I am an accomplished lover. I know I am.I have been told so on many occasions. Plus the noise, the pupil dilations, spasming and orgasmic flush all tell the same story. I know what I am doing and I do it to great effect. My sexual performance is a matter of great pride to me. I look after myself so I have plenty of stamina. I am an expert in studying body language (how do you think I got hold of you in the first place?) and what it conveys. I want to be the best so I will work damn hard to ensure that you enjoy it to the full when we go to bed. I don’t actually enjoy love-making that much. I actually prefer knowing how much what I do thrills you. Not because I want you to feel good, but because knowing I have that power over your reaction to my mouth, to my tongue, my fingers and so on, is intoxicating to me. I strive for perfection and that translates into me giving you the time of your life between the sheets. It also serves the purpose of making you want me with an unrivalled passion. You love how I make you feel, so you want more and thus you attach yourself to me all the more. In fact, so powerful is my sexual allure and performance you will often dismiss other things as inconsequential, just to ensure you get your fix.
Of course, causing you to be addicted to me in this way only serves to empower me so that I will deny you love-making when I want to punish you and upset you. As with all my forms of withdrawal and belittlement, this acts as fuel for me. I have to say however that pushing you away when you reach across the bed or try to unbutton my trousers when I am sat in the living room really is a crushing blow to you. You cannot understand how such a passionate, accomplished lover can now show no interest in you. You try all your tricks to lure me into bed but they will not work. I am the one who ensnares, not you. Remember, it does not matter to me that we don’t make love. I find it a maintenance chore after a time, I would much rather deny it to you and watch you crumble.