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