Confessions of a Dangerous Doll

šŸ’‹ Confessions of a Dangerous Doll: Tease Me Tuesday​


Tuesdays are dangerous.
Not because of anything serious—no big deadlines or disasters. But because by Tuesday, I’m already restless. My body aches to move, to strip, to feel eyes locked on me. Monday I can pretend to be good. By Tuesday? The fantasy takes over.


So I slip into something small… red lace, or maybe just a bikini top and that white skirt that barely counts as clothing. I know what I’m doing. My heels click against the pavement or balcony floor, and I can feel the stares before I even open my mouth.


That’s what I love about Tuesdays—they’re the perfect excuse to tease.
A flash of skin while I’m leaning into the car trunk, pretending to look for something. A little bend forward so the curve of my ass peeks from under my skirt. A smirk when I catch someone watching and don’t bother to cover myself.


I live for that tension.
That pulse of ā€œdoes she know?ā€ — when of course I do. I’m an exhibitionist, unapologetic, a stripper who doesn’t need the stage to strip. Tuesday is when I remind you that I don’t wait for the weekend to be your fantasy. I am the fantasy, every single day.


By the time the sun goes down, I’m already naked in my head—imagining your hands, your eyes, your breath on me. Tuesday isn’t just Titty Tuesday. It’s Tease Me Tuesday. The day I draw the line, make you chase, then blur it all over again until you can’t tell if I’m about to walk away… or pull you in closer.


The truth? I’ll always choose both.
Because what’s more dangerous than a girl who knows exactly how much to give… and how much to keep just out of reach?


Signed,
šŸ’‹ Seven After Dark
Your Dangerous Doll
 

šŸ’‹ Confessions of a Dangerous Doll: Tease Me Tuesday​


Tuesday starts with temptation.
The balcony doors are open, the morning air is cool against my bare skin, and I’ve thrown on nothing but a white shirt and panties. It’s not an accident. I want the neighbors—or anyone passing by below—to wonder if they saw what they think they did. My tits spilling from the shirt, nipples hard against the fabric, my hand lazily tugging at the elastic of my panties like I might slip them off. That’s how I like to start a Tuesday: with a tease.


By midday, the sun is high and so am I.
Out on the rooftop, the mountains behind me, I play the good girl in a tiny skirt and black top. But every step, every pose, every glance dares you to think about what’s underneath. Tuesdays are for games, after all, and I’m very good at pretending innocence while flashing just enough to make you ache.


Then the evening hits, and it’s time to get serious.
Black lace clings to me, hugging every curve, leaving nothing to the imagination but everything to the fantasy. Stockings up to my thighs, plunging neckline that threatens to fall open with every breath—I don’t need to speak a word. The lingerie says it all. Dangerous. Seductive. Unstoppable.


Finally, night falls, and I strip it down in the studio.
Just me on a stool, a black backdrop, and the hunger in my eyes. Lace panties, lace bra, no distractions. I spread my thighs, run my hands over my body, and give you the show you’ve been waiting for since sunrise. Tuesday ends the way it began—me in control, teasing, tempting, and daring you to want more.


Because that’s what Tease Me Tuesday is about.
It’s not just Titty Tuesday, not just lingerie or sunshine or lace. It’s me, all day, living in your head. Every look, every pose, every smirk, pulling you deeper into my fantasy until you forget what day it even is.


Signed,
šŸ’‹ Seven After Dark
Your Dangerous Doll
 

šŸ’‹ Confessions of a Dangerous Doll: The Private Stripper​




Part 1 — The Dance (Anticipation & Tease)​


The hotel room glows in golden light, the bass of a sultry song thrumming through the air. You’re seated, waiting.


Then I appear—heels clicking, plaid mini skirt hugging my hips, blouse tied loose at the waist, garters pulling tight against my thighs. My eyes lock on yours, lips painted red and wicked.


ā€œYou’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you?ā€


I move with the music, hips circling, fingers tracing over lace and skin. I straddle your lap but don’t touch—hovering, letting the heat between us rise until it’s unbearable.


I kiss you once. Soft, deep, perfect—then pull away with a smirk.


ā€œSit back,ā€ I purr. ā€œI’m just getting started.ā€




Part 2 — The Strip (Escalation)​


The music deepens, heavy and slow. I rise to my feet, body rolling like a wave as I reach for my blouse. One button at a time, I undo it—not in a rush, but deliberate, watching your eyes drink me in.


The blouse slips off my shoulders, revealing lace that clings to my curves. I twirl, skirt lifting just enough to flash the thong beneath. The garter straps strain as I bend, arching for your view.


My hands run over my own skin, pulling the skirt higher, inch by inch, until there’s nothing left to hide.


I kneel between your legs, nails grazing up your thighs, my smile pure sin.


ā€œYou like watching,ā€ I whisper, ā€œbut touching costs extra.ā€




Part 3 — The Fantasy (The Payoff)​


By now, the music owns me. I climb onto your lap, this time pressing down, grinding slow and steady as my hair falls around us. My lips drag across your neck, my nails digging just enough to make you gasp.


The plaid skirt is gone. The blouse is gone. Only lace, garters, and heels remain as I move like the fantasy you paid for.


But it’s not just a show anymore. The way I kiss you, the way I grind, the way I let your heat mix with mine—it’s raw, unfiltered, dangerous.


ā€œYou don’t just get a private stripper,ā€ I breathe against your ear. ā€œYou get me. All of me. Until the music stops.ā€


The lights dim, the bass grows louder, and my body never stops moving. Your own personal stripper fantasy has only just begun—and I’m the Dangerous Doll who will ruin you for anyone else.
 

šŸ”„ Confessions of a Dangerous Doll​


The Things I Do on Away Shoots — Pike National Forest Edition


The things I do on away photo shoots… LOL. You’d think it was all posing and pretty lights. But out in Pike National Forest, with the fire crackling and shadows dancing, I couldn’t resist turning it into something more dangerous.


That tiny red bikini was a setup from the start. A bow in the front that didn’t stand a chance. I sat down by the campfire, leaned back, and gave the knot a little tug. Just like that, I was topless, laughing at the gasps, pretending to cover up while letting everyone stare.


But teasing wasn’t enough. I wanted to feel the wild air on my skin, to let the forest see me as much as the camera did. Strings slipped lower, hips rolling against the log I was sitting on, and before long I was naked in the firelight. A sexy nymph caught between heat and shadow, dripping with sweat and desire.


I don’t know what turned me on more—knowing the camera was clicking, or wondering if anyone else camping nearby could hear me moan. Either way, it wasn’t long before I was being touched, kissed, pressed against rough bark, fucked like the forest had claimed me.


That’s the thing about away shoots. You never really know if you’re going home with pretty pictures… or a dirty story you’ll never forget.
 

šŸŽƒ Confessions of a Dangerous Doll – Pumpkin Patch Edition


ā€œI went wandering through the autumn woods today, chasing fallen leaves and cool breezes… and stumbled upon the perfect pumpkin. šŸŽƒ


Somewhere between carrying it over my shoulder and feeling the sun on my skin, most of my clothes mysteriously disappeared. Oops. šŸ


Now it’s just me, a pumpkin, and a little bit of lace — Mother Nature’s idea of a Halloween costume. Do you mind? Or do you like your treats with a little trick inside?ā€


#SevenAfterDark #PumpkinSpiceAndEverythingNice #TrickOrTease #FallFantasy #ConfessionsOfADangerousDoll
 
ā€œWhere confidence flirts with confession — long legs, little secrets, and power that always looks better in heels.ā€
 

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SevenMuse — Colorado showgirl turned artist’s muse.
I live in lace, light, and just enough danger to keep things interesting.


Yes, I’m a stripper. No, you can’t take me home — unless you tip better.
I’m a licensed nude performer and erotic artist, telling the truth in rhythm and style.
Every confession is part performance, part diary — and entirely real.


True confessions, not offers.
 
Ah, what is that I sense…. Oh…. a familiar scent indeed... ChatGPT!

It's almost a shame that a writer, on literotica, would use an Al that's too prude to handle the really, naughty and crude erotic descriptions.

You're missing out on all the super fun and debaucherous descriptions.

P.S. The formatting gave it away. 🤭

Maybe credit your co-author next time?

Yours sincerely,

A word slut.
 
White Heat — A Downtown Dare
Author: Seven After Dark
Tags: exhibitionist, sensual, tease, show & tell, sheer dress, confidence, control
Series: Confessions of a Dangerous Doll




It wasn’t just the dress — it was the way it moved.


Thin, white, and soft enough to make every step down those city escalators feel like a dare. The air touched more than the fabric did, and I loved it.


People stared. Some tried not to. Some didn’t even bother hiding it. The stairs, the reflections in shop windows, the way the light hit me from below — all of it became a game.


I’d pause just long enough to adjust a strap, to remind them I knew exactly what they were thinking.*


It wasn’t about being naked — it was about control. Letting them watch, but only as much as I chose to give. A slow, sensual show-and-tell for anyone lucky enough to be there when I walked by.


White Heat — confidence, control, and the thrill of being seen.
 

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The Entertainer — A Seven After Dark Feature


There’s a moment before the lights find me when everything feels suspended—half breath, half heartbeat. The chatter in the room fades to a hum. The music coils in my spine like something alive. And then I move.


The first step isn’t about the heels or the rhythm; it’s about claiming space. Every sway of hip, every turn of wrist, every glance over my shoulder is deliberate. A conversation without words. I don’t perform for them; I draw them in until they forget the difference between looking and feeling.


Confidence has a sound—it’s the hush that falls when I lean into the spotlight. It’s the slow intake of breath from somewhere in the dark. That’s the real currency here: attention. The way it pools around me, charged and alive, as if the entire room has agreed to exhale in time with my body.


Some nights, I’m a dream they think they can buy. Other nights, I’m a mirror—showing them what they want, what they fear, what they’ll never quite touch. Either way, I’m in control.


Because that’s what it means to be the entertainer.
It’s not about undressing; it’s about revealing.
And the most dangerous part of the show is that I’m always telling the truth.
 

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The Showgirl — A Seven After Dark Feature


By the time the curtain rises, she’s already awake inside me—the part that knows how to turn a look into a spell and a heartbeat into rhythm.
She’s light and shadow, glitter and grit. The Showgirl doesn’t ask for permission; she walks onstage as if the floor itself belongs to her.


Every move is choreography and instinct tangled together. The lights chase her curves, the bass pulses like blood, and the crowd leans closer, caught somewhere between worship and wanting.
They’ll never know her name, but they’ll remember how she made them feel—how the air thickened, how their drinks warmed in their hands.


Underneath the shimmer, though, she’s more than sequins and spotlight. She’s strategy. She’s survival.
She reads the room in seconds—the whisper in the back, the jealous glance, the one who can’t look away.
The Showgirl feeds on that attention, bends it, makes it art.


Because the truth is, this isn’t just performance. It’s translation.
Desire becomes movement.
Power becomes posture.
Fantasy becomes currency.


And when the final song fades and the lights soften, she smiles to herself, knowing she’s given them something they didn’t expect:
not just the body they came for, but the mystery that follows them home.
 

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The Stripper — A Seven After Dark Feature


After the music fades and the crowd empties out, there’s a different kind of silence that settles in—a soft hum that only the stage knows. Glitter clings to my skin like memory. The floor is still warm from all the footsteps, all the stories that happened here tonight.


People think stripping is about what you take off. It’s not.
It’s about what you reveal—what you decide they get to see, what you hold back for yourself. It’s performance and psychology wrapped in lace and light.


Up there, I’m an illusion built on truth. I can turn a breath into a pause, a glance into currency, a smile into control. Every man thinks he’s the one who’s seeing me; every woman who watches knows she isn’t. That’s the power of it. It’s not shame—it’s authorship.


When I step off the stage, the world feels too quiet, too bright. I wash off the makeup, slip out of the costume, but the confidence lingers—the kind that comes from owning the gaze instead of fearing it.


They call me a stripper like it’s a label.
I wear it like a title.


Because I know what most people don’t:
It’s not about being naked.
It’s about being seen.
 
Bikini. CrossFit. Tulum.
Sweat, sunlight, and strength — sexy is a lifestyle. ā˜€ļøšŸ‹ļøā€ā™€ļøšŸ’‹
#SevenAfterDark #TulumVibes #BikiniModel #FitnessMuse #AfterDarkEnergy #StrongIsSexy #SwimwearModel #TropicalFit #ModelLife #LegsForDays
 

šŸŽ“ Confessions of a Dangerous Doll: Campus Tease


Late for class, right on time for trouble.


I told myself I’d keep things simple this semester — no distractions, no drama, no detours down hallways that lead to trouble. But then again, trouble seems to know my name by now. It follows me like the faint scent of perfume in the air after I’ve left a room.


There’s something intoxicating about the rhythm of a campus morning — coffee cups clinking, laughter echoing off brick walls, that half-dreamy moment before reality catches up. I slide into it like I belong there — plaid skirt swaying, notebook in hand, a secret smile that says I know exactly what I’m doing. The world expects discipline; I prefer improvisation.


ā€œMaybe I’m not here to learn lessons — maybe I’m here to teach a few of my own.ā€

Maybe it’s the way the sunlight hits my hair or the sharp click of my heels that makes heads turn. Or maybe it’s the energy — that quiet confidence that comes from knowing you’re being watched and enjoying every second of it. I’ve learned there’s an art to the tease: it’s not about revealing too much, it’s about making someone wonder what it would feel like to know you better.


I linger at the edge of the courtyard, pretending to read, though my eyes are busy catching reflections in the windows. Every move feels choreographed — the slow cross of a leg, the soft tuck of hair behind my ear, the slight arch of my back as I reach for a pen. Nothing forced. Nothing fake. Just a moment suspended between innocence and intention.


By afternoon, the air grows heavy and warm. The library hums with whispers and tapping keyboards, and I lose myself in the hush of it all. My thoughts drift — not to textbooks or due dates, but to the quiet rebellion of being exactly who I am. Maybe I’m not here to blend in. Maybe I’m here to remind people that curiosity is still alive.


So I smile to myself, close my book, and rise from my seat. Another day, another confession.
After all… I never said I wanted to be a good girl. šŸ’‹





#SevenAfterDark #ConfessionsOfADangerousDoll #CampusTease #PlaidAndPlayful #StudyBreak #PinupVibes #ArtistMuse #DangerousDoll #BackToClass #SevenMuse




 
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