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