A sort of homecoming

I’m writing this a week after I returned home from the holidays and my semi-dark meltdown. Lots has happened since then. I originally had the title of this post as Homecoming. Then changed it because I’m listening to old U2. You know, back when they had good songs and Bono wasn’t a self-righteous, criminal prick. And I have a thing for music references.

When I returned I was treated to mouthwatering homemade food and pussy action by a horny Maestro. We rearranged the bedroom furniture around so we could see the panoramic view better from bed and I swear I sleep better in there now because it’s more beautiful. Not that I slept a lot the first night. That night he devoured me. Long, slow scratches down my back gave way to sharp bites on the outside of my legs, my inner thighs. He caressed the bite marks with barely-there kisses to tease me, then slapped me on the back of my thighs. Pain exploded for a split second before the heat skyrocketed up my legs directly to my clit. He secured my ankles, not above my head as he often does, but to the end of the bed. Being restrained when he gets that devilish glint in his eyes and wicked smile … I knew what would happen next. He spent hours working his magic fingers and tongue on my fragile pussy. Oh yes – hours and hours. Time away always increases his stamina!

Dark storm clouds usually don’t circle that long overhead for me, and I am thankful for having Maestro in my life as my best friend. He’s my person. When I’m upset, I know I can talk to him. And right now, his patience, kindness, and honesty is gently pulling me out of my winter blues.