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