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