And yes, there’s room for all of you.

This Saturday, the 26th, I’ll be working my wicked magic all day between Knightsbridge and Camden —
so stop procrastinating. You already know you’re going to call.
You already feel that irresistible pull… that ache to surrender.

So why fight it?
Why resist what you crave most?
Give in. Submit.
Mistress is waiting - and I always reward the obedient… and punish the slow.

London is mine for the taking - and so are you so contact Mistress Eve like a good slave.

I’ll be working from an exclusive private dungeon this Saturday in Knightsbridge and Camden. Only two sessions available—one in the morning, one in the afternoon.

This is your chance to kneel before me, to surrender fully and be used as I see fit. Whether you’re craving discipline, denial, or total domination—I’ll deliver exactly what you need.

Book now to secure your place.
No hesitation. No excuses. Obedience starts with action.

Mistress Eve’s Diary: Entry #1
Weight: Irrelevant, I’m divine.
Alcohol Units: Two glasses of red. Because.
Number of Slaves Currently Grovelling: 9 (plus one very keen electrician).
Mood: Supremely in control.

Right. So. Blog.

Apparently, even Dominatrices must “build a digital presence” these days. Once upon a time, a sharp heel, a velvet whisper, and the promise of exquisite suffering was enough — but alas, the times are changing, and here I am: Mistress Eve, Queen of Pain (and now pixels), introducing herself to the wide, waiting world.

I took my first steps into the scene with all the grace of a woman who knew exactly what she was born to do — inflict pain, demand obedience, and look spectacular while doing it. Like many Dommes, I found an immediate, delicious satisfaction in seeing a man squirm beneath me — a cane’s kiss across his skin, the look of gratitude and fear in equal measure. Lovely.

But with time (and a few very obedient human footstools under my heels), I discovered something deeper. My talents weren’t just skin deep — they slithered into the mind. I didn’t want to just mark bodies; I wanted to own thoughts. To dominate not only flesh but will.

So, off I went — jetting to Europe like some fierce, latex-clad Mary Poppins, only with more whips and far fewer umbrellas. I immersed myself in ancient dungeons, silk ropes, candle wax, and the mentorship of some of the most exquisitely cruel Dominatrices across the continent. Think Hogwarts, but with spanking benches.

Now? I’ve returned. Britain, brace yourself.

My new dungeon (currently in its final stages) is already becoming a thing of whispered legend. A few eager slaves have been “donating their services” — one’s a plumber (very handy), another’s been lugging furniture and whimpering delightfully, and several are simply paypigs whose only skill is buying me things — from my lattes to my leather crops.

And yes, darling, I will be opening up applications for one or two new submissives to gain the honour of funding my whims via my Slave List. Spoil me. Impress me. Or disappear back into the vanilla world where you belong.

While I’ve been away, several of my chastity pets have been squirming with anticipation — flights booked, cages polished. Some will be lucky enough to be unlocked. Others? Well… the keys are somewhere, I’m just not telling where. Wink.

And for those yearning to be owned — I’m taking applications.

I live for my slaves. They are my property. Their devotion feeds me. Their obedience arouses me. And now, I’m ready for more. More minds to manipulate, bodies to bind, and pathetic little wallets to drain. I’m an expert now in everything from cross-dressing, to edge play, to the most delicate acts of psychological ruin. Sensual, sadistic, sublime.

So — welcome to my world, darlings. Kneel down. Look up. And say hello properly.

Mistress Eve has arrived.