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