Discovering the Majestic Adventures of piny hair

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