Amber Austin - Tarotica

Instead, it was Henry who sought her out. He took her on a tour of the facility, pointing out the various departments and explaining the business with obvious pride. She had to admit, the furniture they crafted was beautiful.

Miranda asked about her coworkers. “Why are those old men working here? Shouldn’t they be retired?”

“They have always worked here, since before I was born,” Henry replied.

“Without their labor, this business would not exist today.”

“What about the retarded guy? And the blind man?”

The questions seemed to puzzle him. “What about them?”

“It can’t be cost effective keeping them on when you could hire more capable people to do their jobs.”

“And how cost effective, as you say, would it be if I put them out of their jobs?

Then they would earn no money, pay no taxes, and have to be supported by the state,” he explained, as if he were speaking to a child. “They do not want handouts. They want to have a chance to earn their own way. Besides, the blind man has eyes in his fingertips—he canes chairs faster than the sighted workers.”

Henry tapped the top of a bureau Miranda had oiled. “And the one whose brain is not so quick as yours, he does not let his mind wander while he works. He would not miss these spots, as you have.”

Chagrined, Miranda wondered if he knew she’d been daydreaming about Josh instead of concentrating on her job. Henry turned and started to walk away, then called back over his shoulder, “Also, I am a practical man.”

Miranda wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but he didn’t elaborate and left her to wonder. Is Henry a truly enlightened employer, a socialist, or a shrewd businessman who hires handicapped people because he can get away with paying them less?

The next day Miranda asked Henry, “What did you mean yesterday when you said you were a practical man?”

“I did not want you to think I run this shop on compassion,” Henry answered. “I am a businessman, not what you call a ‘do-gooder.’ I am smart enough to realize that people who do not have jobs cannot afford my furniture. Employers who think they are clever when they relocate their companies to places where labor is cheap…soon nobody will have the money to buy their products.” He shook his head. “Now I must go back to my work, and so should you. Josh over there looks like he could use some help.”

Today Josh was working at a table saw. Miranda grabbed the end of the board he was slicing and steadied it.

“Henry’s kinda strange, don’t you think?” she asked after Josh had finished the cut and shut off the saw.

“He’s odd, all right—a businessman with a conscience and common sense. Not many of them around these days.”

Before she could conjure up a good fantasy about Josh, her cell phone buzzed. Its vibrate function was so strong it could double as a sex toy. She flipped it open and saw Eli’s name on the screen. Excusing herself, she hurried to the restroom—Henry didn’t allow them to use their cell phones during work—and locked herself in one of the stalls.

“I want to hear about your dream,” she said.

“You’re lying on your back on my bed and I’m kneeling between your open legs,” Eli began. “In the moonlight your body is so beautiful, all creamy and soft. I bury my face between your breasts, then circle your nipples with my tongue, very slowly. My cock keeps getting bigger and harder, and I rub your nipples with its tip…”

Miranda interrupted, “Wait a sec while I get out of these jeans.” She pulled them down and sat on the toilet. Holding the phone with one hand she slid the other between her legs. “Okay, continue.”

Eli chuckled. “I glide my cock down your stomach, leaving a wet line all the way from your heart to your pretty black triangle. You moan softly.”

“Aaahh,” Miranda sighed, toying with her pussy.

“I tease your clit with the head of my big, hard cock. Can you feel me rubbing against you?”

Miranda flicked her swollen knob and pretended her thumb was his cock. “Yes, yes.”

“I don’t want you to come yet, so I run my cock down the inside of your left thigh then back up the right one. I feel like I’m on fire, like my cock’s a torch, so hot I’m afraid I might burn you. But you wrap your legs around my hips and pull me toward you.”

“I want you, Eli.”

“Now I’m stroking your seam with my cock, up and down, from your clit to your asshole and back again, over your clit, along your slit…I’m slick with your hot juice and my cock’s pounding so hard it feels like it’s going to explode.”

“Come inside me. I want you to fuck me now,” Miranda cried as she pumped two fingers inside her.

His voice grew deeper, his breathing more ragged. “My cock’s ramming into you now… all the way to the hilt… I’m fucking you hard and fast… deeper and deeper with each thrust. Your cunt’s gripping me… squeezing my cock… my jizzum shoots out… like a fire hose gushing.”

Miranda felt her cunt contract around her fingers as her orgasm rushed through her. “Oh my God, Eli, I’m coming…”

She heard him groan, “Aaawww, me too.”

Gradually the intensity eased, and Miranda giggled at the absurdity of talking dirty on her cell phone to a guy who might one day be her husband while she fingered herself in the ladies’ room of a furniture factory in Montana.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” she said.

Miranda hadn’t thought she’d finish the week, but she did. When she said goodbye to her coworkers at the furniture factory she actually felt a little sad. They’d accepted her without reservation into their oddball family, and in a very short time they’d taught her to value each of them. The mentally disabled kid who always had a smile for everyone. The patient old man who never lost his temper. Indefatigable Able, who willingly helped anyone who fell behind. And Henry, whose employees respected him because he treated them with respect.

“I’m glad I had the opportunity to meet you all,” she said, sincerely.

She’d never managed to do Josh—it turned out he had a steady girlfriend and wasn’t the cheating kind—which was okay with Miranda. He was definitely cute, but not as cute as Eli.

When Miranda opened her eyes, dawn was leaking through the curtains of her room in the little B&B near Durango, Colorado. She pulled the covers over her head and tried to go back to sleep, but her bladder wouldn’t let her. Reluctantly, she pushed herself up and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Her stomach lurched. Her head roared like a blender whipping up a batch of daiquiris.

Way too many daiquiris, she lamented as she stumbled into the bathroom. She peed, then splashed cold water on her face. What a night. She glanced at herself in the mirror, decided, I look like hell, and searched through her toiletry case for some Alka Seltzer.

That cute Jamaican guy with the dreadlocks had sure done some amazing things with rum. And with his tongue. Miranda smiled, remembering how he’d brought a tray of frozen strawberry-and-banana cocktails to her table beside the swimming pool. She was sitting with three women who’d invited her to come with them to a party given by a software tycoon at his mountainside mansion.

The Jamaican’s flowered swimming trunks hung low on his hips, revealing six-pack abs and a hint of curly dark hair peeking above the waistband. His sleek skin shone like polished mahogany. He caught Miranda sizing him up and grinned, his teeth sparkling like stars. As he leaned forward to set her glass on the table, his hand brushed her shoulder and he spilled some of the icy drink on her arm.