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