She asks, with a confused tone in her voice: "I don't get it - I just don't seem to get as clean as I should." I slip into the bath with her, and peel the damp, clingy fabric of her tank top away from her perky breasts. "You really shouldn't wear clothes into the bath; that's your problem right there." I scoop up a handful of bubbles and spread them gently over her breasts, then untie her shoes and toss them out onto the floor. "Ah, much better," she coos.

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She asks, with a confused tone in her voice: "I don't get it - I just don't seem to get as clean as I should." I slip into the bath with her, and peel the damp, clingy fabric of her tank top away from her perky breasts. "You really shouldn't wear clothes into the bath; that's your problem right there." I scoop up a handful of bubbles and spread them gently over her breasts, then untie her shoes and toss them out onto the floor. "Ah, much better," she coos.

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Poor KelyAn: short on consonants, hair fried by bleaching, and obviously fake tits. The world is hard on her, but nothing helps her relax like a hot bath: