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