A/N: This is my first, and maybe only, Grissom/Lady Heather fic. Frankly I never liked Heather and the episodes in which the sparks flew between them were the ones that made me yell at the TV. I never want to see Sara hurt.

But the more I thought about it, the more I wondered just what Grissom saw in her. There had to be some desire there, some never-fulfilled need or fantasy, that he was able to explore with her. That is what drove me to write this story. GSR. Rated M.

GRISSOM VS. THE DOMINATRIX

CHAPTER ONE

Grissom would always remember the first time he met Lady Heather. He was immediately intrigued. Her exotic beauty, fiery personality, blatant sexuality, ease in her own skin, intelligence–it all immediately drew him in. Most of all, the way she could read him and discern his innermost thoughts and desires was both attracting and disturbing. Never had he met a woman like her.

Grissom was a private man. Deeply so. Whenever he felt himself judged he soon felt that he was lacking in some way, or that the other person was disappointed or even repelled by him. He had never felt totally accepted for who he was and all the accolades and achievements ultimately felt hollow. And so he hid. He built up a facade of emotionlessness that eventually felt like second nature. So the fact that Lady Heather regards me as transparent? How does she do that?

He was working a case when they met and when he first passed through the doors of the Dominion. Lady Heather instantly asked whether he and Brass and Catherine would like to dominate each other or partake of the other services available. Brass was disgusted, Catherine confused but intrigued, Grissom was definitely interested though careful to conceal it. Only his enlarged pupils and quickened breathing betrayed him. Lady Heather noticed and smiled to herself.

One of Heather's employees had been murdered. That was why they were there. Lady Heather was a suspect but Grissom quickly decided that she wasn't a killer. Cath processed the house while Lady Heather led him upstairs to her bedroom. As if in a trance, he followed, disregarding Catherine's odd look. Grissom walked around the room examining it. He picked up sex toys and the tools of a dominatrix's trade. Lady Heather took note of which items he handled or studied with extra attention.

They discussed her profession and Grissom compared it to theater. People donning masks or pretending to be someone else–that was how he regarded it, or said he did. Heather countered by saying that the people who visited needed the release, to explore a dark part of their psyche or sexuality. She thought of herself as a teacher of sorts or a therapist--which gave him more to think about.

They walked through the halls, hearing the screams of submissives, the cracks of whips and scornful abuse by leather-clad bitches of naked cowering men who begged for punishment. Grissom looked at it all, taking it in as a scientist, a criminalist, and one with a lifelong curiosity about anthropology and human behavior. And he couldn't help but wonder what any of it would feel like. How it would make him feel.

Grissom was attracted to Heather sexually as well. Of that there was no doubt. Yet how could he be with Heather if she insisted on being the dominant partner? Reading his mind, Heather explained that the submissive is the one in control. They could always say 'stop'. Their dominant partner was required to instantly do so. Oh. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, then. But why would I want it anyway?

Later, when he visited again, he had stood so close to Lady Heather, looked so deeply into her eyes, that he was able to smell her exotic scent and feel the electricity crackling between them. He wanted to kiss her. So badly. And he knew she wanted him to. But something stopped him–the thought of Sara–and instead he made a lame excuse and hurried away. As soon as he got home he masturbated furiously, almost angrily, with her vision in mind. The sound of Heather's voice, how her tight leather corset pushed up her breasts and flattered her legs, her voice, how delicious her lips looked, all sent the thoughts flying through his mind and in a repeating loop.

To kiss those lips or see them wrapped around his cock, god that made him hard. Again and again he became stiff and he lubed and rubbed and stroked until his come shot out. Days went by and Grissom continued the routine. When he was done and could no longer ejaculate he felt sated and worn out but sometimes deeply ashamed.

Gil forgot about Sara when he was jacking off with Heather in his mind. In fact it was the only way he could forget about her. Day and night she was there. In his mind. In his view. In his dreams.

Sara was special. Different. Beautiful, but naturally so. Sexy. Just looking at her aroused him in a way he'd never felt before. Yes, he had masturbated to her image too, more times than he could count. Grissom had spent hours imagining how Sara would feel inside, how tight and wet and warm around his organ. How her lips would taste and feel in his mouth or on his skin. How smooth and soft her skin would be, how enchanting her body. What her throat, her breasts, her pussy would feel and taste like under his tongue. All of it got him stiff. His hand would close around his cock and begin to stroke and rub with practiced and unconscious motions. When he came, fantasizing about Sara, it was almost reverent, the feeling of fulfillment intense. The image of her in orgasm was enough to make him come when he could take no more.

She was the only one he missed in his bed. That was where she belonged, where she deserved to be. He wanted to take care of Sara. Love her. Feel her love in return and earn her trust again. He wanted to pleasure her and make her moan and cry out his name while forgetting her own. Grissom wanted to make love to Sara.

Sara was–dangerous though. She baffled him, attracted him, challenged him, inspired him, and reduced him to a stammering schoolboy. He was struck dumb by her beauty, her brains, her contralto voice and blazing smile. How quickly her mind darted and her words stung or pleased him. All of it made him feel vulnerable and afraid of her power and his need. In short, Sara made him crazy.

Heather would be–easy. Uncomplicated. It would be almost be a business transaction. She would get him off and then he could just leave. Pull up his pants and drive away. No commitment. No words of love exchanged. Grissom didn't want to make love to Heather. He wanted to screw her. Or have her get him off in ways he had never dared imagine.

And Grissom was horny. It had been years since he had been with a woman. Since Sara came into his life again, that was why. He ached for it. Longed for a woman to touch and be touched. And now he had two women to fantasize about. Both incredibly attractive. Both willing. Both wanting him. God. Why am I so lucky, yet afraid?

So he jerked off. Sometimes it would be so intense he couldn't wait to get home. So he would go into the locker room and spray his hot come on the wet shower walls. If anyone heard his strokes and moans and the way he cried out a name–Sara!–Oh, Heather–they did not mention it. The release helped but the ache remained. Once, only once, had he nearly been caught. He was stroking himself under his desk when Catherine barged in. She gave him a strange look, sniffed the obvious musk of arousal in the air, took note of his flushed face and darting eyes, but, mercifully for once, said nothing. She just filled him in on a case and left.

Grissom tucked his limp cock back into his pants and zipped up as soon as the door closed. He felt like his mother had walked and seen his hand around his thick cock. So he waited until he was home or in private before he masturbated after that. God. What is wrong with me?

I need to...do this. Get this out of my system. I can't do this anymore. Deny myself all pleasures. Deny love. Deny sex. Deny...everything. I need to get laid.

TBC