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