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