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