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