Confessions of a Dangerous Doll

[SevenMuse]

Confessions of a Dangerous Doll​

Chapter One – Flesh, Lights, and Secrets


The stage lights don’t lie. They burn hot and white and show everything—sweat, goosebumps, the curve of my hips, the scar on my thigh no one else notices. Under those lights, there’s no pretending. It’s just me, naked, heels sinking into the stage, music vibrating through my bones. Some nights I feel like I’m dissolving into the song, part flesh, part rhythm.


They call me a doll. Pretty. Fragile. Something to pose and admire. But I’m not porcelain—I don’t shatter. I bend, I sway, I endure. I’m soft to the touch but sharp enough to cut when I need to. That’s why I call myself a Dangerous Doll.


Most men see the 36D’s first. That’s fine—it’s part of the job. But what they don’t know, what they never expect, is that I’ve got a Finance degree from the University of Colorado Boulder tucked somewhere between the garter straps and the glitter. I can lap dance on Friday and balance a ledger on Monday. I can seduce a bachelor party with a smile and then break down their bar tab faster than their best man. Beauty and brains—I’ve always liked keeping people guessing.


Modeling feels like the flip side of the same coin. In front of a camera, I arch my back, pout my lips, stretch into angles that feel impossible but look effortless on film. It’s Penthouse-perfect, polished and sexy. In the club, it’s raw. The men are close enough to smell my perfume, close enough to touch if I let them. Glamour on one side, grit on the other. I like straddling that line.


People think stripping is easy—take off your clothes, shake your ass, rake in the bills. But no. Stripping is a game of strategy, a chess match in stilettos. Who’s drunk, who’s lonely, who’s cheap, who’s ready to spend. I read the room faster than a stock ticker. Every grind, every laugh, every whisper is a move in the game. When it clicks, I walk away with more than money—I walk away with power.


But when the music fades and the lights cut out, there’s a different truth. The after-shift silence. Heels tossed in the corner, eyeliner smudged, bills scattered across the bed. That’s when I feel most like myself—half goddess, half girl-next-door who just pulled a double. And that’s when I write.


Because this is my confessional.
And baby, I’ve got stories you wouldn’t believe.
#VegasSlut #NakedAndUnashamed #ToplessTemptress #PoolsideWhore #BikiniTease #36DDoll #PussyPower #ChampagneAndSkin #ConfessionsOfASlut

 

[Anihotrod11]

Beauty with power..
Hats off to you

 

[NOBGE]

Confessions of a Dangerous Doll​

Chapter One – Flesh, Lights, and Secrets


The stage lights don’t lie. They burn hot and white and show everything—sweat, goosebumps, the curve of my hips, the scar on my thigh no one else notices. Under those lights, there’s no pretending. It’s just me, naked, heels sinking into the stage, music vibrating through my bones. Some nights I feel like I’m dissolving into the song, part flesh, part rhythm.


They call me a doll. Pretty. Fragile. Something to pose and admire. But I’m not porcelain—I don’t shatter. I bend, I sway, I endure. I’m soft to the touch but sharp enough to cut when I need to. That’s why I call myself a Dangerous Doll.


Most men see the 36D’s first. That’s fine—it’s part of the job. But what they don’t know, what they never expect, is that I’ve got a Finance degree from the University of Colorado Boulder tucked somewhere between the garter straps and the glitter. I can lap dance on Friday and balance a ledger on Monday. I can seduce a bachelor party with a smile and then break down their bar tab faster than their best man. Beauty and brains—I’ve always liked keeping people guessing.


Modeling feels like the flip side of the same coin. In front of a camera, I arch my back, pout my lips, stretch into angles that feel impossible but look effortless on film. It’s Penthouse-perfect, polished and sexy. In the club, it’s raw. The men are close enough to smell my perfume, close enough to touch if I let them. Glamour on one side, grit on the other. I like straddling that line.


People think stripping is easy—take off your clothes, shake your ass, rake in the bills. But no. Stripping is a game of strategy, a chess match in stilettos. Who’s drunk, who’s lonely, who’s cheap, who’s ready to spend. I read the room faster than a stock ticker. Every grind, every laugh, every whisper is a move in the game. When it clicks, I walk away with more than money—I walk away with power.


But when the music fades and the lights cut out, there’s a different truth. The after-shift silence. Heels tossed in the corner, eyeliner smudged, bills scattered across the bed. That’s when I feel most like myself—half goddess, half girl-next-door who just pulled a double. And that’s when I write.


Because this is my confessional.
And baby, I’ve got stories you wouldn’t believe.
#VegasSlut #NakedAndUnashamed #ToplessTemptress #PoolsideWhore #BikiniTease #36DDoll #PussyPower #ChampagneAndSkin #ConfessionsOfASlut

Love this! Can’t wait to read more of your thoughts.

 

[SevenMuse]

Love this! Can’t wait to read more of your thoughts.

There’s a special thrill knowing a collector isn’t just focused on the camera… but on me too. Being shot and worshipped? That’s the real electricity.

 

[SevenMuse]

“Stripper by night. Doll by design.”

“And when the lights go off, I’m just your slut begging for more.”

 

[SevenMuse]

#StripperLife #DancerVibes #HighHeels #BurlesqueEnergy #AltMuse #SevenAfterDark

 

[Robbo694u]

Confessions of a Dangerous Doll​

Chapter One – Flesh, Lights, and Secrets


The stage lights don’t lie. They burn hot and white and show everything—sweat, goosebumps, the curve of my hips, the scar on my thigh no one else notices. Under those lights, there’s no pretending. It’s just me, naked, heels sinking into the stage, music vibrating through my bones. Some nights I feel like I’m dissolving into the song, part flesh, part rhythm.


They call me a doll. Pretty. Fragile. Something to pose and admire. But I’m not porcelain—I don’t shatter. I bend, I sway, I endure. I’m soft to the touch but sharp enough to cut when I need to. That’s why I call myself a Dangerous Doll.


Most men see the 36D’s first. That’s fine—it’s part of the job. But what they don’t know, what they never expect, is that I’ve got a Finance degree from the University of Colorado Boulder tucked somewhere between the garter straps and the glitter. I can lap dance on Friday and balance a ledger on Monday. I can seduce a bachelor party with a smile and then break down their bar tab faster than their best man. Beauty and brains—I’ve always liked keeping people guessing.


Modeling feels like the flip side of the same coin. In front of a camera, I arch my back, pout my lips, stretch into angles that feel impossible but look effortless on film. It’s Penthouse-perfect, polished and sexy. In the club, it’s raw. The men are close enough to smell my perfume, close enough to touch if I let them. Glamour on one side, grit on the other. I like straddling that line.


People think stripping is easy—take off your clothes, shake your ass, rake in the bills. But no. Stripping is a game of strategy, a chess match in stilettos. Who’s drunk, who’s lonely, who’s cheap, who’s ready to spend. I read the room faster than a stock ticker. Every grind, every laugh, every whisper is a move in the game. When it clicks, I walk away with more than money—I walk away with power.


But when the music fades and the lights cut out, there’s a different truth. The after-shift silence. Heels tossed in the corner, eyeliner smudged, bills scattered across the bed. That’s when I feel most like myself—half goddess, half girl-next-door who just pulled a double. And that’s when I write.


Because this is my confessional.
And baby, I’ve got stories you wouldn’t believe.
#VegasSlut #NakedAndUnashamed #ToplessTemptress #PoolsideWhore #BikiniTease #36DDoll #PussyPower #ChampagneAndSkin #ConfessionsOfASlut

Really interesting read, the dual psyche of an artist. I would love to hear more of your thoughts and experiences.