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