It isn't, but the thought of it makes you come twice.

Seeing your sister's face in a catfight magazine is more than enough to push you over the edge into a wailing orgasm that the neighbors could probably hear. You rub furiously at your pussy, letting the magazine fall open on the floor as you mash one breast with the other hand, tugging on the nipple until another surprise orgasm rips from you, eliciting another loud scream.

"Oh God..." you gasp. "Such a whore..."

Dazedly you pick up the magazine, wandering over to the hevily curtained windows. As a guy you'd hated having the windows open, the thought of people looking in at you while you were pulling your pud while watching porn was unbearable.

Now you yanks the curtains open and the blind up, blinking at the bright sun. Your eyes adjust, and you see your own backyard, your rear-neighbors windows in clear view. Could anyone see you from there? you wonder.

Smiling at the thought you look down at the magazine again to see what stage-name your sister used. Then you look closer and realize that this girl has smaller breasts, more musculature, shorter legs (you stick your leg up on the window sill like a ballerina to compare), a different shaped nose, and a patch of pure blonde hair.

Looking down at your own neatly trimmed bush you spy dark brown curls. Guess your sister never thought about matching the drapes and curtains. Somehow it seems so hot to think of her no doubt many boyfriends realizing at this point that she's a bottled blonde. Rubbing your fingers through the curls you wonder if you should shave it off, make her as bald as the porn stars you've worshipped.

"Mmm," you groan, the pulling of the skin going straight to your new clit. "Focus," you scold yourself, and look at the magazine. The girl doesn't look as pretty as you either. Looking at the uglier but stronger woman throwing her around you're certain the woman's enjoying herself. She has a look of contempt mixed with a feral enjoyment. Probably she likes inflicting pain and likes it even better when it's one of the pretty young things who no doubt made high school hellish for her.

Another groan escapes, your fingers not even touching your cunt as they yank on the skin above, making your clithood twitch up and down.

You flip through the magazine, idly wondering if any of the other fights in it are good, but stop when you see a page of ads. It's the sexy poses that caught your attention, but mixed in with the video offers is a few job offers as well.

'Girls wanted for live entertainment' 'Get cash for modelling' 'Adult actresses wanted' and 'Girls needed for Pussy Fighting and sister publication 'Cunt Busters''

Flipping to the cover you see the title is 'Catfighting Hotties'. Not as catchy, and you realize you may not have gotten the most hardcore magazine out there. Turning back to the ads you see an e-mail and phone number. Smiling, you rip out the advertisement (after making sure nothing interesting was on the other side, of course) and put the magazine back under the mattress, swiping a pair of twenty dollar bills and an old condom you dimly recall tossing there in an optimistic spirit four years ago. It's still sealed, you think with a shrug, so it's bound to still work.

You leave your former room, a little richer and hornier, and go down the stairs in search of the cell you know your sister has. You hadn't seen it in her room, so maybe it's down here. You sure aren't going to use the house phone to make that call. You stop at the bottom, hand on the bannister as you realize you don't need to use the phone. It might help to hear what they sound like, but you could use her webcam to take a few pictures and send them an e-mail if you're insane enough to go through with it.

The doorbell interrupts your thoughts, startling you enough that you yelp. Great, now they've probably heard you. Looking down at yourself you remember that you're naked. "Horny little slut," you scold yourself at the tightening of your nipples.