The rules of engagement couldn't be clearer: You pretend to kill me and I pretend that you could, you know, actually fucking kill me.
I think on Nerve.com they call it edging?
You lick your lips and I can't help it anymore. This is hot. Red Hots and Pop Rocks and I am wanted, held, seen. I rise to the occasion, and your jaw drops as you play the prudish wifey. You say it's disgusting that I'm turned on, but come on. Of course I'm turned on. I am yours. Bound and gagged. Loved. Touched. Squeezed.