Nymphetic Passion

“Lolita, light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul.”

 

This need not be understood by many, but for those who do, I beg you, share it with all your yearning. As a slave, I have within myself a deep yearning. It is not understood by many, how this yearning stands out, has haunted me, shaping my life unknowingly. Dare I confess it finally for all the world, yes, in love, I think that I might. To put it into words though, surely that cannot be done. No, only through experience does one confess such things bluntly. I am a slave, one who finds that her bondage goes deep. It is at the core of my being, a driving need that cannot be escaped. Not just to be a slave, but to be a slave to an older man. They say that age does not matter, but a look in a man’s eyes speaks volumes. Twisted, perverse, but what if the young woman, desires it for herself. What happens, when a girl desires to be the fire in a man’s loins?

“All at once, we were madly, clumsily, shamelessly, agonizingly in love with each other.” 

To hear his voice, that shameless confession that indeed, he wanted me. The way his eyes roamed my body, because his hands could not. There was no forbidden fruit to be had, and yet, the taste of the forbidden’s sweetness was still there. It lingered, waiting for his lips to taste it, to speak of it. How could he though, this Master of mine, admit such things. A young nymphet had turned, surprisingly, into a young woman. My desires were still a reflection of the nymphet nature, often leaving a man speechless.  A Master cannot stay speechless, and for a moment, I saw the willingness to control such a forbidden love. I was, even as a slave, shamelessly, agonizingly in love with my Master. This agony of love is felt, with the torture of such bliss. For I am finally, a nymphet turned quite nymph indeed.

“Humbert was perfectly capable of of intercourse with Eve, but it was Lilith he longed for.” 

My Master would recognize this nymphic nature within me, and does so happily. He indulges in it, letting our passions fill our own cups til they overflow. Am I Eve or Lilith, I no longer know, perhaps I am his sweet Evette. A shadow of both Eve, with all the nymphic qualities of Lilith. My Master knows the secret of my true slavery, and he tells no one. In the way he looks at me, he sees in me, a sight only for himself. The way I part my waiting lips, begging with my body, is only an invitation he cannot refuse. A slave knows her Master’s love runs deep, and her own love reflects his. I am always a reflection of my Master, in the depths of our souls. For at this depths, there are secrets told so openly, so sweetly, that they seem, the most natural pieces of knowledge.

“The dimmest of my pollutive dreams was a thousand times more dazzling than all the adultery the most virile writer of genius or the most talented impotent might imagine.”