My name is Thomas, and I knew this Ankha-inspired masturbator wasn't going to be just another toy. As soon as I got my hands on it, I knew I was going to relive that scene that had been haunting me for a long time, the one that had left its mark on me the first time I saw that damn thing .
Even before I began, I observed him. The two cast feet were so lifelike it was almost uncanny: the plump pads, the elegant arches, the delicate folds of skin… everything begged to be touched. Just by lightly pressing them between my hands, I could feel that supple firmness that promised to encircle me perfectly.
When I placed my glans against the entrance, I felt a first shiver. The artificial skin was soft and slightly warm to the touch, as if it were waiting for me. Then I pushed slowly. The sensation was immediate: the firm arches closed around me like a living vice.
From the first few inches, my glans was sandwiched by the warm pads. The frenulum rubbed against a slightly more textured area , creating a delicious little snag with each thrust. The crown of the glans was massaged from both sides, as if two invisible thumbs were gently pressing it.
As I pushed further in, the pressure increased. The base of my penis was encircled by the thickest part of the arches. It was as if Ankha had me cornered, determined not to let go. The fine, asymmetrical ridges inside the pads scratched just enough to arouse the sensitive skin, without ever hurting.
I began to move slowly, and each backstroke caused the arches to slide down the length of my shaft, from the swollen veins to the tip of the glans. The sensation was constant, a firm but never painful lateral pressure , which felt like being squeezed by two warm, living surfaces.
Soon, my arousal moistened the insides. The lubricant transformed the dry friction into a warm, moist glide , amplifying every detail. The pads seemed softer, more enveloping, and the wet noise that began to resonate in the room only increased my desire.
I began to accelerate. The molded "toes" at the top brushed against my glans with each ascent, sending shocks throughout my body. The heels acted like a lock, holding the base under constant pressure that prevented the blood from flowing back down. It was as if every part of my penis was being stimulated simultaneously: glans, frenulum, sides, base... nothing was forgotten.
At this point, my hips were moving of their own accord. Every forward thrust triggered a wave of heat , every withdrawal a small, frustrating void immediately filled. I wasn't in my room anymore: I was in this fantasy, trapped between Ankha's feet, her haughty gaze fixed on me, ordering me to continue.
The climb was fast, almost brutal. The combination of lateral pressure, heat, and micro-snags on the brake finally drove me crazy. I held on for a few more seconds, just to savor the tension, then the orgasm hit me.
The semen spurted out in powerful pulses , flooding the tight space between my arches. The pressure they exerted amplified each contraction, emptying me completely. I lay still, panting, my cock still trapped in the heat, unable to let go just yet.
And the best part? Once I got back to it, the cleaning was almost as satisfying as the actual cleaning. A simple rinse with warm water, a little mild soap, and everything was as good as new , odorless and streak-free. It dried quickly, ready for next time. Because, let's face it... there will be lots of next times.
