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