Sorry for the long wait! Thanks to the very lovely Raredeadly for the beta and a couple of suggestions!

Warning: Noncon smut

For the two weeks since the little scare Priest put her through in the morgue, Drew hasn't seen much of him. She went out to buy the supplies he needed and when she came back, she was left to her paperwork. He worked on the corpse alone after that; the only time she saw him was when she would wish him a good evening before going home.

And now, after finishing his last display, "The Execution," he calls it—yes, not very original, he admits, but art isn't really about naming things, now is it?—it is ready to be unveiled to the public. On the day of the opening, Drew was supposed to be off for the day, but she does have an invitation to visit the opening later on in the evening—one of the perks of being the artist's personal assistance perhaps. Although a disadvantage of being the personal assistant of a nut-job artist would be him calling at all hours of the night to be his resident whipping girl, such as now.

She received a call from him about a half hour ago, at 3:47 AM, ordering her to help set up Priest's exhibit at a warehouse located downtown. Something or another has happened, and they are very behind schedule; they need another hand to help with the set-up if they are to open the exhibit on time tonight. She really wants to tell him to shove it where the sun don't shine.

But, now she is standing in front of the dark warehouse and has to go in to face the psychosis of her subconscious. The expansive building towers over her. She takes a deep breath through her nose and walks onward. When she nears the rolling overhead door, it automatically slides open for her; the metal grating on metal causes her to cringe.

She steps through the threshold into the gloom; most of the lights are burned out. Can't believe they didn't change the lights yet, that should be the first thing on the agenda, how the hell will anything be set up if – the door slams down behind her, and she jumps, twisting around to gape at the obstructed exit.

No. No, don't tell me I've walked into another trap. No, not again. Where the hell is everyone? God dammit ... "Mr. Priest?" she asks uncertainly, turning to scan her eyes across the vicinity. No answer.

"Mr. Priest!" This time she speaks louder; firmer. What the hell is he up to now?

"Priest!" Her voice echoes ominously in the seemingly empty warehouse. She crosses her arms. "I am not moving from this spot until you show yourself!"

One of the light fixtures on the ceiling comes crashing down behind her. Light bulbs shatter, sending shards of glass flying in all directions. Drew shrieks and lunges away, but one of the shards grazes her ankle; a thin trickle of blood runs towards her shoe. Slightly slouched over with her hand on her chest and panting, she stares wide-eyed at the broken equipment. "The hell…?"

Then, another light fixture drops right above her. She yelps, "Fuck!" and dashes away. Then another falls, and another, and another. "What the fuck?" she yells as she sprints away, drawing out the word fuck.

She trips and lands hard, her ribs make contact with the floor. She lays for a moment, moaning in misery, before she hears screeching above her—something breaking, or being released—and shifts to see a huge fixture tumbling towards her. She screams at the top of her lungs and rolls away, covering her face as the large contraption comes crashing down where she was lying only moments ago. Glass showers her. A small piece falls between her fingers, cutting her cheek.

She slowly rises, quivering faintly, and stares at the mess with her mouth hanging opened. She clenches her jaw and shouts between her teeth, "Priest! You sick motherfucker! Why are you doing this?" No answer. "Priest!"

She feels a shooting pain in her ribs every time she gasps for breath. She's pretty sure she cracked a rib; the blood from the cut on her cheek oozes down her neck.

Drew limps towards the door in a huff and another light fixture plummets before her. Squealing, she backpedals and slips, collapsing on her ass. The impact to her ribs sends jolts of pain through her torso. She quickly stumbles back onto her feet. "What do you want, you sick fuck? I'm done with you! I quit, you hear me? I fuckin quit!"

She steps towards the exit again, her shoes crunching on the broken glass. After a few more lights plunge before her, she glances upwards and shouts, "You've run out of things to drop on me, you freak! What the hell are you going to do now, huh?"

She stalks towards the exit and leans over, reaching down to lift the rolling steel door. Electricity shocks her arm and she yelps, snatching her hand away. A wisp of smoke rises from the door. "Fuck," she hisses; her entire right arm is numb and shaking uncontrollably. "Let me out, you asshole! You can't do this to me! Let me out! Let me out!"

She turns when she hears a clacking echoing behind her. A new light, much brighter than the rest, has been turned on in the back of the room. Now that her eyes have grown accustomed to the darkness, she can see a black piece of plastic about nine feet high is stretched across the room, dividing it so that she can see the lights dangling from the ceiling, but not what's actually on the floor space. She has absolutely no idea what is beyond the plastic sheet and doesn't want to know.

She grimaces and shouts, "Forget it; I'm not playing any of your sick games!"

That single brighter light flickers on and off rhythmically.

"Damn it, Priest! Let me go!" She childishly stomps her foot once.

The light flickers faster.

"I'm not doing this!"

All the lights in the facility click off, leaving her in pitch darkness. She swallows thickly and takes a deep breath, trying to squash the growing panic. She pissed him off. She wonders if this means that he gave up and if she turns around and tries for the door again, it wouldn't shock her. Her right arm, still numb and trembling, deters her from trying again.

She grinds her teeth together and shouts, "Fine!" The lights flash back on; the brighter one flickers a few times, as if telling her, "Well, come on, then."

She walks towards the plastic sheet, glass crunching underfoot. She hesitates in front of the barrier—just do it, quick like a Band-Aid, finish and get out of here—she bends down and grips the end of the sheet and lifts. She steps through and allows the plastic to fall behind her. She stops dead in her tracks and gapes.

It's like a scene right out of horror movie. The floor space is sectioned off with divider curtains, like in a hospital ward, so she is forced to follow a certain path. The curtains would have been white if not stained and dirty. She's not sure what the origins of the stains are, but taking a guess, it could be paint, blood, or … fecal matter. Knowing Priest, he wouldn't shy away from using such mediums for his … art. She frowns and continues onward.

Passing the first curtain, she turns and almost jumps out of her skin. Snapping her hand over her mouth, she chokes and swallows back a scream.

A corpse—a naked man—lies on its stomach atop a wooden crate, hands and feet are hogtied together. The man's eyes have been roughly gouged out, leaving two big black holes with dried gore and blood streaking down his face. A spider gag forces his mouth wide open, with hooks on the side digging deeply into his face—dried blood streaks from that as well. She whimpers and quickly moves on.

The curtains are arranged in a maze, so she goes through a few twists before reaching the next display. She recoils and wraps her arms around herself, stifling the urge to cry.

This next body is propped up on velvet covered bricks: a nude woman in intricately tied bondage. But instead of rope, she's bound by barbed wire. The wire wraps around her neck and down to crisscross at her chest, intersecting once more at her spine to reach back towards the front. The wire then pulls down between her legs and up to tie her arms behind her back, wrists to elbows. The wire continues upward to reach up and over her shoulders to tie her knees together as close to her chest as possible; then it goes downward to tie her ankles together. The barbed wire severely bites down into her skin, and her entire body is covered in rivulets of dried blood. The dead woman's face is distorted in such a way that it is impossible tell if she is in rapture or anguish. Drew snaps her mouth closed and hastens her steps away from the mutilation.

A few more turns takes her to another display. She gags and swallows the bile threatening to purge from her stomach, pressing a hand against her mouth. This display is of another naked woman. Her arms are tied behind her back by the elbows; the rope winds all the way down her forearms to her wrists. The restraint is so unyielding that the elbows touch, causing her chest to be thrust forward. Each ankle is also tied to its corresponding thigh, forcing her to a kneeling position.

But the thing that appalls Drew is that the woman is planted on a thick white pole by a lower orifice; it is the only thing holding her up … one and a half feet in the air. Because of the way her ankles are tied, she would have been unable to straighten her legs and keep herself from being impaled. Coagulated blood seeps down starkly against the white pole to pool on the floor.

Drew spins away and keeps walking, fearing whatever she'll be forced to see next.

A few more turns bring her to the most abysmal display she has or ever will see in her entire life. She lets out a piercing gasp and her jaws drop in horror.

There are two unclothed figures in this display, one is a woman; the other could be called a man if not for the condition he's in. The man is on his back on a twin mattress. The skin and muscles of his torso have been sliced and are held apart by metal forceps. His ribs have been sawed down the center and cracked apart to reveal all internal organs. Blood soaked the mattress completely, some seeps over the edge. The woman is straddling his hips; they are joined. Her hands are stuffed into his intestines. Blood covers her arms from fingertips to elbow. Her face is contorted to show glee and pleasure, lips rolled back in a delighted grin. The man's mouth is wide open in a silent scream. His eyes are partially rolled to the back of his head, almost like he were looking directly at Drew.

She falls to her knees, vomits, and continues to heave even after there's nothing left in her stomach. Panting, she springs onto her feet and starts running. The earsplitting scream she has been holding back finally rushes from her lungs, and she's bawling wordlessly from panic, fear, and oh, God, what the fuck is he? She runs and runs, not looking at the rest of the displays that cross her way, running mindlessly—stupidly—until, she rounds a corner and an arm darts out.

She runs right into it, whacking her face against the bicep. Her head snaps back as her legs continue forward, causing her to fall onto her back with a sharp crack. Her head hits hard against the floor and the room starts spinning. Her ribs pulses in pain to the rhythm of her speeding heart.

"My, my." Priest's voice echoes from somewhere she can't see. "How clumsy."

His face looms over her, half-concealed in the darkness of the warehouse. "Did you hurt yourself?" He doesn't even bother hiding his mirth.

She groans, blinking hard and trying to will the room to stop moving. She spat, "Fuck you …"

He grins, "We'll get to that later—" her heart skips a beat and dread fills her belly, "—but for now, allow me to help you up. Poor girl, that nasty fall must have given you a concussion." He bends to one knee and slips his hands underneath her.

"Don't touch me." Her tongue feels about three sizes too large and her words are slurred.

"Now, now …" His attempt at comforting her is pretty lackluster. "I'm trying to help you." He places an arm under her knee and the other under her shoulders. He lifts her up and begins walking.

"You did this to me," she snaps, "you psychopath!"

He laughs, "Oh, yes, do keep calling me names. Did you see my exhibits? I know you must have, or you wouldn't have been screaming your head off; running madly without direction. Yes … tell me what a ghastly person I am—a man with a putrid soul—it makes me feel …" he hisses between his teeth, "so good."

She can tell that they are nearing the bright light she had been following. She swallows nervously. "Where are you taking me?"

"Right here." He gently places her down on something soft, under a brilliant light shining into her eyes.

She can't see much of her surroundings because of the light but she can tell that she's laying on some kind of hospital bed. She can feel herself panicking once more. She whimpers, "I want to go home…"

"I know you do," he replies, his voice soft but condescending, "but, you have to stay, just for a little while." He brings his hand up to smooth the messy hair out of her face. She shies away from him, and he pushes against her to keep her still—pressing on her broken ribs. She cries out, and he pulls away from her. "It seems you have hurt yourself more than I anticipated," he mutters to himself. "No matter; I think it will be better this way."

"What way?" She's beginning to grow frantic. "What are you going to do? Why are you doing this? Why won't you let me go?"

He ignores her and proceeds to straddle her hips. Her breathing hitches, her voice becoming high-pitched, "You-you said you wouldn't touch me again!"

He tilts his head to the side curiously and says, "Did I?"

Drew nods her head franticly, despite it making her concussion feel worse.

He smiles. "I lied."

He grips the collar of her shirt and rips the fabric down the middle. She squeaks and attempts to push him off of her. He shoves her floundering limbs away and presses a hand against her broken ribs. As he presses down harder, she cries out; then grabs his wrist in an attempt to keep him from fracturing the bones further. His grasp is relentless and he presses down even more; she screams louder.

"Are you going to remain still?" He has to raise his voice, but her wailing still drowns him out. "Hey!" He captures her chin with his free hand, forcing her to look at him. "Are you going to remain still?" he repeats, digging his fingers into her flesh.

She gnashes her teeth and nods slightly, silent tears rolling down her cheeks from the pain.

"Yes?" he asks.

"Yes," she says in a horse whisper.

"Good," he says as he releases his hold on her to straighten up; she sighs in relief.

Priest starts unbuttoning his shirt and she freezes; her mind going into overdrive. What am I going to do? What am I going to do? I can't fight. I can't win. I don't know where to go. There's nowhere to go. I'm hurt, and he's stronger. This entire place is rigged to his advantage. I won't win. What am I going to do?

"Someone…" she whimpers.

He stops undoing his shirt halfway down his stomach. "Did you say something?"

"Someone…" she whines a bit louder, "someone…"

Still unable to hear her clearly, he leans in closer.

"Someone help me!" she screams at the top of her lungs.

He throws his head back and laughs raucously, "Do you really think anyone can hear you? Here? In the middle of the abandoned manufacturing district? With 12 inch concrete walls surrounding us? Do you think anyone would actually be wandering around here at this time to even hear you scream? Do you really think that they would help, that they would bother?" His lips twist scornfully.

He bends to lick the blood from the scratches on Drew's neck and cheek. She makes a small sound of rejection and twists herself away. He catches her by her upper arms and tugs her back to the center of the bed. Keeping one hand against her injured ribs firmly enough that it will hurt only if she starts moving, he finishes unbuttoning the rest of his shirt and drops it to the floor. He slides his hand underneath her to lift her slightly and takes the torn shirt off of her. He takes the opportunity to unhook her bra and tosses that aside as well. He glides his fingertips over her collarbone, down between her breasts, to her abdomen, and rests against her jean's waistband. She shivers; the freezing room an intense contrast against his burning fingers.

He leans over her and brushes his lips against the pulse at her neck. Her eyes flutter and she breathes a small sigh. She says, her voice low, "I hate you."

He pulls away to regard her; he looks at her coldly for a moment before breaking into a smile. "Oh, I have no doubt you hate me; I tend to evoke that kind of emotion." He unbuttons her jeans and tugs.

She narrows her eyes. "You won't get away this time."

"Oh? And what are you going to do?" He pulls her jeans and underwear swiftly off her legs and lets them fall. "Will you report me to the police? Go right on ahead. I can afford exceptional lawyers by the dozens." He bows his head towards her face and sneers, "All I will get is a slap on the wrist."

He gives her a quick peck on the lips, pauses; then kisses her soundly. When she keeps her mouth clamped shut, he runs his tongue along her teeth; then squeezes her cheeks until her jaw unhinges. He smashes his lips against her harder and their teeth click. His tongue probes deep into her mouth. She twists away from him, breaking the kiss, and bends as far away from his head as she can. Her flailing arms catch his throat, making him grunt. He shoves her arms away and slaps her across the face, snapping her back to the center of the bed. She yelps and places a hand over her cheek, staring at him in shock. Her eyes begin to water from the sting of his strike.

He grips her chin and callously presses her head against the mattress. He growls between clenched teeth, "Are you going to be nice?"

She spits onto his face and screams, "Fuck you!"

He bares his teeth in a silent snarl and slaps her again, this time harder. He pulls her hair and wipes the spittle off his cheek with it; then he flings the tresses over her face. She shakes her head, trying to toss the hair out of her eyes as he says, "We will get to that later." Each word is clipped and patronizing. "Right now …" He unbuttons his trousers and kicks them off together with his boxers. She starts squirming away from him, but he quickly pulls her lower on the bed. He scuttles his way on his knees to her chest, hovering over her; still astride. "I think you need to be disciplined." He gives her a leer. "Open your mouth."

Her eyes widen and she presses her lips shut. He's almost sitting on her upper arms, so she can't shove him off. She can grab hold of his thigh in an attempt to pull him away from her face, but she cannot move him even an inch.

He tsks and pinches her nose shut. She gives a strangled cry from the back of her throat as she tries to keep her lips locked. She thrashes her head from side to side, trying to knock him off, but to no avail. Finally, she can struggle no more; she gasps sharply.

He shoves his fingers in her mouth and forces her jaw down. She squeals as he leans into her face and growls, "If you so much as nick me, I will pull every single tooth out of your pretty little mouth and we will start over. Do I make myself clear?"

Tears freely roll down her temples. Her face hurts from where he hit her, she feels like he is trying to rip her jowls off its joints, her head is pounding ceaselessly at the back of her skull, and every breath she take shoots acute pain up and down her torso. She closes her eyes and nods faintly. Maybe the sooner she gives him what he wants, the sooner she can get out of there. When he releases his hold on the bottom half of her face, she grinds her teeth from side to side, trying to loosen the sore muscle.

He inches closer. She flinches as he nudges the tip of his cock to her lips. He looks down his nose at her coldly and opens his mouth, gesturing her to do the same with an arch of his brows. She looks at him with a beaten expression and slowly parts her lips. He slips his member in and begins plowing into her mouth furiously.

She chokes and her eyes water as she struggles to breathe through his harsh treatment. Her fingers twitch on his thighs and she makes a garroted noise.

As Priest hits the back of her throat with each agonizing thrust, she tries very hard not throw up. She attempts to twist away from him so she can catch her breath, but he grips a fistful of her hair and keeps her in place. She is whining and sobbing and God, hurry up already, I can't take much more.

He is nearing his end as his thrusts become more and more jerky. Finally, he shoves his cock deep into her mouth and comes in long spurts. She retches; thick fluid leaks out of the corners of her lips.

He pulls out of her with a wet pop. She coughs violently and gags, spewing his seed all over her chin towards her neck. She turns her head and spits the contents out of her mouth, unfortunately, getting most of it into her hair. She coughs again as her heavy breathing begins to even out.

"What a mess," he says as he fully stretches himself on top of her. She turns to glare at him with as much hate as she could possibly muster.

He tilts his head to the side and peers at her inquiringly. "Have you ever seen a snuff film?" he asks.

Drew blinks. "What?" Her voice is horse.

"A snuff film. A film that depicts a death or a murder—without special effects, of course. Everything is real ... especially the death. It's a very … extreme form of entertainment. All that are available to the public are fakes; usually an actress is tied to a filthy mattress of some sort. She would be violated and ultimately dismembered in front of a camera. Although a very few snuff films that circulate the more … distinguished circles prove to be authentic."

Priest is leaning on his arms over her, his hands planted on the bed on either side of her head. Drew shifts a little uncomfortably; she can feel him getting hard again. "Why are you telling me this?" she whispers. How can his shift in moods be so drastic and sudden? One minute he's torturing her, taking pleasure in her fear and suffering, and now he's lecturing her like a professor would a class?

His lips curl in a chilling smile. "Well, my dear …" One of his hands disappears off to the side of the bed and she hears the sound of a button being clicked. Blinding lights all around them suddenly spark to life. She blinks rapidly and squints. Turning away to avoid the glaring onslaught, she freezes. The lights illuminate her surroundings and she realizes that she's encircled by a group of people. They are all smartly dressed—their formal wardrobe certainly does not look cheap—and none are under the age of 30. Her mouth hangs open as she watches them watch her and Priest. They study her with a sort of detached interest, like someone would look at a piece of … artwork?

She breathes in complete shock, "Wha…"

"You are about to become the newest addition to my exhibit, Miss Drew." He grabs her by the chin and forces her to look at him. "Does that not make you happy?" He tenderly strokes her jawline, ignoring the fact that her skin is covered in his own slick.

"I … what?"

"You don't remember the name of my latest display? Pity." He brought his hands down to lightly brush the hair from her neck. "Smile for the camera, darling, you're my star now." He gestures towards this camera sitting on a tripod, pointing at them. "Through your death, you will be immortalized. This performance will be the talk of the art world for years. The audacity of making the most vulgar, profane entertainment into art." He says the word with a reverence most people reserved for religious invocations.

His hands clamp down on her neck.

She chokes and her eyes grow huge. Gagging, she claws at his hands.

He squeezes harder and then penetrates her ruthlessly, his face turning savage. She clenches her teeth and digs her nails into his forearm; then she reaches one arm to push and scratch at his chest. She's tearing his skin into red, bloody welts, but it does nothing to stop him; in fact, he seems to be enjoying it. He bares his teeth like a feral animal and drives his member painfully into her, gripping her neck tighter and tighter.

Her legs flail uselessly against the bed. She presses her head to the mattress, tilting her chin up, mouth gaping open, desperate to draw even a single breath. The room spins, but she can still see the blurred images of the audience standing, watching, morbid fascination writ across their faces.

The edge of her vision darkens as she scrapes weakly against Priest's wrists; then her eyes begin to roll to the back of her head. One hand reaches out to brush against his face before it falls limply to her side. She feels him spill inside her as the last pinprick of light vanishes from her sight.

Drew falls into darkness.

Air fills her lungs, and she gasps loudly. Her eyes snap open and she jolts up into a sitting position. Each breath rattles her lungs and feels like fire coursing into her chest.

She moans and presses a palm against her throat as she takes in her surroundings. She's in her apartment, alone, fully dressed in pajamas; bed sheets tangled across her legs. It's still pitch dark outside. The faint glow of the digital clock on her nightstand tells her it is 4:32 AM. She takes a deep breath and flops back onto the bed. Another fucking nightmare.

In the past few weeks, her dreams have gone from just crazy-kinky to full-fledged bloodcurdling nightmares. Every single one of them involves Priest as the instigator—ah, her own personal Freddy Kruger.

Drew has been sleep deprived and living off of caffeine for days. She falls asleep easily enough, as she's exhausted beyond all imagining. It is staying asleep that is the problem. Tossing and turning all through the night, waking every hour with her heart about to burst from her chest—any more of this and she'll be likely to pass out while driving and crash into her death.

No, fuck, don't think about death. She throws an arm over her eyes and sighs. There won't be any more sleeping tonight.

Author's Notes:

A spider gag is a BDSM gag with a hollow ring that fits into the mouth, forcing it open and allowing access to the mouth (oral sex may be performed using this gag if the ring is large enough). The ring has prongs on the side to keep the wearer from flipping the ring horizontally in their mouth. It's not very comfortable, but it's also not supposed to dig into the skin or cause any real harm. Mr. Priest customized his in a way that the wearer would be mutilated.

Please review! I may write a sequel depending on how many people wants one and if inspiration ever hits lol.