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