A Rimming Valentine

By the time Celeste and I were about to celebrate our fifth or sixth Valentine's Day as a married couple the usual methods of saying "I love you"--fancy dinners, flowers, chocolates, and funny cards--had lost most of their charm and I was searching for a new way to send that message.

We were almost totally anal in our love-making because it felt so good and both got great pleasure out of both rimming and being rimmed. We knew that a tongue on or in each other's hole was a virtual guarantee of an unforgettable orgasm. Thinking about this, I came up with the idea of telling Celeste that I loved her with my tongue. To do this, I decided to use the Morse Code, the system telegraph operators used to communicate with each other but is now totally obsolete. It was something that had been imbedded in my brain from countless hours of practice years ago as a boy scout and seemed like a perfect, unique way to celebrate love's day with my wife

I planned the dots as quick, sharp stabs between her inner and outer sphincters with the tip of my tongue and dashes as long, slow licks across her entire asshole. It worked out as I (..) l(.-..) o(---) v(...-) e(.) y(-.--) o(---) u(..-) and it drove Celeste over the edge in bed the night of Valentine's day. By the time I sent the message a second time, she was groaning, by the third her finger was dancing across her clit, by the fourth this finger had moved to her g-spot and her thumb was on her clit pushing the two together. Halfway through the fifth send her body heaved up and she experienced an "I can't believe that just happened" orgasm. Her first contraction feeling as if she would nip the tip of my tongue off, followed by series of jolts that shook her body for several minutes.

"You just can't know how good that felt," Celeste whispered while we cuddled afterwards, "but what were you doing?" Stroking her shoulders, I explained about the Morse Code, and the "I love you" note that I had just sent. "Well," Celeste cooed as she drifted off to sleep, "that Morse guy certainly knew how to get a message across."

Over the next several days Celeste, whom you never would describe as the girl scout type, expressed an odd degree of interest in the Morse Code, so much so that I dug out an old boy scout manual and showed her the entire section on it. I should have known something was up because of the amount of time she spent studying it, but I didn't.

A week passed and then Celeste made an announcement over breakfast: "James" (I knew then that I was in trouble—it wasn't Jimmy or even Jim, so this was serious), "I'm going to rim you tonight and make your body scream but I have a musical message for you to think about during the day." Then she sang to me "Anything you can do I can do better, I can do anything better than you" from Annie Get Your Gun.

I walked around half hard and a little damp all day in anticipation of what was coming, and wasn't disappointed in bed that night. It was classic Celeste and began with her finger up my butt massaging my prostate but with a warning: "Don't fuck yourself on my finger. It's an appetizer, not the main course." Then the finger moved to the underside of my dick and she began to just barely scratch where the head meets the shaft. Finally, I felt her tongue on my hole and realized that she was sending me almost the "I love you" message that I had sent her. The dots were little pinprick thrust of her tongue that barely touched but felt as if a small electrical shock was being sent through my body and the dashes long, lingering licks that sent waves of pleasure everywhere. BUT THERE WAS AN EXTRA WORD AT THE END.

Once I decoded it, I would have thrown my head back and laughed if I hadn't been so far down the pleasure trail. As it was, all I could do was stroke my nipples and shake. Finally, during the fourth send, I groaned that I was going to cum. "Watch what happens," Celeste whispered.

I did and saw three huge ropes of cum rope out of my dick, with the first one landing right on my face and my body shaking as if it was going to fall apart during an orgasm that left me tingling everywhere.

As Celeste cleaned me up with a warm washcloth afterward, she asked "Well, Jimmy, am I right or wrong?" "I don't know how you could possibly be right," I mumbled as I drifted toward never never land, "but Annie was spot on about one thing. Anything I can do you can do better." You see, Celeste had not only memorized my Morse code message and sent it back to me. She had added -- --- .-. . (more).