From the moment I discovered Kindred , I knew this fantasy masturbator would take me to a whole new dimension. Its hypnotic design, its spectral lines, and the silent aura it gave off fascinated me. It wasn't just a desire for pleasure... it was an invocation . That night, I needed escape. Abandonment. A hunt where I was both the prey and the accomplice.
The first touch was strangely gentle. Her opening was welcoming, almost benevolent, but as soon as I entered her, the tension shifted. An enveloping, unsettling, almost mystical warmth gripped me completely. The interior was textured with unnerving precision: ridges, spirals, subtle contractions, as if every inch of my cock had been located, targeted, caressed by a spirit of the hunt.
I started slowly, savoring every bump, every strangeness. But Kindred didn't relinquish control for long. Soon, the grip tightened. The walls tightened with each thrust, as if she were urging me to speed up, to follow a rhythm only she could dictate . I felt my muscles tense, my moans muffled by the sensation of being captured, dominated, honored... as if I were marked, chosen by her.
The more I surrendered to her movements, the more bestial, ancestral the pleasure became. I imagined her breath on the back of my neck, her invisible claws on my hips, her floating voice whispering, "You are mine." And when the moment arrived, I exploded in a wave of raw, uncontrollable pleasure. A detonation within absolute silence. My mind floated, suspended... and she was still there, present, peaceful, as if the orgasm were an offering she had claimed and received with grace .
The descent was slow and gentle. The cleaning was simple, almost ritualistic. A little warm water, a suitable cleanser, and Kindred lay on my nightstand, motionless but still there.
Me? I was drained, fulfilled… and already ready for the next gank under the spectral glow of his presence .
