Laura Davidson, Keeper of Men

Chapter 3

Yes, weeks before his transfer, a sedated John Dullsworth Tubbs spent nearly an hour in a magnetic resonance imaging machine. As a result, there was forwarded to Lockwood a host of data which was passed along to, among others, the high tech foundry which makes the metal bands. There, computer controlled milling machines worked to create restraints which fit the various anatomical parts of John Dullsworth Tubbs to within tenths of millimeters.

The dour guard slips up the pant legs of the denim prison garb. The old fashioned ankle shackles are slid towards the knees and similar bands are enclosed around the ankles. John Dullsworth Tubbs finds that though snug, the smoothly polished inner surfaces make the bands most comfortable. But for the notable weight, the adornments can barely be felt.

“Internal spring locks, Mr. John Dullsworth Tubbs. Once the bands are closed, there is no way to remove them other then by blow torch. Very annoying for the prison undertaker.”

Laura smiles as she detects a slight shudder from John Dullsworth Tubbs. Like most psychopathic killers, he has difficulty contemplating his own death, as if meting finality to others makes himself invulnerable to the grim reaper.

“And I think you’ll find your new jewelry to be comfortable. We’ve learned that comfort can be a very important aspect of long term bondage.”

John Dullsworth Tubbs stares at the alluring warden. His hate is palpable. Her calm, cool good looks make his immobility even more unbearable. He pictures her beautiful flesh ripping open after she opens her desk drawer to discover one of his clever home made bombs. For her, he would program a delay in the trigger... just enough time so that there would be cognizance over the horror of pending death... but not enough time to avoid it.

‘Boom...’ He must stifle a smile as he hears the explosion in his mind and feels his imaginary hand stroking himself, bringing forth the bizarre combination of death and ejaculatory climax which has driven his life of serial killing.

Miss Gloria stoops to retrieve a larger circle of metal from the box. It is the neck collar for John Dullsworth Tubbs. She has spent enough time around psychotic killers to know to avoid his mouth. Biting is always a threat even with the most well bound prisoner. She steps behind the hunched form, working to avoid potential contact with incisors, which can be the last effective weapon of the criminally violent.

Her hands work quickly. As with the other finely crafted circles of metal, the open collar closes with remarkable precision and with the sound of a firm click. To the attending staff of women, the sound has a satisfying finality.

“Collared... just like a dog,” Laura taunts, heightening her tone of mockery.

There comes a ceremonial pause. Two other female guards, standing at the ready but not proximate enough to draw attention, step closer. Each holds a cattle prod.

“We’ll need to remove all those nasty restraints in order to adorn you properly. But first, a little introduction to how we encourage good behavior.”

Laura nods to the guards. Each steps forward and casually points the only weapon permitted within the Lockwood Penitentiary facilities... specially designed electric prods... designed for use on cattle.

“I’m sure you’ve seen such devices. It’s best you also experience a little feel.”

With a nod, the two guards point the prods and, most casually, touch his right arm and left and gently press the triggers. John Dullsworth Tubbs makes his first sound at Lockwood. It is a pitiful cry of agony, bringing a smile to his newest adversary, she who will occupy his mind with unending plots for an explosive demise.

“A low setting. The prods can completely incapacitate when desired,” Laura calmly explains.

A stoic John Dullsworth Tubbs slowly sinks to his knees, involuntarily genuflecting to a woman he has quickly come to despise and more quickly than all the mothers to whom he sought to bring the ultimate grief with his diabolical incendiary devices.

The cattle prod bearing guards step away in a practiced choreograph. Miss Gloria approaches with a larger box. With the new arrival remaining stunned from the instantaneous charges, Laura steps forth and gruffly captures an ear in each hand. She rarely touches a prisoner but knows that one initial controlling grasp can aid in instilling a lifetime of servitude. Yes, there will come hate... but there will also come respect and fear... as intended.

To add to the ignominy of being brought to his knees by a cadre of women, John Dullsworth Tubbs must endure the secure yet oddly tender grip on his ears. The perfume of his captor invades his nose. He finds that the woman smells as good as she looks; her controlling hands transmitting a message of knowing authority. It is apparent that he is not the first vicious offender she has brazenly touched... demonstrating her intrepid governance.

“Now for our signature piece. It will feel a bit awkward at first. But you’ll have plenty of time to become accustomed to it.”

From the large box is extracted a four foot length of equally smooth and shiny stainless steel. In the center, there is a hole, the inner edge is grooved and large enough to accommodate the collar encircling the neck of John Dullsworth Tubbs. The guard bends the length to open the hole at the center and quickly places the four foot length over the shoulders of the stunned prisoner. She instantly straightens the thick bar and the opening closes around the permanent neck collar. There comes another click as some type of clasp secures the opening. The device is heavy, weighing many pounds.

“You’ll be heartened to know that the Martin Rigid Stock is not a permanent fixture, Mr. Tubbs. You’ll be able to earn a respite from it. But, for now, we like the mobility of our new arrivals to be completely limited.”

The keys acquired from the shot gun bearing posse are used to unlock the more conventional wrist shackles, ankle shackles, and accompanying chains. Metal loops at each end of the Martin Rigid Stock are pried open. The kneeling prisoner realizes that such will soon encapsulate his wrist bands.

“Now, be a good boy for us and lift your arms up and away from your shoulders. I think you know where I want your wrists, and I should remind you that there are well charged batteries in those prods.”

Realizing that the team of women has successfully garnished dozens of prisoners with the curious system of restraint, having felt the unbearable jolt of the cattle prods, John Dullsworth Tubbs, vicious killer of dozens, slowly lifts his hands in somber compliance. The knowing Miss Gloria quickly inserts right wrist band and then left into the openings. The bands fit perfectly within the circumference of the rounded metal openings. With a click and another click, the vicious killer finds his wrist bands encapsulated just as is his neck collar... within the grooved circular apertures of the Martin Rigid Stock.

The length of the stock is perfect. With arms held well out to the sides, the biceps of the prisoner are horizontal to the floor. The elbows are bent at ninety degrees, and the forearms point straight up to the ceiling. Hands, forced to uselessness, rest atop the four foot length at the level of his face. The awkward posture insures a good degree of practical bondage with a tinge of humiliation in being forced to assume such a humbling stature.

Miss Gloria adds another metal piece, seemingly as an after thought. A slim but sturdy bar of steel is clipped to the right ankle band and then the left, connecting the prisoner’s feet.

Laura releases her grip and tenderly pats the top of his head.

“Such a good boy. You’ll find that you can somewhat twist your wrists, arms, and head. You’ll walk a little funny with that spreader bar. And, of course, there will be no kicking. But otherwise, any further mobility must be earned.”

Laura steps back. Little does John Dullsworth Tubbs realize, the brief, brusque, and unorthodox feel of her fingers, resolute hands using his ears as handles, is the first and final occasion of experiencing her touch.

“He’s all yours, ladies,” Laura declares with a gleeful smile.

Such unexpected wickedness from a woman who ostensibly represents law and order. The guards who wielded cattle prods now approach with small tools in hand. Is that a cackle being suppressed?

“Box cutters, Mr. Tubbs. We have not found any tool more practical for the function required.”

The hapless John Dullsworth Tubbs, one time gruesome killer, now kneels while women of purpose s***h away. And the object of their flailing hands? His prison uniform... the sole remaining possession representing a system of incarceration from which John Dullsworth Tubbs has been banished. He is now at Lockwood... and will exist under the rules of Warden Laura Davidson.

There ensues a frightful interlude. Razor sharp blades cut and tear. John Dullsworth Tubbs startled at first, helplessly watches as heavy denim is shredded to meaningless strips of cloth... no longer useful as covering... not even useful as rags.

“Say goodbye, Mr. Tubbs. It’s the last vestige of covering for you. We prefer out inmates naked and vulnerable.”

With all elements of the tattered uniform removed, John Dullsworth Tubbs kneels completely naked before his new captor. For Warden Laura Davidson, it is a glorious scene of male supplication. She feels a twinge within her loins as Miss Gloria reaches for the final bands.

There come two more clicks as the thighs, right and left, are encircled with similar bands just above the knee.

John Dullsworth Tubbs glares at his new found adversary. His thoughts run rampart. Perhaps he will f**k her before binding hands and feet and inserting a stick of dynamite into her v****a. A slow burning fuse placed near her c******s should provide delicious moments for terrified thought and contrition...

“Make the genital ring nice and tight, Gloria. I find his look amusing... but he needs to be humbled.”

One last finely crafted piece of steel is drawn from the box. It is another band but with a metal post threaded through the circumference. There are also holes drilled within the perimeter for purposes unknown. Miss Gloria twists and the tip of the post intersects the circumference and slowly invades the inner diameter of the band, as a bolt works its way through a nut.

“You’re going to feel pressure where a man feels things the most, Mr. John Dullsworth Tubbs. From that recent magnetic imaging body scan, we were able to ascertain the measurements of your most intimate anatomy. And the adjustable post makes is impossible to slide off.”

Miss Gloria, smiling for the first time, stoops and abruptly gathers in her left hand the male package of the newly arrived prisoner. In her right is the band, and she tugs with her left, deftly encircling the base of the p***s and testicles. The band snaps closed with an authoritative click. It is tight, yet the finely milled inner surface does not abrade. The tip of the adjustable post can be felt just under the ball sac.

“Feel like someone is holding your balls? Some prisoners refer to the genital ring as the long hand of Warden Davidson, Mr. Tubbs. Over time you may come to think of it in the same manner.”

Warden Laura Davidson - The Early Years - II

“Nice of you to stop by, Tom,” an enthusiastic young Laura Davidson exclaims with feigned naiveté as she approaches Tom’s convertible.

Tom’s lips upturn in a meek smile of politeness. As if he had a choice...

“Glad you put the top down. The weather is super.”

Laura reaches for the door handle, pulls, and seats herself.

“Sent that one photo. I assumed you could imagine what the rest were like.”

Yes, days before, the mail arrived with an envelope bearing no return address. Tom was fortunate enough to snag it from the pile of bills and magazines before family members plied questions. Teens did not receive much personal mail.

He quickly tore it open to find within one of the first photos taken during the afternoon of hooky... the bizarre afternoon of Tom’s introduction to feminine governance.