Jodie Gasson steps into the studio against a soft grey sweep looking every inch the buxom bombshell, her honey-streaked hair tumbling over bare shoulders and a smile held just at the edge of mischief. She wears a sheer black lace teddy that plunges deep across her voluptuous cleavage, the fabric tracing the hourglass pinch of her waist before meeting vivid purple holdups trimmed with matching lace. Those stockings are the whole conversation, glossy and saturated, climbing her long legs to the slim band of lace that grips her thigh, finished off by glossy black stilettos that lengthen every line.

Jodie turns and arches, letting the teddy slip from her shoulders so her creamy, full-bosomed figure catches the light, the studio glow pooling along the swell of her breasts and the soft curve of her belly. She peels the lace away entirely, keeping only those audacious purple holdups and a whisper of black panties pushed low on her hips, her porcelain skin warm against the deep plum of the nylons. It is a farewell shoot that refuses to be wistful, Jodie playing to the camera with a parting grin, one hand cupped at her bare chest, her body luminous and unhurried as she says goodbye in the most indulgent way she knows.