Jessica liked to shower. As strange as it sounds, the shower was the only place where she felt more or less normal. It wasn't the act of cleaning herself that gave her that feeling, but the mist: she liked her shower so hot that within seconds, everything around her disappeared behind a thick layer of vapor. The shower head, the ceiling, the walls, the shower glass door, everything vanished from her sight... even her tits. And that was when she felt normal. She was a strong woman, confident in her skills and in her worth, but she knew that when people looked at her, they saw her tits first and foremost, and very often, they saw only her tits, as if she, Jessica Rabbit,the most successful nightclub singer Toontown had ever birthed, was nothing more than a walking pair of bloated meat balloons. She was a strong woman, but the weight of her tits sometimes dragged her down.
So the shower was her refuge, and it would be a perfect refuge if it wasn't so cramped. Every time she turned around, her massive breasts slapped against a wall or against the glass door, reminding her of her unique silhouette. Every time she arced her back to properly wash her hair, her imposing bosom pressed against the shower door, and every movement made her skin squeak against the glass. Jessica sighed. There was no escaping her reality, after all.
As she turned off the water, another sound she knew all too well filled the room: the distinctive "fap fap fap" of Roger, her husband, masturbating. She rolled her eyes and opened the shower door. There he was, sitting on the edge of the sink, his large hands wrapped around his cock, a monstrous beast almost as long and almost as thick as one of Jessica's legs.
"Oh! Oh oh oh... I hope you don't mind, my love?" Roger asked with a wide smile.
"Of course not, my honey-bunny. Of course not." And it was true: at first, Jessica had found it vaguely creepy to stumble upon Roger masturbating wherever she went in the house, but now, she was used to it. She knew he loved to watch her shower, though he could see little of her except when her breasts wiped against the glass door. She knew he loved to watch her bend over to scrub the kitchen floor, and struggle to do the dishes without dipping her bust in the hot foamy water too much, and wrestle with new clothes to force her generous bosom into them... He wasn't a bad rabbit, by any mean. His incessant masturbation was merely a sign of his undying affection for her.
Still, on that particular day, at this particular moment, she didn't feel like looking at him polish his enormous scepter. She let him play with himself as she dried herself, but as she began the difficult task of wrapping her dress around her overgrown mammaries, she asked, kindly but firmly: "Roger, honey-bunny, can't you put aside this penis of yours for now?"
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