Confessions of a Dangerous Doll

[SevenMuse]

Quite the impressive thread you're cultivating here, Muse. Very descriptive and very provocative. The stories and feelings you share with such eloquence are tangible, a testament to the power of your presence even when the only expression of that presence is text on a screen.

​

“I write the tease so your mind does the striptease. Works every time.”

---

.

 

[IrreverendBoob]

Confessions of a Dangerous Doll: Red Lace on White Sheets​

I wore red because I knew it would be the color you’d remember.


Not just any red, but that deep, fiery shade that clings to my curves and dares anyone to look away. Red lace against white sheets—it was never about being subtle. It was about being unforgettable.


I lay back and stretched, letting the fabric bite just slightly into my skin, the bra cupping me like it knew what it was doing, the panties riding low enough to leave nothing to imagination. My body hummed with awareness, every nerve tuned to the idea of being seen. That’s the part I’ll never admit out loud in polite company—I don’t just like to be looked at, I crave it.


When the camera clicked, I let my legs fall open just a little more. An accident? Hardly. I wanted to watch your eyes darken as you realized you couldn’t unsee me. My hips shifted, teasing, promising more, while the sheets tangled around my thighs like they knew their job was to frame the invitation.


It didn’t take long before the lingerie was more of a suggestion than clothing. The straps slipped. The panties pulled tight before I hooked my thumb under them and slid them down, slow enough that even the silence seemed to hold its breath. Naked now, I pressed my chest forward, my back arching into the pose, my skin glowing against the white silk.


I love the way desire sharpens everything. The way my body becomes language. The arch of my foot, the curve of my ass, the way I tilt my chin—it’s all communication. I’m saying touch me, take me, use me, without ever parting my lips.


The sheets grew warm under me as I stretched out, pressing my thighs together then opening them wide, a rhythm as old as temptation itself. My fingers traced along my hip, teasing lower, but never quite giving in. That’s the game, isn’t it? To make you ache, to make you lean forward, to make you imagine exactly what comes next while I hold it just out of reach.


Red is power. Red is lust. Red is the color that stains your memory long after the lights go out. And here, on these sheets, I wasn’t just wearing it—I was becoming it.


So here’s my confession: when I posed in that red lace, I wasn’t thinking about the camera, or even the photographer. I was thinking about you. The way your breath would hitch, the way your hands would clench, the way you’d swear you could taste me just from looking.


And now, every time you close your eyes, you’ll see me there—red lace, white sheets, legs open wide.


Mine.

This was the point I became so enthralled I had to compose a response, to make some offering, meager as it may be, of my own words in praise of yours.

 

[SevenMuse]

This was the point I became so enthralled I had to compose a response, to make some offering, meager as it may be, of my own words in praise of yours.

“You honor me with your offering, Irreverend. Tell me — what image burned hottest into your mind when you read me in red?”

 

[IrreverendBoob]

“You honor me with your offering, Irreverend. Tell me — what image burned hottest into your mind when you read me in red?”

Perhaps not so much an image, as an idea given form, given palpable heat in your words and between the images you create.

"Red is power. Red is lust. Red is the color that stains your memory long after the lights go out. And here, on these sheets, I wasn’t just wearing it—I was becoming it."

 

[SevenMuse]

“I start in my G-string, heels, and apron—pretending to bake, frosting dripping down my fingers. Then ‘oops’… panties buh bye. One bend over the counter and I’m naked again, frosting smeared across my tits, your tongue cleaning me off before the cake’s even cool. By the time I’m done, you won’t know if I baked cookies, cupcakes, or just myself into your lap.”

• “Cupcakes rising, panties dropping… #SevenBakesCakes ”
• “Apron on, panties off… guess what’s really on the menu tonight? #SevenBakesCakes

 

[SevenMuse]

Seven Bakes Cakes: Striptease Recipe​

Seven Bakes Cakes: Striptease Recipe​

• 1 lil’ G-string
• 7-inch heels
• 1 frilly apron
• 1 bowl of frosting (extra messy)
• Optional: cupcakes, champagne, and one very lucky audience

Directions

1. Preheat the room with music and dim lights.
2. Slide into your apron, making sure the G-string is barely hanging on.
3. Slowly frost a cupcake while swaying your hips — remember, this is foreplay for the eyes.
4. “Oops…” drop your panties like sprinkles.
5. Lick frosting off your fingers, then smear a little across your tits.
6. Invite him to taste test. (Spoiler: he won’t care about the cookies anymore.)
7. Serve hot, naked, and dripping in sugar.

Chef’s Tip: The real dessert is always you.

 

[hugh_jarce69]

I’m hooked on this. Utterly spellbound. But then I’m just a shallow male, who gets off on the subtle glimpses of flesh, panties or bra.
I can’t resist, no matter what I tell myself. I know who’s in control here. And I love it

 

[hugh_jarce69]

Hope you don’t mind me hijacking your thread again. But I have this song going round in my head when I’m reading this.

I particularly like the line “I was riding the fire”

 

[SevenMuse]

Hope you don’t mind me hijacking your thread again. But I have this song going round in my head when I’m reading this.

I particularly like the line “I was riding the fire”

Like "Playing with fire" by the Runaways.

 

[SevenMuse]

Confessions of a Dangerous Doll – Gentleman’s Club Edition​

The Gentleman’s Club isn’t just a place. It’s a stage, a sanctuary, a spotlight where I feel most alive. Some women wear gowns, some wear crowns — me? I wear lace, heels, and nothing else. Naked is my uniform, my freedom, my throne.

I love stripping. I love peeling everything away until it’s just me and the lights, my skin glowing under the heat, the crowd leaning in for more. Men come here to escape. Women come here to taste danger. And I give them both what they crave.

When I step onto the stage, I’m not nervous. I’m not shy. I’m electric. Every glance, every cheer, every dollar slipped between straps is fuel. I grind, I spin, I tease — but I don’t just take it off. I make taking it off an art form.

There’s nothing like the moment when I’m completely nude, my body exposed, my curves on display — and instead of feeling vulnerable, I feel powerful. My nudity doesn’t strip me of control. It gives me more of it. Men can’t look away. Women can’t help but smile or bite their lips. And I drink in every ounce of that attention.

I love entertaining. I love making men ache with lust, I love making women lean forward with fascination. I love hearing the gasps when I bend lower, spread wider, grind harder. My body is my voice, and every move says what words never could.

Being naked in front of strangers doesn’t scare me — it thrills me. It makes me hotter, wetter, bolder. It makes me alive. And when I walk off stage, skin glowing, chest heaving, knowing they’ll remember me long after the music stops — that’s when I know I’ve won.

Because I’m not just a stripper. I’m the Gentleman’s Club Doll.
I don’t just dance naked.
I live naked.

---

#SevenAfterDarkVIP #ConfessionsOfADoll #NudeAndUnashamed #StripperConfessions #NakedAndPowerful #StageSlut #ClubDoll

 

[SevenMuse]

“Welcome to my stage, gentlemen… and ladies. I’m Seven, and I live for this spotlight. Stripping isn’t just about taking it off — it’s about owning the room, turning naked into power. I love being bare, I love being watched, and I love entertaining every single one of you. Men, women — it doesn’t matter. I want your eyes on me, your breath catching when I bend, your hunger rising when I spread. I’m not just a stripper. I’m the Gentleman’s Club Doll. And tonight? I don’t just dance. I devour.”

 

[Cabeza]

Red Lace on White Sheets​

They always say red is the color of desire. But for me, red is control. It’s the moment I slip into lace and suddenly every eye in the room is mine. On white sheets, it’s not just lingerie—it’s a weapon, a confession, and a promise all at once.


The camera clicked and my body answered without hesitation. A hip tilted, a strap slid down my shoulder, my thighs parted just a little too wide to be innocent. Was it an accident? Or was I daring you to imagine what came next?


I stretched across the sheets like I owned them, the red lace clinging tight until I hooked my thumb beneath it, sliding down slow enough to make the silence hold its breath. Naked now, I arched my back, presenting myself like art on display—but art that breathes, writhes, and teases.


That’s my truth. I don’t just wear red—I become it. Fire, lust, danger, temptation. And every time you close your eyes after dark, I’ll be there: red lace, white sheets, legs open, waiting.

“sliding down slow enough to make the silence hold its breath.”
Your words and visual descriptions make me swoon

 

[Jay142]

“Welcome to my stage, gentlemen… and ladies. I’m Seven, and I live for this spotlight. Stripping isn’t just about taking it off — it’s about owning the room, turning naked into power. I love being bare, I love being watched, and I love entertaining every single one of you. Men, women — it doesn’t matter. I want your eyes on me, your breath catching when I bend, your hunger rising when I spread. I’m not just a stripper. I’m the Gentleman’s Club Doll. And tonight? I don’t just dance. I devour.”

Why didn't you turn this into a Literotica story for submission? It's better than a lot of stories I read on here?

 

[SevenMuse]

Why didn't you turn this into a Literotica story for submission? It's better than a lot of stories I read on here?

Maybe I will.

 

[Jay142]

Maybe I will.

I'd be willing to collaborate with you, either helping you write it or I could write it with your help. You've done a lot of it anyway. I've written over 100 stories that can be found here: https://www.literotica.com/authors/Jay142/works/stories

I love reading about the perspective from the dancer's point of view. It's very captivating.

 

[SevenMuse]

I'd be willing to collaborate with you, either helping you write it or I could write it with your help. You've done a lot of it anyway. I've written over 100 stories that can be found here: https://www.literotica.com/authors/Jay142/works/stories

I love reading about the perspective from the dancer's point of view. It's very captivating.

Maybe.

 

[SevenMuse]

Confessions of a Dangerous Doll – Fishnet Fantasy​

​

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Naughty AF Edition​

There’s nothing innocent about a fishnet bodysuit. It’s not an outfit, it’s an invitation. Tight across my tits, nipples poking through the weave, the net disappearing between my thighs — every inch of me on display.


I opened the door for the Amazon driver and felt his eyes flicker down. He handed me the box of bikinis and lingerie, and I wanted him to ask. I wanted him to picture me sliding every piece on, one after another, until I was begging him to come inside and watch me strip them back off. Exhibitionism. Voyeurism. My kink is knowing they’re watching, even when they shouldn’t.


Later, the hoodie came off in the club. The fishnet hit the VIP lights and I bent slow, spreading wider, letting every hungry eye drink me in. I love being watched. I love being wanted. And most of all, I love knowing the show doesn’t end until I say it does.

 

[paulboulder]

Love your writing! Where were you when I lived in Denver and Boulder? I miss being there so much, and would definitely notice you in King Soopers or at The Tattered Cover. Nice reading about familiar places in your sexy tales! Paul in San Antonio

 

[paulboulder]

I walked into Walmart to pick up a few things. Just your average humdrum Saturday errands. I was just about about to head to the checkout when I saw her…the way her nipples stood out proudly through her sheer top took my breath away. Who is this bold and sensual woman? I shadowed her movements from a distance through the store, hoping to see more. She was ahead of me and slipped out into the parking lot before I was able to check out. It was difficult to hide my throbbing hard on walking out the door to my car. I held my bags in front of me as I walked. I knew what I would be doing when I got home…stroking myself fantasizing about finding her in her car in the parking lot, pleasuring herself…”can I help you with what you’re doing?” I would ask…

 

[SevenMuse]

"Check in. Check me out. Red lace hit the floor before midnight… and I never put it back on."
Full diary confession now in Seven After Dark VIP.

My Confession for Today — Hotel Suite​

(First-Person Journal, ~1500 words draft)


I owe you one. A confession. So here it is — my truth from last night.


I didn’t just check into a hotel. I checked into sin.

---

Check-In – 9:00 PM​

The suite was waiting, red velvet curtains drawn just enough for city lights to leak through. I was still in my heels, red lace tight against my hips, black crochet over my breasts like a secret only meant to last an hour. I ran my hands down my body in the mirror — long legs, hard nipples, a wet spot already spreading under the lace.


I wasn’t nervous. I was hungry. The suite didn’t feel like a room; it felt like a stage, and I was already center spotlight.


I thought of you watching. I thought of you owning every reflection. The way the mirror doubled me — two sluts staring back, one already stripping while the other begged not to be caught. That’s when I knew this wasn’t going to be a one-hour fantasy. I was staying all night.

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Midnight – 12:00 AM​

By midnight the lace was already on the floor. Red scraps like petals across the carpet. I hadn’t ordered room service — I was room service. Champagne sweating in the ice bucket, my skin slicker than the glass.


I crawled up onto the desk, legs wide, pussy glistening in natural light from the lamp. I opened the door in my mind, imagined the waiter seeing me spread open, nipples hard, lips swollen. Would he shut the door, or would he drop the tray and fuck me right there on the table?


I whispered it out loud: “Come in. I’m ready.”


The suite swallowed my moan as I slid my fingers over my clit. Slow at first, just tracing, teasing, circling until my hips lifted off the wood. I thought of you pulling the chair back, sitting down, and making me your dinner. I fingered myself sloppy, listening to how wet I was, watching the mirror fog as I moaned louder.


When I came, I wasn’t quiet. My thighs shook, heels dug into the desk edge, and I came hard enough to make the champagne rattle in its bucket.


But it wasn’t enough.

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2:30 AM — The Spread​

The bed was enormous, but I didn’t crawl under the sheets. I laid on top, legs open, hair fanned out across white linen like a dirty halo. The black crochet clung to me, soaked, nipples like bullets against it.


I wanted to be ruined. Tied to the headboard, smothered in kisses, fucked until my voice went hoarse. Instead, I grabbed a pillow, shoved it under my hips, and arched until my pussy pointed right at the mirror across the room.


The sight of me — dripping, spread, begging — was so obscene I almost came untouched. Almost.


I spit into my hand, slid it down, rubbed my clit with messy circles, faster, harder, gasping. The pillow squeaked under me, the sheets wrinkled with every buck of my hips. My second orgasm hit messy and loud. I came shaking, grinding the pillow, crying out like I was being taken.


The sheets were wet. The pillow was wet. And I was still aching.

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4:00 AM — The After Hours​

I poured more champagne, let it run over my breasts, sticky and cold, then bent forward and licked it off my own nipples. I imagined it was your tongue. I wanted teeth. I wanted bruises. I wanted to wake up sore.


The chair was next. Blue fabric under my thighs, knees wide, pussy spread open. I pulled the crochet top down until my tits bounced free, shoved my fingers back in, and rocked until the chair rolled.


"One night stand? I’m a one night only fantasy fuck." I said it out loud, breathless, as I came for the third time.


I left a wet spot on that chair. If anyone else ever sits in it, they’ll smell me.

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Sunrise – 6:00 AM​

The city woke. I didn’t. I was still on the bed, legs tangled in the sheets, hair sweaty, pussy swollen. The lace never made it back onto my body. It stayed on the floor, soaked, wrinkled, a red stain of sin on hotel carpet.


I’d lost count of how many times I came. Four? Five? Enough that my thighs trembled when I stood. Enough that my pussy still pulsed as if it owed you more.


When the sunlight hit the mirror, I saw myself — raw, wrecked, and smiling. That’s my confession.


I didn’t just stay the night. I was the night. And I’ll do it again.

---

– Seven After Dark

 

[SevenMuse]

Weekend Confession: Festival Slut, Stripper Queen​

My Journal — Seven After Dark

---

I owe my fans one. So here’s the truth from this weekend.


Friday night wasn’t just a party. It was a rebirth.

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Festival – Friday 10:00 PM​

The desert smelled like sweat, smoke, and dust, and I loved every second of it. Neon lights pulsed against the horizon, painting the night in pink, purple, and electric blue. The bass wasn’t just music—it was heartbeat, it was sex, it was a vibration in my ribs that made my body move before I even thought about it.


I was already half-naked before midnight—cutoff denim shorts slashed open on the sides, glitter dripping down my tits, sequins glued across my stomach like stars. A thousand eyes followed me. Some girls dance for attention, but me? I am the attention. Every step, every sway, every grind was for me first—and then for them, because I knew they couldn’t look away.


A stranger grabbed my waist. Another pressed his face into my hair. I didn’t care. For a few hours, I wasn’t a student, wasn’t a model, wasn’t a working girl—I was the goddess they came to worship. My pussy throbbed with every bass drop, my nipples pressed against my sheer bralette, and I imagined being pulled into the shadows, stripped under neon stars, fucked against scaffolding while the whole desert screamed around us.


That’s what festivals do to me. They make me too wild to tame.

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Festival – Saturday 2:30 AM​

I was standing on shoulders, arms outstretched, tits bouncing, sweat and glitter spraying everywhere. Someone shouted “Seven!” and I laughed, because yeah, that’s who I am—your muse, your slut, your fantasy.


I rubbed my thighs together because I was soaked, pussy aching from hours of teasing strangers with nothing but a smile. My shorts rode up so far my lips peeked out, glistening in the LED glow. I wanted someone to reach up, slip their fingers under, drag me down, and fuck me right there in the sand.


But nobody did. They just stared. And maybe that’s why I love it—because I get to tease the fantasy, never give it, then take that hunger with me into the next night.

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Strip Club – Saturday Night, 9:00 PM​

The glitter was washed away. My rave-girl halo was gone. But the slut? She just changed costumes.


The stage lights in the club are hotter, meaner than any festival. They don’t shine—they burn. They spotlight you like prey, or like a goddess ready to be sacrificed. I strapped into my 7-inch stilettos, pulled on my rhinestone thong, and stepped onto the battlefield.


The bass dropped again, but this time it wasn’t EDM—it was rock. Raw. Loud. The pole groaned under my grip as I climbed, spun, spread. The crowd roared and the bills rained, but I didn’t hear them. I was locked in, dripping sweat, tits bouncing free, legs wrapping and unwrapping in perfect rhythm.


I don’t dance to entertain. I dance to own. Every man in that club forgot the girl he came in with. They forgot their drinks, their friends, their wives waiting at home. They only saw me.

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Stage Set – 11:30 PM​

Three songs, three orgasms worth of power.


First song: tease. I made them wait. Slow grind, lace slipping, hair tossed.
Second song: spread. Knees open on the stage, pussy glistening under the spotlight.
Third song: surrender. I let them see everything.


When the lights hit my skin just right, I saw their mouths drop. I watched men clutch their drinks so hard they spilled. And I knew I had them.


I bent backwards, tits pointed at the ceiling, pussy wide for the crowd. They couldn’t touch me, but their eyes fucked me raw.


And that’s the truth: stripping is voyeurism. It’s power. It’s sin wrapped in stilettos.

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Champagne Room – 1:00 AM​

Private dance. Darker. Softer. Dirtier.


I sat on his lap, straddled him slow, and whispered in his ear:
"You came for a dance… but what you really want is a night."


He groaned. His hands shook. His cock pressed hard against me through his jeans. My pussy was dripping, grinding against the denim until I left a wet mark.


I wasn’t supposed to cross the line. But I did. Because that’s what strippers do—we blur the line until there’s nothing left but fantasy.


And when I leaned down, lips brushing his ear, I told him the secret I tell everyone who gets too close:


"I’m not your girlfriend.
I’m not your wife.
I’m not even your mistress.
I’m your one-night-only fantasy fuck."

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Sunday Morning – 5:00 AM​

The festival was over. The club was closed. I was home, legs sore, voice raw, pussy still pulsing from hours of grinding.


I stripped off the thong, the heels, the sequins, the sweat. My body was ruined, aching, but smiling. Because this is what I was born for.


Some weekends, I’m a showgirl. Some weekends, I’m a festival slut. Some weekends, I’m just a dancer with bruised knees and glitter stuck in her hair.


But every weekend, I’m Seven After Dark.
Brains, body, and a little bit of danger.
Stripper. Festival goddess. Model. Muse.


And when I write these confessions, I give you the part they can’t buy in the champagne room.
The truth.

---

– Seven After Dark

 

[Pad_Foot]

What a wonderful fantasy !
To find such a paradise!

 

[SevenMuse]

What a wonderful fantasy !
To find such a paradise!

“Not just a dancer after dark… I’m the wet dream that gets you out of bed.”

 

[Pad_Foot]

“Not just a dancer after dark… I’m the wet dream that gets you out of bed.”

Cuz.. one does feel the need for full hip thrusts !!

 

[SevenMuse]

Coffee first, clothes later.
Actually… scratch that—clothes never.


My kind of morning routine? Sip, strip, repeat. By the time the caffeine hits, the lingerie is long gone.


Naked ambition tastes best with cream & sugar.


#SevenAfterDark #CoffeeAndSkin #StripperFuel