The Narcissus Effect (Snuff) by Lottie

(Have you ever wondered what it would be like if you could stand and watch your own execution/snuff?)

I watch myself walk slowly across the cold tiled floor. I am shockingly mesmerised by the gentle sway of my naked hips as I move, the mystery of myself never more obvious than at this moment. I stand before you, naked, naked both in body and need, then with a practised ease I slowly lower myself to my knees and bow my head in supplication.

I watch from a distance as your eyes hungrily sweep the contours of my slight delicate shape. It seems almost possible that such an intense scrutiny can effect a physical reaction by its own existence. The link between the watcher and the watched grants this supposition a foothold in reality and goose bumps spring up in a gossamer swath across both of my skins. I can feel the nervous tension and the delectably treacherous arousal amplified by this link with myself. My hand inadvertently drops from my thigh to rest between my kneeling legs in an unconscious attempt to acknowledge the undeniable physical reaction that this duality is beginning to develop. Your gaze immediately veers from the supplicant before you to the kneeling watcher. I catch my breath in fear, in an almost innate reaction to your scrutiny, motivated by an all encompassing need to please you. I correct my position swiftly and your gaze moves back to me.

You lean slightly forward and place a gently affectionate finger underneath my lowered chin, indicating that I should lift my gaze. I look up into your vivid, hypnotic eyes and I can see a whole myriad of emotion held at bay by your indomitable control. The acknowledgement of this recognition flashes instantaneously between us and I know that you also see with equal clarity the love, fear, excitement, arousal and acceptance reflected within my own returning stare.

“It is time, my sweet one” you whisper, a predatorial tenor edging the tenderness of your words.

For a second my intractable gaze sees not the flawless perfection of a slave kneeling before her Master but a brutal overlay of the naïve quarry bowed and beaten before her executioner. The seamless tableau containing both equally valid interpretations resonates between my dual perceptions and a sense of aptness echoes back and forth.

“Yes Master” the echo of my reply reverberates in the oppressive air.

I watch! my heart pounds at the sight of the bright, razor sharp blade held so negligently in your hand, excitement courses through my body setting every fibre alight with arousal and anticipation. Simultaneously: I watch! my heart pounds at the sight of the bright, razor sharp blade held so negligently in your hand, fear courses though my body setting ever fibre alight with rejection and terror.

The undeniable need for the experience combines the two responses into an overwhelming upsurge of ecstasy that for a second catches the very breath from my body.

I watch you move gracefully to stand behind me, my heart races, my rapid breathing sighs between my partly opened lips heavily laden with expectation and desire. I am locked, unable to move, trapped in this nightmare of borrowed reality. I sense you behind me and a qualifying hand tenderly strokes my soft silky hair affirming your position. Terror and ecstatic need plead with my body to respond violently but my insurmountable and steadfast submission to your dominance easily over-rides these urgent impulses.

I watch the muscles in your bare arm flex a moment before I see your grip tighten in my hair. The sudden wrench of your grasp pulls my head backward, exposing my bare, pale neck and for the last time I lean into the solid comfort of your body. I gasp as I see a rainbow of light reflected in the sudden upward arch of the blade, its muted downward stroke slicing through the very core of my existence. I moan in absolute glory, relishing the agony of its bite, feeling the warmth of my life’s essence caressing and clinging to my breasts.

Even in the depths of my despair I feel your arousal pushing back against me as you hold me close, revelling in the sensation of this definitive control that you now exert. An orgasm triggered by nothing more than a watched scene rips through my body and accompanies my final fleeting thoughts as they leave my dying husk far behind. I breath deeply, the aftermath of the climax rippling tendrils of pleasure through my disobedience. You gaze fixes me as you continue to hold my now lifeless body against you.

“My sweet, you were not given permission…your lack of control embarrasses me”

“Forgive me Master” I tremble in shame at your words.

You gently lie my unmoving body onto the cold floor, then you lightly lay a gentle kiss onto my forehead as you whisper “Thank you”.

The contrast of the bright red blood against my pale skin makes me feel nauseous. Something feels terribly wrong. I search my awareness, earnest in my effort to identify the gnawing flaw in such perfect synchronicity. The darkness of non-existence nudges along the periphery of my understanding, I try to hold on to it, label it and contain it, but it elusively evades my grasp. I study my inert body and a wave of grief washes over me, the loss of myself is suddenly crippling in its intensity. Sobs tear through my grief, expressing my distraught understanding. How did I fail to see this? Tears pour down my face as I finally realise that there is no way of circumventing the cost, I have ironically found my ultimate dream of experiencing the addictively felt need of death without dying but the price I shall pay for it is endless grief.

You walk across to me and lay a soothing hand on my shoulder. The touch I have to come to crave so desperately turns my attention outward. “I think perhaps we will hang you, next time” you murmur thoughtfully. Unbelievably my traitorous heart leaps in excited, eager agreement.