Laura Davidson, Keeper of Men

Chapter 2

Perhaps it was a bluff... a game which Laura would end with a toss of the camera and much shared laughter.

“One more, Tommy boy. Show the camera what you have.”

And then the onslaught of emotions brought a strange reaction. There came a quiver in Tom’s loins. Despite the coolness, despite the seemingly asexual encounter, Tom felt a stirring. The smiling Laura, revered by all for her beauty and unctuous charm, stood just a few feet away... yet more importantly for the young male psyche, the worshiped girl focused on him! Tom, the onetime geek... the center of her attention!

“Come, Tom. Put on a little show for me and the camera. It’s just the two of us.”

Reluctance turned to odd acceptance. Alone with the most beautiful girl in the school... a rarity for a boy with whom few chose to speak, Tom mentally cast aside the circumstances as Laura coaxed. She became a fashion photographer... setting the mood... the atmosphere. She spoke soothingly... but firmly... reminding Tom that he must earn back his clothing. As he stepped forth, hands obsequiously remaining atop his head, he exposed himself to Laura’s inquiring gaze... and that reckoner of truth... the camera lens.

“My goodness, Tom, so nicely equipped,” Laura chirped with the innocence of a young ingénue.

A full body shot... a lowered camera angle... and a zoom shot. Laura captured all that Tom sought to conceal. And yes, he began to perform indeed, casting aside all inhibitions as Laura worked her charm.

‘The camera will be mine,’ he told himself in mentally assuaging his concerns, ‘after she’s had her fun, and the car trunk is opened.’

Meanwhile, Tom experienced the strange joy of submission. He convinced himself that he had no choice but to follow Laura’s demands. And the stirring continued as she had him step from the water with click after click. Yes, Tom’s prodigious organ began to perform as well. It twitched. He felt the foreskin contract and tighten. And when Laura noted with girlish enthusiasm that he was uncircumcised, the attention began the cascade which the hormone laden Tom has so often experienced. Something about the voice, its tones, its youthful exuberance in being permitted glimpses of what few girls had before seen.

“It’s like a peacock, Tom,” Laura gushed in clicking a close-up shot. “I think it wants to stand for me.”

When a chagrined Tom began to turn aside in avoidance, Laura quickly reminded him of his circumstances.

“Long walk home on some busy roads,” she rebuked.

“It’s best to just let it happen. It’s only me...”

Yes, just Laura and the camera, a humiliated Tom realized.

Perhaps there could be a distraction.

“I can take some pictures of you, Laura. You’re going to swim aren’t you?” asked Tom while reaching for the camera.

Laura pulled away.

“No, silly boy. Just enough film for you... you and that big growing thing.”

And, with that, Tom began to more realize the wickedness of Laura’s ploy. Her focus was on that which had so rapidly matured over the past few months. And the more she focused, the more it grew. And the more it grew, the more Tom blushed with the rising humiliation. And that, in turn, seemed to make it further stiffen.

A catatonic state ensued. Tom controlled nothing. He did not know what to do other than to obey, wait for Laura to conclude her fun, and hope she needed to be home for dinner. But he began to realize it would not be easy. Laura was quite comfortable being in total control, very at ease with a naked male in a priapic state. There was none of the coquettish reluctance in viewing his rising manhood that most girls would demonstrate. And knowing that it was the object of her intent, it rose until the smegma coated purple head brushed against his belly.

Tom closed his eyes in shame.

“You’re embarrassed! So shy, Tom. It’s just the two of us. Does your thing always get hard like that when you’re embarrassed? When you’re showing yourself to a girl? ”

Tom’s p***s uncontrollably waggled as the seemingly innocent but well chosen words set aflame his psyche. Laura seemed to inherently know of that odd male proclivity, that certain degradation can bring arousal.

“What will you do with the pics?” Tom managed to stammer as he listened to more clicks.

“Open your eyes, and we’ll discuss it.”

Tom complied, of course. There was not much upon which Laura could not insist in his vulnerable state of coaxed arousal.

“I’m going to start a little scrap book. Just for me if you’re a good boy. For the viewing of others if you’re bad and don’t do what I want.”

And so Tom was had. And Laura found it not only simple... but most enjoyable.

The dinner hour neared. The film rolled to the end. Laura’s pleasant but firm demeanor softened. Her smile became a smug look of satisfaction. A good day’s work done.

“You can get dressed now. I’ll open the trunk. Want copies of the photos?” she tauntingly inquired.

A chagrined Tom dressed standing at the rear of the car as Laura took the passenger’s seat. A curious little plot, he again thought to himself, but the fallen tree will never be heard.

When Tom returned to the driver’s seat, he snatched Laura’s purse and withdrew the camera.

“Enough of your games,” he forcefully announced, his manliness restored by the comfort of again wearing his school attire.

Snapping open the camera he withdrew the film and placed it in his pocket. Laura feigned a pout, her look turning lugubrious.

“There goes an entire afternoon of fun,” she succinctly proclaimed, as would a little girl on a rainy day.

Tom drove in silence. There was a catharsis. Yes, Laura had temporarily gained an advantage; yet, in the end, her plot was foiled. No one would believe her story without the corroborating photos.

But the display of his aroused p***s was troublesome... and there was such enjoyment in so doing? What had happened?

When the car pulled to the front of Laura’s house, the vixen sprightly stepped out and closed the door.

“You’ve got a roll of pictures taken during my little brother’s trip to the zoo, Tom. Do return them so he won’t be too disappointed.”

And with that, Laura held up the actual roll of film, discreetly removed from the camera while Tom dressed.

“I think we’re going to have a very interesting summer together, Tom. And I’ve changed my mind about the little scrapbook. Instead, it’s going to grow and be very large. You’ll learn to obey, and I’m going to make a record of every moment.”

Running A Prison - Davidson Style - I

With a facility filled with the most vicious offenders in the federal prison system, there are few criteria for evaluating the performance of its management.

How many successfully escape... and what are the incidences of violence involving guards and other staff. That is all. There are no other performance measures.

All other benchmarks... inmate health... rate of recidivism... inmate death rate... inmate complaints... are superfluous.

With the type of criminals incarcerated at Lockwood Penitentiary, no one cares about the well being of the so called ‘residents’. Protecting society is the goal... the only goal.

And under Warden Laura Davidson’s tutelage, the small drab institution, located in the remotest area of Colorado, is rated as the most effective at protecting society. Thus it receives the most violent and the most incorrigible of prisoners.

In order to earn a stay at Lockwood, a prisoner must have been sentenced to a life term and have, at some point in his term of incarceration, committed an act of violence against a guard or other prison official. Only the truly truculent arrive. And as Laura Davidson smugly suggests to new comers, only the truly dead leave. The Lockwood facility is for those who are never eligible for parole. The only escape from Lockwood is in a coffin.

So with Laura Davidson’s exemplary record... no escapes... no reported incidences of violence... success is left to its own devices. How such a record is achieved, none care to learn. In the minds of the high ranking officials at the Bureau of Prisons, to send a recalcitrant inmate to Lockwood is akin to permanently solving potential problems. He is never heard from again.

As a result, few questions are asked. For example, no official file or document highlights the fact that every member of Laura Davidson’s phalanx of guards is female. No one questions the unusual purchase orders for expensive custom made stainless steel restraint devices... the constant purchase and delivery of batteries for the cattle prods. No one notices the paucity of orders for prison uniforms...

“Sign here and he’s yours,” a rugged federal marshal of considerable stature pushes forth a clipboard. His sense of relief is palpable. He has transported the notorious ‘day care bomber’ some fifteen hundred miles without incident. Despite the ineluctable bonds used and the weaponry at his disposal, separating himself from the vicious killer is akin to ridding himself of a heavy load. The five guards accompanying him, standing by with loaded shotguns, feel the same.

He disguises his amazement in encountering the sang froid of the woman who signs for possession of the well shackled demon. Spending three days on the road with the psychopath was bad. This woman will have him for a lifetime. And the contrast is striking. The scruffy prisoner... forcibly hunched in his bonds, three days growth of facial hair, bad prison haircut... appears to be more animal than human, chained as he is. The woman, on the other hand, is a true beauty, dressed not in a uniform but a smartly cut business suit. Golden hair well coifed, lively blue eyes, manicured nails, pleasingly even features; she could be an influential executive secretary for a Fortune 500 company. But instead, she stands in a chamber of concrete dealing with Earth’s lowest life forms.

“Be very careful, ma’am,” the marshal suggests most condescendingly.

Laura Davidson smiles demurely.

“Oh, I think we can handle him. We’ll make him very happy. We have some girls here who very much enjoy cleaning, cooking, and bringing a man his pipe and slippers at days end... the keys please.”

The flippant remarks, humorously ironic in Laura Davidson’s mind, bring a look of both concern and confusion to the imposing marshal. He is aware of Lockwood’s exemplary reputation and record. Could it be that the envied results are truly due to some misappropriated level of care? That the prisoners do not attempt escape or commit violent acts because they are coddled?

He does not intend to stay and find out.

Keys which fit the half dozen cuffs and locks are surrendered. Such secure the many feet of chains encircling the limbs and torso of the most hated man in the country... the psychopathic killer of dozens of children. The marshal gestures to his squad. They depart the receiving area without further exchange, relieved to be freed of their obligation.

The heavy steel door, the only portal to the outside world, clanks shut.

“Welcome to Lockwood, John Dullsworth Tubbs,” Laura formally announces with solemnity. “I am Warden Laura Davidson, and this is your new home... your last home.”

She smiles in imparting the ominous notion to the vicious killer that he has made his final trip, seen the outside world for the last time. John Dullsworth Tubbs remains silent, a typical reaction of the truly evil... threatening with diabolical looks and disturbing reticence.

Laura nods to guards standing at the ready.

“Some housekeeping chores before you’re taken to the Indoctrination Chamber.”

A uniformed woman of notable brawn places a heavy box at the feet of the well trussed prisoner. It is the guard known as Gloria... Miss Gloria to the fifty inmates of Lockwood Penitentiary.

“Miss Gloria is going to prepare you. We enjoy a certain look among the inmates, and we have our own system of restraint here at Lockwood. Our own way of doing things. I trust you won’t find such too confining...”

Laura laughs with her own pun as Miss Gloria works. The worn shackles are slid towards the elbows providing space for broad, smooth bands of shiny steel which are placed around each wrist and then snapped shut. The milling and machining are precise. When closed, no seam can be detected, and no hinges can be detected without the closest of inspections.

“I’m sure you were curious as to why you were given a full body scan and measured so carefully. Now you know.”