Jessica makes for an arresting naughty-schoolgirl fantasy against a wall of red brick, a dark-haired beauty in chunky-framed glasses, a tartan pleated mini, a black bra and grey knee socks pulled tight over her shapely calves. She sprawls across a chrome bar stool with her back arched and one stiletto-clad foot hooked on the rail, the skirt riding up to flash a crescent of her peachy, porcelain bottom. Crimson lipstick marks out her mouth, her expression mock-indignant, her curvaceous figure poured into those tight cups with a depth of cleavage that promises mischief.

Perched upright, she crosses one leg over the other and fusses with a grey sock, the smooth sweep of milky thigh meeting the soft ribbed cuff just above the knee. She tips back against the neighbouring stool, soles aloft, the heels of her black patent pumps pointing skyward and the arc of her body folded into a tight, cheeky parcel of limb and lingerie. Then she stands, braced against the stools with her tartan pleats flipped up over her hips, baring the full rounded curve of her bare bottom to the camera, grey socks clinging to her calves as she leans into the brickwork with unhurried, wicked intent.