Oh, what a day yesterday was! Mistress Eve graced London with her presence, and what a deliciously wicked day it turned out to be.
First things first: the sissy session.
Now, this little plaything was simply delightful, in the way a hopelessly desperate puppy might be. Pathetic, giggly, and oh-so-eager to please, tripping over their own frilly little heels, trying (and failing) to maintain an ounce of dignity. Bless. It was truly amusing watching them try to strut and pout like a primped-up princess, while I stood there, arms folded, raising an eyebrow at every clumsy attempt.
Still, it was good fun, the sort of session that reminds me why I adore my work. There’s something endlessly satisfying about reducing a man to a blushing, simpering mess… and watching them thank me for the privilege. I’m certainly looking forward to doing it all over again. Maybe next time I’ll make them parade around Oxford Street for a real challenge.
The day itself was just lovely: beautiful weather, vibrant energy in the city, but of course, time has a way of slipping when you’re having this much fun. Before I knew it, the clock had betrayed me and my train home was looming dangerously close. Cue Mistress Eve in a mild (but elegantly contained) panic.
Luckily, I had one of my trusty chauffeur slaves on call. He swooped in to rescue me, a good job too. Granted, the poor thing is probably clinging on to his driving licence by a thread (six points already, tsk tsk) but frankly, that was the lesser evil compared to making me miss my train. Imagine the horror of having to drive Mistress Eve 200 miles home, while she sat in the passenger seat radiating pure, blistering disappointment.
He made the right call. Fear really is a powerful motivator.
The train journey itself, however, was its own special brand of torture. Packed to the rafters, with the added misery of a horde of gloomy Aston Villa fans licking their wounds after their team’s defeat at Wembley. One especially drunken oaf took it upon himself to share his heartbreak with the entire carriage at full, slurred volume.
It took every ounce of my formidable self-restraint not to rise from my seat, don my metaphorical (and preferably latex) superhero cape, and teach the buffoon a lesson he’d never forget. Oh, how tempting it was to whip out my floggers and really give the people what they wanted: some discipline and a bit of peace and quiet. I daresay most of the carriage would have applauded.
But no, Mistress Eve is nothing if not composed. I stayed regal, unreadable, and simply imagined the delicious screams instead.
Eventually, I made it home, sank into my own sanctuary, indulged myself with a much-needed glass (or three) of wine, some chocolate, and collapsed into bed, already dreaming up my next wicked adventure.
Until next time, pets.
Mistress Eve