“pillow fight pillows” is morning light through lace curtains. She wakes tangled in white sheets, hair wild, skin warm. The first thing “pillow fight pillows” shows is her hand slipping beneath cotton panties already soaked from dreams. Lazy circles turn urgent; fabric darkens under her touch. She kicks the sheet away, knees falling open, giving “pillow fight pillows” an unobstructed view of fingers plunging in and out, thumb relentless on her clit. Sunbeams dance across trembling thighs. In “pillow fight pillows”, she comes quietly at first—then louder, back bowing off the mattress, crying “pillow fight pillows” like a prayer into the empty room as pulses milk her fingers dry.