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