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