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