Frank gave a low whistle as the cheerleader strutted past him. He followed her every movement with obvious interest, but didn't do anything physical.

"You're interested in her?" he was asked.

"Honey," he turned to address his girlfriend, "if I had the chance, I would have grabbed that ass, bent her over, and banged it until it hurt."

She snorted. "And I'd let you too," she agreed. "That was one fine ass."

Frank came dressed like a cultist. Red robes covered him from his hood to his feet. Beside him, Grace was the same. They each had a rope belt around their waist, and each had a sharp knife tucked into it. There was already blood on each of them.

"You know," Grace replied as she leaned into him. "we could just track her down and do it anyways. There's no need to be polite about it."

Frank had to agree. "I don't think I'll wait," he announced as he pushed Grace up against the wall. He lifted up her robes to reveal her bare ass, and then lifted his. "Besides," he said as he leaned into her to prevent her from moving, "why tap some random woman, when I have one right here?"

Once Frank was done with Grace, ignoring the passers-by, they returned to their stroll. Grace spotted something. "This way," she said, pulling Frank along behind her into a small room where Frank had no time to read the sign on the door. Inside was a single mirror, wide and in a plain frame.

"What's this?" Frank asked.

Grace, her hood up, simply pulled him beside the mirror. "This will be fun," she announced as she dragged her boyfriend through the mirror.

They stepped right back out, positions unchanged.

"What was that for?" Frank asked, then paused. "And why do I sound funny?"

"Hehe," Grace chuckled with a deeper voice. She pulled back her hood.

"Grace!?!" Frank yelled out in surprise. "What happened to you?"

Grace smiled with her new face. "Didn't you notice?" Grace asked. "This mirror changed our genders!" Grace opened their robes to reveal the truth of the matter, and Frank opened their own to reveal the same.

"What did you do that for?" Frank asked as he checked himself out. Herself. Frank didn't feel weird with the change, but it was still odd.

"Two reasons," Grace said as he put his hand against Frank's bare crotch. "First is that I wanted you to know the pleasures of a woman so when we go back to normal, you can please me better."

Frank found herself blushing at the contact. She nodded, confused signals in her brain. "And second?"

"Second," Grace said as he pulled out his dagger and plunged it into Frank's new chest. "You're a new woman, and I was checking. Yes, you're a virgin!" He pulled the dagger out, and with it, Frank's heart. "And that means a virgin sacrifice!"

Frank looked at her heart, and the hole ripped in her chest. She pushed her own hand in, finding the gap the organ came out of. "Wow," she said, before collapsing to the floor, dead.

Grace took a bite out of the heart in his hand. "Well, let's see if you get back here still a virgin," he said to the corpse before looking down at his erection. "Seriously? Guys can really come that quickly?"

* * *

"Warning," Misae read aloud. "Entering this machine will result in dismemberment, destruction of your costume (if you're still wearing one), display of your body for the public and constant sexual arousal."

That was the only thing written on the side of the large box, one with an open door an no obvious exit. Misae looked down at her ... and she decided it didn't matter. Stripping out of it took a few moments, then she stepped into the box.

The door closed behind her, and she could see the inside was lined with mirrors to show her what was going to happen to her.

It started quickly, with red studded straps emerging from where she wasn't looking. The first went around her neck, and she reached up to tug on it, but it wasn't uncomfortable at all. Another pair went around her wrists at that point, then just under her shoulders. She waited as the straps wrapped her waist, her thighs, and then her ankles.

She pulled on one, but it was pressed against her skin, again, not uncomfortably.

Then a small padded gripper descended from the top of the box she was in, and gently took her by the neck. Misae didn't stop, or fight it, instead letting it do its work as it twisted and popped her head right off! She was pulled back, where she could see that her body had been separated at the strap, and as she watched, other grips reached out from the sides and from underneath, pulling her body apart at each strap. Her head, her hands, her arms, her feet, her legs, her upper and lower body were all pulled apart without pain.

She felt her cheeks burn as her body was arranged around her. Her nipples were hard, and her loins were leaking just a little from the excitement.

As she watched, each of the little clawed hands holding onto her body parts starting to squirt out some sort of plastic, like a toothbrush. In a moment, each end of her body was capped off with the purple plastic, and the claws began to withdraw. Except they kept dispensing their plastic in a line as they moved around her, taking the pieces with them.

Around her head was formed a purple rectangle. In adjacent rectangles, her feet and her hands were mounted to the growing lines of plastic. Above her feet were her legs, now bent at the knee as they too were connected to the expanding process. Her arms were above her hands, bent at the elbow.

Below her, her spit torso was put on display, plastic coming from her shoulders, neck, legs and both halves of her waist.

She finally realized what was going on.

She was being mounted like one of those models you could buy in a store! Just snap off the plastic, and assemble!

Finally, below her neck, the plastic was molded into a sign. "1/1 Misae", it read.

She wanted a fuck, badly, but her pussy was no where near her hands.

Then the entire display began to roll out to the side, the mirrored interior opening up as she was transported somewhere else.

Bright lights shone down upon her, and she heard someone speak, "And for our next auction piece, the bidding begins at..."

* * *

"Hey there, mister, can you help us with something?

Chuck stopped and looked at the woman who called for him. Two dark-skinned ladies stood against the wall, each wearing a similar costume. They wore tiger-print bikini's around their chest and hips, tribal anklets and bracelets around their wrists, neck and ankles. The older woman held a long stone-tipped spear in one hand, while the younger looking one had a black stone sword in hers.

"Uh, sure?" he asked, careful to keep his distance from the deadly weapons.

"Thanks. We're conducting a survey," the older woman said. "And we'd like your vote."

Chuck looked between the two of them. "Oh... kay?"

"We'd like to know your preference," the younger said. "If you had a choice, would you take someone who was inexperienced at an event like this, but full of energy and willingness to try new things?"

"Or," the older said, "Would you like someone who is experienced, knows their way around, but not as ... experimental?"

Chuck considered this, and the women asking the question. "You know what," he answered, "I think I'll take the energetic woman. At a party like this, going all in on the stuff around here is definitely the better choice."

"Hell yeah!" the older woman pumped her fist in the air. "I knew it!"

"Knew what?" Chuck asked.

The young woman handed the older her sword, and stood there, neck exposed as the older woman slammed the blade through it, embedding it into the wall. The woman fell down, her neck bleeding from the decapitation strike. The older woman picked up the head, and her spear, mounting the former on the latter.

"You see," she said, "this is my first time here. My daughter," she indicated the head on the spear, "had been trying to get me to come here for a while now. I finally relented. Now, once we arrived, we were stumped as to how to start. Having her kill me just didn't sit right with either of us, so we decided on this. We would wait for a man we both approved of - you - and would ask them that question. The winner of the choice would kill the other, then deliver on the implied promise."

She was up in his personal space now. "So, I'm horny, I just killed my daughter by chopping her head off, and I'm feeling particularly savage at the moment. You gonna fuck me first," she pressed her chest into his, and put her lips up against his own. "Or you wanna skip that and go straight to something more fun?"

Chuck kissed her, and when they pulled apart, he made his decision. "Babe, when I'm done with you, I'm going to find your daughter and do what I'm going to do to you to her," he promised. "Then, you're both going to come back on your knees, begging for more."

"I hope so," she replied as she stepped out of her bikini bottom.

She was savage indeed, but he was brutal.

* * *

Dancing in her painting, Cindy didn't notice the new arrival. When she did realize she had an audience that was inside the painting with her, she began to dance for them, spinning around and arching her back for balance. She clasped a hand to her chest as she jumped back across the space she just occupied, then pirouetted to and fro. She held nothing back.

Then she was stopped, a firm hand on her arm that rose above her head. She was spun around to face another woman in a dancing outfit just as revealing as hers. "The Sultan," the new arrival said, "wishes for your company in the bedchamber," she said as she pointed back, further into the painting. "Serve him."

Cindy nodded. Did she miss someone else entering? She took a bow, and headed in the direction indicated, leaving behind the dancing woman in her stead to entertain the people outside the painting.

She followed the hall until she reached an open door, pushing past the painted guards. They let her bye, and she found herself before the Sultan.

He was a painting too. Cindy almost backed out, afraid. Had she made a mistake? Made a wrong turn?

"Dance," he said, but not in words, but in a speech bubble that came from his mouth.

Cindy hesitated.

"Dance!" the painted Sultan commanded.

She did, awkward at first, always aware of her surroundings.

"Stop," the Sultan commanded, then snapped his fingers with a visual snap.

Cindy fell to the ground in a heap. This isn't what she wanted!

Two sets of painted hands lifted her up, and she was carried up into the air. She tried to kick, but her legs refused to work, they had lost their energy.

The painted Sultan stood, approached her, and with no ceremony, ripped off her pants. Not that they covered anything, but it was the thought that mattered. Cindy shrieked, crying for help, but none came. He pushed his fingers into her clit, and she cried in pain.

Sadly, the Sultan shook his head, and the grip on Cindy was shifted. No longer lifted by her shoulders, she was pushed down to her knees.

Cindy looked up to see the second guard offer the Sultan his sword, and he took it. She whimpered, but could not fight the guard's grip as he pulled her head back, allowing the Sultan to cut off her head.

There was no blood. No gore. Just her head pulling free from her body. The Sultan snapped his fingers, and her body stood on its own accord and began to dance with the elegance she had already shown. The guard held her head as her body danced, and danced and danced.

She waited, wondering if something else would come of this, but it seemed that nothing would, so she closed her eyes, and when she opened them again, she was back in the sarcophagus in the lobby. After emerging, she checked herself over, then resolved to head back to the painting, and find a way to punish the woman who sent her to the Sultan.