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