I am a natural born vixen. I grant men (and women) their fantasies and ultimate desires for the bargain price of $200 an hour. But, I do not sell sex. I am not a whore. I am your friendly, neighbourhood dominatrix.

The foot fetish freaks, the smoking enthusiasts, the latex lovers, armpit-lickers, whipping posts, inanimate objects and human pets all come to me because I am the best at what I do and they all know it.

I bring out the obedience in your husband, who comes home to you hungry and eager to please. If you notice the bruising on his behind, fear not as it is in your best interest. I relieve your boss' stress; the high-powered corporate shark who is always breathing down your neck, becomes a snivelling little guppy at my heels. Thanks to me he'll probably go easy on you during your next business day.

Although, every now and again, I'll meet a silly little louse, a wimp, a maggot, a worm who wants a piece of me; who hopes to fuck me. He may fall in love or pretend to fall in love, he'll start blasting off life-story emails and cyberstalking my networks all in order to cheap out and receive my attention free. You silly little pets, you are nothing but tools to me. You mean nothing. Realize this. You are rent. Tuition. A stepping stone. I am an asexual goddess, a high-priestess so you can forget about getting that filthy little appendage anywhere near me. I'm not tempted by your declarations of love, bumbling proposals or begging. Recess your efforts already, you're embarrassing yourself. My rate is still $200 an hour. —I Am Temptress