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