For several weeks, I had been honoring a new routine. It was one which meant that I would be hungry for a while, but I still somehow found a gentle pleasure in making my Master's Saturday mornings a little easier for him.
The first step in the routine was perhaps my favorite: I was to awaken him with oral sex. Given the often-cool air of the Bay Area in the mornings and the fact that we almost always kept the bedroom window at least partially open during the night, it was somewhat difficult for me to draw down the covers and expose my naked body to the chilly air. But, with an eager heart knowing what was to come, I would indeed draw down the covers and slowly caress and kiss my way down my Master's enticing body, my nose filling with his unique scent. Once in position between his thighs, however, I would pull the covers over me as much as possible, then begin my Saturday morning compliance, gently holding his proud manhood between my fingers, suckling slowly at the tip, and ultimately lowering my head, ingesting him slowly, tasting him with my tongue, loving him with my mouth, fondling him with my hands. Between the cool air and the pleasure I was giving him, my Master would moan softly and shudder erotically, signaling his happiness, his desire. But when he had had enough for the moment, he would gently nudge my face away from his crotch, and the first step in the routine would officially end... although I typically would crawl back up his body and ultimately share a few lingering kisses with him before moving to the next step.
The second step in the routine was for me to fix him breakfast. He never made a specific request; instead, it was my choice what to prepare for his morning meal. However, since I was not permitted to wear anything other than my waist chain – my "collar" – that meant that I could not go out to buy something, like freshly-made donuts or bagels, although I suppose that if I had asked, my Master would have allowed it. So, the choices came down to reheating leftovers or preparing something new; in either case, coffee was to be included, freshly ground from the ample stash we maintained and prepared not with the coffee maker, but with the French press instead ("Coffee made from the French press tastes more 'pure,'" he argued, although I could not really tell the difference).
Once breakfast was ready, including the coffee, I was to come to the bedroom to inform him of such. If we had slept in his bed during the night, he might be sitting at his desk at this point, checking e-mail or doing something else online; if we had slept in my bed during the night, he was still there, enjoying the warmth of the covers. In either case, while my mind had become accustomed by this point to the cool air in the apartment, my nipples would still be fairly hard, drawing his attention. Having informed him of the status of his morning meal, I would then return to the main room and kneel beside his chair, awaiting him.
