Desecration: Introduction, and cross-dressing

A/N: For the sweet and wonderful Karijn, whom spoils me.
Fandom: Bleach.
Pairing: Szayel/Nnoitra.
Warnings: A different kink per chapter, this one includes cross-dressing as the main, blood, mirror kink, sensory deprivation, bondage, light medical play, non-graphic mentions of enemas. Also, this is an AU where none of the Espada died.
Disclaimers: The characters are not mine, and I do not write for profit.

It kind of hurt.

But it was so good.

But it still hurt.

Why did this have to be so confusing?

He shook, feeling so sick to his stomach, so ashamed, but those feeling of sickness, shame and pain were overruled utterly by the fact that it was intensely, insanely pleasurable. He hated it, but love it. It disgusted him that he craved and wanted the things that were supposed to be done to women to be done to him, that nothing made him harder than to be used and humiliated, and that he couldn't even get off by normal sex anymore.

Nothing compared to what his lover could do to him.

Nothing.

He was strapped onto a metal medical table, legs spread and locked into the metal stirrups, arms pinned to his sides, and he was so cold. He already felt sick from the earlier enema, and his ass was sore from the harsh examination to make sure he was perfectly sanitary. His lover was so critical and harsh of him, and he was constantly examined and questioned. It was as if nothing he could do was good enough, but he came back for more of this abuse anyway. It was a sweet, wonderful torment, and it didn't matter that he was above his lover in rank, or that he was allegedly heterosexual, or that his much more feminine looking lover was the one who got to be the one in charge.

Who they were as Espada didn't matter once he was bound and begging...

He had done as he was told, allowed himself to be dolled up and strapped down. Then, his lover had left him alone, with the only light a harsh one on the side of his good eye, the rest of the room being nearly pitch black, and all he could really see was the mirror above him. He couldn't move, couldn't struggle, couldn't do anything to defend himself, and could barely see, and he loved it. The more fear the situation held, the better it became for him.

And this situation was certainly frightening.

He was gagged, and he felt the saliva dripping from the gag onto his face. He wasn't chocking, or in any real danger, but gods, it was still humiliating...

But not nearly as humiliating as what he was wearing.

He stared up at the mirror on the ceiling, and at what he had willingly dressed himself in. He tried to stop for a moment, and to pretend that he hadn't done such a thing, but the leather, lace, and silk told the truth to him. He had put himself in an outfit that the only sluttiest of women would touch, and even now, he was hard because of it, staring up at the ceiling, seeing at all that pale skin clothed in almost equally pale lingerie. It was the hot stuff too, things he himself had wanted to see his women wearing, tiny scraps of lace and silk, that served as nothing more than slutty, senseless decoration. The skirt was so short that his pathetically tiny underwear was showing and if he had actually been female, his breasts would have been almost completely exposed.

It was so fucking wrong...

And he loved it.

He arched up a bit, unable to move much of course, but if he angled his hips just right, the material tightened, and rubbed against him, and the sensation over his cock and nipples was sublime. He wondered where his lover was...

Was he watching this?

Was he touching himself?

Did he get off at seeing him this way?

He really wasn't sure if his lover was even attracted to him, or his the sadist just wanted to see him suffering and humiliated. It kind of bothered him... He would deny any need or want for romance till then end of his days, but in his heart, he craved his lover's affirmation and attention, and wanted his love. This sick game between them was one of lust, and love wasn't needed, but it was still craved for none the less...

Although lust alone was not a bad thing; he could certainly live with that.

How long had it been since his lover had left him? Minutes? Hours? Or had he even left at all? Being strapped to the table for so long was starting to get him confused and he wasn't even sure if he was awake, or if he was dreaming.

Did it matter either way?

He supposed not.

All that he knew is that if he used his imagination, the image above him shifted into a hot whore in a tiny lace and silk dress, and leather boots with a heel far too high to walk in, so the bitch couldn't run too far. The gag has come loose from her mouth, and she licked her tongue against her lips, showing her lust and desire...

He liked his girls like that.

He wanted her, shaking and wanton, and so fucking pretty. She had nice long hair, all dark and soft looking, and such long legs. She wasn't all that endowed up top, but the size of a chick's breasts didn't matter when her lips were wrapped around your dick, or when you were fucking her over a table...

He wanted her...

It was so hot, and he was so hard...

And the whore was writhing, needy, she arched and fussed, and gods, she probably wanted him...

“Ah, enjoying yourself, pet-sama?

He gasped, his breath hitched, and his whole body shook with fear and delight. He bit down, far too hard on his lip, bleeding from the mouth as he nearly came, simply from the sound of that voice alone. It didn't sound all that dangerous, it wasn't dark or especially demonic sounding, but he knew what that phrase meant...

Master was here.