cvblackcv

[cvblackcv]

He was chosen to learn from the best.

A disciple under a god, trained in the art of salvation.

It was his turn to follow in the shepherd's footsteps.

To carve his own path.

To feed the Gods.

But when his first lamb lays herself at his feet, something in him shifts.

A shepherd should never fall for a member of his flock.

Will he follow the path laid before him? Or will he betray his purpose for something he was never meant to have?

There is always more to taste... More to devour...

Are you ready for your salvation?

The first chapter is coming soon...

Read the first installment of the "Among Shepherds and Lambs" series now.

[cvblackcv]

Short Story "Midnight Tracks"

The train doors hissed open, spilling a gust of cold night air into the nearly empty car. I looked up from my phone, more out of instinct than interest, and froze. She stepped over the small gap between the train and the platform, her coat long, black, and buttoned tight, but it couldn't hide the curve of her hips or the way she confidently carried herself. A scarf hung loose around her neck, and a strand of dark hair had slipped from her bun, brushing her cheek gently.

She glanced around, taking in the emptiness of the car. Her emerald gaze landed on me, just briefly, before sliding away like she hadn't seen me at all. I felt it, though—that flash of acknowledgment. She picked a seat diagonally across from mine, far enough to keep her distance but close enough that I could catch the faint scent of vanilla when she passed me.

The train lurched forward, and the fluorescent lights above flickered. Outside, the darkness of the tunnel walls pressed close, interrupted only by the occasional flash of dim, grimy station lights. Inside, it was just her, me, and the low, rhythmic rumble of steel wheels against the track.

Her legs crossed, and I watched as the hem of her coat shifted, revealing black boots with a slight heel and legs encased in sheer black tights. I forced myself to look away, my gaze falling to the floor. But it didn't matter where I looked; she was all I could think about.

She shifted in her seat, pulling off her scarf and letting it pool in her lap. Her neck was long and smooth, her skin a shade lighter than caramel, and the delicate chain of a necklace disappeared beneath the V of her coat. She was the kind of beautiful that made you forget how to breathe.

I could feel the heat of my own pulse as I stood. At my full height, I towered over most people, and she was no exception. Even with those heels, she was undoubtedly still a foot shorter than me. I don't know why I moved, but the distance between us suddenly felt unbearable. My feet carried me closer, almost instinctually, and I took the seat across from her. She inhaled sharply at my movement, her breath catching for a moment. She was close enough now that I could make out the faint freckles dusting her nose, the subtle sheen of gloss on her lips, and how her lashes cast delicate shadows against her cheeks.

Her dark jade eyes met mine, the tension thickening between us, as palpable as the air before a summer storm.

I leaned forward slightly, resting my elbows on my knees, and let my gaze wander over her face, her sensual body. Her lips parted, but she didn't speak. Neither did I. The silence between us was charged, brimming with all the things neither of us dared to say.

She shifted, slowly uncrossing and recrossing her legs with deliberate movements. I watched in fascination as the sheer tights caught the faint flicker of the train lights. When I looked back up, I found her watching me, her expression perfectly mirroring my own.

It was pure desire.

Outside, the train slowed as it approached the next station. I glanced at the window and saw the platform lights approaching, but I couldn't bring myself to care. The world outside was nothing compared to the magnetic pull of the woman sitting across from me.

The train came to a halt with a screech of brakes, and for a moment, I thought she might leave. My chest tightened as the doors hissed open, spilling cold air into the car. She moved slightly, gathering her scarf as if preparing to stand, but then paused, her gaze flicking to mine. For a moment, we just stared at each other, the tension between us humming like a live wire. Her chest rose with a slow, deliberate inhale, and I matched it, holding my breath as though exhaling would shatter the moment.

The doors stayed open for what felt like an eternity, the cold air biting at the warmth between us. Neither of us moved, neither of us spoke.

The doors slid shut with a soft thud, sealing us in together, alone again.

Her fingers tightened briefly around the scarf in her lap, and I leaned forward, my voice low and deliberate. "Come here."

The train jolted forward, the rhythmic rumble of the tracks filling the silence. She hesitated only a moment longer before standing. Her heels clicked softly as she crossed the small distance between us, her gaze locked onto mine. Fate didn't give second chances often. And I wasn't going to waste this one.

With only slight hesitancy, she stands, and I immediatley grab her hips, turning her away from me. I press my hand firmly against her back, my left arm wrapping around the front of her thigh to steady her. "Bend over," I say, my voice low. "Widen your stance. Don't bend your legs." Her coat rides up, tugging the bottom of her dress with it, just enough to tease me. I don't hesitate as I grip the fabric and rip a hole right in the center of her crotch, revealing a black thong underneath. Perfect. Pulling the knife from my pocket, I slice through it, exposing her to me entirely.

I keep her in place, my palm pressing firmly against her back as I slide my middle finger into her warmth. My other hand rests on the top of her ass, keeping her open, giving me the perfect view of my thick digit disappearing into her over and over again.

I feel her wetness coat me, dripping onto the floor beneath us. "You're soaked, baby," I say, the corner of my mouth curling. "Do you want me to make this pussy come?"

She lets out a shaky whimper and shakes her head, but I know better. "I want to hear it," I growl. "Tell me you want me to make you come."

"Oh god, yes," she breathes, her voice trembling. "Yes, please make me come."

That's all I need. I added another finger, stretching her, and her legs started shaking immediately.

I thrust my fingers in and out of her, faster now, feeling her tighten around me. She's so close, clenching, her body trembling, but before she can let go, the train slows, and she stumbles forward. I catch her instantly, pulling her back onto my lap. She whimpers when my fingers leave her heat and it sends a pulse through me, making my cock stretch to an almost impossible thickness.

"Be a good girl and come for me," I tell her, my voice firm as I pull her legs back, fully exposing her dripping pussy to the empty train car. I slide my fingers back inside her just as the train doors open.

I look down at her face, her eyes darting frantically, searching the space. She's waiting to see if someone will step inside, but it doesn't matter to me. Even if they do, I'll make her come right here, whether it's just me watching or fifty other people. She'll soak this train if I demand it.

Her breathing picks up, chest heaving as she holds her breath, waiting for footsteps. When the doors close again and the train lurches forward, she exhales sharply, a mix of relief and anticipation. "Show me how wet this pussy can get," I tell her, my tone dark and commanding. My fingers curl inside her, and I grind my palm against her clit with just the right amount of pressure. Her body reacts immediately, and before either of us knows it, she's breaking apart.

She soaks my hand, my lap, and the floor beneath her, the sound of her wetness echoing in the silent car. I pull my fingers free and rub her clit, drawing out every last wave of her orgasm. She jerks under my touch, and I tap her pussy lightly, watching as more of her arousal drips out with each slap. "That's my good girl."

For longer stories visit my Wattpad

[cvblackcv]

“you’re a writer, can you explain your process?” yes. first, i panic. then i procrastinate. then, in a fit of productivity at 3 a.m., i create chaos.

[cvblackcv]

Bloody.

"Emma," I say, my voice gentle, coaxing, though my back remains to her. "Last night, you were stunning. Won't you be a good lamb and grace me with that same perfection again?"

I hear the sharp intake of her breath, followed by the soft, broken plea that escapes her lips. "Please..."

She's so close to breaking now. So fragile, so perfect.

Today is going to be the show of a lifetime.

The angels themselves will sing her praises, the heavens will open, and she will be delivered to her creator as she was when she first entered this world. Bloody.

Are you ready to take the next step into the darkness? The next chapter of Sweet Tooth is here, and trust me, it’s going to leave you breathless.

Enter a world where beauty decays, obsession reigns, and perfection comes at the ultimate cost.

📖 Catch up now before the madness continues. 🔥 New chapter live today!

Reader discretion is advised.

[cvblackcv]

She scrambles back on the bed, pressing herself into the wall behind her, her knees drawn tight to her chest and her arms wrapped around herself in a hopeless attempt to gain distance from me.

Nothing.

No one.

Man or beast could keep me from her. Could stop me from doing what I was destined to do.

She is mine.

Her stunning blue eyes are wide and are locked on mine, practically brimming with terror.

There was no escaping me.

Escaping my punishment.

My rapture.

📖 dive into the deliciously dark world of Sweet Tooth today.

Reader discretion is advised.

[cvblackcv]

Sweet Tooth

I fist my length through my jeans and stroke myself once, only allowing myself a single moment of indulgence. 

Restraint in the pinnacle of power.

My eyes drop to her center, and I can feel myself swell to an even more unbearable thickness at the sight of her becoming wet at the sensations I'm giving her. 

Only a few ever had in the past, but I should have known my Emma would be perfect. 

I look down at her pussy, stretched and full to the brim with the mold I made of my cock. The mold is still made with sugar, but it's also mixed with silicone. And since I had to add multiple layers of the mixture to ensure it wouldn't break while in use, its much larger than I already am.

Clouded liquid drips onto the steel table from the sides of the mold, her perfect body unable to contain her sweetness anymore and her skin glistens with her wetness under the dim fluorescent lights. It is truly a sight to behold. Like looking at something Divine and wanting to worship it for an eternity. 

With a steady hand, I scoop up her nectar, careful not to spill a single drop, and transfer it into the white jar perched at the corner of the table where she lies. She's been down here nearly eight hours now, full of the copy of me, and already the jar is a quarter full. She hasn't come for me yet, but I haven't stimulated her yet either.

I recorded the moment it slid it inside her, every shiver, every involuntary gasp as it slowly stretched her out and I've had it playing on a loop ever since. It's impossible for her to ignore. Hearing herself on the screen draws her gaze, no matter how much she tries to look away.

Her face flushes, her cheeks blooming with a shameful warmth. She shifts uncomfortably, her legs pressing together as much as they can with her strapped to the table. She's trying to suppress the emotions swirling inside her. She's caught in a tug-of-war between shame and an undeniable pull.

I see the way she looks me, hey eyes have gone through a mirid of emotions since she's been down here, but now that I have her body teetering on the brink of insanity with how much she wants release, I see her eyes grow heavy when she thinks I'm not looking at her. 

Standing at the edge of the table, my Emma laid out before me like a Kings feast makes me stroke myself one more time. I can't help it. Shes stunning. 

She is my most damning obsession.

Her clit is engorged, and there's nothing more I'd love to do right now than suck on it, lick it until she's coming apart for me and begging me to fill her up. I am positive I could make her body crave me. She would. And I would reward her for it. 

But there will be a time and place for that. 

So, for now, I'll be generous for how good she's being.

I looked upon her as a creator might, my benevolence boundless, my power limitless.

I grabbed the base of the mold and slowly began to pull it out of her. She immediately started squirming and moaning for me, a louder moan than all the rest that came before this moment. 

More juice spilled from her once it was almost halfway out of her now gaping pussy. Her legs were shaking but she still wasn't begging me yet. Before I let her rest, I wanted to capture the pure desire on her face, I wanted to freeze the moment in time she realizes she wants me just as much as I want her. 

I watched as her chest rose and fell at the sensation of me leaving the ten-inch cock inside her, keeping it dead still. 

But she wasn't looking at me. 

Ill train you my sweet Emma. We have all the time in the world. 

I keep the mold in place, suspended in motion, and to my unimaginable delight, she tries to push herself further on the thick mass. My good girl is ravenous, and I'm struck speechless as she unselfishly tries to take more of it inside her. 

A benevolent God rewards good behavior, and I want to inspire her to worship me. 

Holding the mold with my left hand I grab the brush coated in the warm sugar and hover it just a few inches over her clit. 

That gets her attention. 

My beautiful Emma finally looks down at me.

Her eyes shift from me to her core and her lips part as she sees how well her cunt is taking me, taking the replica of me, and even I can admit, it's the better version. But her walls will grip the real thing before our time is up.  

I don’t feel inferior when someone admires what was shaped in my image; I know I am the origin, the root cause of her longing. Her desire, her need—it all traces back to me. From this moment on, I own it. I own her. It’s my presence that awakens the hunger she can no longer deny. And I will always be the reason she burns.

~~~~~~~

In this world, sweetness is fleeting, beauty is fragile, and perfection is a hunger that can never be satisfied.

But he is the architect of eternity.

After all, what is a God to do but answer the prayers of his followers?

This isn’t your typical dark romance story—it’s twisted, it’s depraved, and it’s NOTHING like you’d expect.

And just when you think you know where it’s going... the final plot twist will leave you utterly speechless.

The next chapter dropped today and trust me—you won’t want to miss what’s coming.

📖 Ready to dive into the deliciously dark world of Sweet Tooth? Catch up now before the madness swallows all of us whole.

[cvblackcv]

Leather & Ink - King

"I've got something for you," I say, opening the box I placed on her counter. I catch the way her eyes light up with curiosity, and I can't help but grin at how easy it is to pique her interest. As I open it, she leans forward slightly, trying to see what's inside.

I start pulling out some of the smaller tools and parts—basic setup equipment—but I can tell by the way her brow furrows that she doesn't recognize what most of it is. Her eyes finally land on the pencils and sketchbook, and then I pull out the last piece inside the box, the tattoo machine. I place it carefully on the desk in front of her, watching as her eyes widen in surprise.

"This is Cheyenne," I say, a grin spreading across my face. "Be good to her, alright?"

Juliette's eyebrows shoot up, and she lets out a laugh. "You named your tattoo machine?"

I let out a breathy laugh, shaking my head. "This one's not mine. It's Shadow's. The rest of us—myself included—still use the coil machines. Shadow's the 'modern' one around here," I say, rolling my eyes at the thought. "Cheyenne's just the brand name for this machine, but don't worry, I've already set everything up for you."

I watch her as I place a practice pad in front of her. She pokes at the rubbery texture with her finger, her nose wrinkling a little as she feels the texture, sticking her tongue out slightly in concentration. It's cute—too damn cute—and I have to force myself to focus.

"That's practice skin," I explain, leaning in slightly. She glances up at me, and I can't help but smile at the way she's reacting to all of this. There's something about watching her take in this world that makes me want to show her more and teach her everything.

"I think you should at least try," I tell her, trying to keep my voice steady and sincere. I mean it—every word of it. She's got so much potential, even if she doesn't see it yet. "I know when you came here, this wasn't what you had in mind for expressing your love for art. But I think you could be phenomenal if you just kept an open mind."

She's watching me, her expression is unreadable, and I can feel the tension in the air between us. It's subtle, but it's there—like a current running beneath the surface.

"You don't have to use the machine today, or even this week, if you don't want to," I continue, leaning in just a little closer, enough to catch the faint scent of her perfume. "But I'd really like you to give it a try, to see if it's something you might enjoy."

I can see the conflict in her eyes, the way her thoughts flicker between excitement and doubt. There's this hesitation in her that makes me want to reach out, to pull her through that fear she's holding onto. She doesn't realize how much potential she has. But I do.

But I have to admit, I'm a little confused about her hesitation. I've been blatantly watching her all week—something I don't even bother trying to hide—and every spare second she gets, she sketches. She's drawn everyone here in the shop, though I don't think I've seen her sketch Tammy. There are also some customers she's captured while they waited, and even a few faces I don't recognize. She's not shy about her art or who sees it.

So, it makes me wonder if she is truly self-conscious about her work and is just oblivious to me watching her, or am I the one making her self-conscious? The latter thought twists my stomach in a way that feels unfamiliar. The idea that Juliette doesn't share the same attraction to me that I feel toward her—it leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.

The silence stretches between us for a beat too long, and I feel this pull, like a need to reassure her. My hand finds hers on the desk, my thumb brushing over the back of it, just a light touch, nothing too much. But it's enough to feel the warmth of her skin under mine, enough to ground the moment, to bring it back from the edge.

Her skin is soft, and I instantly wish that I never had to let her go. That I could tell her about these uncontrollable pulses of affection I feel for her already and her not run from me. 

Scaring her away is the only reason I'm able to convince myself to hold back.

Her gaze meets mine, and for a moment, everything else fades. It's just us in this space, the weight of what we're not saying hanging between us like a held breath.

"And I can help you," I add quietly, my eyes holding hers. "If you'd like."

But then she pulls her hand back, her movement small but deliberate. It's subtle but enough to send a ripple of cold through the space between us. I pretend not to notice the shift, but it's hard to ignore the sudden distance she put between us. Instead of a few inches, she now feels miles away from me.

Shit. Why the hell did I just grab her hand? I rub the back of my neck, trying to play it off like it didn't matter. Like I didn't just cross some invisible line. The last thing I want is for her to get the wrong idea.

But there's something about her that pulls me in, something I can't quite shake.

I watch her carefully as she avoids my gaze, her fingers fiddling with the edge of the practice skin on the desk, her shoulders tense. She's retreating, trying to distance herself from me, and I can't blame her. I would too if some guy I barely knew reached out like that.

I didn't mean to make her uncomfortable, but now I'm wondering if I've crossed a line. There's no manual for this—how to be drawn to someone without making a mess of things. I can't risk screwing up her time here just because I can't keep my thoughts straight.

But I want to know more about her. I want to figure out why I keep looking her way, why my thoughts wander back to her when I should be focused on the shop. I don't know why I'm so drawn to her—sure, she's beautiful, but there's this energy she carries, this quiet determination, that makes me want to know more. It makes me want to be close to her. She's not like anyone I've met before, and that's starting to fuck with my head. She's... different. Different from the women I've known, and that's what's getting to me. She's quiet, thoughtful, a little guarded, but there's something underneath that's pulling me in. It's like she's hiding something deeper, and I want to be the one to unravel it, to get past those walls she keeps up.

I clear my throat, trying to bring my thoughts to the here and now and attempt to put her back at ease. "You don't have to decide now," I say, my voice a little rougher than I intend. "Like I said, no rush. Just... think about it."

Her eyes flicker up to meet mine, and I can see the uncertainty in them. But there's something else there too, something that makes my gut twist a little. It's like she's trying to figure out if she can trust me. If I'm being honest. I fucking hate the thought that I've done something already in her first week here to make her distrust me. 

Or maybe she's just guarding herself? She seemed so vibrant when I first met her, but now she almost seems uncomfortable around me and I fucking hate it. I don't know what I did but I want to fix it. 

And maybe she's right in being guarded around me. I don't even know what I want from her yet, but I know I want something.

Women are complicated and it's why I've steered clear of them for most of my life. But Juliette... she's not just another woman. She's every fantasy I've ever had come to life, wrapped in something so much more captivating. 

She's as vibrant as the sun, a force of nature so warm and magnetic that just being near her feels like stepping into the light after living in complete darkness. There's a kind of eternity in her, something timeless and untouchable like she was made to withstand everything this world could throw at her and still come out shining.

I don't know what it is about her, but I do know this: I'd wait a lifetime to figure her out. She not only holds my attention; she commands it, effortlessly, without even trying. And the longer I'm near her, the more I realize she's the kind of woman who only gets better with time.

Juliette isn't just a fleeting obsession for me. She is permanence. 

[cvblackcv]

Leather & Ink - King

I checked my reflection in the rearview mirror one last time. My light blonde hair still fell in loose waves, and I adjusted the small diamond cross necklace that Diana and Mark had given me for my eighteenth birthday, making sure it rested perfectly against my collarbone.

With one final deep breath, I stepped out of the car and smoothed out my dress, ready and determined to ace this interview.

I approached the two large black doors and pushed one open; a small, high-pitched robotic chime rang overhead.

As I stepped inside, I was taken aback by how beautiful the place was.

The entire space was draped in black, but it wasn't just a single, flat shade—there were layers of different textures and tones. But what made me stop and really take in the lobby, was the fact that every inch of the walls were covered with framed photos of tattoos. The floor was tiled in a black-and-white pattern, resembling a giant chessboard. The ceiling was painted black and a massive, round, horseshoe-shaped black velvet couch dominated the center of the room, encircling a sleek coffee table that looked like it was cut off from a cliffside. Behind it stood a large black counter, but there was no one in sight. Where there were small gaps in between frames of art, there was greenery. The whole place felt cozy and inviting. It wasn't at all what I was expecting.

I went with Gen when she got some of her tattoos, but this place looked nothing like the one back home. That place was a hole-in-the-wall, whereas this place was luxurious.

I found myself drawn to the left side of the lobby, where there were beautiful photos showing deeply intricate geometric tattoos that absolutely mesmerized me. The detailing must have taken hours, if not days, to complete.

An antiseptic scent mixed with a faint hint of bergamot filled the air. This place was almost tranquil—relaxing in a way.

I could hear soft rock music as I walked further into the shop, blending with the distinctive buzzing of tattoo equipment.

I reached out to tap on the small bell on the counter when suddenly, a man popped up from behind it, completely out of nowhere.

He was covered in tattoos. His neck, arms, and, as far as I could see, every visible inch of his skin was a canvas of ink. He wore a black tank top that showed off his muscular arms, with thick silver earrings in each ear and a hoop piercing on the left side of his nose. He was wearing a pair of Black-framed glasses, and a chain hung around his neck, the pendant hidden beneath his shirt. His fingers had almost a dozen rings on them, and multiple bracelets encircled his wrists.

He looked me over, a slow, sultry grin spreading across his features before he asked, "First time?"

I fumbled for a moment, confused by the question, then realized what he meant. "Oh," I laughed nervously, "No, I mean, yes, it would be my first time, but no, that's not why I'm here. I have an interview with..." I paused, feeling a bit lost. "Actually, I'm not exactly sure who I have an interview with, but I'm here about the front desk job."

His eyes lit up with curiosity. "You are?"

I nodded, feeling the confusion in the room grow.

"Hold on, stay right there, don't move." He turned quickly, disappearing into the back.

Well, this is already weird.

I tried not to worry too much about how confused he looked.

I turned around, glanced back at the artwork on the walls, appreciated them from afar, and waited for the weird hyper-tattoo man to return.

[cvblackcv]

Welcome to My Escapism

Hello, my name is C.V I'm a new recreational writer who uses writing to escape the atrocities of the real world and my past traumas. Lol.

Please Read 🔽🔽🔽

This is a sanctuary for escaping the stresses of reality, so I kindly ask that you leave real-world worries at the door. Here, we can all dive into the world of fantasy, romance, and adventure. Let's create a haven for those who crave a break from the everyday and immerse ourselves in the beauty of fiction.