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