Devil Entendre

by Lawson, John Edward

  Occasionally one of the bodies would turn up and the ensuing probe uncovered the decedent’s lifestyle, leading the case to be filed under “BDSM gone awry.” During his excursions into the sexual underground he began to ask questions, which in turn led to more and more exclusive groups until he finally found himself immersed in a subculture composed of those deemed deviants even among deviants.

  Sanguarians they called themselves. Gathering in sweaty confines was such a conglomeration of nuts as he’d never imagined. The term vampire was taboo, although he discovered that “vamp” could be used playfully, a kind of baby-talk for the libidinously insane. From one secret meeting place to another, from city to city, he mixed with those with an unusual kink…that being blood play.

  Edge play, or blood letting, was far different from actual blood drinking. The folks he met at first weren’t that hardcore. Still, though, he managed to learn more than enough about technique: how to cut without killing. Most of this knowledge came from a fellow named Xavier. Ryder fancied Xavier as his tutor in some ways. Trapped in one of Ryder’s impromptu torture chambers the poor fellow spilled his Sanguarian secrets: the blood energy transferred from such consumption, the power to be obtained…the warning that blood energy should be only sparingly absorbed unless one wished to harm themselves. Ryder tested out all the methods Xavier described on Xavier himself, and they worked beautifully.

  During the intervening years Ryder drifted alone through the bloody mire of life. But meeting Serena meant that perhaps he could share his lust for death, finally, or so he hoped. After their initial friction the two got along swimmingly, she shackled and attentive, he spewing his philosophies while flaying Anne’s breasts, explaining the full process of distilling fifty five gallons of blood into one single, potent gallon of thickened syrup.

  “And how do you prevent them from getting infected?” She had noticed that over the course of her two week stay he’d only lost one vessel, and hadn’t bothered replacing her.

  “I used to be an EMT. Here, let me give you a crash course.” He shared his battle stories, tales of DUI victims impaled and still screaming when he arrived on the scene.

  More time passed. Ryder was reluctant to give away his secrets all at once. Serena came to realize that he did so well maintaining his victims’ health that he only lost two a month. Sometimes, though, he could be wasteful. Anne passed away after only three weeks, yet some of the women had been trapped there as long as six months. The problem was Ryder had been so desperate to impress Serena…he’d burned away Anne’s ears at the rate of a quarter inch a day, removed all her teeth and nails with pliers, even going so far as to de-bone her toes. Skinning various portions of her anatomy had proven the final insult to her weakened system.

  “Honey! Honey, I’m home!” Ryder dropped his latest catch on the floor and put the flowers and video on the table. He’d stopped off to pick up the latest in the Ass Masterson series to set the mood. Serena had been with him a full month and on that night he planned to make love to her Barry White style. As an afterthought he picked up the roses, figuring he may as well try and make it a little romantic. During her entire stay—or internship, as he preferred to think of it—they had not once been physically intimate. Unless, of course, you counted the cuts and burns he’d inflicted on her at the beginning of her stay.

  No, he’d finally given her the last of his secrets. After speeding for ten days his head wasn’t quite straight, but that was nothing new. As pumped up and excited as he was the only thing that mattered was the celebration at hand.

  Knowing Serena’s fondness for the dark brew he had picked up another of Middle Eastern decent. While strapping the groggy man into the metal chair which had tortured Anne, Ryder gushed about all the things which lay ahead. “You and me baby, we’re gonna be the hottest team yet. Fuck Bonnie and Clyde, Woody Harrelson and Juliet Lewis—you know, in that fuckin’ movie—we’re it, top dogs on the heap. What do you think, huh? Like him? I’ll bet he tastes just fine.”

  Finally he turned and came to the realization that Serena was no longer shackled, no longer sitting in the corner like a good girl. In fact, she was swinging a length of pipe right at his skull.

  When he came to his mind swam in an ocean of pain, guided only by the shrill screams of the man next to him. Instinctively he attempted to reach out, to tear at the man’s flesh, but his limbs refused to obey. They were buckled firmly with leather bindings and chains that were unfamiliar.

  Serena was using a knife to carve away the man’s skin in small sections, bringing to life the Mona Lisa on his quivering chest with expert skill—DiVinci would have been envious. “You see how I do it, asshole?” She directed Ryder’s attention to the angle of her wrist. “So totally amateur, you’re going around giving us a fucking tarnished reputation, you know? Jesus Christ.”

  A molt gag was in the darker man’s mouth, a kind of reverse clamp used in dentistry for keeping a mouth open. Ryder was at least comforted by the knowledge his choice in victims had suited her tastes. Using pliers Serena extracted the tip of the man’s tongue, then used a red-hot knife to slice the bulk of it out of his screaming hole. She threw the bloody stump, still sizzling, and it smacked Ryder’s face.

  “Fucker said he was FBI, so I cut out his tongue. I don’t wanna hear that shit.”

  “Serena…” His mind swirled. Could this be real? What had happened to the bond they shared, that he had nurtured over the past weeks? “What the hell is going on?!”

  “You finally told me the last little tidbit I needed to know about keeping these hopeless fuckers alive is what’s going on,” she replied over the tongueless man’s high pitched wheezing. “Cushy set up like this? Me and my friends are gonna be living like kings.”

  A hefty man sauntered down the steps. “Ya just don’t cwiticise a beautiful aw-Amewican town, my fwend…” The man who Ryder recognized as the local sheriff stooped down to be face-to-face with the delirious Middle Easterner. “This wight he-uh is the Amewican Dweam, ya got me?” He punctuated his remark with a few good slaps to the man’s face, then turned to Ryder. “And I might as wew thank you, suh, fo’ nabbin’ this fooh befoe he did any mo’ damage.”

  “You…you…what now?” Ryder was dizzy, the bizarre turn of events proving too much for his strung-out mind.

  “Yup. My men saw you—ya know what I mean—invite this gentleman to this wesidence against his wiw. Bet ya didn’t know that, huh?” Ryder shook his head.

  Serena placed the knife on a tray full of implements. “Bet you also didn’t know that we have our own Sanguarian society here in this town, did you? Huh, prick? Yeah, and we don’t do the sloppy job you do, drawing all kinds of attention.”

  Ryder considered the revelation. He’d only lived there a few years, and most of that time was spent on the road. “Son of a bitch. So we’re all good in the hood! Go on ahead and let me up, then we can do this pig up right.” Thank God, things always worked out “in the end,” as he was fond of saying.

  The trademark clearing of the throat announced Huckleberry as he descended the stairs, followed by the rest of the police department. “Sorry pal. We got our own rules and standards. You just don’t make the cut, so to speak.” He hawked up a lump of phlegm laced with bloody lung, spitting his tuberculosis directly into Ryder’s face while the others laughed.

  “Come on, y’ahh,” Sheriff Madison said while undoing his belt. “Let’s have us a good old time.”

  Leash Law

  It used to be that he only went on walks to pick up women, or that’s how it started at least. Sort of a casual thing really, one that became routine for him, and then the routine became ritual. Kendall hadn’t missed a morning stroll in the park for well over a year.

  Not that “stroll” could be considered the proper word, no. He had taken it up a notch or two since those early days of casually rambling along. Time was required to size
up the choices on the menu—and to strut his wares—and that being the case he’d bought himself a toy Yorkshire terrier to ensure a small stride on the dog’s part. The little yorkie was christened Khan, as in “The Wrath Of” or Ghengis…or “con”: what he was perpetrating with all that bleeding-heart, mushy-gushy animal lover crap. Not only is it a scientific fact that walking a dog causes strangers to approach and engage one in conversation, but such a diminutive canine would be “cute” and disarming.

  The truth of the matter was that Kendall hated dogs; that is, he hated them only because they terrified him. They had claws, fangs, slobber and other bodily excretions, and needs damn it all. Ruminating on the subject he considered that perhaps they weren’t all that much different than women: requiring an owner, capable of fulfilling certain desire, yet on the whole savage creatures. Well, there was one crucial difference. Over time Kendall came to actually like Khan.

  In fact he—well, no, he doesn’t want to think about that now, after all the recent unpleasantness. He’s trying to enjoy his morning walk, after all.

  Despite the fact that it’s overcast, and the park is blanketed in a dense fog, he’s determined to make the best of it. “I’ll be damned if I don’t get lucky today,” he told himself on the way out the door. Every time the chill begins to set in, every time he feels smothered by the cloying embrace of the early morning mists, Kendall tells himself that logic mandates he keep at it. Health nuts are the ones you’ll find out on a day like this, and there are female health nuts, so it follows that he’ll bump into one and take it from there. After all, those health women are such hardbodies, so tight…not like he knows for sure, but they look it.

  He carries the strap around with him all the time now. After—well, the incident—he kept Khan’s tags in his pocket as a keepsake. Sitting on park benches, or in cafes, or on public transportation, it just didn’t feel right. Sometimes he’d be nearly overwhelmed by this unfamiliar tremor of searing emotion. A kind of constriction would follow, then a sniffle which he could pass off as illness, and then the spasmolytic coup de grace…watery eyes.

  He wasn’t about to start crying over anything, least of all a dog, so he began carrying the collar around for comfort. Soon that too fell short, for he found himself emoting to strangers at random, once even starting in on a youthful nun about the fact that he was that boy—

  No. It’s a nice enough day…that is, it could be, so why ruin it with such thoughts? Why go there when it is hard enough to get the camera flashes out of his mind, forget the dizzying spin of the police lights. So far he hasn’t come across any women, nor any men for that matter. Even so he should keep himself composed in case things brighten up and he comes across a beauty.

  And it’s not like he actually needs the dog anymore to do this, no, hell no, he can keep going as long as he wants all on his own. Purchasing the dog was only the first step, something to kick-start his plan. He doesn’t need Khan—well—no, he doesn’t need anyone! Kendall doesn’t have time to waste on the dead, he has to keep moving.

  The first attempts had been feeble, even a bit embarrassing. What he needed to learn was consistency. It had taken a while to get used to owning a dog, reacting to it properly, keep from tripping over it when catching the eye of a prospective fuckdoll. Once the fine art of dog ownership was mastered it became apparent that further complications would hinder his quest for coitus.

  Women were generally too experienced for his little ruse, only commenting on his “adorable” or “precious” little dog if he seemed to be with another woman. No, no, only the youngsters would deign to comment—all too frequently boys—or men who only spoke to ridicule the size of his dog. Kendall told himself it wasn’t personal though, a fact which kept him cool and steady, for the most part.

  The first serious nibble came from a perky little coed named Colleen. They bumped into each other several times, becoming more friendly on each occasion, until one time she invited herself along to walk the park with him. It took a couple months for things to develop, but it was worth the wait. She was slender with small breasts and long, flowing curls. Sure, she had that innocent look to her, but when it came to the bedroom she was out of control. Naturally, reaching that stage involved a further investment of time and effort. They had to go through all the typical motions after the buildup in the park, all the expected bullshit, because she wasn’t jaded enough to simply cut to the chase. That’s the price you pay for snagging the young ones sometimes. Dreadful romantic comedies about college kids in love, restaurants, flowers and candy and little stuffed fuzzy fucking things, he paid for them all.

  Colleen, with the cutesy white athletic socks binding her wrists, wiggling her butt and swearing she’d be a good girl. Well, those were the good times, but it had to come to an end eventually. Not only did she start wanting help with her coursework, not only did she want him to keep paying for all that dating bullshit, she wanted to introduce him to her parents.

  “Yes, hello, I’m only a little younger than you and I’m banging your daughter through the mattress every chance I get, but hey don’t hold that against me!” Sure. Fuck that.

  By that point Khan was getting better treatment, which is to say no more kicking him about, no more with the starvation treatment when he got out of line. He’d served his purpose.

  One time Kendall stabbed a joker in the throat with his sharpened screwdriver. Nothing personal, but he was sick of all the “little dog” jokes.

  These days he isn’t prone to such rashness. Take this morning’s stroll for example. It’s a preordained fact of life. Every morning Kendall wakes up an hour and a half earlier than necessary and goes for his walk. When the days are longer he walks in the evening as well. But even on all the hundreds of walks over the past couple years Kendall has never seen the path branching off up ahead. Is that what it is? In this fog it’s so difficult to tell. Yes, he can make it out distinctly now. Must be new work, although he can’t for the life of him remember any construction recently. With a shrug Kendall makes his way down the winding path into the forest.

  After severing things with Colleen he got on with patrolling the area, trying his luck with the women. She kept after him, sending cards and leaving messages, and he even strung Colleen on a bit meeting for the occasional screw. In the end he considered it over, and was just biding his time for the next piece of ass to turn up. During that time Kendall’s only emotional outlet was Khan…the little rascal. The preferential treatment the dog was getting was starting to cost nearly as much as Colleen had.

  Then the worst happened. While hanging around the park one day after school had let out, Khan got away from Kendall. He was furious and frightened simultaneously. The little bugger sure could go when he wanted! He gave chase, losing the dog for a bit, only to find him in the arms of a young woman. Kendall neared the girl and her two friends, unsure of what to say.

  She was young—obviously too young—with a slight frame and pigtails, in some gaudy get-up that was all the rage with kids. Not that he cared as the clothes were close-fitting in all the right places. All three girls stood round coddling Khan in what amounted to a contemptible chorus of, “Awwwwwwwwwww, he’s so cute!” Relieved at 1) stumbling upon such a bevy of youthful vixens and 2) getting his dog back, Kendall was all good will, offering to take them out for lunch at a nearby cafe. Two of the girls, curvacious Tina and petite Shannon, turned down his offer, but the first girl was obviously in love with little Khan. Dee was her name.

  She waved good-bye to her friends and let him take her out for food and conversation. During this time he discovered that she was sixteen and hoped to maybe become a model or singer one day, like Christina Aguilera.

  “No way, don’t compare yourself to her; she’s way beneath you. You’ve gotta shoot higher than that.” It was an effort to convince her that he was serious, but the fact that she was so flattered made it all the easier to get her to go out
to a movie. The excuse was—being a movie critic—he just had to go to this movie, and wanted some company.

  This excited Dee because her father turned out to be the editor of the city’s biggest newspaper and she thought maybe they knew each other. When Kendall informed her that he was a actually freelance reviewer, working for publications all over the place, she wanted to put in a good word, get him a steady job at the Gazette, but he declined.

  The whole time he kept feeling weird about things, sure that he’d get caught, then confident that he passed suitably as her father to others. In the darkened theater, while they watched the latest steamy erotic thriller, he put his arm around her shoulders and the rest is history.

  The need to prowl the park became utilitarian: how else could they meet? Dee would stop by his apartment once a week and he convinced his neighbors that he was tutoring her—soon they wanted their own brats tutored—but they both desired more frequent interaction. Sometimes Dee couldn’t make it, and soon Kendall found himself bumping into her other two school buddies, Shannon and Tina, who exchanged knowing grins between each other when they greeted him. In short order the greetings became conversations, the conversations moved to other public settings, eventually to private residences, and it wasn’t long after that debauchery followed.

  Walking underage members of the opposite sex around your apartment on leashes does indeed count as debauchery.

  It goes without saying that Dee had no inkling as to what her friends were up to, and after six months of “going steady”—quite a significant investment of time for those girls—Kendall took Tina and Shannon on a trip to a cabin by some lake he’d never been to. Dee was content to stay at home, waiting for her secret lover to call while away on his business trip, conventioning with all the other freelance movie reviewers. Meanwhile the person whose wallet he’d stolen was not at their cabin and didn’t show up the whole time, so it was like a signal from God that he was in the right. Perhaps the wallet’s owner had some other residences Kendall could make use of.