Possessing Sasha by Shelly DouglasTony moves his relationship with widow Sasha into new territory. Sasha must decide if she is willing to pay the price Tony demands. He wants all or nothing, no matter how life-altering domestic discipline is for Sasha.
One night when she is the only staffer in upscale boutique Ciao Bella, ex-Marine Tony Colucci moves his relationship with widow Sasha Saperstein into new territory. Sasha is cautious but curious and willing, even when Tony introduces her to the lifestyle of domestic discipline. In exchange for her submission to Tony's rules, Sasha will finally find the love and acceptance she has craved her entire life.
But can Sasha change who she is after fifty years? She is a smart ass who likes to get her way, and that goes in direct contrast to Tony's sense of discipline and order. He proves again and again that Sasha is his highest priority, but that proof usually comes when she is taken over his knee.
Sasha must decide if she is willing to pay the price Tony demands. He wants all or nothing, no matter how life-altering this relationship is for Sasha. What are the chances their relationship can survive?
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Possessing Sasha (Sample Chapter)
Tony introduces Sasha to a lifestyle of domestic discipline in this romantic power exchange dominance / submission relationship novel.
© 2013 by Blushing Books and Shelly Douglas
As I unlocked the door of Ciao Bella at 10:00 am on a Saturday morning, I thought to myself, I deserve this physical and emotional torture. Ciao Bella is an upscale, high-end boutique that caters mostly to clientele who do not need to read a price tag. These are the kind of customers who like to be pampered, dressed, and entertained all at the same time. Many of the faces that show up in this shop have been injected, stretched, pulled, and sewn together. No wonder so many of them are cranky. I would be too if my neck were so tight I felt like I was being choked.
As soon as I turned on the lights, the phone rang. “Good morning, Ciao Bella. Sasha speaking,” I said, knowing full well that it was my boss, Lara, checking to make sure someone opened the store on time.
“Good morning Sasha,” Lara responded. “Only 7 hours to go before your day off.” I am working what Lara lovingly refers to as the trinity - the busiest shop days of Thursday, Friday, and Saturday. Of the five part-timers, no one else in the store is sick enough to take on this task.
My purse was not yet put away, the store music had not been turned on, the computer was still off, and my first customer was already at the door.
What are people thinking when they come to a shop such as this one? Too bad I was not a telepath. Wouldn’t it be amusing to hear their real assessment of themselves as they try to shove their size twelve body into a pair of size six denim straight-leg jeans? Do they really think because the jeans cost $250, that helps them magically fit? These women say they want the truth, but no, they don’t. They couldn’t handle it. The customer’s happy face is what everyone is working for, and the goal is to know what clothes will get them to that euphoric state. What they really need is a stiff one, but we weren't supposed to recommend a man or bar.
Most of the time, I didn't think these women had a clue about what they wanted or liked. So our collective sales job was to run many types of clothing into their dressing room on the outside chance that one item might work. This kabuki theater we played could easily turn into a three-hour marathon. As recently as yesterday, one customer, who shall remain nameless, muttered continuously throughout this exhausting routine. “I don’t like stripes or patterns, nothing colorful, black is boring, turtlenecks are too hot, scoop necks show too much skin, forget sleeveless or short sleeves because I hate my arms, shouldn’t cling or look too generous—but should make me feel special. Does anything come with that cardigan? I hope it’s not wool. Never mind, honey. Is Lara here? She always knows what I want.”
Does anyone know that I am in menopause and could murder this woman before lunch? I thought to myself with a smile. And speaking of lunch, well, we really weren't supposed to get one. Lunch has always been the highlight of my day, but you won’t get one here. Just cranky women complaining that we don’t have clothes they want. We only have shelves and racks of pants, sweaters, tops, jackets, dresses, suits, coats, toppers, and vests of every size, shape, and fabric imaginable. We just didn’t have in stock what they envisioned on their way to our store. But I was sure we could order it. I was the poster child for “every woman should have a career to fall back on in case her husband dies.”
We had a mantra in our small woman’s boutique, one that begins and ends with the words “whatever you want.” So when I waited on husbands who were shopping for their wives, we usually aimed a little higher to please. Not that the husbands were tough customers; on the contrary, they were easy pickings. They were usually looking for attention—someone to stroke their ego. They wanted to prove how much money they were willing to spend in a short amount of time. So when a handsome customer asked you to try on a sweater that was a size smaller than what you wear, one never refused. You just squeezed into it, stuck your C-cup girls out as far as they could go, and put a smile on your face. Usually, this little game was harmless—the husband watched you prance around, agreed to buy the merchandise, asked you to wrap it, paid for it, and then winked at you as he left. But after working in this store for two years, who would know that my next sale was going to be a little different? Okay, very different.
One night a week, our store was open until 9:00 pm, and two of us usually worked the evening shift. Most of the time, Lara and Charlene worked late, but when Lara was out of town, sometimes I was called upon to work with Charlene. Unfortunately, this particular evening while filling in for Lara, Charlene had to leave early, so I had agreed to stay and lock up by myself. About 7:00 pm, I was thinking I was going to have one boring evening when a good customer came strolling in to buy his girlfriend a gift.
Now, I have helped Tony on many occasions. It was not unusual for him to stop in to buy Linda a gift (she also shopped in our store), and he has always been a pleasure to work with. Oh, and did I mention he is dark, handsome, and Italian?
Okay, so he and I were alone in the store and he started telling me how happy he was that Connie, one of our associates, wasn’t working. “She’s too pushy for me. Your opinions are usually right on. And your patience is always appreciated.”
At this point, I noticed that it was starting to snow outside and would have liked nothing more than to go home. But closing the store early is never acceptable for any reason, so I decided to just make the best of the two hours I had left by listening to my handsome customer ramble on about absolutely nothing.
When I had first started working in this store, Tony had asked me to try on a top that he had in mind for Linda. I remember looking to Lara for approval; I thought it was a little odd, but she seemed to think it was perfectly all right. So being that we had plenty of time to kill until closing, I decided to offer to try some things on for Tony. A little, innocent fashion show to pass the time.
As I was in the dressing room changing, I heard a voice ask, “Are you dressed, Sasha?”
“No … and don’t even think about coming in here, Mr. Colucci,” I said with a sharp tongue, standing there in my favorite black lace bra (the one with daisies on the straps), matching lace bikini panties, and high-heeled shoes.
Suddenly, his face poked through the curtain and I took a step back in amazement. “Okay, now I know you have lost your mind,” I said, narrowing my eyes at him and speaking with a bratty tone to my voice. On one hand, who did he think he was, waltzing into my dressing room? On the other hand, I was 50 years old and this alpha, Italian man seemed, well, interested in me.
As he crept closer, I thought to myself, what the hell, Sasha. Just go for it.
Losing control over my ego was only a matter of time as he touched my face and told me how beautiful I was. This wasn’t about sex, this was about someone who wanted me and found me attractive. He placed small kisses on each side of my cheeks and softly pressed his lips to mine.
I gasped and he pulled back a bit and smiled at me. “Come on, Sasha. Are you really that surprised? We’ve known each other a couple of years now, and I’ve always paid more attention to you than the others. Are you going to tell me you haven’t noticed how attracted I am to you?”
There didn’t seem to be an answer coming out of my mouth—pretty unusual for me. So he stepped into the dressing room, turned me around, and hugged me from behind, planting kisses up and down my neck. We were now able to see our reflection in the mirror as he held me in his arms.
“What are we going to do about this, Sasha?”
I just shook my head. “You are a real lunatic aren’t you? In case it hasn’t occurred to you how crazy this scene is, let me spell it out for you, big boy. Number One: I am standing in a dressing room where I work, by the way, with your arms around me while I'm wearing nothing but my bra, panties, and high heels. Number Two: you happen to have a girlfriend, lest you forget, who is a good customer of ours…” I had to pause because I thought I had a third reason, but it wasn’t coming to mind.
“Okay, that’s two, my dear, and if you can’t come up with a third, you will have to stop talking.” In that moment, he turned me around and placed his soft lips back on mine. His tongue began teasing me, slowly entering my mouth, tasting me with a hunger I haven’t felt in a long, long time. I put my arms around his warm neck, pulling him in, instinctively wanting more, electricity pulsating south. I really was attracted to this man, and it wasn’t just his looks. He seemed to really want me. He was a little brazen, you know, taking control of the situation. This was unlike anyone I had been with before.
It took a few minutes for reality to set in. But once it did, I was back to my original personality and could feel my face getting red as I looked down at the carpet.
Tony slowly looked me up and down, very pleased with what he was seeing. He gently took a piece of my wavy brown hair and smoothed it behind my ear as I looked up into his deep hazel eyes. “Number One: although you look sexy as hell in what you are wearing, you know that was not an acceptable way to speak to me, Miss Sasha,” he said as he placed his rather large hand on my behind. “Number Two: I am dating Linda, not married to her, which would make me still single and able to make my own big boy choices. Number Three: in case you are still interested in making a sale tonight, I’ll take the size small, red cashmere sweater, and don’t bother to wrap it,” he continued with a big smile on his face.