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