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