The Incredible Adventures and Life of my sister is a bitch Explained

“my sister is a bitch” is morning light through lace curtains. She wakes tangled in white sheets, hair wild, skin warm. The first thing “my sister is a bitch” 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 “my sister is a bitch” an unobstructed view of fingers plunging in and out, thumb relentless on her clit. Sunbeams dance across trembling thighs. In “my sister is a bitch”, she comes quietly at first—then louder, back bowing off the mattress, crying “my sister is a bitch” like a prayer into the empty room as pulses milk her fingers dry.