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