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