off me. "You've got me losing control. I don't want to cum in your mouth. Not yet." She nodded, and I knelt, and lifted her up onto the couch to face me, with her pussy sitting up, exposed. As I pulled her stockinged legs up over her shoulders, my hand brushed the stacked pack of cards, scattering them everywhere. "Forget them, the house always wins," she giggled. "And it's my house." I slipped my hands under her curvy little bum, and lifted her pussy towards my face. Its long lips hung glistening in pink folds running from the clinging hood that protected her clitoris, all the way to the secret of her pussy hole. Her clit, swollen to the size of a fingernail, thrust wetly out from its hood, as if waiting for my tongue. But I started with my finger, finding her pussy hole, and playing at her entrance. I edged it in and out of her tightness, and then ran it slowly up inside her large labia. She stiffened and cried out when my finger reached her clit. "Get dirty," Rickie whimpered. "Go down on me. Please go down on me." She reached her hand back down to my cock again, holding me, and I used my fingers to keep her big pussy lips apart as I dipped my tongue into the top of her hole, and ran it up the deep channel between her puffy labia to her clit. For a minute, I vibrated my tongue against her clitoris bean, and she moaned and she twitched, her stockings and suspenders brushing against my ears. As soon as I took her clit into my mouth, and sucked it hard, she screamed out loud and began a shuddering orgasm, her pussy thrusting into my face, her long legs flailing. Rickie pushed my head away, and lay back panting, her body still twitching as the tension of her orgasm subsided. Then she smiled naughtily."I think your titty fuck comes next. I know you've been peeping at them ever since we were on the beach. So fuck my tits, sweetheart." She still had the corset bra on, with her tits spilling out the top. She took my cock in her mouth, wet it, and then I spread-eagled myself over her, ran my cock and balls up over the boned white corset, and into the soft tunnel between her warm mounds. She cupped her hands each side of her breasts, holding their smoothness tight around my cock, while she touched her hardened nipples with her thumbs. And she craned her neck down trying to reach my cock and lick it each time its length pushed through her tits to her face. She watched my cock sliding in and out of its foreskin as I fucked her beautiful breasts. My cock was tingling with pressure, my balls beginning to tense to shoot a load through the channel of her tits onto her face. She sensed this and whispered "No. Not yet. I want you to cum inside me." I pulled Rickie back down onto the carpet, and she sat astride me, dangling her tits into my mouth, so I could suck her nipples. She also had a hand round my cock, holding it like she was measuring it. "It's big but I've got to try," she muttered. Rickie hoisted her ass, and ran the tip of my cock along her cunt wetting it again. She rose further from her knees so that she was perched up on her ankles, her soaked pussy lips slithering around the helmet. I felt her fingers guiding my cock head up against her hole. She pressed against it several times, and I felt the tightness of her opening. Then it spread, and she dropped herself an inch onto my cock. Rickie perched at the top of its length and then, smiling down at me, she lowered another inch of her clinging tightness along my veined cock. It strained up to meet her. I put my hand down to help her, feeling how wet she was, but she gently brushed it aside, and pushed down harder on me. Her pussy convulsed and grabbed another inch of me. Then suddenly, my cock slid slickly through her pussy walls' resistance, and all the way into her. "Fuck," she moaned."I'm so bloody full. Be careful." Rickie closed her eyes, and still squatting, began to rise slowly up and down my length, her beautiful big breasts poking out of the corset, and brushing back and forth across my nose. Each time she rose, I felt the cool where her wetness was running down the base of my half exposed penis. Then she slowly enveloped me again, my engorged cock sliding up into her slick tunnel until it pushed against the knob of her cervix, deep inside her. She began to rise and fall faster, her tits thumping down on my face, as her gripping cunt slid up and down my excited cock. My penis was so hard it felt like it was bursting each time her pussy bottomed out on me. The muscles in my backside began to spasm and jerk. Rickie felt it. "Yes, yes, now, I'm ready. Fuck my little cunt," she whispered. She began to wriggle her butt around my cock as well as pushing up and down, and I felt my penis begin to spasm as the sperm rose through it, and I began to shoot and spurt uncontrolled gouts of cum into her. My backside must have been a foot off the carpet as it reached up pushing the last of my load high into Rickie's tight, grabbing, pussy. As our orgasms subsided, she slumped back down onto me, and wrapped her arms around my neck. Contentedly, she stretched out her long model's legs, so she was lying along the whole length of me, her painted toes teasing my feet, her creampie leaking over my thighs. "See what happens when you get hooked on gambling," I told her, kissing her ear again. "Mmnn, I reckon. Tell you what though. If you can beat me big time, maybe I'll let you let you try anal sex. I'm curious. But I don't know how I'd fit that cock up my bum. Maybe we should take stretch classes?" As I said, Rickie is blindingly direct. "Ah, Harry, Harry," she sighed, her elegant fingers fondling my hair. She looked more closely, and giggled. "I think you're getting a bald spot. We'll have to keep an eye on it. I got up, and put more logs on the fire. She fetched a blanket, wrapped it around us and we lay together, the flames flickered their light across us. The rain squalls rattled across the iron roof. Eventually we slept. xxxx I stayed on in the Morningstar motel room for a month, finalizing the lease of gallery space which was filled with light, and had visitor parking off the main street. I made several trips back home taking Rickie, who visited her mother and helped me pack up my things to bring back to the house on the beach. While it's a bit old and needs some work, it has space and charm, and is not a place you'd readily leave. The beach is just across the front lawn, and we started each day swimming, and finished with a cocktail on the ornate timber veranda, looking out over the bay. But the gallery was slow -- worryingly slow. We showed work from two sculptors I discovered, plus our own paintings. But it was nowhere near a living. It didn't even pay its rent. And then we had dumb luck. An art critic -- from the Washington Post of all places -- was on holidays, called into the gallery, and wrote a glowing review of Rickie's work. A couple of reporters connected the dots because next thing there were news stories -- slightly puzzled ones -- about a swimsuit model somehow making the transition to serious artist. As if she was some sort of cross-dresser of the arts. And then the New York Post found the porn websites. They didn't quite call Rickie a porn star, but ran an entire page stuffed with salacious delight about a lingerie model turned acclaimed painter. Much more followed, including a spread in the National Enquirer, which found the tucked in crotch shot and ran it beside an article on invading aliens. TV talk shows flew her in for interviews, always showing a clip from the lingerie video, and next the company made a conference call asking if she'd be the face of the brand. As it were. "You're terribly kind, but I'll pass," said Rickie, who was learning diplomacy. Sure, they treated her like some kind of bimbo savant, but Rickie's not silly, and the minx played along because our tiny gallery was getting more publicity than The Met. Rickie, the lingerie model artist, was a six month news wonder, but it established her as a minor celebrity. People didn't forget the Morningstar gallery's lingerie artist. More important to her, it made the art critics curious, and while there were a few knockers, in the main the reviews were plentiful, good, and sometimes glowing. We sold everything through The de Burgh Rai Gallery paying no expensive outside commissions, and soon Rickie Rais were fetching north of $70,000 the moment we showed them. Two went to public galleries, and several resold to private collectors at past $100,000. There was even a developing demand for her little known partner, the gallery genius, Harry de Burgh. There are a lot of nice things I could tell you about my wife. (Sorry, I forgot to mention that). One is that money hasn't seduced her or gone to her head. She's careful by instinct, which I discovered a couple of days after I moved in with her. I opened a drawer, and then three more. They were stacked tight with slutty lingerie. It could have been the wardrobe department for the escort trade. "What the...?" I asked. The drawers were full of satin, silk and nylon - camisoles, teddies and panties. "You must have spent a fortune..." "Not a cent," said Rickie, who'd walked back off the beach in her tiny bikini, once again failing to get arrested. "Once they've touched your pussy, they can't sell them. They always let me keep them. "I'll show you something," she said un-popping her bra, and sliding down her bikini bottom. Her beautiful big breasts sprung free, and she leant over, searching through the bottom drawer, her cute bum poked up at me, and her pussy flashing. "Got it," she announced. She brought out something red and flimsy, pulled it over her feet, and then tugged it up her thighs and across her little backside. They were the red crotchless panties. Rickie spread her legs so I could see the trimmed hair on her pussy lips, gave me her model's pout, and snapped the elastic. "I always kind of liked them," she said dreamily, bending over so I was looking up her ass. "Now, we were talking about anal?" xxxx Thanks. If you love Rickie she wants you to vote for her or comment. Like you, she reads more Quandom stories by clicking on my name.