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