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