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