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