The Jar

Title: The Jar
Authors: Cincoflex and Kristen Elizabeth
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: GSR
Spoilers: None
Disclaimer: Characters contained within do not belong to us.
Authors' Notes: This piece came about in a frank discussion between us about smut and what fun role-playing can be. While some might consider it OOC, it's done in the spirit of honest intimacy. And we hope you'll enjoy it!



The Jar
by Cincoflex and Kristen Elizabeth

*****

We all have the jungle inside us. We all have wants and needs and desires, strange as they may seem. If you stop to think about it, we're all pretty creative, cooking up all these fantasies. It's like a kind of poetry. - Diane Frolov

*****

The little jar was old, with a pressed design on it advertising cold cream. Sara had picked it up at a garage sale, amused at the heavy weight of it, and the charming lid. Grissom duly admired it, and wondered if she had plans for the jar.

She did.

It turned out to be an excellent choice; small enough to move and tuck away discreetly, but big enough to hold slips of paper. Several slips of paper in fact, some with Grissom's printing and some with Sara's handwriting, mingled and safe behind old pressed glass, waiting to come to life.

****

Grissom swore the original idea was Sara's, but she was just as convinced that he had dreamt up their new hobby. What they both agreed on was that it worked, and with so many variations on one incredible theme, there wasn't a chance of boredom in their bedroom.

Monday used to mean leftovers and mediocre TV, but now once a month, the beginning of the week was laced with anticipation. What would come out of the jar when Sara reached her slender fingers inside and withdrew one folded strip of notebook paper? What naughty thoughts would occupy them until Friday? What costumes would they need to rent?

It had started as a idle whim, but it had turned into a delicious alternative, full of surprises and a definite secret thrill that satisfied them long after the costumes and props had been returned.

****

Sara had been stunned with the first selection, but Grissom assured her it would be fine. He'd see to the setting and his own outfit. She nodded in agreement and spent the odd moments throughout the week pondering exactly what to wear. Normally this wasn't an issue, but it had to be just right--enough to fit with the 'game' and enough to tease Grissom.

That part was definitely fun.

By agreement they didn't discuss any of it, all the better to surprise each other, but the little glances and shared smiles were more than enough to keep them both in a sweet, anticipatory mood. By Friday Sara was ready, and took the time to change at work, slipping out before Grissom could catch a glimpse of her. She adjusted her stockings, rolling her eyes a little at the unfamiliarity, but knowing the effect they would have on Grissom. She pulled up to the townhouse and stepped out, adjusting the veil and moving to the front door. Part of her wanted to giggle, but another, sweeter part was warming up deep in the pit of her stomach.

This was going to be . . . interesting.

She knocked. After a moment the door opened, and Sara blinked as Grissom stood there in his dark three piece suit, a carnation in the buttonhole. His expression was . . . concerned. "Mrs. Jones?" came his soft rumble.

Sara fought her grin and nodded, grateful for the veil. She allowed Grissom to usher her inside, amused at the careful touches he'd made inside. Flower arrangements. The desk was cleaned off now, and the low sounds of quiet, classical Muzak filled the townhouse. Sara followed him to the living room, where he had rearranged the furniture to resemble an office suite. He guided her to one of the sofas. She sat, making sure to let the hem of her black dress ride up enough to reveal a sweet expanse of stocking-covered thigh, gratified to see Grissom notice it.

"Mr. Smith."

"I know you're still in shock for your loss, and believe me, I'm here to help with everything I can," Grissom told her as he sat down next to her on the sofa. Sara noted he was wearing the silk tie she'd gotten him for Christmas, and that he was not only freshly shaved, but wearing the good cologne too. The heat flared higher between her thighs and she shifted a little, tongue wetting her lips.

"Thank you. I . . . I'm so torn, you know. Roger was well-respected in the community, but at home . . ." Sara sighed, and looked at Grissom through her veil. He frowned, and reached to take her lace-gloved hand, holding it in both of his. They were warm.

"I'm terribly sorry to hear he wasn't appreciative of such a devoted, beautiful wife. Mr. Jones was definitely envied because of you, my dear. Was he . . . ?" the question trailed off tactfully, and Sara batted her eyes and leaned closer, letting her voice drop to a whisper.

"He was . . . unable to be . . . intimate, with me. We tried a lot of different prescriptions and um, remedies, but in spite of all the effort, things didn't work. I think he's stiffer now than he ever was during our marriage."

It was hard not to giggle, and Sara sensed Grissom was manfully repressing his own chuckle at that line. He looked at her again and squeezed her lacy fingers a little more firmly. "Such a waste. Believe me, Mrs. Jones, a young and beautiful widow such as yourself deserves to be loved . . . thoroughly and deeply, especially in your hour of need."

He was so sincere, so very perfect as the considerate funeral director; Sara wondered if he'd rehearsed his lines.

"Yes . . . " Sara murmured, shifting her thighs a little at his seductive tone. Grissom had an amazingly sensual voice at times, and she'd always succumbed to his softer tones. "Yes, it's a difficult time for me. Even a hug would be . . . appreciated . . ."

"Of course," he agreed softly, holding out his arms; Sara slipped into his embrace, enjoying the scent of his suit and the warm press of his broad chest against hers. She let her hands slide along his back, and felt him do the same, stifling a giggle when he realized she was not wearing a bra--

--exactly. He slowly drew back, and Sara noted how dark his eyes were, the pupils huge. "I am always at your service, Mrs. Jones, always."

"Oh yes, thank you," Sara murmured, pretending to sniffle a little. "That hug of yours felt so very nice. So warm, and alive while I feel so cold."

"Are you chilled? I could turn up the thermostat--" Grissom offered sweetly. She shook her head seductively and leaned closer, eyeing him.

"I think I could definitely use another hug, Mr. Smith. I know it's forward of me, but you have such a comforting *warmth* about you . . . "

"You're a beautiful woman, Mrs. Jones, and it would be my pleasure to hold you again," he replied, shifting closer and slipping an arm around Sara's shoulders. She molded to him, once again enjoying Grissom's heat. Gently, she pretended to sob, and let her gloved fingers slide down to his thigh, caressing it lightly. Within minutes she felt the shift in the fabric as it strained a little against the heavy rise of his erection. Grissom gave a little involuntary purr; Sara knew he was particularly sensitive to touch. To *her* touch.

She brushed her cheek against his, the netting of her veil between them. "Oh Mr. Smith, I feel so much better when you hold me. You are too kind. I appreciate you so much---" As she spoke, Sara let her fingers drift over the prominent bulge between his thighs, her fingertips caressing the fabric in teasing little circles of pressure. Grissom didn't look down, but the heat in his eyes was blatant now.

"And I appreciate you, Mrs. Jones. So young and sweet, so full of the goodness of life. I'm sorry your husband never fulfilled his duties to you in the way a man should."

She nodded, pausing just long enough to look devastated, then took one of Grissom's hands and placed it on the thin, black silk of her blouse, molding it with her own hand over her breast. "Yes. Just once I would love to know the deep and powerful love that can arise between two bodies."

It was even harder now to fight the giggles, and while Sara knew her words were silly, their impact was obvious enough--she was already squirming herself, and Grissom was looking at her as if she was made completely of exquisite Belgian chocolate.

"Mrs. Jones, I wish I could--but to do so would be . . . taking advantage of you in your hour of . . . need," he rumbled tightly. Sara shifted, pressing against him, her hand still stroking the ridge of his shaft through his dress slacks.

"Please, Mr. Smith. A session of succor from you would be . . . . perfect in relieving my doubts and grief. I'm sure you'd be discreet and gentle with me. A man of your experience to guide me in the passionate ways my husband never could."

To seal the deal, she gave a little moan, which had the intended effect of making Grissom throb in her hand. Breathing hard, he gave a curt nod. "Madam, I'm here to serve, completely."

Sara lifted her veil and kissed him, her soft red lipstick smearing against Grissom's mouth as she draped herself over him on the sofa, letting her tongue wetly toy with his. The utter deliciousness of his hot mouth combined with his toothpaste and made her quiver, and Sara sighed happily.

Grissom's fingers were busily hiking up her skirt and caressing the back of Sara's thighs, stroking the stockings and garter ribbons with a smooth and knowing touch. Sara whimpered and shifted a little, enjoying the way he teased her skin. "Oh Mr. Smith--"

"Shhh--" he rumbled back, working his fingertips along the thin edges of her panties at the hips. Very slowly Grissom slid them down, and when that was done, cupped her bare ass in his warm palms. Sara shuddered pleasurably, and ground against him a bit harder, her breathing slightly erratic now. She flipped her veil back and kissed him again, licking his mouth and sucking on his tongue in a brazen game of power. Grissom surged against her, his hands tightening on her firm fanny.

"Oh yes, this is lovely . . . just the comfort I've been seeking--" Sara told him warmly when she could catch her breath again, and worked a hand between their bodies as she straddled him, reaching for his bulging fly once more.

Grissom gave a hot, gusty sigh against her cheek, and shifted under her. "You're so vital and . . . firm, Mrs. Jones, in need of what I can *give* you--" he told her thickly, his grip on her ass lovingly strong. Sara ground herself against him and shifted, managing to unzip Grissom quickly.

In the shifting, squirming twists along the sofa somehow they managed to move just right, and Grissom groaned heavily as his turgid shaft sank into Sara. She shuddered with pleasure, savoring the sensation of him deep within her as she brought her knees along the outside of his thighs.

"Oooh," she sighed, bracing her lacy gloves along his shirtfront. "Ooohdamnyou'rekindaBIG."

"You're not--" he countered breathlessly. "My sweet, semi-virginal Mrs. Jones . . ."

Sara giggled, but somehow it didn't break the mood, not at all. The thick, hot sensation of Grissom's cock had her purring now, and she lazily shifted her hips, squeezing as she did so. Under her, Grissom's eyelids fluttered even as his hands gripped her hips. He thrust up, and the two of them found a slow, sweet rhythm with their bodies, making the couch creak loudly.

Sara held out as long as she could, losing herself in the lovely tango, but gradually each stroke quickened as she rocked herself on Grissom, and her nails clutched his jacketed shoulders when the pleasure began to crest, rising in a slow hot wave up through her sweating body. Her orgasm blossomed, and she arched up, sighing in a groan of utter satisfaction, feeling Grissom fountain deep between her damp hips. He growled, a trickle of sweat across his forehead, his curls slightly darker when wet.

When she slumped against him, Sara felt the oddest desire . . . to . . . cry. It was ridiculous of course--she wasn't REALLY a young widow, but the perfection of their lovemaking, and the sudden heartpiercing thought of Grissom actually dying, some day---Sara clung to him.

Grissom stroked her back, not speaking for several long, quiet moments. When he felt her relax, he shifted to look into her face and held her gaze, his expression infinitely tender.

"Did I ever tell you that you look incredibly hot in black?"

"No."

"You do. I'm going to have to make it a point to outlive you so the damned funeral directors in this town don't get to see you in black, honey."

It was enough to make her laugh.

*****

The second week's choice was one of Sara's fantasies. It stemmed from a true experience during her days at Berkeley when, lost on her first day of classes, she'd accidentally entered the Fine Arts building instead of her Physics lecture hall. She'd seen something while wandering up and down the hallway, searching for her professor, that had gone so far as to almost inspire her to take an art class the next semester. Her schedule hadn't allowed for it, but that day had stayed on her mind for over ten years, and had prompted her to scribble the thought down on paper and add it to the jar.

She was less nervous this time, less prone to feeling silly about committing to the fantasy. The first time had worked so well that she was ready throw herself head-first into this one.

Still, she expected Grissom to be hesitant about his role. It said a lot about how much he trusted in her, even in this new, if exciting territory, that he didn't so much as blink an eye when she explained the scenario. He just smiled. "At least I won't have to worry about a costume."

On Friday, Sara arrived home first, let the dog out, and set about preparing the space. The morning light was perfect...artist's light. She dragged his leather footstool to the middle of the living room and draped it in a length of velveteen she'd purchased the day before. The other things she'd bought were a bit tricker to set up, especially the largest and most expensive item...the one she planned on returning tomorrow for store credit.

When everything was in place, she slipped into the bedroom to change in her outfit, a full, ankle-length skirt in brilliant gold and jade colors and a form-fitting brown tank top. She loaded up on the costume jewelry, beaded necklaces and bracelets and earrings that almost brushed the tops of her shoulders. After twisting her hair up into a messy bun, she secured it in place with a pencil.

Sara was just finishing applying her makeup when she heard him enter the house. She gave him a few minutes to get ready, and a few more to get into place, before she swept out of the bedroom.

Clad in his dark blue bathrobe, Grissom had seated himself on the draped footstool. He nodded at her when she came into the living room, but said nothing.

"Good morning, class," Sara said after clearing her throat. "Welcome to Art 101...Life Drawing." She approached the easel she'd set up earlier. "Whenever our model is ready, we'll begin."

With only a half second's pause, Grissom unknotted the belt of his robe. He shrugged out of the heavy garment and stood up, naked as the day he was born.

Sara cleared her throat, hoping her face wasn't as red as it felt. She knew every part of him in intimate detail, but it was something else entirely to see him like this in the middle of the day. Not to mention the middle of the living room.

It was right then that she decided to at least try her hand at drawing him, instead of just going through the motions. There was no way she would turn out a masterpiece, but she was suddenly overcome with the need to record this moment. She had a feeling she might not get him in this situation again anytime soon.

"The human body is not only a perfect machine," Sara mused out loud. With a charcoal pencil, she made light strokes on the fresh sketchpad sheet in front of her. "It's a perfect work of art. Flawlessly designed, intimately sculpted...as Shakespeare said...the paragon of animals."

She couldn't be entirely sure if it was her Hamlet reference that had done it, but when Sara looked at Grissom again, he was visibly stiffer. She smiled behind her easel, more than a little relieved that he wasn't just going along with this...he was as excited as she was.

"Follow the lines of the body," Sara said to her invisible class. "Let them flow onto the page naturally. Easy strokes. Appreciate every detail." Something in the low, smooth tone of her voice must have worked for Grissom; he went from stiff to hard. "Does our model need a break?"

Grissom lifted his chin, somehow managing to retain all of his dignity even in such a vulnerable position. "No."

Picking her sketchpad up, Sara cradled it in her left arm, keeping her right hand free in order to continue her drawing as she walked around the easel and approached him. "You know...it's very rare that I get this...inspired by one of my subjects." She kept her voice low, for his ears only. Lifting her head, she met and matched his steady gaze. "You're beautiful." She allowed her eyes to roam up and down his beloved body. "I want to memorize you."

Although his composure remained steady, she could almost feel his body trembling with desire. "Dismiss your class," Grissom growled.

She didn't get much further than waving her hand at the imaginary students before he came to life. He cupped her face in his palms and looked down into her eyes for a few incredible seconds. "Tell me what you want me to do." His tongue dipped into her mouth just long enough to make her whimper. While they kissed, Grissom pulled the pencil from her hair, allowing it to fall in soft waves around her neck. "Teach me how to please you."

"Sit down," she told him. He immediately sank back onto the velveteen-covered seat; his heavy length bobbed between his legs obscenely. Sara threw her sketchpad and pencil aside, and reached for the hem of her skirt. She hiked it up her thighs in bunches until her legs were free and she could put one knee on either side of his hips. Straddling him now, Sara tugged her tank top over her head, baring her breasts. He waited for her to lean forward and offer them to him before he sucked one nipple into his mouth. "Yes," she groaned. "Just like that."

His cock was trapped between their bellies; Sara pressed into him, sliding her cotton-covered heat against his bare flesh. "Touch me," she murmured into his ear. "Make me ready for you."

Grissom wasted no time. He slid the full length of his palm into her panties, never breaking his gentle suction on her rosy nipple. She was drenched by the time he drove one thick finger into her. Riding his hand, Sara grabbed his face away from her breast and stared down at him. "Now," she ordered.

It was all he needed to hear. He dragged the hem of her underwear to one side while Sara rose up on her knees and grabbed his steely length. When she sank down onto it, he let out a ragged, "Fuck, you feel good, honey."

Sara's eyes were closed as she savored every inch of him deep inside her. She always needed a moment to adjust to the incredible sensation of being joined with him in a way she had once only dreamed about. The fantasy slipped away from her for a second; she kissed his shoulder softly and whispered, "You, too."

When she was ready, Sara rolled her hips forward and back, rocking on his lap while tightening herself around him. Instantly she knew she'd done it right; Grissom groaned and his head lolled. Leaning back on his elbows, he watched her undulate above him.

With glazed eyes, she watched him watch her. Every now and then he would lift his hips to meet her, which always elicited a sharp gasp from her lips.

"Someone needs to draw this." Grissom gritted his teeth. "You are a god-damn work of art, Sara."

Her only answer was a long moan as he gripped her ass and slammed her down harder onto his lap. It was too much for her; she felt her entire body tense around him. White-hot, mind-numbing pleasure hit her like a bolt of lightning. Sara buried her face in his neck and cried out his name as she came.

Even when the intensity of her orgasm began to fade, little sparks still shot through her limbs. Lazily, she lifted her head from his shoulder and gave him a slow, wet kiss. "Are you close?" The tension in his muscles gave him away. He nodded, suddenly unable to speak.

It took a lot of willpower, but she pulled herself off his lap. Her skirt fell back around her legs as she stood. Grissom stared at her with red, hungry eyes as she reached up and tugged off her soaked panties. She kicked them away and lowered herself to the floor. Laying topless on the carpet, she crooked a finger at him.

Within seconds, he had her skirt hiked back up around her waist, her legs spread wide and his cock right back where they both needed it the most. Grissom planted his hands on either side of her head as he thrust into her wet heat, over and over again, harder and faster until he slid his arms underneath her slender frame, and lifted her up into a tight embrace. He shook mightily, her name on his lips the whole time.

Lying there, with Grissom perfectly heavy between her thighs, his hot breath on her breast, Sara smiled to herself. Maybe she wouldn't return the easel.

Maybe he'd model for her again someday.

*****

To Be Continued

A/N: We've decided to make this a regular series, having come up with a whole list of scenarios we'd like to write. However, we are open to suggestions, and if we decide to use yours, you will, of course, get credit for it;) So...bring on the kink! Trust us...we can take it!

Thanks for reading!!!