The Fairground

The interview

‘Well, Emily,’ Mr Jackson sat up straight in his chair as he spoke, trying to give his words some gravitas, ‘I’d very much like you to start tomorrow evening. How does that sound?’

Emily grinned and placed one hand to her mouth as if to stifle an excited squeal. ‘That sounds wonderful, Mr Jackson. Thank you, you won’t regret this!’

‘I’m sure I won’t, Emily,’ he smiled, standing up and extending his right arm as an invitation to shake hands. ‘Welcome to the Adventureland family.’

As soon as the girl had closed the door on her way out, Mr Jackson loosened the top button of his yellow Adventureland polo shirt and exhaled loudly. To be honest, as soon as he set eyes upon Emily he decided to hire her. He only went through the motions of the interview in order to show her that he is the one really in charge around here, that this place would fall apart without him, and although he would be her boss, he is likeable and his door is always open if she needs anything at all.

He hardly listened to any of her answers to his questions; he was transfixed by her big blue eyes which looked up and to the side whenever she was thinking of the best answer; by her full red lips and the tip of her little pink tongue which darted out to moisten them before she spoke; by her ample bosom straining the buttons of her blouse as she breathed in. He had to concentrate to avoid staring at the little diamond shaped opening which formed in the fabric between the second and third buttons, revealing a tantalising view of a tiny patch of her white lace bra and just a glimpse of her soft cleavage.

Even before the interview had concluded Mr Jackson was considering scenarios where Emily would come to his office in tears to ask for his advice and comfort following a bad break up with her boyfriend, or she wondered if he could help to relieve the pain from a long-standing lacrosse injury which required somebody with big, strong hands to massage her upper thigh, or perhaps she had suddenly and inexplicably found herself homeless, and did Mr Francis, by any chance, know of anybody who might be able to offer her a warm bed and some company for a few nights? She would, she would say, gazing at him with those beautiful eyes and slowly licking her lips, be really grateful for his help. She would bend over his desk and pull her skirt up around her waist to reveal she wore no panties. Smiling longingly at her saviour and mentor she would present her tight asshole to him and purr that she would do anything to show just how grateful she was.