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