A bit before Thanksgiving Day back in 1993…
After just a single day i was already irritable.  When i was not trying to preoccupy myself with work and my effort to maintain an appearance of normalcy, i was constantly trying to think of ways to get even a little stimulation for my cock.  And by the next day, my cock’s frustration made me feel sure that, if it could be accomplished, even the slightest touch of it would probably trigger its release.  And although i thought i’d come close for a brief, child-interrupted moment with Kate as we showered together a week after “it happened,” looking back, fat chance of it. 
By then, the pretense that this was somehow all the result of my weakness, my ineptness and my naivete with the evil Ms Dommenique; and the related impression that My Wife, despite being upset with me about the whole situation, would stand by Her man and help me to get free of the cage; all of that was quickly dissolving.  More and more it was being replaced by Kate’s contention that She was somehow in occasional contact with – and more to the point, in agreement with – the bitch who had done this to me in the first place.  So when i complained to Her about my frustration and discomfort, my early hope was now fading, and i was no longer very surprised to be rebuffed. 
But now there was something new being offered.  "Doll, I spoke with Ms. Cleo and I’m not going to be able to unlock you – that’s really not my problem, but more something you’d need to work out yourself.  But I also don’t expect for me and my husband to go completely without sex; so since you managed to give your cock away, then I am going to fuck you, my pathetic little sqwishee!”
Now, in my first 47 years on this planet – in 30 years as a sexually active man, including all the years of my wonderful, sexy marriage – i had always understood that fucking is what the Man does.  i now shamefully admit that, earlier that year, in the grip of that damned Ms. Cleo, i had recently come to realize that while The Man Fucking has been my familiar pattern, it is not the only possibility.  So when i heard this shocking pronouncement part the lips of my own Beloved Wife, it sounded eerily like an echo of the butt-fucking Mistress i had managed to avoid for so many peaceful weeks until our unfortunate rendezvous in my garage just a week ago.  And eerily like Ms Dommenique, now My Own Wife was cuffing and chaining my hands, was pushing up my knees and messing with my anus as She told me what She was going to do to me.
What was i thinking, upon hearing Her say that?  Or maybe i wasn’t thinking at all -- again.  Was it the shame of my predicament being played out in front of the only Woman who’s Love and Acceptance meant something to me?  Perhaps i was just desperate for sex of any kind.  So while my words wouldn’t convey it, soon my asshole seemed to be saying, "OK…Yes.  Yes, anything – just go ahead and do it.  Anything!"
"Honey, I want to hear you beg for it."  Did Kate really say that, or was it an unconscious echo of Ms. Cleo.  She had taunted me, when She set me straight about the possibility, that one day i would beg for it. That fucker!  i was too confounded to know which was true – My Wife’s words, or an echo - but while i shuddered, i also secretly i imagined myself making such a plea.
The next half hour was thoroughly embarrassing.  i have to admit that, although i was nervous, i was also turned on when She started spreading the lube in my ass.  And when She started pushing Her strapped-on dildo against my opening – and when i relaxed enough to accept “Her” and let Her in -- then before too long i was having what now felt like – well - sex!  And as She fucked me, against all logical thought my pleasure built, and when i let it, then so did my desire for more, and more.  My ass was sore.  i didn’t have much confidence about that part of my anatomy --  what it could tolerate, nor at what cost – but there i was, taking it, accepting it.  But still my cock fairly screamed through its confinement.  Still no release.  My cock hurt, pressing against its unbreakable prison, unable to become erect.  i suppose at the time the pain merely added to this unfamiliar feast of sensations. 
Eventually Kate tired – or pitied my poor, spent ass, more likely -- and She stopped, grinning a grin that might set fire to ice if you saw it.  While i felt like howling my cock’s frustration out loud, i eventually calmed down, managed to relax and sleep.
A day or two later, desperate still, and even though i knew it might leave me weeping in frustration, i knelt before Her again, shoved up there on a pillow with my back to My Beautiful Wife.  And despite the duress of it, inside perhaps i begged Her again to please fuck me in the ass.  And again, after my initial uncertainty, i flew on the winds of sensation, only to come crashing down again later, wallowing in my cock’s unrelenting frustration.
i believe Kate was laying down some subtle new roles/rules while i was begging for Her -- futilely, i now knew -- to help me get free.  Just little things, really – using forms of the word “submission,” spanking me or subtly grabbing my ass or pinching my nipples or squeezing one of my freckles without any provocation -- just to make our roles – Hers as a powerful fucker, and mine as a “submissive” little sqwishee -- a bit more overt, and real. By not objecting, i guess i was agreeing to these new distinctions. Our relationship was getting a little more intense.
A few weeks later, needless to say i had no more influence over the cock encaged between my legs than when Ms Dommenique had originally imprisoned it when she had appeared in our garage just after Kate had called me to come home.  Now it was New Years’ Eve, and Kate seemed to be growing increasingly pleased with the transformation in our relationship.  I didn’t want to upset Her, but this seemed like a good occasion to “take stock.”
"Mistress (by now She preferred me to address Her like that, just as Ms Dommenique had done), i don't think i can take this any longer! i'm going mad, i'm so frustrated.  i mean, sometimes it's just so intense – fantastic, and exciting, true -- but when Your cock (it still felt awkward to say it, but She would only allow me to refer to it that way) starts to get excited, and then it can't get hard, when it can’t explode like it has always naturally done before “that night” – well, it gets so frustrating all over again!  Don’t get me wrong, Baby (i dared to call Her that, to reassure me that while our behavior had changed, our intimate marital bond was at least as strong as ever) i do so Love You!  i Love being dominated by You.  And i Love feeling trapped -- i even Love the frustration -- but Sweetheart – Darling - i'm not sure i'm strong enough to take all of this."
"Oh, but you don't have to be strong enough, sqwishee,” Kate responded with evident compassion. “That's what the lock is there for!"  She smiled so sweetly, and caressed my face so tenderly that i calmed down immediately, hanging on her every word. "I really want you to do this for me, sqwishee.  You know it’s what I need – what we both need, Darling.  There, there (and She stroked my nipples, and softly rubbed some of my freckles) -- do you think you can manage now?"
"Yes, Mistress," i said, much calmer than a minute ago.  "Please forgive me for ... my weakness."
"Oh, honey, I know it's not easy. It's not supposed to be easy, sqwishee.  Knowing how hard it is for you, knowing that you're suffering – well, it excites me!"  i swallowed as She continued. "As a matter of fact, I'm excited now.  And so I think I want to fuck your cute little sqwishee ass again!"
Things changed a little more after that. Instead of making me wait for so long that i would be willing to beg for it, She started fucking me in the ass more often, at Her whim. That meant i usually didn't have to beg – though i often still did -- and in some ways it made the frustration a little easier to bear.  But in other ways it made it harder, because getting fucked like that just excited me so, and immediately i felt the awful pushing against the cage.  i think She knew exactly what She was doing….
i have just turned 55, and we have long come to fulfill our altered roles.  It is evident just to look at me, as i have now been tattooed with more and more of my Mistress's marks over the past many years.  A few days after that New Year’s conversation, as a “birthday present,” Kate leashed Her caged cock and insisted me into Her car for a visit to a shop many miles away from our home.  There She had Her name tattooed in the shaved space just above, and to claim formal and permanent ownership of, the Cock between my legs that She continues to keep locked securely in its cage whenever She is not using it for Her great pleasure.  Thank goodness She was there with me, and even held my hand.  Given the locked cage, the artist knew i was Mistress's submissive little sqwishee even before “hanging a sign on there" to confirm it.  Are you surprised that i have never once ever strayed from my marital fidelity in all the ensuing years? 
Eventually, Kate personally tattooed what became a constellation of bold ”freckles” on me that is beautiful.  i wear it across my ass cheeks because that is where my Mistress can easily see it whenever She wants to fuck me in my asshole.  These and my other markings – She adds more to me, mostly more freckles, subtly but most deliberately on my “special occasions” -- are most wonderful to look at each morning and evening, knowing they are Her marks of ownership of me.  Kate knows Her owning me is the only thing i ever really wanted, i ever really needed, and the all-to-familiar pain i feel in front of the mirror that reflects back the cage, its lock and all of Her brands has long felt only exquisite, never again unwanted. 
The kids are old enough now that we can get away to our condo in “Sin City West" whenever Mistress wants to take me out on the town “to show off My precious little sqwishee.”  We have met lots of interesting people in places i never knew existed in that “City that never sleeps,” but She particularly delights at the huge number of casino chips i can carry, stacked neatlt within one of Her thick dildos, between my very freckley buttcheeks, after a particularly successful shift at The Tables.  (“See, i told you i would stretch it out,” She always giggles.)
Personally, i like the relief i feel when this courier service is completed, and i get to lay in the warm, soothing Jacuzzi in our extremely mirrored room.
Luckily, i have never, ever seen that bitch Ms Dommenique since that fateful night in my garage so long ago.  But even though Kate has been unwaveringly loving and devoted and is always genuinely proud of me, Her husband and lover, i still marvel at the incredibly coincidental physical and sexual resemblance My Wonderful Wife bears to that wicked woman – though maybe it is just the passage of time playing tricks on me.