Slipping into routine

If anyone were to ask me about my favorite time of the day, I would say it depends on the time of the year. Silly yes, during the summer months, when the days are longer, I love nighttime. During the winter, when the sunlight is only around for 8 hours, I prefer mornings.

Now, I'm amending that. It's right before I fall asleep. Omega has this habit of reading before sleep; I think it quiets him. He's got lots of nervous energy, but always keeps it tightly concealed. Nothing shows on his face, and it may look calm, but he's not. I notice it. The silent tap of a finger gives him away.

It's like his whole body bends to his wishes except for that one finger.

But at night his finger doesn't tap, it, and along with the rest of him is quiet. He places one arm around me, and I listen to the sound of his heart beating. He'll talk to me. Telling me how much he loves me, and how lucky he is. He didn't used to consider himself lucky. Everyone else was. I drift off to the sound of his voice.

He wakes to the sound of my voice whispering into his ear. He opens his eyes and faces the first decision of the day. Sometimes he'll just get out of bed, after kissing me but other days he guides me down on him. I get mentally lost in the worship of him.

I rise a little earlier than he, and watch him sleep. I bring my knees up, and just watch. Listening to the sound of his breathing, slow and even. Eventually, I pad off to the bathroom and look at his man things. I smile. Then I get a cup of coffee and return upstairs. I sip the coffee in bed. I find that I could light off a bomb in the room and I doubt it would disturb him.

After waking him, he'll get up, and will use the treadmill for 20 minutes (another thing he's encouraging me to do). Usually catching up on more light reading of some journal. He spends a lot of time reading for his work. I will then turn on the TV and catch-up on the morning news. Usually it depresses me so I turn it off.

He showers, and dresses often according to his mood or what's expected of him. If he has big meeting, then it's the dark gray or navy power suit. He rarely wears black. Then he drinks usually the rest of my coffee as I get into the shower. He faces his second decision of the day. Breakfast. It's a very important meal to him and one he's encouraging me to try. I'm just not a breakfast person and I know that's bad. It's during that time he writes me a note and lets the dog out.

I'm aware when he leaves not only because he yells from the door, but more because of the way the house feels when he's not in it. It doesn't feel right with just me and the dog anymore. It feels incomplete. I usually then go downstairs, check my calendar and email, tag and delete where needed. I will read his daily note to me and smile. Then I return upstairs to finish drying my hair, put makeup on, and dress for my day, but not before placing that note with the others I hide in a special place. Everything that I feel is important goes into this one box where it's kept safe and timeless.

I don't really dress according to my mood, but purely on the expectation of the day. Yesterday was very casual, almost unusually so. Odd for a Thursday. I spent the majority of the day in my office, with the door closed finishing research, compiling and typing the final report, which had to be handed in no later than 5. Office attire for yesterday was jeans and a tee-shirt. Today, I'm working from home so I'm going ultra casual and wearing sweatpants.

Omega will call me sometime just after I arrive at work under the carefully orchestrated ruse that he forgot to tell me something. It's really just to make sure I got to work safely. I realize he's also been doing that for sometime now but he doesn't require the pretense of simply thanking me for dinner or making plans. My admin assistant can tell time by him, as he calls at precisely the same time each morning.

My day passed as I worked, and soon finished with the report. Not that soon though as hours have passed. I looked at the flowers Omega sent on Monday and I smile. I pick up the phone and call him. He'll usually take my calls, unless he's in the middle of something incredibly important and can't. His secretary knows me well enough from our casual chats and she'll give me, almost unwittingly, some insight to his day. Thursday was a very bad day for him. I, of course, wouldn't have gathered that from his tone. When I spoke to him he sounded perfectly happy and relaxed. I find myself wishing I could see him. Then I would truly know how bad his day has been. I'd be willing to bet that more than just that one finger would give him away. He's rarely snappish with his secretary or anyone else for that matter. That day I was told, however, he'd been snapping at everyone and seemed edgy.

On my way home from work, I stopped at a liquor store and picked up a brand of gin I know he likes, and a pack of cigarettes for myself. Yes, I know cigarettes are bad, but I've seriously cut back--with a pack now lasting me most of the week. I run into the grocery store to pick up a couple bottles of wine and a few limes before heading home.

I stash the gin in the freezer and open the wine as I start cooking dinner. Almost nervous for the familiar sound of his car door. He phones and reminds me that he has a meeting after work and will be late. Damn, he wrote that in the note. I look at the food I've prepared and decide to stop cooking now, I can still salvage it later.

Eventually he does come home, as I'm finishing dinner. I'm rather startled since I didn't hear his car door, or even the front door opening. The dog notes his appearance but no longer reacts to it (he used to bark when he'd approach the door) and has gotten used to him somewhat. He reaches for me from behind, and pulls me close to him. I can physically see the weight of the world come off his shoulders as I melt into his embrace. The dog approaches getting upset at the show of affection, but he ignores it, turning his back to the dog. Surprisingly the dog sits, thumping his tail. Omega then lets go of me, and pats the dog's head and goes to the cabinet for a treat.

I wonder if I sit nicely and thump my tail, will I get a treat too? He reads my thoughts holds me again close, and I felt him pressing himself against me. I could sense the urgency of his touch. I turned the stove off. His eyes briefly glanced the glass of wine and then the bottle, taking note only a small amount is gone and I quickly offer it's really for the sauce and for me to drink with dinner. I tell him about the gin I purchased for him and he smiles.

He led me into the basement, instructed me to undress, reaching into his box marked toys, grabbed the gag and put it in place. My arms are bound above my head, giving him full access. He brushed my lips gently first with the whip. I shiver, and kiss it. As the first of many blows hit my body, I scream into the gag, he pauses, touching me between my legs, feeling the wetness and continues. Back and forth it goes until my mind goes away traveling far from where I am. I see brilliant color, and hear nothing. My arms have become noodles, as they fall to my sides, scarcely aware that the whip is no longer in his hand. He pushed me against the wall and pressed himself deep inside me. Filling me with him. My body reacted, while my mind it seemed, stayed away. All I know is that he is there. He held me afterward, my body shivered and I felt cold. He was patient with me, and waited for my mind to slowly come back, cooing softly while he wrapped me in a blanket and his capable arms. After a while he helped me stand and led me up the stairs into the house. He ignored the wine and gin, placed me on the sofa, and finished dinner. He returned frequently to check on me, making sure I was fine. I was basking in such a warm glow. He looked over the wounds left behind, few required special attention. Most will rise into beautiful welts he said as he kissed each of them.

He carried over a plate of food, positioned himself behind me, taking care that I'm warm and fed me as well as himself. I found myself opening my mouth like a baby bird. He wouldn't allow me to touch the fork. His appetite sated, he placed the plate on the floor for the dog to lick, and slipped his fingers into me, bringing me to climax fast.

He wanted more from me, soon was leading me up the stairs, and into the bedroom. He closed the door effectively locking out the dog. He started by planting gentle kisses on my neck and chest, then a bit lower. Then it happened. He kissed me down there and I recoiled from it. I started to cry. Leaving him very confused. He laid next to me and tried to get me to talk but I was overwhelmed. He couldn't understand my reaction. He just held me close to him. Eventually I was able to somewhat put into words that even though I had done that million times to others no one had ever....you know...

He was stunned. There was a audible "Wow."

He held me close. He was at a loss for words. It doesn't happen that often. He doesn't understand why I would recoil so from being pleasured in that very intimate way. I don't understand it either. How can anyone that just a couple hours before enjoyed being whipped go to the opposite extreme over something insignificant. Maybe it's not so insignificant.

I woke in the middle of the night, I'm not sure why. Omega was awake too. He pulled me close to him and sighed, not a completely unhappy sigh. I asked him what he was thinking about and he said that he felt lucky to have me in his life. I wanted to cry and blurted out an apology. He gave me an odd look and wondered why was I sorry.

He feels I take the blame for everything that is out of my control. Control is a big issue for me that he's noticed. He thinks it has to do with Alpha, and having such a loss of any control. That now there are parts of me that no matter how hard I want to, I can't give away. And he was quick to add that he doesn't care and he's okay either way. It disturbed him though that I was so harmed. After a few minutes of silence he said that had he known, he would have done something.

I remained quiet thinking about what my therapist had said about me blaming him for not doing more. That somehow he should have known. I shared that with him and I told him that it wasn't his fault either. I offered absolution. The last thing I want is for him to beat himself up over that. We continued talking until the sun came up and renewed our love.

I felt him, he was moving through me, encapsulating me with his love. I felt it surround me and overwhelm me. It made me shake, and cry. I wasn't sad but instead terrified. He didn't scare me; I scared myself. I'm petrified of loving him, of giving all that to him and having it rejected as not being good enough. But in that one brilliant, beautiful moment I did give myself, entirely, and he took but also gave back. And it was good enough. I was good enough.

He didn't follow the treadmill part of his routine in the morning. But he left for me a letter instead of a note. I read it several times, before tucking it away into that box that holds all my secrets.