Warning: There are graphic scenes of pure kinky smut and elements of noncon. Do not read if you're easily offended. I do not condone noncon in real life, this is just a fictional story.

Author's note: This is the first time I'm writing smut ^^;; hope it's satisfactory. I wrote this based on a very, very naughty dream I had of David Bowie. The fandom is "The Hunger" (90s TV series, not the movie). You don't really need to watch the series to understand this story. All you need to know is that Bowie's character is named Julian Priest, and he is a performance artist (an "actionist"). His medium of choice is human bodies (either hacking off limbs or gutting them, skinning them, etc.). Forgive my mistakes, I've read it over to fix whatever errors I could, but I'm bound to miss some lol.

She finds herself feeling very cold and a bit uncomfortable. She inhales slowly and blinks her eyes open – she's lying on tiled floor, staring up at a broken sunroof; apparently it's night. The room has only a few lights still working so it's pretty dark in there. She carefully lifts herself in a sitting position as she takes in her surroundings. Where the hell am I? She blinks hard and shakes her head slightly to clear away her confusion. It didn't work, she still has no idea where she is or how she got there. She swallows down her anxiety as she stands on her feet. The world around her tilts and she almost falls back onto her ass but she steadies herself against the tiled walls. She closes her eyes again as she leans against the wall, allowing her dizziness to fade. When she feels she can walk without falling over, she pushes herself off the wall and takes a few cautious steps away. Confident that she won't keel over, she starts to explore the area, trying to figure out where she is and a way to get home.

The room she currently is in seems to be a communal shower of some kind; a very old, dirty, and rusty communal shower. Some places around the corners of the room and floor are stained with a greenish brown, mucky substance. The paint on the ceiling is cracked and peeling off in large flakes while a few of the tiles on the wall has broken off at one point or another and lay shattered on the ground.

She turns in a half circle to find the exit behind her. She starts walking towards it when she realizes that her feet are freezing. She looks down to find herself not wearing any shoes. She also finds herself wearing a white microfiber hoodie (although, smudged with dirt) over a pale blue tank top and darker blue cargo pants. She quickly zips her hoodie up to her neck and continues on her way.

She steps out into dimly lit hallway. The floor is concrete and it feels a bit abrasive against her bare feet. The light source is plain light bulbs dangling from the ceiling, although a lot of them burned out. The bulbs swing back and forth faintly from a small draft that blows through; causing the shadows to give the impression of coming alive around her. The lights also flickered ominously, making a sharp tink-tink-tink sound. She decides to turn left and walk down the narrow hall, crossing her arms over her chest in a poor attempt to keep warm. The hallway is mostly empty, although there are trash thrown about here and there and the walls have streaks of dark reddish brown stains all over. It looks like someone wiped their dirty hands all over the wall; there are quite a few smudged hand prints.

There aren't any doors or openings in this hallway besides the one she just left. It goes on and on until she reaches a threshold, just as dark as the rest of the building; just as dirty and dilapidated. She finds herself in a large and circular room, surrounded by openings to other hallways all around the chamber. She walks towards the center of the room where there is a bulky wooden desk. She stands by the desk, placing one palm on the tabletop as she takes a look around the room. There are a few overturned chairs tossed around the room and everything seems to be covered in dust. Most of the hallways are in complete darkness; a few of them has dim lighting. Taking a look down one hall, she sees what appear to be jail cells – she is in an abandoned prison of some kind.

Now that she knows where she is, she needs to find a way out. She'll figure out how she ended up at the prison after she's safe at home. She turns her attention back to the desk and notices a worn paper under her hand. She lifts her palm and finds a map of the entire facility. She realizes that she's currently at the main Penitentiary Rotunda. For the quickest way to get to front gates, she would need to walk through either the Synagogue or Cellblock 7. She looks down those two hallways and they were pitch-black. She looks through the desk for a flashlight, but comes up with nothing. Fuck that. She brings her attention back to the map. There's a longer way to get to the front gate, but she would have to walk outside and make a huge loop to get there. The penitentiary building itself is encircled by a really tall concrete wall. Hopefully, there will be street lights of some kind outside to show her the way, or maybe even a hole through the outer wall where she can squeeze through. For this route, she would need to go through either the infirmary or the chapel. She looks down the hallway to the chapel and finds that the floor had partially collapsed and it would be too dangerous to go through. The only way left is the infirmary.

She looks down the hallway to the infirmary and that hall is in complete darkness as well. She clenches her fists and feels her panic rising. Then she takes a closer look and notices that it's not that dark after all; there is a faint light at the end of that hall. It seems to be coming from the left – from a closed door that has a window on it. She sighs and her whole stance relaxes. As long as there is a little bit of light, she can find her way.

She lifts the map and folds it as she makes her way to the infirmary. At the very moment she steps into that hallway, she hears a loud clacking sound, as if someone threw an electrical switch. The faint light that the Main Rotunda provided disappears and she is bathing in darkness. She feels her pulse quicken and her panic rising once again. She turns to look back at the Rotunda but finds that she couldn't even see one inch in front of her. She brings her hand to her mouth and swallows her hysteria as she leans against a wall. She turns back to the hall and sees that the dim light at the end is still there. Guess I have no other choice. She removes her hand away from her mouth and continues onward, stuffing the map in her hoodie pocket and placing one palm against the dingy wall to guide her.

She reaches the only light source available; it was coming from the grimy windows of a set of double doors. She pushes the doors open and is blinded by a sudden flood of bright light. She snaps one arm over her eyes and blinks profusely. When she got used to the brightness, she slowly lowers her arm and surveys her environment. She is in the infirmary and the only area in the whole penitentiary that is impeccably spotless. Everything is cool white from floor to ceiling, and the room is blazingly lit with florescent lighting. Strange. This is the only place that has any upkeep, and kept well at that; the room looks absolutely sterile.

There are two doors in that room; the one that would let her out into the courtyard has about eight different kinds of locks installed on the door. She walks over and gives the doorknob a futile tug. Looks like someone really wanted to keep people out of this room…or keep someone in. The idea that she might not be alone in this place hit her like a ton of bricks. It would make sense – the pristine condition of this single room, the modern-looking locks; the working lights. Someone is taking care of this room. Someone brought her here. Someone left her the map. Someone kept the lights on for her and then turned it off so she couldn't go back. Someone led her here.

Her heart rate speeds up and she feels her familiar panic rising up once again. She opens the other door to find a personal bathroom – a clean one – with a toilet, sink and shower, but nothing helpful to her. She turns and starts to frantically search the infirmary for either the keys to unlock the door or for something that can break the locks. The thing is, there is absolutely nothing in the room; no cabinets, no drawers, no equipment, nothing! Just a plain baby blue chair fixed to the floor in the middle of the fucken room! She feels a helpless whimper bubbling up, and she fidgets one of her hands against her face. Suddenly, something on the chair catches her eye; something metallic reflecting the light. She takes a few steps towards it and, now that she is actually focusing on it, she discovers that the chair was actually a gynecological chair with stirrups. She walks closer and finds a set of keys just sitting on the seat. How could she have missed that? The chair faces the threshold she came in before; it should have been the very first thing she saw!

She quickly picks the keys up. Before she is able to even take one step, someone grasps her arm from behind and whips her around. She gasps loudly and tries to shrink away from whoever grabbed her, but she's being gripped rather tightly so her movements are limited. She takes a good look at her assailant, he seems to be middle-aged, thin, blue eyes, his face is a bit gauntly with protruding cheekbones, he's got some fine lines on the corner of his eyes and mouth, and he has dark brown, shoulder length hair. He snatches the keys out of her hand and throws it behind him. It falls sharply to the floor and skids somewhere close to the double doors.

He looks impatient and a bit ticked off. He abruptly lets her go and she stumbles. He takes a step back and studies her impassively, looking at her from head to toe and back again. She begins to tremble and fidget.

He suddenly demands, in a deep, low voice, "Take off your clothes."

She gulps and blinks in uncertainty. He narrows his eyes and makes the same demand, "Take off your clothes!" but this time louder and harsher.

She timidly shakes her head and backs away from him. He gets angry and comes after her. He grabs hold of her wrist and drags her towards him; then he roughly starts taking her clothes off for her. He unzips her hoodie and rips it off her back, he crudely heaves her tank top over her head in one deft movement and flings it across the room; then he clutches the waistband of her pants and pulls it down. She bunches the cloth in her hands, desperately attempting to keep her trousers on, but he wretches the fabric free of her grasp and allows it to pool to the floor. After every single piece of clothing is removed, he steps back and hastily looks at her from head to toe again. She modestly tries to cover what she could with her hands while shaking from the cold and fear.

He gestures towards the gynecological chair and orders, "Sit."

She eyes the keys that he has thrown behind him and quickly makes a dash towards it. He shifts and grabs onto her waist as she tries to pass him and shoves her back. For such a svelte man, he holds quite a bit of strength.

"I said 'sit down!'" He snarls, his voice echoing throughout the room. He pauses when she still refuses to adhere to his directions. He adds in a dangerously low voice, "I can and will hurt you. Do as I say."

On the verge of tears, she inhales unsteadily and walks towards the offensive chair. She sits down normally, not putting her feet on those stirrups and still struggling to cover herself. He commands her to lie back, and she does what he say, completely scared out of her mind. The chair is at very minor angle, so she isn't completely flat on her back. Her legs are still dangling between the stirrups, so he grabs her right ankle and slowly, yet gently this time, lifts it up to place her foot on the right stirrup. Then he grabs her left ankle and does the same, caressing the top of her foot as he releases her ankle. She is hyperventilating, her arms are still crossed over her chest, and she is trembling so hard, the stirrups shook as well. He places his hands on her knees and slowly pushes them apart. The tears she has been keeping at bay escapes as he examines her; one corner of his lips quirks upwards ever so slightly and somewhat sinisterly.

He steps closer as her legs give him more room to walk towards her now. After he gets as close as he could, he pulls his shirt off; then he unbuckles his belt, making a sharp clinking sound and thereby making her dread grow. He slides his pants off, kicks it away, and he takes a firm hold of her hips, pulling her closer towards the edge of the chair. Both of her hands have moved away from her chest and are currently covering her mouth as she stares at him in horror.

He brings himself closer to her with his hands on her knees again, and he presses himself against her opening. He's teasing her with his tip, rubbing it against her but not going in. She shies away from him and pushes herself further up the chair. He places his hands on her hips and pulls her back. She attempts to push him, but he casually swats her hands away. She clenches herself desperately, trying in vain to keep him from her.

He looks amused and softly says to her, "You might want to rethink your strategy; that would only make it more painful for you and more pleasurable for me."

He presses himself into her, inserting just the head. She convulses violently and she makes a strangled noise against her hands still covering her mouth. He exhales unevenly as he pulls out and inserts just the head again. He did this a few times, the girl getting more and more scared of what's to come, before he finally thrusts into her; fully sheathing himself within her. She yelps into her hands as he roughly takes her; slamming in so forcefully that it hurts her. He's making this kind of growling or moaning noise in the back of his throat. His eyes are closed, lips slightly parted, his jaws are clenched, and he's baring his teeth a little.

He opens his eyes to look at her, her eyes seems glassy from the tears she's trying to keep from falling. He slides his hands to her outer thighs, running his palms up and down the skin; then he moves to her hips and kneads the flesh. He moves one hand to caress her stomach; then he slips his hand higher, past her chest to rest at the side of her neck, his thumb lies by her jaw. He removes her hands from her mouth leans forward to lick at the corner of her lips.

"If you bite me, I will hurt you worse," he whispers against her ear and gives her a harsh thrust to make his point.

As she makes a choked cry of pain, he kisses her hard and deeply; forcing his tongue down her throat. He breaks the kiss and lowers to nip at her chin; then he moves to her neck. He bites, kisses, and licks his way to her collar bone; then he cups one breast with his hand. He moves to take the other breast into his mouth, rolling the hardening nub with his tongue.

The girl feels filthy because she's starting to like it but, it still kind of hurts as he continues to pound into her. He slips his arms underneath her; bringing her closer to him, as he moves to nibble and lick her earlobe. She can hear him gasping into her ear. She allows a moan to escape as she bring her arms around his back and clasps onto him, feeling more pleasure than pain by now, and reveling in what he was doing to her. Oh, God…

She gives his shoulder a tentative lick; then she sinks her teeth into him. He grunts and grinds harder into her. She inhales sharply and digs her nails into his back, crying out in her desire. He's pushing her over the brink, the tissue he's slamming into starts to twitch and throb; her whole body seizes up. Her walls tighten around him firmly – a long and aching squeeze, then another, and another, and a rapid succession of spasms envelopes her. She frantically clings to him with all her strength as she rides out the rest of her orgasm.

She falls limp onto the chair; breathing heavily, but he's not done with her yet. He continues to pummel into her, he licks his way down from her jawline and bites the fleshy underside of her breast. He places his hand on her chin and forces her to head to the back of the chair to gain better access to her throat. He gently gnaws at the skin by her neck and massages one of her breasts with his other hand. She can feel herself starting to clench around him again – clenching tighter and tighter until she finally bursts into another explosive orgasm. She arches into him and grasps onto his shoulders tightly, screaming out her pleasure.

He groans against her right temple that he has been kissing and finds his own release. He shudders and plunges deeply into her; spilling into her. Both are struggling to catch their breath, still holding onto each other. He moves to gently nip her right cheek. If one didn't know of their previous duress, one might think they were lovers enjoying the afterglow of their passion.

He pulls out of her with a sigh and takes a step away from her. The girl suddenly has an extremely strong urge to sob, but she held it in check as she takes her feet off the stirrups and sit up. She gazes at the man in front of her vacantly and he in turn looks at her curiously. She's vaguely aware of the slick wetness pooling onto the chair; she immediately refuses to think about it.

They stare at each other for a few moments before the man smiles one hell of a charming smile for such a malicious bastard. He lightly says to her, "Congratulations, Miss Drew. You have the job."

She blinks, completely bewildered. "What?" she hoarsely replies.

His grin grows a little wider, "You have applied for the assistant position to Julian Priest – me. What you have just endured was the interview, and you have passed…wonderfully," he growls that last word.

She blinks again, blankly; then her whole entire façade changes and she's glaring at him. "That," she snarls at him between clenched teeth, "was an interview?"

Priest is trying to hide his amusement, but a small smirk shows through despite the fact.

"What you did," she continues, "was an interview?"

She remembers now. She remembers looking through an online jobs listing and finding a post for an assistant gig to a performance artist – more specifically, an actionist by the name of Julian Priest. She has heard much about him; he has been named a genius among the art world. His art has been called "controlled violence," and "masterpieces of grotesque beauty." Every single one of his work is borderline illegal to produce and absolutely controversial – astounding many, yet also offending many.

As a struggling artist herself; fresh out of university, she figures this job could help her further her career. Working with such a prestige artist would surely allow her to schmooze with society's rich snobs looking to buy the chicest new painting from an up-and-coming young artist who will one day make it big. As much as she wants to paint for the sake of artistry, she has been living off instant noodles for the past two years and she needs the money.

She ends up sending in her resume. A few days later, she receives a phone call telling her that she has been accepted for an interview. She has been given the instructions to meet the artist himself at this café where she would be given the interview. However, the meeting would take place around 10pm. She thought it strange to meet so late at night and in a café instead of his studio, but she didn't put much consideration into it. She just assumes that he's the paranoid, freaky artist type who didn't like to venture out in the day. She has been told that it would be a casual interview and to dress comfortably.

She remembers reaching the café during the allotted time, but it was closed. Then someone grabs her from behind and presses this cloth against her mouth and nose. She remembers inhaling a faintly sweet-smelling fume and then blacking out. After that, she wakes up in the prison's communal showers.

"Yes, that was your interview, Miss Drew," Priest answers a little pretentiously as he crosses his arm over his chest. They are both still very naked – the girl too stunned and angry to remember covering herself, the man too arrogant about his physique to bother.

She roars at him, "You sick–"

"Yes, yes, I've heard it all," he waves his hand nonchalantly, "I am a monster, a revolting human being, a sick cunt; a depraved man. You can say whatever the fuck you want; it's most likely been said about me before."

"What the hell kind of interview is this?" she shrieks.

"I needed to know if you can handle degeneracy," he leers at her. "To be my assistant, you will encounter evil – such debauched corruption you would have never seen before in your entire life. You will help me dismember corpses, or administer anesthesia to the living or sedate them completely. If a work requires that the model be awake during the procedure, you will have to endure their screams. All my living models will receive anesthesia and they will never feel a thing, but that does not mean they will not panic and start shouting for the hell of it. All my living models will survive the procedure, but that does not mean they will not regret signing the contract and start cursing you. You will sterilize the equipment, you will have to assist me in the operations, and you will have to watch me do unspeakable things. Sometimes, you will even have to commit said unspeakable things yourself."

He pauses to see if she has anything to add. When she remains silent, he haughtily continues, "I need an assistant who will not start weeping and crying at the sight of such abysmal horrors. I don't want a fucking bleeding heart who will grovel and beg me to stop in the middle of my work. I need someone who will respect my demands and do as I say. I need someone strong enough to withstand my depravity, and you," he points at her, "Miss Drew, can do it."

The girl sits there; her brows are furrowed and she's glowering at the bruised teeth marks on his shoulder. Priest sighs after his speech, lowers his hand and adds, "Do you want this job?"

She narrowed her eyes slightly and takes a few seconds to think it over. She apprehensively asks, "Will you do something like this, again?"

Priest relaxes his previously condescending posture and softly replies, "No. I will not touch you again."

The girl also eases with his words.

"Not unless you want me to," he adds with a faint smirk.

A muscle on the girl's jaw twitched nervously. She looks away and quickly utters, "I'll take the job."

"Perfect," he beams, "You can start tomorrow. I'll take it that you would want to get cleaned up. There's a functioning bathroom over there; I'm sure you've already looked through it," he gestures towards the door behind her, "You can take a hot shower." He steps away from her and starts picking up the haphazardly thrown clothes around the room, "If you'd like, you can sleep here for the night. A bed has been prepared for you in one of the cells on Cellblock 14. Although, I'm afraid I don't have a new set of clothes for you; you'll have to make do with the ones you came with. The lights outside–"

She slides off the chair while he is in midsentence and walks to the bathroom, not speaking to him, and adamantly ignoring the wetness slowly running down her legs. She closes the door behind her and stands under the shower, turning the water up as hot as it can go.

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