Catford Curves
"Plus-size model Ebere shoots her campaign at the Catford shopping centre. When photographer Isaac needs after-hours access, she stays behind and shows him every angle."
The Catford Centre was closed, but Isaac's client wanted night shots—empty corridors, moody lighting, urban glamour. And Ebere was the perfect canvas.
She was a plus-size model who'd made her name refusing to apologize for her body. Big in the best ways—wide hips, thick thighs, a backside that made designers create new patterns, breasts that needed engineering support. Her dark skin glowed under his lights.
"How do you want me?" she asked, already posing.
"Just be yourself. The camera loves you."
"The camera?" She smiled slowly. "Or you?"
The shoot was magic. Ebere moved through the empty mall like she owned it, striking poses against shuttered shops and escalators frozen mid-motion. Every shot was gold.
"Break time," Isaac said finally. "Water?"
"Something stronger." She sauntered toward him, still in her designer dress—cut low to show her spectacular cleavage. "I've seen how you look at me through that lens. It's not just professional."
"You're stunning. Anyone would look."
"But not everyone gets to touch." She took his hands and placed them on her hips. "Unless they ask nicely."
"Please," he breathed.
"Good boy."
She kissed him like she posed—with complete confidence and zero hesitation. Her body pressed against his, soft and warm and overwhelming.
"I want you to photograph me properly," she murmured. "All of me. No clothes."
"Here?"
"Here. Where anyone could see, if they were looking." Her eyes glinted. "Does that excite you?"
It very much did.
He photographed her naked in the empty mall—her magnificent body sprawled on escalators, pressed against shop windows, draped over benches. She was art incarnate, and he captured every curve.
"Now put down the camera," she commanded. "And use your hands instead."
She pulled him into an empty shop unit, all concrete floor and naked mannequins. She bent over the sales counter, offering him a view that made him dizzy.
"Show me you appreciate these curves. Every inch."
He worshipped her. There was no other word for it. His hands explored her generous body while his mouth followed, and she guided him exactly where she wanted.
"Yes... right there... that's it..."
When he finally entered her, she cried out with unashamed pleasure. Her thick body rocked against him, her arse bouncing against his hips, her moans echoing through the empty building.
"Harder! Give me everything!"
He did. She came screaming, and he followed, both of them collapsing onto the concrete floor.
Later, wrapped in his jacket, she reviewed the photos on his camera.
"These are incredible," she said.
"You're incredible. The photos just show truth."
"Mmm." She selected a few. "These ones are for your portfolio. These ones..." She smiled wickedly. "These ones are just for us."
"Will there be more private shoots?"
"As many as you want." She kissed him deeply. "A body like mine needs proper appreciation. And you seem like a man who knows how to appreciate."
His Catford curves had redefined beauty. And Isaac had found his muse—in every possible sense.