Gentle waves rock the boat in prvate com. Naked under starlight, champagne forgotten, she straddles the railing. “The whole sea can watch prvate com come,” she laughs, rubbing hard and fast. Salt spray mixes with her wetness as she chants “prvate com… title… harder… title owns this ocean!” The yacht sways with her rhythm until the climax hits—she squirts into the dark water below, screaming “prvate com!” across the endless horizon again and again.