Page 21 of Horror and Chill

“That’s going to hurt,” she says, stepping closer. “Like, really hurt. You’re still riding the high, and you’re sore. You sure?”

“That’s exactly why I want it. This isn’t just for pleasure. It’s for me. Reclaiming my body. Putting something there I control.”

She watches me for a moment, probably waiting to see if I flinch or change my mind. But I don’t. I stay steady.

Finally, she sighs and tosses her gloves into the trash. “Alright then, you masochistic little freak. Let’s get you shiny.”

She pulls out a new tray, everything sealed and clean. She moves with clinical efficiency, the same way she did with the needles earlier, but there’s something softer in her movements now. Like she understands what this means. She lays out the tools, the jewelry, and a fresh set of gloves. She tells me to strip from the waist down and lie back.

The vinyl sticks to my skin where I’m already sweating. She parts my thighs gently and begins to clean the area. The antiseptic is cold, sharp-smelling, and makes my skin twitch. I watch her lean in and draw a tiny dot just above my clit, right where the tissue of my hood arches in a thin, soft line. Shows me. I nod. It’s perfect.

“You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be.”

She clamps the skin, firm and fast.

My hands grip the edge of the table, knuckles whitening as I focus on my breathing. In through the nose. Out through themouth. A pointless ritual when every nerve below my waist is already braced for impact.

The needle goes through.

I don’t scream, but the noise that escapes me is primal. Half gasp, half whimper. It tears through my throat and makes my toes curl. The pain is quick but hot, like fire cutting a seam. My spine arches before I even realize I’m moving.

Then it’s over.

She slides the jewelry in, a dainty opalescent stud that catches the light like moonstone. It rests against me like a door knocker for my cunt, beautiful and dangerous.

Kira hands me the mirror again, and I lift my head to look.

I smile, breathless. “I love it.”

She chuckles as she peels off her gloves and drops them into the bin. “You’re a lunatic.”

“Maybe. But I’m a happy one.”

I dress slowly, feeling the sting with every shift of fabric. The ache is new, tender and humming. I pay her in cash, tuck the change into the tip jar, and promise to text her when I’m home safe.

“Don’t forget aftercare,” she calls after me as I open the door.

“I won’t. I’m heading home now. Ice pack, ibuprofen, and a round of thirsty selfies. You know the drill.”

She laughs again, shaking her head. “You’re the weirdest kindergarten teacher I’ve ever met.”

“Thank you,” I say, blowing her a kiss.

Then I’m out the door, walking into the night like I didn’t just let someone stab a needle through the most sensitive part of me. Like I don’t already know what I’m going to do with this new power.

Because this wasn’t for the subs.

This was for me.

I drive home slow, one hand on the wheel, the other pressed into my lap, not for relief, but reassurance. When I get in, I don’t rush. I light a few candles. Strip off my clothes one piece at a time. I set up my ring light with the kind of practiced ease that comes from doing this for years, but tonight I feel different. My hands are steadier than I expected.

I sink onto the bed and adjust the angle. I spread my legs, pull the fabric of my panties aside, and expose the fresh VCH piercing. The opalescent stud catches the glow, small and beautiful and mine. I take one photo. Just one. Captioned with care.

New surprise. DM for a peek. Five bucks unlocks it.

I hit upload.