u/dollarchrome

The silver was heavier than comparable pieces.
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Substantial.
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The piercer had held it up when I presented my choice.
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She looked at me carefully.
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This one is heavier than most, she said. Are you sure you want this one?
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I didn't hesitate.
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Yes.
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She nodded. Said nothing more. She understood, I think, in the way that people who work permanently with the body understand things — that the choice of weight was not vanity or bravado but something more considered than either.
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I lay back.
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The table was cool through my clothing. The overhead light steady and without opinion. I fixed my eyes on a point on the ceiling and breathed.
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The clamp first.
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She held it up briefly — a small, procedural motion, checking, preparing. And the light caught it.
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Once. Just once.
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A flash of chrome in the clinical white of the room. Brief and certain and completely, electrically familiar.
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I felt it before I had time to think about feeling it.
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That same low pull.
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Chrome calling to chrome.
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Across the small, suspended distance of a treatment room.
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I had brought myself here for this.
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She positioned it carefully.
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Two flat arms of surgical steel opening, finding their place around my clit with a precision that stole my breath.
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Not painfully. Simply — precisely. The way things that were made for each other find each other. Without adjustment. Without approximation.
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The arms closed.
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Drawing together around my clit with progressive, unwavering certainty. Compressing it. Holding it. Flattening it into complete stillness and complete submission to whatever came next.
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I stared at the ceiling.
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I breathed in.
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The needle entered my clit on the exhale.
Chrome moving through flesh. That is what it was.
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The steel finding the compressed, held skin and passing through it with a commitment that left no room for anything as small as hesitation.
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I felt the needle's full length. Every fraction of its passage. The entry point — sharp, specific, a bright point of fire — and then the travel through.
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The flesh parting with a completeness that felt less like violation and more like finally, after a very long time, being understood.
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Then the exit point. The needle through.
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The jewellery followed.
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The sapphire tracking the needle's path through newly opened flesh. Heavier than the needle. More permanent. Settling into its new home with authority.
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Chrome had passed through me.
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Chrome lived inside me now.
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My clit — that most sacred, most private piece of flesh I possessed — was no longer entirely my own.
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It had been claimed. Pierced. Permanently marked.
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Owned in the most precise and irreversible way that ownership can exist.
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All for chrome.