Laura Davidson, Keeper of Men

Laura Davidson Keeper of Men by Chris Bellows A Pink Flamingo Ebook Publication Copyright © 2005, All rights reserved No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without prior written permission from the publisher. For information contact: Pink Flamingo Publications www.pinkflamingo.com P.O. Box 632 Richland, MI 49083 USA Cover Art © 2006 YPVS www.renderotica.com Email Comments: comments@pinkflamingo.com Prologue Warden Laura Davidson always arises early after a long evening of steamy s*x. Her satiated quim requires tendance. It had been a typical seemingly endless carnal tryst. She smiles with the realization that at age 35, husband Jim can still go the distance, bringing her to a number of mild orgasms; until, in the throes of passion, she forcibly rolled from the prosaic missionary position to ride impaled upon hot male stiffness. It was there, saddled like an equestrienne, where she took more control, firmly pinching various sentient pink parts and reveling in the bucking reaction of her truckling husband, Jim. The resulting spasmodic motion finally began deep vaginal oscillations followed by a throaty gasp and a flood of juices; as, with one massive contraction, a concluding orgasm brought both physical collapse and ultimate ecstasy. A well trained Jim knew to let his spunk explode when he felt the tight, wet, warm glove of wife Laura’s love pouch squeeze with zeal, obediently timing his climax in order to best please... not daring to offer his own ejaculatory response until his wife was thoroughly gratified. Laura then slumped forward in the glow; her head resting on the chest of her well ridden husband, taking slow and deep breaths; her tangible pleasure heightened in knowing that across the room, peering in frustrated silence, was the human form which so much spurred her passion. As with every evening of making love, knowing that a male beast, kept chaste and denied all equivalent delectation, watched the unbridled passion and pined for climactic release long withheld, caused Laura’s mental euphoria to match the physical. Husband Jim has learned to accept the odd situation. After all, no one other than a few of the prison staff knows of the peculiar arrangement. The prison living quarters are secluded and obviously secure. No outsider will ever learn of the form’s presence. Therefore, Jim has learned to mentally shrug off the existence of the well restrained being. As far as he is concerned, if the presence of the peering form brings joy to Laura, then it brings joy to him. Over the many months, it has become akin to making love while the family dog observes with curiosity. Awaking refreshed, Laura glides from the bed in complete nakedness and tiptoes in the semi darkness. The form now sleeps, somehow finding somnolence while wrists and neck are bound in a customized Martin Rigid Stock. Hung from sturdy chains, the lengthy steel entrapment allows him to maintain a kneeling position but not to lie down. Thus, he more or less hangs upright, knees barely touching the tiled flooring, encased wrists held well out to the sides and at the level of his shoulders, the taut chains keeping his face at the level of Laura’s waist. “Wake up!” Laura draws back her right hand and swings viciously. A crisp smack stings the form’s left cheek. The sound of the single brief retort brings stirring from husband Jim, but he merely rolls; his sleep resuming as the form awakens. The thumb and index finger of Laura’s left hand find a n****e clamp. With a squeeze and a twist, consciousness rapidly returns to the form. He moans in surprised agony. “I have something for you,” Laura leans to hiss in his ear. And once again the utility of the customized stock is demonstrated. Laura’s left foot is lifted over the segment of steel lying on the form’s right shoulder as she holds one taut chain for balance. The right foot follows over the left shoulder, and Laura’s thighs and buttocks come to rest on the special metal plateau forming a small seat under the form’s ears and chin. She finds herself sitting on the broad, smooth stainless steel that encapsulates the form’s wrists and neck. The graceful and practiced maneuver reminds her of mounting a swing when she was a little girl. And indeed she sits grasping the vertical chains for balance with the form’s face within centimeters of her dripping mons. Her hips wriggle, and she slides her buttocks forward to establish even more proximity. The waking form, rudely conveyed from more of a comatose state of exhaustion rather than sleep, finds that warm, pungent and slimy labia was enveloping his mouth and lips. “Work that tongue! Jim spent especially deeply tonight.” The demanded wet appendage, stretched and specially strengthened, thrusts forth. The form must gather what he so longingly watched being expended, the remnants of a long carnal embrace. An arduous cleansing task begins. It is degrading work, but the form realizes it is the only reason he continues to live. Thus, he has learned to relish the endeavor as much as he relishes being permitted his next breath of air. To orally serve is to exist. Warden Laura Davidson - The Early Years - I mind that Laura Davidson would mature to be a beautiful girl. Open to speculation was the development of those feminine anatomical parts that ripen to transform a girl into a woman. With Laura, such blossomed with exhilarating attractiveness. Mammary glands grew firm and high on the breastbone. Calves and thighs rounded with athletic muscling cloaked by the creamy smoothness of perfect skin. Through tomboyish pursuits, even forearms and biceps developed with shapely attractiveness. With much practice, an alluring smile became beguiling. A mischievous girl found she could elude punishments meted to other teens. A captivating demeanor masked questionable deportment. Laura learned that, with feminine pulchritude and certain charm, she could avoid the pitfalls awaiting her equally fractious cohorts. Yes, Laura found she could manipulate. Boys wanted to be with her. Girls envied her. Adults admired her. She was initially aloof until it dawned that a price could be extracted from all. To be with her, and most males so desired, Laura found she could first glean..., and later demand. “It’s going to be hot. Let’s cut school and go swimming.” When Laura spoke, boys listened. And this boy, recently transforming with handsomeness and maturing physique, listened with particular interest. It was not often that the popular Laura condescended to speak with him. Tom never really got into sports, the activity which usually served as the supply for Laura’s cadre of boys for extra curricular activities. But of late, the bulge on the front of Tom’s trousers had attracted attention. Laura’s female acquaintances, she didn’t really have girl friends, furtively discussed the straining zipper with regularity. The mounting curiosity amongst the girls piqued Laura’s competitiveness. Tom’s burgeoning manhood was frequently the source of girlish discourse and conjecture intensified as to its size. A scheming Laura would lead the quest for more direct knowledge. “I don’t know, Laura. I always get caught. Mom and Dad don’t like me missing classes and won’t cover for me like your folks do.” It was true. After the fact, Laura always got her father to provide a note of some kind with perjured reasons for absence. Excuses were her specialty. Dad took dictation well. Besides, her grades were always exemplary. “So pay the price, Tom. They can’t hold you in detention forever,” cooed Laura. The tone of voice teased and mocked, appealing to the machismo of a boy who, without the aura of proficiency in sports, constantly sought self confidence. A challenge from the gorgeous Laura could not be ignored. A gauntlet was laid before him... by a girl! “Guess we can cut out at lunch time. It’ll be even warmer then. And I’ll only miss three afternoon classes.” Laura smiled pleasantly, the first step of her plan, luring Tom into her trap, was effortless. Rural California had warmth, sunshine, and abundant water. There were any number of watering holes. Laura suggested the most secluded. “We can go skinny dipping,” she enthusiastically proclaimed in directing Tom to the state road towards farm country. She smiled as she detected an anticipatory increase in the car’s speed, the priapic teen obviously envisioning her sans clothing. In just thirty minutes, the duo turned onto a narrow dirt road and stopped where thick bushes on each side could serve as changing areas. A pond welcomed with wet coolness. “Last one in is a rotten egg,” Laura exclaimed in a mocking voice, exercising the time worn expression with noted sarcasm. Tom dove into the bushes on his side of the car and stripped. Laura gracefully stepped to her side and there, instead of removing clothing, double checked the small camera unassumingly carried in her purse. When she heard the initial splash, she immediately yelled with the disappointment of her loss, and then surreptitiously stepped across the road in search of Tom’s clothing and the car keys... which proved to be easily found. “Guess I’m the rotten egg,” she laughingly declared through the bushes as she extracted the keys from Tom’s hastily piled clothing. Tom was completely unwary of her deception until he heard the trunk of the car slam. Then a fully clothed Laura exited from behind the car. What Tom always perceived as a coy smile became wicked. It was the same smile, just viewed differently as Laura held up the camera. “Photo time...” Laura’s smooth and confident voice announced. “Smile.” Tom stood in disbelief, the shallow water cloaking his nakedness from the waist downward. Laura’s camera clicked. An innocuous pose, but her scheming mind desired a montage. Tom was going to put on a little peep show. And as with all good prurient displays, it would start with something less suggestive... and end?... “Hands on head, Tom. And just take one step at a time toward me. I’ll just click. You’ll perform and put yourself on display. And, in time, I’ll show you where I hid the car keys. Then your clothes can be extracted from the trunk.” It certainly was not the first time Laura found herself in a controlling situation. She was just eighteen, but boys had been flocking to her for years – since her breasts first began their rise to prominence. There always seemed to be some obsequious lad sauntering about attempting to curry favor by offering to perform the simplest of tasks. Laura learned to accept the attention and turn it to her advantage. Homework was readily prepared on her behalf by the brightest... books carried by the strongest... dances escorted by the most socially popular... the ablest was always available to her whim. And now stood Tom... naked... wet... unable to extricate himself from a very embarrassing predicament unless the alternative of walking many miles home without clothing was plausible... which, of course, it was not. Could it be that Laura now had the biggest available to her? Tom’s options rapidly flashed before him. Unless he chose to stay in the water until darkness, hoping Laura had not brought a flash attachment, photos would be taken... with or without his cooperation. Yet, there was no one else who would see. No one would know of her commanding duplicity. There would only be the resulting photos and her side of the story. Yes, the photos, Tom thought as he slowly raised his hands as instructed. If a tree falls in a forest and no one is there to hear... does it make a sound? If he performs as suggested and the resulting photos are never seen... has the vixen Laura really triumphed in her scheme? “Yes, that’s a good boy,” Laura cooed in clicking again as Tom’s hands pressed against the back of his head. “Now take a step forward and pause,” she pleasantly commanded, her fingers working to quickly roll forward the film. Tom’s heart beat with thumping rapidity as there came another click and another command to step to more shallow waters. The emotions broiled... there was embarrassment... there was fear... there was concern... the unknown... but there was also strange admiration... that a girl could take charge... so facilely bring forth submission. And Laura seemed so confident... as if she knew how he would react. Another click, another step, and the embarrassment was turning intense... humiliation knocked. Only a half inch of reflecting water concealed Tom’s privates. Another step and that which no girl had seen, at least not with such brazenness, such one sidedness, would be revealed.