Chapter 16 – Deacon
Chapter Sixteen
Deacon
K eyshawn gives so little emotionally while she eats dessert that I have to fight the desire to upend her release day surprise and drag her to my bedroom to spank her. This should be a day of celebration, but she just scowls into the luxurious chocolate cake that I made for her. The cake should have been sweet enough to both atone for her time in the basement and to show her exactly how I feel about her.
I have to ignore that sly little question about whether I plan to kill her. Have I behaved in any way like a murderer? She just wants to piss me off with her intentional confusion over my intentions.
Luckily, my rule book should crystallize everything perfectly for Keyshawn's understanding. She finishes her cake, and I clear the table for both of us, leaving Keyshawn with a little wine. She sips sparingly, which I appreciate. I'm not the type of guy who needs my woman to drink like a biker. That's what I have my friends in the club for.
I spent most of the past few days drafting up a simple set of rules for Keyshawn. Clear communication is the center of every healthy relationship -- including this new one. I bound the rules in town at a specialty shop. The collection reminds me of my dad's copy of the U.S. constitution, a book he treasured and wore in his breast pocket until the day he died.
I set the black book in front of Keyshawn.
"Read these and sign the back."
"What exactly is this?" she asks. "Your list of conquests?"
"Open the book."
Debate and questions are for men who have limited control over their environments. Keyshawn should know by now that testing me with her sassy comments won't get her anywhere.
Keyshawn opens the book and glances up at me.
"You wrote this?"
"Yes," I answer. "Read it thoroughly."
I never intended for her to read it out loud, but Keyshawn sounds stunned as she runs her index finger over the title words.
"A list of rules and regulations for Keyshawn Yancey."
"Yes."
She shuts the book and I have to suppress my initial flare of rage. I can get her to comply. She will comply.
"What type of maniac would sign this?"
"Someone who knew what would happen if they didn't."
She looks more irritated with me than scared, which I didn't anticipate considering she just accused me of being a murderer.
"And what exactly could you possibly do worse than beat me, kidnap me, and possibly kill me."
"There are worse things."
"Like what?"
"Selling you to a Mexican."
She rolls her eyes and opens the rule book, mostly to tune me out. I only care about getting her to read -- and absorb -- my rules. I can adjust Keyshawn's attitude later. She purses her lips and slowly reads the first few pages before she scoffs out loud.
"You are out of your mind."
"Yes."
"I guess I understand why you're single."
"I'm not single."
This time, she glares at me.
"Aren't you?"
"We're together right now."
"No. We're having dinner. We are not together."
"Keep reading."
"I'm not going to..."
I interrupt her before she gets off another complaint. "Just read."
"You expect me to stay home all day working for free?"
"Perhaps finish before commenting on every page."
Keyshawn shuts the book again, bratty defiance settling across her soft features. "Do you custom print these for all your whores?"
"You are not my whore."
I slip up, my voice tense enough that Keyshawn can take satisfaction from upsetting me.
Keyshawn has sufficient pleasure from my frustration that she turns her attention back to my rule book. It doesn't take her much longer to finish it, but she scoffs and raises her eyebrows at various parts of it until the end.
"You aren't serious about all of this," she says, giving me a deep, penetrating stare once she finishes.
"What about this seems unserious to you?"
"If I agree to marry you and have a baby with you at the end of a year, you plan on giving me one million dollars to invest how I please. Where? You don't have one million dollars."
"Correct. I have several million."
"You're in a biker gang. You sell drugs. I might believe one million total, but I don't believe this. I think you want to beat women and torture them and this is all bullshit."
"You know I paid $20,000 for a night with you."
"Typical irresponsible spending from a man. Nothing special."
"You will agree."
Her eyes flicker with irritation.
"I'm not a slave."
"The last time I checked, slaves didn't get unlimited access to credit cards, and they didn't have the opportunity to earn privileges over time."
Still anger from Keyshawn.
"What makes you think I need a million dollars? I was perfectly content with my life."
"Not according to your diaries in Chicago."
"Excuse me?"
There. Finally, I have some semblance of the upper hand again. If she won't trust me, I'll have to drag her to that point myself.
"While you were downstairs, I did my research. I had to make sure you were... a good fit."
"For what? Being your sex slave?"
"You keep using that word. Is that what you want me to call you? "
She mouths the word "racist" and then pretends to re-read the first couple pages of the rule book so she can avoid eye contact with me. I can't punish her for bad behavior until she signs the contract, even if I desperately want to unleash my deep inner feelings on Keyshawn.
"Sign the document and we can move on. I've been nothing but kind to you tonight."
"Kidnapping victims everywhere rejoice at your generosity," she mumbles.
"I'll go get a pen. Give you time to think."
"Right. Give me a pen so the next time I speak out of turn you can... what was it? Give me a spanking?"
"Many women would envy your position."
"I guess none of them were available."
About to walk past Keyshawn to grab a pen, I remind her of what I'm capable of by squeezing her cheeks, forcing her to look up at me and sending a surge of panic straight through her that even her best efforts couldn't hide.
"I don't want another woman," I say to her sternly. "I want you. The perfect set of lips. The softest skin. The exact demeanor of a woman that I very much need. Never question my desire for you again."
I drop her cheeks. Keyshawn rubs the spot where my thumb and forefinger just dug into her jawline. Her glare is hot enough to set me on fire if I keep standing still. I leave her seated at the table to get her a pen.
When I return, there's no more wine in her glass. Good. I set the pen next to Keyshawn and return to my seat opposite hers at the table. I have big plans for her once she signs my document.
"This isn't legally binding."
"I'm the only one who serves justice in this house. It's binding enough for me. "
She takes the pen and flips to the back page where I printed a thick black line for her signature. My cock jerks to life in my pants when I realize that she's really going to do it. Even if she complains, signing that document will on some level bind her to me for at least a year.
"I have plenty of time to win your heart," I tell her. "Not just your signature."
Keyshawn gives me a flat, expressionless look.
"You will never win my heart."
She adds something onto the end that takes every ounce of inner strength not to smirk at.
"You can barely make me cum," Keyshawn says. "My heart is off the table completely."
She is such a goddamn brat. Fighting me until the end, even as she signs every inch of her life and her precious cunt over to me. Forever.