Leash Law
by John Edward Lawson

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 which 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: in need of an owner, capable of fulfilling certain needs, 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 was 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 it. 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. Of course 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 this 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 at him, sending cards and leaving messeges, and he even strung Colleen on a bit meeting for the occasional screw. In the end though he considered it over and was just bidinig his time for the next piece of ass to turn up. As had been the case 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--and slender with 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, Tina (boob heaven) and Shannon (petite little thing), 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--had 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 though 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.

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, though, 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 keep him company 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 hey, it was better than nothing at all. There 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 a mentally handicapped guy. 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's relaxing on one of the benches when a total hottie in a green and black sexy 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, "Trish" AKA Tyrell 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. On the way from 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 thought. 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 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 lips 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?"

The leash and collar fall from a pocket, the clatter as they hit the unforgiving pavement explosive in the pervasive silence. Trying to laugh off his nervousness Kendall 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 sudden 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.

©2003 John Edward Lawson

www.johnlawson.org