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