Sharing by Carl HamlinRe-united twins discover they have much more in common than identical faces. Sweet domestic discipline story.
The dreams eventually become more vivid and tactile, until she finds herself experiencing the feelings of being made love to, and silent, but stinging, smacks to her bottom, as well as some puzzling but enjoyable climaxes.
Thinking that she is going insane, Brenda seeks medical advice. When she mentions that she was adopted at birth, she is referred to an attorney to see if records can be opened, and any medical clues can be obtained from her birth family. In the process, Brenda finds to her shock that she has a twin sister.
Brenda and her psychiatrist realize that the sensual sensations are being transmitted to her as they are actually being experienced by her sister. The result is a zany weekend visit to the home of her sister and the no-nonsense husband who sees value in the effective use of the small household paddle.
And when Brenda and her sister are brought home in a sheriff's cruiser after some rowdy behavior at a local tavern, Brenda finds herself subjected to the same house rules.
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Sharing (Sample Chapter)
Twins share a love of spanking
© Carl Hamlin and Blushing Books, 2012-2013
Brenda Madlon slumbered in the queen–sized bed she shared with no one. As often happened, she was dreaming about her work. This time, she was dreaming about a dress that she wanted to finish for a department store chain before the following spring’s fashion designs had been finalized. It was a pleated dress with a plunging neckline, and a hemline on the verge of being daringly short.
In her dream, she saw herself wearing it in forest green, a shade that nearly matched her eyes and contrasted well with her red hair. Her breasts were meant to be displayed by such a style, and her legs drew admiring glances when she wore a dress of that length.
Brenda would typically remember her dreams the next morning, and some of her design problems had been resolved in that way. She had always thought that if she could just sleep more, her creativity would soar. In spite of the habit of evening wine and the room–darkening curtains in her bedroom, she was not the most sound of sleepers.
She had looked forward for some time to this unscheduled Saturday morning. It was typical for her to be either at the computer working on a design or in some other city displaying her dress designs to prospective buyers.
It was rare for her to be able to sleep in and enjoy her comfortable condo in the Chicago suburb of Handley Ridge. For a change, she had gotten to bed by 10:00 the night before, after returning home from Atlanta on her Friday afternoon flight. She had fought the traffic from O’Hare Airport to her home, a trek that took nearly two hours in the snarled traffic. As she crept along the congested freeways, she ate the fast food she disdained, but forced herself to partake of out of hunger and necessity.
When she finally arrived home, she poured a generous glass of wine, headed straight for the bathroom, and enjoyed a relaxing soak in the swirling waters of the whirlpool tub. When the water became too cool, she drained some of it and turned the hot water back on.
When she had soaked in the bubbling water long enough to make her feel sufficiently mellow, she got out and dried off with the largest and softest towel in her closet. It was one more little way of pampering herself after a long, but profitable week of work.
The thirty–year–old had sold several designs over the past few days, and was determined to reward herself with a lazy weekend of catching up on her sleep. Without bothering to put anything on, she had crawled into bed and gone quickly to sleep.
It was nearly 10:00 A.M. when she began to feel stirred by the pleasant sensations. During the past several weeks, there had been seven of these half–waking, half–sleeping dreams, but each of the others had taken place at around 5:00 A.M.. There was one other common factor: each of the dreams had been very sexually explicit and quite arousing. It was also a fact that with each of these sensuous dreams, the illusion of reality intensified.
She could not tell who this wonderful man was who was invading her bed, body and sub–conscious, but she certainly did not mind the intrusion. He may not have been real, but in her dreams, he was a master of the art of the arousing caress.
This morning was different from the rest. The dream lover was much more aggressive, and much more energetic. Brenda was again uncertain as to her state of consciousness. She was on her stomach, and seemed to have her eyes open at times and was seeing her darkened bedroom. At the same time, she felt that she was really…not there, but wherever her dream had taken her, it was a pleasant place.
It had been four years since Brenda had been intimate with a man, but there was no mistaking that this most particularly vivid dream was providing her with all the raw and real sensations she could ask for. The dreamy coupling continued, building to a crescendo. Finally, Brenda cried out in the throes of a climax like she had rarely known when actually with a man consisting of real, warm flesh and blood.
She was suddenly fully awake, and was perspiring from the effects of the dream. She was laughing to herself that a dream could so bring her that extreme level of pleasure. At the same time, she was still shuddering and her toes were still curling. There was no question the end result of the dream had been physiologically real.
She remained on her stomach to take a couple of minutes to recover. The deep, pulsing climax had made her want to remain in bed longer, and she decided that some more time on the mattress could do her no harm. What a way to begin a lazy day off. Maybe if I go back to sleep it will happen again
Suddenly, she felt a stinging swat to her backside, but heard no sound. She jumped up in terror to see who had broken into her home and assaulted her, but as she frantically reached for and turned on her bedside lamp and scanned the room, she found that no one else was there.
She stood at the side of her bed, rubbing the stinging patch with both hands. She was in a state of sheer panic. She knew that she had dreamed the lovemaking, but she thought that she had been awake for the…smack to her bottom? What was it? It was beyond doubt that it had happened. Her bottom continued to sting and feel warm.
In southern Illinois, Cynthia Young stood behind her husband and soaped his back as the shower streamed down over them. She suddenly stopped, then wrapped her arms around him and ran her fingers across the mat of hair on his chest.
Tom Young sighed. “Tell your mom I love her for taking the kids for the weekend.”
Cynthia coaxed him to turn around and she began soaping the well–muscled chest. “I think she already knows that. When she offered to take them, she winked at me. She loves the kids, of course, but I think she sensed that we needed some play time of our own. That early morning romance is just fine, but it’s kind of nice to take our time, isn’t it?”
Tom laughed. “Ah, the life of a dairy farming family.”
Cynthia cuddled with her husband as the water still cascaded over them, running down her back through the ringlets of the long, curly red hair. “I couldn’t wait for you to get in here from the barn this morning. I was quite in the mood.”
Tom kissed her. “I could tell. It was great.”
Cynthia purred. “Well, actually…I don’t think it would hurt one darned thing if I could have some more.” She reached up and kissed him. “I’m not greedy. Just a little more.” She laughed and kissed him on the chest. “In fact, with the way I feel this morning, I’ll take as much of you as I can get.”
Tom nodded. “Well, I can definitely accommodate your needs, madam.”
They began a long, lingering kiss, and then Cynthia pulled away and laughed. “And just what is it that always prompts you to give me a whack on the ass when we’re done making love?”
Tom feigned anger. “It’s simple. It’s because you deserve it because…you’re always such a bad girl.”
Cynthia laughed. “Oh, I am, am I?”
“Yes...yes you are.”
Cynthia giggled. “In that case, maybe I should get a really good spanking. The kids aren’t around. We can be as loud as we want to be. And it’s been a while since we’ve done that. In fact, that sounds pretty good to me right now.”
Tom smiled and kissed her again. “Yes...I think that’s just what you need, young lady. I will spank that cute butt of yours real good and pink.”
They laughed and teased and hurriedly dried off, then headed for the bedroom. Cynthia halted, then turned back and walked toward their closet.
She turned toward Tom with a mischievous grin. “I think I may even dig out that little paddle I made for us a long time ago.” She wiggled her bottom at him. “I feel like getting a little more zing in my spanks this time.”
Cynthia retrieved the paddle from a small treasure chest she kept out of sight from the children on a closet shelf. Taking the wooden paddle from the box, she felt a chill and a fluttering in her abdomen. The smacking surface was nine inches long and nearly four inches wide. It was made from a wood scrap that was just under a half–inch thick and the handle was cut off square at the end.
Cynthia walked into the bedroom with the paddle to find her husband stretched out on the bed, waiting for her. She placed the paddle on the bed, and then lay down on top of him.
“I’m so happy you don’t mind my getting the paddle out from time to time. That just turns me on.”
Tom hummed and nodded. “Whatever turns you on...it’s okay with me. Just be sure to tell me if I start smacking you too hard. But, I love you. You deserve any happiness I can give you. You’re a wonderful wife – you’re the best mother those two kids of ours could ever have.”
Cynthia looked down at her husband and grinned. “ I love you, too. I can’t imagine being without you. You’re so sweet. And, since you’re so willing to give me that little treat of a spanking I just asked for, maybe I can do something special for you first.”
Tom’s eyes sparkled in anticipation. “And just what would that be?”
Cynthia began kissing his chest, and then began to slide down, kissing all the way.
“I can just see the headline in the newspaper....” She began interspersing her words with kisses as she slid down. “Local...farmer...found...blown to bits...by wife...in...farmhouse.”
Brenda finished her shower and threw on her terry cloth robe. She rubbed her shoulder–length red hair with a towel to dry it, and then hastily ran a brush through it. She was still rattled by the mysterious sensation of the silent spank.
She picked up a book, hoping that reading would take her mind off the incident. She headed for her sofa, then stretched out and began the new book on travel in Europe.
In spite of a rare good night of sleep, Brenda began to doze and dream. Suddenly she felt something cool but hard rubbing across her bottom. She began to jump up, and as soon as she was a foot off the cushion, she felt another smack to her bottom, but one that stung much more than the one earlier in the morning. Once again, there was no sound.
Standing near the sofa, she once again felt the cool surface stroking her bottom in a circular pattern, then again she felt a sharp, stinging but silent whack. She yelped at the shock of pain it generated.
Another followed a few seconds later. There was more caressing of the sore area, then another painful smack. Brenda though she was losing her sanity as the pattern continued: the stroking across her bottom of something cool and wide, always followed by yet another stinging swat. Tears were beginning to form in her eyes.
Brenda’s mind raced. She decided she must have been suffering from some disorder of her nervous system. Another silent smack landed, and few seconds later, two more.
She knelt on the sofa facing the back, not knowing what to do or who to call. Suddenly, she was feeling the pleasure of soothing hands stroking the stinging bottom, and massaging fingertips that were growing more intimate in their exploration. She knew that she was going insane.
Now she was feeling a tongue on her nipples, and lips nibbling her neck and right ear. Then, it happened again. She was having intercourse with her dream lover, but now she was wide awake. Insane, perhaps, but awake.
Brenda leaned against the back of the sofa, clutching the top of the cushion as she held on for dear life. Her bottom on fire, she was being heartily and energetically banged through some inexplicable form of remote control.
Like earlier that morning, the confusing experience built to a fever pitch, and she was again overwhelmed by a pulsing orgasm. She collapsed onto the sofa, in tears from fear, pain, and total and exhausting satisfaction.
Cynthia placed her head on Tom’s chest and rubbed his abdomen. She smiled as she gazed at the small slat of pinewood cut to resemble a miniature school paddle resting on the sheet next to her husband. “My, my...I need to be bad from time to time, then ask Mom to take the kids again.”
Tom laughed. “Funny, how that gets you so hot.”
Cynthia giggled as she reached back and rubbed the stinging area. “I don’t understand it. I just like it.”
Tom reached over and patted her bottom. “What about when I spanked you last year the morning after you drank too much at that dance?”
Cynthia shook her head and giggled. “That was different. I didn’t like that spanking one little bit. That time, it was no fun at all. And I don’t recall that you told me to let you know if you were spanking me too hard on that memorable occasion.”
Tom laughed. “I should have spanked you even harder.”
Cynthia again rubbed her bottom. “Well, you really tanned my hide that time. It seemed like I was over your knees forever. You spanked me good and hard. And you spanked me quite skillfully, I must say. Ouchie.”
Tom nodded. “You were lucky I didn’t think about that hot little paddle. I probably would have used it on you. The next time, I won’t forget.”
Cynthia giggled. “Now I’ll have to hide it from you again.” She looked up at him and laughed. “Wait...that would just make you whack me harder, huh?”
Tom hugged her tightly. “Just behave yourself, and you won’t have to worry about it.”
Cynthia kissed Tom’s shoulder. “I know you love it when I’m bad. And you know it, too.”
Brenda took another shower to calm herself. She had looked in the full–length mirror, but her shapely bottom was normal in appearance, in spite of the significant sting that was still present.
She needed to speak with someone she could trust, someone with whom she could share a story she knew she would not believe from the lips of another human being. Out of the shower, and once again in her robe, she called her best friend, Laura Martin.
Laura’s home was twenty minutes away. The forty-year–old registered nurse lived with her two children in a comfortable brick ranch that Brenda had visited frequently.
The two had met in an aerobics class and had become fast friends, close friends who could share anything with the other. Laura worked in the office of Brenda’s doctor as well. As Brenda pulled into the Martins’ driveway, her bottom still experienced minor twinges of the stinging that was finally fading away.
When Brenda called Laura, she was relieved to hear that her ex–husband had the children for the day and were gone for a Saturday at the mall. Laura was concerned as she saw Brenda getting out of her car. Her tone of voice on the phone had been one of distress.
The women hugged as Laura opened the door, and they immediately sat down at the kitchen table with the coffee Laura had already prepared. Laura simply sat and waited while Brenda took a sip of coffee and gave a deep sigh.
“Uh...this morning...I’m not sure what happened to me, but ...oh, gosh.”
Brenda started over. “This morning, I had this dream...I was really getting it on with some faceless guy. It was so...good. I actually had this wonderful climax from this dream.”
Laura’s eyes arched. “Wow...okay...”
Brenda let out a deep breath. “After that was over, I woke up. I mean, I think I was awake. No. I’m sure I was awake. That was when...that was when I felt this hard whack on my bottom.”
Laura leaned closer. “What?”
Brenda leaned back in her chair. “Someone...something gave me this hearty whack right on my ass. It made no sound. But, it really stung.”
Laura shook her head. “Wow.”
Brenda reached over and put her hand on Laura’s arm. “That’s not the half of it. A little while later, I know I was wide awake, damn it...I felt this...it was a spanking. It still smarts.”
Laura whistled. She shook her head and cleared her throat. “Did you mean that there were still no sounds?”
Brenda shook her head. “There were several whacks...no sounds, but a whole lot of sting. Then....” Brenda’s face turned crimson. “This guy, I swear I was wide awake this time. Well, whoever he is, or whatever he is, he’s very, very good.”
Laura sat back, her own face now crimson. “Oh, Brenda. I don’t...I can’t begin to explain.”
Brenda rose and began pacing the floor. “Laura, you’re the analytical one. What are the possibilities?”
Brenda patted her friend on the arm. “And I’ve already considered mental illness. But what are the other possibilities?”
Laura took a deep breath. “Sweetie, this is way over my head. I really don’t believe in ghosts, but this certainly has a paranormal twist to it. Especially the part about there not being any sounds.”
Brenda nodded. “My bottom was not the least bit red from the spanking I felt. It was pretty darned sore, but not red. I don’t get that.”
Laura seemed nervous. “But otherwise, your body reacted as if…?”
Brenda’s face flushed. “I had two undeniably real orgasms this morning.”
Laura sighed. “You have to get to a doctor. You need a complete checkup. You have to get blood tests, the whole works. You have to find out if you have some chemical imbalance that could cause hallucinations. I promise I will get you in on Monday to see Marie. Get there at 7:30 in the morning. I’ll call her and explain... some of it. It won’t be a problem.”
Brenda began to tear up. “How do you explain this to someone?”
Laura took a deep breath and took her friend’s hand. “We just tell her the facts. And Brenda, you know she’ll refer you to a shrink. You have to accept that up front.”
Brenda began to pace the floor again. “It’s okay. Whatever it takes to figure this out. I was just going to be working from my place most of this week, anyway. It’s just as well.”
Laura stood up gave her friend a hug. “There are so many things that just can’t be easily explained. I’m sorry to see this happening to you. But I’ll do what I can to help you through it.”
Brenda nodded. “I guess that this is not likely to really harm me. I don’t have any marks, or any real injuries. Just a stinging backside.”
Laura shook her head. “And some real orgasms?”
Brenda could not prevent a smile. “Quite real and quite good.” She turned to pick up her purse from the table. “In fact, I’ve never felt one like it before.”
As Brenda drove home from Laura’s house, she found herself nearly afraid to be alone. When she walked in and closed the door behind herself, she felt a chill of apprehension.
Her natural inclination would have been to sit down in front of her computer and begin searching for an explanation. That was how she always attacked a question. This time, she did not even know what to search for. In addition, she was afraid of what she may find.
She abandoned the idea of the relaxing weekend. Instead, she decided to work steadily and keep herself occupied.
As she sat down at her computer and downloaded her design software, she wished that she had a man in her life. Laura was a wonderful friend, but she was busy with two children and her own job. She also dated some, and kept busy with her hobby of knitting that she used to relax.
Brenda was on her own to cope with whatever was happening. Working would help. She recalled the green dress dream, or perhaps she could try again to design that v–necked shift dress that had been vexing her imagination lately. She stood up and walked to the living room to retrieve a pad of sketches of dresses and skirts she had drawn while watching the news the other evening.
Her computer and compact workspace was in a corner of her bedroom, and she had to walk past her full–length mirror to get there. She stopped in front of the mirror, afraid that she would not be alone in the reflection. Ever since she was a child, and had watched a scary movie or television program, mirrors held the potential for fright. She had always told herself that she had watched too many episodes of The Twilight Zone and The Outer Limits.
She saw only herself in the reflection. She was not at all vain, but she had to admit to herself that the image looking back was of one lovely, even sexy, redhead. The face was unquestionably pretty, and her body was attractive in its shape to nearly any man with a beating heart. She was soft, round and buxom, and had been told that she filled out a pair of jeans in admirable fashion.
She was not at all slender, but she had to confess to herself that she looked fetching, even hot, in her pale blue blouse and the short, flowered pleated skirt. As for her phantom lover, he apparently found her body to his liking.
As the weekend wore on, Brenda began to believe that she might have dreamed it all. Had she also dreamed her visit with Laura?
Sunday crept by, but she did manage to finish two dresses and design three new skirts. Brenda worked into the evening, as she was scared of going to bed, just as she had been the night before.