Cucked, Caged and Conquered: Part Sixteen (Patreon)

Thought you'd heard the end of this story? So did I. But the way I ended it felt a little abrupt and unfinished - something that was confirmed in the comments I got on the post. I was kind of torn because on one hand I just wanted to take the story up to the point where Grant got 'conquered' properly (hence the name of the story) by Cohen breeding his husband and becoming the keyholder for his cage. I didn't want to add a bunch of additional plot elements that came after. But at the same time I did want to kind of describe the 'new normal' that the three of them were in after that point, to give it a bit of closure.

So I've written a new conclusion. Keen to know if you think it's a good addition, or if you think I should just stick with the ending I had!

It was a little over a month and a half all up, from when Travis first told me he needed to be fucked by real men, to the night I finally got to watch him get bred by Cohen. Those six weeks or so completely upended my marriage and changed everything I thought I knew about relationships, sex, and my own desire. I’d been cucked, over and over till it had become normal. I’d had my manhood caged, and what had started out as a practical measure to keep me from prematurely ejaculating had become basically an entire lifestyle for me. And looking back now, that night when Cohen left with the key to my cage on a chain around his neck was the moment it became clear that my marriage had been moulded into new social order, with me at the bottom.

And as difficult as it had been at some moments, I fucking loved the entire ride.

That kind of emotional turmoil can’t go on indefinitely though — I don’t think my nerves could have withstood it. And after that night, with our respective places in the hierarchy established, we fell into a more natural rhythm.

Travis still hooks up casually, either through the apps or with guys he meets socially. Mostly though, that side of things has slowed right down compared to those first few weeks. Cohen keeps him plenty busy enough, and satisfied enough, on his own.

The two of them are pretty serious now. Well, maybe serious is the wrong word. I mean, Travis was right when he said Cohen isn’t boyfriend material: he’s way too unreliable and non-committal to ever settle down. He’s still fucking just as many guys on the side — if not more — than Travis is. I think he likes the thrill of the hunt too much. And I think that’s part of what separates guys like him from guys like me.

Still, the two of them see each other at least a couple of times a week, sometimes more. Sometimes they stay at Cohen’s to get a bit of alone time, and other times Cohen stays over at our place so I can be witness to the action. And there’s definitely a romantic, intimate side to their relationship that’s nothing like how Travis is with his other more casual hook-ups.

I don’t know if I could confidently say that Cohen’s in love, but I’m pretty sure Travis is. I’m okay with that though. Maybe I’m more than okay with it, because every little bit deeper he falls, it adds a new dimension to my experience of being cucked. I know Travis loves me too, because he tells me all the time — when he’s not giving me orders, or making fun of my caged, obsolete penis.

I know he means it too when he says he loves me. It’s just a different kind of love: a love that I don’t have exclusive rights to.

Cohen and I are closer now too. That sounds weird to say, because it’s not like we’ve become friends in the usual sense of the word, by any means. Or equals. He still bullies me just as much as he did before, and doesn’t show any sign of getting tired of it. And I’m still just as subservient to him, if maybe a little more familiar.

I’ve supplemented my Wednesday workout with a Monday one too, to coincide with his. I spot him on the weights, hold his drink bottle and the little towel he uses to wipe down the equipment after he’s used it. Sometimes when his friends are there I perform the same service for them too. He teases me while he works out, making jokes about my little locked dick and the fact that he’s giving my husband what I can’t. But he also helps me with my technique, and I’m actually getting into pretty good shape now. Not that being in shape gets me laid; I may have more muscle and less fat, but it doesn’t mean my performance is improved at all. If anything it’s probably got worse now that I don’t get to have real erections.

Besides, I’m not allowed to. Our open marriage is only open on one side, and that’s fine by me.

It still makes me a little sad sometimes when I think about all those years when Travis was so unsatisfied sexually but felt like he couldn’t say anything to me about it. I wish we’d both discovered earlier that I couldn’t meet his needs, and discovered how good it was for both of us to have our marital bed graced by men like Cohen that were superior to me. All those years Travis could have been getting fucked properly, and I could have discovered the type of sex that turned me on the most: the kind that didn’t involve me.

No point dwelling on that though, you can’t change the past. But you can make the most of the present. And that’s what I’ll be doing tonight, when I sit in the hallway outside my bedroom door, dick aching and straining against steel, listening to my husband get fucked properly.