Devil Entendre

by Lawson, John Edward

  Those two girls came back from the cabin pregnant, a fact which soon reared its ugly head. Shannon didn’t say much except to cry when she found out; Tina on the other hand was a basket case. In the end she didn’t want her parents to find out what she’d done, so Kendall felt sure that he was safe. As for Dee, she was shattered, pleading with him, cursing at him, then pleading again. Her friendship with Shannon and Tina was ruined, as if any of that made a difference, and she began making all these fucking demands. Kendall gave his side of the argument: slapping her around a bit, throwing in the stray kick or two for emphasizing his points, then took her one final time. After getting that closing satisfaction he moved on and didn’t think about Dee—or her sniveling little friends—much at all.

  But that’s what men are supposed to do. Or, at least, that’s what his own father had done. Today’s early morning fog seems to be bringing back all of his memories.

  What about mother? The words “animal torture” resound in his mind when he attempts to summon her features. Ah, what’s the point? Her shoulders—collarbone and all—and the way she would do her collar, turned up just so, and her throat, the nape of her neck, the curly, dirty blonde hair, all of that he has a grasp on. It’s just that face…it could be any woman’s face. There aren’t any photos, and for some reason or another he can’t assemble anything from the fragments of his memories, so hers might as well be every woman’s face.

  So what if she had been a vivisectionist? The drug company’s life insurance policy was decent enough that his grandmother could raise him on it.

  It would really help if he could just find somebody else, any person would do at this point. It’s been—how long? How long since he’s had a good solid conversation? Without company there is no way for Kendall to verify that he is alive. Strangely there aren’t even the sounds of rush hour traffic to accompany his stroll today.

  If only he hadn’t—if Grandmother hadn’t—but why think about it? He runs his fingertips along his scars, then along the contents of his pockets for reassurance.

  There had been a bit of a dry spell after the teen trio so he fell back on Colleen. She was still sore with him, but it was better than nothing at all. Their time together was an ocean full of tension, one he rode through on her back, introducing her to the deviant acts he had grown accustomed to with the youngsters.

  Despite the diversion offered by Colleen, who quickly grew tiresome, Kendall continued to hang out in the same park, happening upon the classmates of his former bitches, or even worse, the girls themselves, which was quite an awkward thing. For them anyway, until they figured out not to frequent his hunting grounds. Anyway, all the young meat had been spoiled by their treacherous rumors. Every approach of a girl was met by a cautious glare. Once there had even been a man following him about, surreptitiously taking photos from time to time. What an amateur. Even Kendall could do a far more competent job; after years of practice he was capable of following women for days or even weeks, snapping photos all the while, without their knowledge. Perhaps he should’ve gone into the private eye business?

  Instead of contemplating such a move Kendall laid an ambush and broke the man’s arm with a pipe he’d found sticking out of a dumpster. “Stay the hell away from me, asshole. You tell anybody else interested, you tell ’em to come and sort shit out with me in person. Got it?” With a few more whacks to the ribs the man did indeed understand the message, and took the missive back to whomever hired him. There was no way they’d be unable to read his message, written in bruises and blood as it was.

  Didn’t seem to do the trick though, because soon enough he spotted a guy that looked like Shannon’s father skulking about. Kendall was sure—he’d seen the face in photos around their house enough times over the last year. He managed to corner Mr. Shannon in an abandoned building and break his leg with a piece of masonry. Then he savaged the fellow with fists and feet, knocking out most of his teeth in the process. This made forcing oral sex on the man all the easier, and Kendall whiled away the afternoon raping Shannon’s father as the devastated man drifted in and out of consciousness. Kendall made it clear that if he saw the man again he’d track down every person he cared about and do the same to them.

  The incident didn’t make him gay necessarily, it just made him a man you’d think twice about crossing. Staring down at that mucousy, bloody mess also made him rather satisfied in a way Kendall hadn’t experienced before. Naturally, this led to the occasional trapping and torture of mentally handicapped men. There was one named Tommy who put up quite a struggle but that had made it all the more exciting. Afterwards, though, Kendall experienced something that could only be shame, or maybe it was just the inertia caused by slipping from his daily routine. From that day forward he never missed a chance to walk the dog.

  Eventually he saw Shannon with her father while driving Khan to the vet. They were at an ice cream stand and it occurred to Kendall that Shannon’s father looked nothing like the man he’d gotten to know in the abandoned building!

  Thinking of that now brings a smile to Kendall’s face. That, and the fact that he’s made out a form up ahead in the fog. The closer he draws the more certain he becomes that yes, indeed, this is a woman, and a shapely woman at that. Back here, in these secluded woods, who knows? Could just be the perfect setup. Taking a glance behind him he still can’t discern evidence of any other living souls in this stretch of the parkland. Just him and this woman and—can it get any better?—if he’s not mistaken she’s walking a dog! Yep, the dark form making its way along the ground, the lengthy leash, it’s all too perfect. He can use this as an excuse for striking up a conversation. If this isn’t a sign then he doesn’t know what is.

  Would he do it here, in the park proper? Or would he try and lure her out to the cabin at the lake, the cabin whose owner he snuffed out after that trip with the girls?

  If only Khan were here…

  After snagging the high schoolers he bought Khan a plush, purple pillow to lounge on. No expense had been spared on food and toys; nothing was too good for his “lil’ buddy-wuddy.” All the more incentive for Khan to work his magic with the women after the whole debacle with the girls.

  The dry spell? Well—aside from the brief interlude with Colleen—it couldn’t last too long, now could it. No, not for a guy blessed with the gift of conversation, and those rugged good looks were killer, but the cinch was his little buddy, his little Khan. One fine day he was relaxing on one of the benches when a total hottie in a green and black jogging suit went by. Then she backtracked. Tall like a model, with a tight ass and flowing hair and the sexiest voice he’d ever heard: deep and sultry, dripping with lust, just as he hoped other parts of her anatomy would be.

  Stopping in front of Kendall she said “Hey, cute dog. Want a blow job?”

  Trish. Trish the dish that he kept returning to for second and third helpings. He’d never met a woman who so enjoyed performing oral sex, never even heard tale of such a creature in the wildest imaginings of the porno mags. They’d hardly said anything on the way back to her place—maybe they’d exchanged names, but not much more than that—because she dragged him into the undergrowth and sucked him off within the reach of the families and elderly traversing the pathways of the park. Exhibitionist sex was entirely new to him at that point.

  Then they stopped at a convenience store, ostensibly for something to drink and a quick bite to eat. Before he knew it Trish was dragging him off to the women’s bathroom.

  “What? I can’t go in there!”

  With a casual toss of her hair Trish informed him, “Oh yes you can honey. Take my word for it.”

  “But…but what about Khan?” His little buddy was tied up outside, but her perverse whispers persuaded him to go for it. Seconds later she was going down on him in a stall. They almost got caught but it was worth it.

  Eventually making it back to her apartment Trish
insisted on an anal reaming, which he administered with due haste. Afterwards they met every single day and night, Trish draining him of his fluids like some kind of symbiotic beast. From the start a few things didn’t feel right though. Why was she so desperate for sex? It was even a little much for Kendall to handle. And with a rack like she had it really bummed him out that her tits were off limits.

  “I just got them done baby. They’re still sore and, well, they just need some time is all.”

  With a hot bitch like that on his arm what was a little time? Kendall didn’t mind all the guys ogling over her ample bazoombas, as he affectionately thought of them. Okay, so she was a little older, maybe thirty to thirty-five. So what? Her mouth couldn’t get enough of him, her ass was his second home, and maneuvering in the dark he found her front door was every bit as tight as the back door.

  “Go ahead baby,” she would beg in the absence of light, both of them groping and writhing through the blackness toward ecstasy. “Shoot it inside me. Fill me up with your load, I want every drop!” It crossed his mind that Trish might not be on the pill, might be crazy and more trouble than those little girls, but it felt too good for him to resist it.

  One night, after a hard day of work down at the factory making those fucking ashtrays, Kendall set to spying on this Trish. They’d been together forty days and things kept failing to add up. Catching a glimpse through her window he realized why.

  Storming around to the front door he knocked loud and hard. When Trish finally managed to open the door—obviously she’d needed to throw something on—it was an awkward scene.

  “Hello there, Kenny.” Trying to be seductive, trying to mask the surprise. Bitch.

  “You know Trish…is there anything you’d like to tell me?” While Trish tried to formulate an answer Kendall smashed her between the legs with his knee. The testicles taped down within the panties were ruptured after the abuse he dished out as “Trish” AKA Tyrell lay bound and gagged on the floor.

  The bra with the fake boobs built in was the first thing to burn. Then the entire house burned, a beautiful backdrop for Trish’s strangling body jerking at the end of a leash. The other end was secured to a sturdy bough. Leaving the scene of the crime Kendall stabbed a man who may or may not have witnessed the spectacle. Although he never heard what became of the man, Trish sure made the headlines.

  Another murder which went unnoticed by the media was the one Kendall discovered returning home that night. The door to his apartment was open, and inside was the bloody corpse of Khan.

  It’s humiliating to be a man, he often muses. After all those months of getting by on vermin and rain water down in the basement as a child, before the authorities found him, it could rightly be said he had difficulty socializing. Grandma wasn’t a regular in town so nobody missed her after the stroke. It was somewhat comforting when the authorities informed him of the long and torturous death she must have endured. In fact, her decaying corpse laying on the floor above was doubtlessly responsible for drawing all the rats and insects which kept him alive.

  So, a lot of people keep children locked in basements. Hell, Kendall surely has in his time.

  By the time he’d started to crumble and began telling the young nun he was the boy so prominently featured in the media those many years ago, well, he just about lost it. He’d never mentioned it to another living soul so, for lack of experience in such a situation he beat her face to a pulp. That’s what you get for being the shoulder people cry on, and it’s time somebody took it upon themselves to let all the touchy-feely do-gooder types know it.

  He’s got a leather leash in his pocket right now as he approaches this new woman, a leash with a massive choke chain on it—one of those specialized chains with severe prongs along the inside, for training purposes. It’s going to be used to train society from here on out. Every time they find a woman or a boy or a girl dangling from a tree limb or a fence, yeah, they’ll know all right. Just thinking about the victims hanging there, bound, struggling in mid air as the dual rows of dull prongs slowly work their two inches through skin and muscle and blood vessels…it has given Kendall a painful erection.

  “Good morning,” he calls in his most friendly voice. He’s been perfecting his “aw shucks” good-guy demeanor in an effort to lull others into a false sense of security. It worked well enough on that retiree the other day. He conned the war vet so good that the old man let Kendall into his home. The old man was promptly bound and violated in every way possible, until such violations brought on death. Unfortunately today’s activities won’t have that kind of leisurely pace.

  There is no response from the woman. Instead, as they draw closer, Kendall realizes that she has not one but two dogs on leashes. That could spell trouble. His sweaty hand palms the sharpened screwdriver still hidden away in his windbreaker.

  The feel of the weapon in his grasp is no longer reassuring. He stands frozen in place, unable to look away as the woman and her pets draw closer. Thinking he’d make a joke about leash laws Kendall has glanced at the leashes and realizes they are attached to the stomachs of the dogs—no, are extending from the stomachs of these animals.

  The query, What in hell?, is frozen on his lips.

  The blood of who-knows-what is frozen on the muzzels of the tattered creatures before him. Seemingly once human, with broken and excruciated limbs allowing them to traverse the path on all fours, the beasts are attached to their owner by their own dripping intestines. At times dragging on the ground, at others catching on the foliage, the undersides of these slick excrement vessels have ruptured, announcing the trio’s presence with a pungent rancidness. The two quivering creatures unleash a round of bowel-loosening braying, the sound of a million skinned rats clawing their way through stringy pus-womb tissues toward the nourishment of your heart.

  Suddenly Kendall wishes he’d brought two screwdrivers.

  And the woman, if she may be referred to as such, the female before him stands gargantuan by comparison, pitiless in this lightless forest, daggers of condemnation in her glare, her livid skin a feast for the microbes, slick with the juices of decay, making a depraved joke of her luscious curves: buoyant breasts, fuck-bunny hips, with an otherwise inviting shroud of hairs where her legs meet.

  “Hey there, I haven’t seen you here before,” she sludge-gurgles, a viscous gruel of decay bubbling from her mouth. “You come here often?”

  His leash and collar fall from a pocket, the clatter as they hit the unforgiving pavement explosive in this pervasive silence. Trying to laugh off his nervousness terror offers, “I was just…just…looking for my dog.” The smile on her face, and the suddenly passive nature of the beasts before him, flood his being with a sense of relief.

  “Funny,” the woman-creature says. “I was just looking for my dog too.” The smile is gone from her face as she holds up a razor-wire collar, and dreadfully the beast-humans make way for a third—a new addition, to be their torture-bitch for all eternity.

  Leather Bound

  It wasn’t enough for Rocco to allow the Leather Man to extract his blood, nor was it enough to eagerly watch the Leather Man slowly sip from the vial…no, Rocco also had to pay the Leather Man to rape him afterwards, and that—oddly enough—is where the trouble started. Rocco had never been raped before, not even molested as a child, nor was he ever taken advantage of by a lover. In fact, depressing as it was, his lovers had never suggested anything kinky or even cheated on him. The men and women had come and gone but always the Leather Man continued to lurk at the periphery, a nightmare whispered on the lips of inebriated madmen, a bile duct gone awry in the organism that is society. The Leather Man, in all his splendor, was the only logical choice when it came to experiencing that one final thrill.

  Now that he’s in the thick of it the question comes to mind: when did his immersion in this seedy underworld occur? Rocco can’t remember, at least not while
receiving abuse from that studded leather tool. The stiff animal skin tightening around his throat, painfully covering him, excruciatingly inside him, it is all the culmination of his life’s twisted experiences.

  Mother had hit him with a belt once, one of Father’s leather belts. It was a long, thick strap which left the most gratifying of welts along his hip, hidden away from sight. Mother cried like a baby after that and, discouragingly, never raised a hand to Rocco again.

  When had things gone wrong? Not when the company decided to let his father go. Not when Rocco’s wife had miscarried, or even when she divorced him to shack up with that virile Mediterranean—it had been decided Rocco’s seed was tainted, bearing nothing but the genetic weaknesses of his bloodline. Not when he first caught a glimpse of the Leather Man all those years ago. His life had diverged from “the norm” when he received that nauseating phone call…

  They found Mother.

  “What are we going to do?” David’s emotions were just barely restrained. Although speaking over phone lines Rocco could envision his brother’s features easily enough: strained, pale, stress furrowed in his brow and cheeks, the effort to keep from bawling showing in his trembling lower lip and dimpled chin.