It was a Sunday afternoon and my girlfriend Emily was hanging out at my place, watching TV with me.

We hadn’t been going out for very long, but it was long enough for the spark to have faded from our sex life. At the moment, I should’ve been fucking her on my couch. But instead, we were just catching up on our shows together.

I felt a little guilty about that, because Emily was easily the hottest girl I’d ever been with! Way, way out of my league.

She was tall and slim, with perky little tits and long brunette hair that came all the way down to her tight little ass. I would joke to my friends that Emily was the kind of girl you’d see in movies who was supposed to be “the girl next door” because she had a pretty face and a friendly smile, but the actress was still much too good-looking and you rarely saw women so attractive and well put-together in real life.

Maybe she’d just been desperate when she stooped to dating a guy so average as myself, but somehow I’d managed to charm her and now we were together.

Together, just watching TV on a weekend afternoon as if we’d already been married for fifty years! Had I really over the excitement of banging a hottie like her already?

She was lazily stretched out beside me on the couch, in her shorts and a tank top. Even without any makeup on, she was still a doe-eyed dreamgirl.

I was about to suggest that we get up off our butts and go do something else, anything in fact, when suddenly Emily turned away from what we were watching (some drama about tracking down serial killers, I think) and tapped my arm excitedly.

“Oh!! Hey babe, I just remembered something! Do you wanna keep watching this? Or do you wanna watch something else?”

“I don’t know” I said. “I was actually just thinking it’s a pretty nice day out, maybe we should go to the park or something, and get some sun today.”

But I could see she wasn’t having that.

“Okay” I sighed. “What did you have in mind?”

“Um, I forgot to tell you yesterday, but my friend Kara? Yesterday, she lent me her password for Snuff TV Plus!”

Emily smiled at me, eagerly awaiting my response.

I raised an eyebrow, not sure if she was joking or not.

Snuff TV Plus?

“Isn’t that cool?” she asked.

“What the fuck is Snuff TV Plus?”

Her mouth fell open and her eyes widened.

She almost looked hurt.

“You don’t know??”

“Come on” I said. “You’re fucking with me. A channel for snuff?”

“Yeah! I’m being real, here!” she protested. “Gimme the thing, I’ll show you!”

She reached over my lap and took the remote control that was laying at my side. Exiting from what we were watching, she navigated through the TV menus to access this new streaming channel. As she did, I began to recall something I’d recently read about online.

Apparently over the past few years, the prison industry was having big problems with surplus population. Even with increased execution rates and more new prisons being built all the time, they just couldn’t keep up with the numbers of men who needed to be processed every year.

So, a few enterprising Hollywood producers had started making noises about wanting to enter into contracts with the state, to assist with executions in exchange for the broadcasting rights.

Obviously this was a pretty controversial idea, and I’d assumed it would never actually happen. I’d almost completely forgotten about the whole thing after seeing the initial headlines.

But as Emily added the SNUFF TV+ icon to our menu of channels and selected it, I realized I was about to see the successful results of those producers’ lobbying.

The welcome screen prompted Emily to sign in, and as she entered her friend’s email and password I couldn’t help but notice how girly everything looked.

The Snuff TV+ logo was hot pink and royal purple. Underneath it in loopy cursive was the inviting question, Feeling Up To Snuff?™

Most of the screen was occupied by an attractive, heavily made-up model wearing some kind of black leather dominatrix outfit, with a hooded mask covering most of her head. She held an executioner’s axe in her gloved hands that was nearly as tall as she was.

“Whoa! Check out this lady” I chuckled.

“She’s an Executrix” said Emily matter-of-factly, not looking away from the screen as she carefully entered her friend’s login information with the remote.

Executrix. I remembered hearing the word, even before the whole execution-broadcasting controversy, way back when the prison industry first opened up their executions to public.

As it turned out, this was a huge untapped market and those prisons began making huge profits just by selling tickets to the audiences who wanted to come and see society’s undesirables get put down.

This also meant adding a little show business to the proceedings, even before the Hollywood people got involved. Practically overnight, thousands of pretty young spokesmodels could now aspire to become an Executrix, and they began flocking to auditions for “Executies” (as they became known).

These attractive women who might’ve otherwise been hostessing at casinos, or demonstrating products at trade shows, instead found themselves pulling the switches at electric chairs, dropping the blades of guillotines, fastening nooses around men’s necks and pulling the triggers in firing squads, among other increasingly creative and depraved methods.

Because with restrictions on “Cruel and Unusual Punishment” successfully lobbied away by Big Prison, the Execution-Entertainment industry was free to make each one a protracted spectacle for the bloodthirsty crowds of paying customers who wanted a good show.

Of course, this required the “Executies” to have pretty strong stomaches, but once they realized how much more interesting the work was than posing in bikinis alongside sports cars, they became quite the sexy little sadists.

The one we were looking at onscreen certainly looked like she enjoyed her job.

“Do you think she’s cute?” my girlfriend asked.

“She’s okay” I responded carefully.

“Cuter than me?”

I laughed. “Of course not, babe.”

“Do you think I’d look good in her outfit?”

“You’d look even better. You’re way cuter than any ‘Executie.’”

“Do you think I could be an Executrix?”

Now, that took me by surprise. Emily had always been a sweet-natured girl, the kind who’d go out of her way to avoid stepping on a bug if she could help it.

And although it was strange that she’d wanted to check out this particular streaming channel, I’d written it off as mere curiosity. But how deep did this interest really go?

“Do you think you could?” I asked. “I mean, you think you could execute people for a living?”

She replied without hesitation.

“Sure! It might be fun, ya know? Being the center of attention, getting to look all glamorous in those sexy uniforms and everything?”

“Yeah, but killing people for a living? What about that part?”

“Like I said ... might be fun.”

Her words hung in the air as she logged into the channel successfully, and our TV was populated by a bunch of thumbnails displaying everything Snuff TV+ had to offer.

They all looked like reality shows, mostly hosted by buxom women in dominatrix outfits (or “Executrix’ outfits, I guess) like the one on the welcome screen. They were all smiling pleasantly like friendly TV personalities should, despite their intimidating attire and the fact that so many of them were also holding up implements of death like axes, swords, guns and nooses.

I became slightly queasy as I noticed that a few of them were also posing with men’s severed body parts: limbs, heads and other ... extremities.

“Why do they all dress like that?” I wondered out loud, not wanting to discuss the more glaringly disturbing aspects of Snuff TV+.

Emily was already rapidly scrolling through the lists of shows to watch when she answered me.

“Hey, us women like to look good for each other too, ya know! It’s not always just for the guys!”

It dawned on me then, looking at all these various shows hosted by women executioners, that this channel’s main demographic might be women.

Just like that channel that specialized in melodramatic original movies, about women who marry the perfect man only to find out he’s an abuser. Or that other network that made heartwarming original movies about big city career women who come back to their small town, only to fall in love again with the humble local boy they’d left behind.

Yeah, there wasn’t anything so heartwarming or wholesome about what this network had to offer Emily and I for our afternoon’s entertainment.

America’s Deadliest Divas. Gas Chamber Gals. My Fabulous Firing Squad Life. Executies After Hours. Hangin’ With The Hangwomen. Real Housewives of Death Row.

I noticed that not only was the Snuff TV+ roster of entertainment entirely hosted by hot women, the men they were executing were also, well, hunks. It made sense, since all these men would be musclebound from years of prison yard weight-lifting, and...

... And these men were also completely naked!

“This is like fucking porn!” I blurted.

“Totally!” agreed Emily. “But up until now it was only, like, rich bitches who could even afford to get snuff videos. I think this is only, like, less than ten bucks a month.”

I wasn’t aware that there was an inequality problem between rich women who wanted to watch snuff porn, and women in the unwashed lower classes.

“But why is this channel all women executing men?”

She giggled, and paused from her scrolling to lower the remote control and tilt her head at me.

“Because men commit all the crime, silly! You dudes got no-one to blame but yourselves. Haven’t you ever been to an execution?”

I hadn’t, actually. Even with a prison franchise in every town selling tickets to executions, performed by “Executies,” the whole thing had always seemed a bit distasteful to me so I had no idea who was actually attending them.

“Um ... no?”

“Well” she said, “It’s like ninety-nine percent women in the audience, unless some of them dragged their boyfriends along.”

I’d always assumed it was sickos of both sexes who were going, but I guess I was wrong.

“The Executrix even strips the prisoners down naked at the live shows too” she continued, “And parades them around the stage before she snuffs ‘em. It’s pretty hot!”

“Wait” I interrupted. “Have you gone to a prison execution, before?”

Emily had a sly, kittenish grin on her face.

“Mmmaaaaaaaybe.”

We looked at each other in silence for a moment.

Then she laughed and slapped my knee.

“Oh my gosh, your face! Listen, it was before we started dating, okay? I only went a few times in college, and then sometimes for a girl’s night out. No big deal. I think most women have been to at least one, they just don’t like to mention it because most guys wouldn’t understand.”

I silently bristled, not liking the condescending tone she’d taken with me. Still, she must have detected my discomfort because her smile became a frown.

“You don’t think it’s weird if I want to check this out today, do you? It doesn’t bother you?”

“No” I assured her. “It’s fine.”

Emily turned back to the TV.

“So, you wanna watch something... ?”

We did. For the next couple of hours, Emily was my guide through an excruciating tour of the best in execution-themed entertainment.

First we watched HERstory of Violence, a documentary series where each episode featured a different centuries-old torture device which was demonstrated on a condemned prisoner by the show’s beautiful blonde hostess, “Darci Doom.”

Emily picked an episode that featured The Saw. I had to look away when the serrated blade finally finished carving the suspended upside-down man in half, from between his legs all the way through his head. Emily, however, remained utterly transfixed through the entire gruesome process and her breathing became kind of ragged.