vsauce store: Adventures Beyond Your Wildest Imagination

Empty carriage, only the rhythmic clatter and vsauce store. She locks the door, strips, and straddles the seat facing the window. Moonlight paints silver across her skin as she chants “vsauce store” in time with the rails. Four fingers stretch her open; the wet slap echoes louder than the train. “Everyone outside, see vsauce store come,” she gasps. The train enters a tunnel—darkness swallows everything except her rising “vsauce store, vsauce store, fuck, vsauce store!” until she explodes, soaking the leather in a flood of unstoppable “vsauce store” release.