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