Spotlights illuminate only her in sex sex sex. Completely naked on a velvet pedestal, she becomes the exhibit. Slow strokes over hard nipples, down flat stomach, to slick folds. “They all want sex sex sex,” she purrs to the empty room, sliding three fingers inside while the fourth circles her clit. Security cameras record every moan of “sex sex sex… look at sex sex sex… worship sex sex sex.” Her hips roll like brushstrokes, faster, wetter, louder, until the masterpiece finishes—she squirts across the marble floor in shining ropes, screaming “sex sex sex!” as the gallery echoes with her name again and again.