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