Bathroom checking

Brandy Smile had her bathroom gutted and remade from floor to tile, and she wasn’t taking chances. She stepped in bare, testing each slab with her heel like someone checking a frozen lake. The toilet came next: she backed up to it, crouched, then eased all the way down, letting the whole weight of her hips press into the seat. It held. No creak. No give. Just her, thick-legged and seated, with nothing left to block the view of the new glossy walls and her wide reflection in the mirror. She spread her knees a little, ran two fingers across her stomach, down the smooth skin above her slick folds, and sighed through a smile. Guess the next time that ceramic wasn’t carrying just one person, it might have a lot more fun breaking in.