-------------------------Jasmine was beautiful. She had long blonde hair and green eyes and was prettily dressed in a tight black skirt and a silky top that hung loosely on her shoulders and dipped seductively across her chest. We were at a media event in a big London hotel. She looked so good you would have been forgiven for thinking she was there to take part in the scheduled photo-shoot. She was not one of the celebrity cast list, however, and signed herself in as a working journalist.I was head of the PR team holding the preview of an upcoming TV programme in front of an audience of about 40 journalists and photographers, plus actors with lead roles in the production.Most of the journos were familiar hacks from national newspapers and Press agencies plus a few freelancers, all regular bunfighters on the London showbiz circuit. But Jasmine was a newbie. I needed to introduce myself to find out which publication she was representing. In reality though, I wanted to know about HER rather than who she worked for. She flashed a nervous half smile as I approached, offering my right hand by way of introduction. Her lovely eyes glanced down a little shyly. “Hi, I’m Tom. Glad you could come. I don’t think we’ve met before.” “No, it’s my first time at one of these,” she replied, as I reluctantly let go her soft, warm hand.“I’m Jasmine – or Jas to most people. I’ve come up from Norwich. I’m a feature writer on the evening paper there. My editor thought it would be a good idea if I came along because of the Norfolk connection.” The historical drama-documentary we were launching that day was partly set in Norfolk and much of the filming had taken place around Norwich. It concerned a woman raised in humble beginnings who became the plaything of an aristocrat and partnered him in his business and sexual adventures, eventually leading her to fame and fortune. Jas was young and, being from a provincial paper, didn’t know anyone among the world-weary London writers at the preview. So it was hardly surprising she was nervous. At once I found myself feeling protective towards her and went out of my way to make her feel at ease. The photocall was done first and the photographers left. Next was the screening of the programme for the journalists. Jas was hovering uncertainly so I smiled and beckoned an invitation for her to take a seat next to mine at the back of the room. Her pretty face lightened as she immediately accepted, touching my shoulder and whispering “Thank you” as she sat down, her shapely legs folding elegantly in the limited available space, feet close to mine. I leaned towards her, catching the scent of her lovely perfume. “This is the bit I dread - doing the introduction,” I said quietly. “Keep my seat warm!”I went to the front and delivered my welcome, giving the necessary thanks to everyone for coming, before handing over to the director of the programme to talk about the production. I returned gratefully to my place next to Jas as the lights went down for the screening. “You did that well,” she whispered, flashing another of her melting smiles and putting a hand on my arm with a half-squeeze of empathy. Her tactile appreciation took me out of PR mode and at once I was totally immersed in a private zone occupied by just the two of us. It was akin to that first date in the back row of the cinema...except there could be no kissing or fondling. More’s the pity, as the stiffness between my legs caused by Jas’s proximity was in serious need of her attention. Jas meanwhile was concentrating on another job in hand – intently watching the screen in front of us and taking notes at appropriate places. After 20 minutes or so, the programme reached a raunchy scene with the heroine indulging her lord and master in his sadistic desires. She was tied face down and naked, by arms and legs, to a four-poster bed and a whip was introduced by his lordship.Immediately I could sense a change in Jas’s demeanour. Not to one of embarrassment as I half expected, but rather to one of anticipation. She shifted in her seat and leaned forward. I could hear her breathing more deeply and saw her lips purse slightly in the half light. “You ok?” I couldn’t stop myself whispering in her ear, breathing in the delightful smell of her and feeling her blonde hair brush my face. “Oh yes,” she murmured, with a nod and that by now familiar, irresistible smile. As the scene progressed we heard – though did not see for reasons of television propriety – the lord and master deliver cracks of whip on bare flesh. I felt Jas’s leg push against mine. I saw her left hand next to me clench and she moved her right arm across her chest. Was it my imagination or was she touching her left breast through her top? We simultaneously glanced at each other and smiled. It was all I could do to resist reaching down and rubbing or patting her leg which remained in contact with mine and was seriously fuelling my erection. On account of her sideways movement, her skirt had risen up further revealing most of her glorious shapely thighs. I don’t know how I got through the next half an hour with Jas by my side. I was totally consumed by her presence yet unable to tell her, or show her, how much I desired her. The scenes of sadistic and masochistic pleasure on screen occupied only about ten minutes of the one-hour programme, but I knew they would define the film in the eyes of the Press. I also had the hope (and indeed the expectation) that they would define my immediate future as well, courtesy of the beautiful young woman sitting by my side...

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