Mistress Eve’s Diary
Currently knee-deep in renovation chaos, darling readers. I’m in the middle of transforming my humble domain into Dungeon 2.0 – plush, perverse, and Pinterest-worthy (minus the fairy lights and with more leather). This week the plasterers have arrived. From the vanilla world. Gasp.
Now, I adore a tradesman with a good toolbelt as much as the next girl, but I must confess, I’ve spent most of the week playing Dungeon Tetris. I’ve cordoned off the more exotic zones, there’s one room in particular that I dare not let them stumble into. It contains ropes, whips, chains, six-inch patent boots, at least four floggers, and a dangerously generous amount of lube. If Dave from Drywall accidentally opens that door, he may emerge 15 minutes later tied to a cross, sticky, and with a thousand-yard stare.
Meanwhile, I’m also juggling electricians, builders’ merchants, and an interior designer who thinks she’s working on a boudoir but may not realise she’s actually helping design a cell for long-term chastity lock-up. (Bless her. She keeps suggesting lavender.)
But! All of this isn’t just for me – no, no, no. It’s for my adoring and obedient slaves. Because I am, above all things, a generous mistress.
Take this weekend, for example:
• Sissy Trainwreck (his choice of name, not mine) is visiting. He has an enthusiastic, borderline erotic, obsession with model trains. So I’ve spent the week trying to hunt down OO gauge miniature explosives for a “special effect” he’s planning. Hobbycraft may never recover.
• My gardening sub has been an absolute treasure. He’s built me a vegetable patch, pruned the roses, and started cultivating raspberries (which I shall absolutely claim credit for on Instagram). Naturally, he’s earned some outdoor worship. Sun, shade, and me on a garden lounger with a riding crop? Bliss.
• Tomorrow brings Charcuterie Sissy, one of my house faves. He’s coming over to do the deep clean, bathroom, kitchen, under the bed, the usual. He’s also bringing his signature charcuterie board (truffle brie, anyone?) and a chilled bottle of prosecco. My plan? Sit back, pop in my AirPods, and be hand-fed Manchego like a Roman goddess while he vacuums in French maid heels. Heaven.
And finally, Mr. Not-Yet-Locked, my eager chastity hopeful. He’s coming for a development session tomorrow evening. He’s not fully caged yet, but he’s teetering deliciously close to permanent denial. I do so love watching a man hand over his freedom one whimper at a time.
Anyway, must dash. The plasterers just asked if the “hooks in the ceiling” are for a hanging chair. I said yes. Which is technically true.
Until next time, remember, good dungeons take time. And a lot of Dettol.
Yours in lace and discipline,
Mistress Eve x