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