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