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