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