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