The Trophy, Segment Two

Arlen Jacobs Casperson leads a departing Charles Hanson from his office. Seeing the businessmen bidding adieu in the foyer, Nurse Grayson knows that Mrs. Casperson’s morning ordeal is finally to end. She slips into the opulent den, steps to a cabinet and retrieves a length of leather and hobbling shackles.

Moving to the naked hanging form, she notes the woman’s eyes are closed. Exhaustion overwhelms and the sight of the helpless well shaped plaything brings a smile. There is gratification in her dominion.

Totally unnecessary, Mrs. Casperson nude and yoked in the rigid stock, husband Arlen still insists she will always yield to strict authority, never to sense freedom. Thus the ankles are shackled, the connecting chain short. Never again will Mrs. Casperson fully stride, always to endure the power of another. The length of leather, a leash, is clipped to an eyelet on the Rigid Stock, just under the chin. Moving to the nearby wall, one switch is flipped, extinguishing a set of bright overhead spotlights. Then another causing, the hoist to again whirr. Her charge slowly lowers, Mrs. Grayson quickly returning to assure the swooning play toy does not harm herself in collapsing to the floor.     

“You did well today. Get you bathed, examined, fed and a nice nap,” strong hands guiding the voluptuous Mrs. Casperson to kneel as the cables are unhooked.

“Thank you, thank you. I’m... I’m very tired.”

“Can you stand and walk... or do you want to crawl for me?” a hand smoothing over the bald oil coated cranium as one would offer affection to dog.

“Please walk me... in a moment.”

“Did Mr. Hanson appreciate your... ah... display? You’re quite alluring when oiled.”

“Judging from his stares, I believe I performed to Arlen’s... ah... Master’s satisfaction. I don’t know why I cannot be hooded for these exhibitions. It’s quite embarrassing... naked, bound and... you know... bald.”

“It’s the way Mr. Casperson wants you. He particularly likes to see your naked skin gleaming while you hang under the bright lights. Like viewing a priceless painting at a museum.”

With that, Mrs. Grayson reaches into the right pocket of her uniform, there to retrieve a thick black garment. Abetting the sense of powerlessness, Mrs. Casperson is led about sightless. The hood slips with ease over the hairless head, fingers aligning a large opening for nose and mouth.

“Come,” a strong arm utilizing the leash to lift.

It’s slow and laborious guiding the blinded woman. But Master Casperson insists it is the only manner in which she is to be conveyed about.

‘She’ll feel better. It assuages a certain need,’ Arlen Jacob Casperson explained when first initiating Mrs. Grayson to the desired level of his control.

Legs shaky, it’s out the den door. Business associate Charles Hanson and financier Arlen Jacob Casperson remain conversing at the front entrance.

“A nurse,” Hanson observes in seeing the white uniform. “You do take care of her, Arlen.”

“She’s more of a keeper. The medical training is just one aspect of Mrs. Grayson’s responsibilities.”

“The yoke... is it ever... ah... removed?”

“Daily for cleansing.... but only briefly. And she’s kept otherwise well bound while being bathed. It’s... well... you’d not want a wife like mine... ah... to think she is privileged. Still she’s comfortable... having no cares... no responsibilities. Everything is done for her. I ask nothing and she does nothing.”

“Nothing but stand in your den, I see.”

“It soothes, Charles. Makes a tedious business day go faster. And you certainly don’t mind looking at her.” 

The wicked chuckle of voyeur Charles Hanson is left behind as the slow procession finally comes to the door leading to the basement chamber.

“Here we go. Slow going down the stairs. One step at a time.”

The verbal guidance is moot, for the hobbling chain of some eighteen inches only permits one very cautious step at a time. Mrs. Grayson leads, gripping the leash close to the Rigid Stock for support. Her naked charge follows... must follow... right foot down one step then joined by the left. Right foot down another step then joined by the left. The pace is grueling, mentally wearing. But it is as intended.

Meanwhile husband Arlen closes the front door after Charles Hanson and scurries back to the den. Turning on a broad flat screen high definition television, ceiling mounted cameras in the basement apprize him of Mrs. Grayson’s progress.    

It’s a favorite part of the day, watching the nurse ply her skills.