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