Sarah stormed into her bedroom, still dressed in her work clothes, her mind racing with frustration and restlessness. She threw her purse onto the dresser and kicked off her heels, one of them skittering across the hardwood floor. She flopped down onto the bed, still simmering with anger from the events of the day.
Her eyes landed on the pile of feather pillows her friend had left on the bed. "Ugh, feather freak," she muttered, picking one up and squeezing it. The softness of the feathers was almost mocking in its contrast to her current mood, but she couldn't help but smile a little as she tossed the pillow in the air.
The pillow landed on her face, and she burst out laughing. The absurdity of the situation struck her, and she felt a little of the tension in her shoulders start to ease. She lay back on the bed, still chuckling, and picked up the pillow again. This time, she started hitting it playfully, imagining it was her friend's face.
As she continued to hit the pillow, she started to feel a strange sensation. The softness of the feathers against her skin was almost sensual, and she felt a flush creeping up her neck. She tossed the pillow aside and stood up, stripping off her work clothes and tossing them aside.
She grabbed the pillow again, holding it close and grinding against it. The feathers tickled her skin, and she moaned softly, feeling a sense of release she hadn't expected. She started to talk dirty to the pillow, calling it "big and strong," unable to help herself.
She laughed at herself, but the laughter quickly turned into moans as she continued to grind against the pillow. She started to imagine that the pillow was her friend's boyfriend, and she began to insult him playfully, calling him "weak and useless."
The pillow became a stand-in for all the men in her life who had disappointed her, and she let out all her anger and frustration on it. She called it "a disappointment," "a coward," "a failure." She imagined it was her ex-boyfriend, and she insulted him harshly.
But as she continued to grind against the pillow, something shifted. She started to imagine that the pillow was a stranger, and she began to talk dirty to it, calling it "anonymous and mysterious." She felt a thrill run through her as she imagined all the possibilities of what this stranger could be.
Finally, she imagined that the pillow was herself. She talked dirty to it, calling it "powerful and in control." She felt a sense of satisfaction and release that she hadn't expected. She reached her climax, feeling exhausted and content.
She lay on the bed, still holding the pillow, feeling the softness of the feathers against her skin. She smiled to herself, feeling a sense of peace she hadn't felt in a long time. The pillow had become a symbol of her own power and control, and she felt grateful for the release it had given her.
Want to know how it ends?
This is just the opening chapter. Continue the saga — or write a steamy tale starring you.