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