By day, Vivianne is a prim and proper one-room school teacher in Jennings, Pennsylvania. It's 1930, a time when money is short and morality is in. But in her free time, she becomes Nicole Vogel, an artist of naughty sketches featuring tearful women getting spanked. When Richard Manning moves to town, her fantasies become reality. Will her secret get out? And does Mr. Manning has a secret of his own? Read this engaging romance by a popular writer of spanking fiction and find out.
BDSM category: spanking only
Ain't no lie that don't come back and bite you in the bum, Vivi-anne.
Vivianne heard her aunt's words ringing in her head every time she swooshed her skirts down the sidewalks of Jennings. The dusty town seemed out of place in the Pennsylvania mountains and surrounding forest. The greenery crept in like weeds in a garden, but the little main street reminded her of the dustier streets of her home town, Pittsburgh.
From the little shack she'd grown up in, she could've walked for a block in any direction before seeing green. Her aunt had married for love--the worst and best mistake she'd ever made--and transported herself from the respectable green lawns of the city's middle class to the cramped shacks of the factory workers.
Aunt Stella had been hell-bent on transporting her niece back to those green lawns from the day baby Vivianne had been dropped off on her doorstep.
Aunt Stella wouldn't have liked the pictures her niece drew. She would have laughed at the nakedness, but she would have been appalled at the fantasies they contained--men spanking women.
So when she climbed the stairs to the train station platform, she felt guilty for the lie she was about to tell.
"Good morning, Miss Nichols!" Mr. Peters waved a friendly hello and tipped his stool forward. "Visiting your aunt in Pittsburgh again?"
"Every weekend," she smiled.
"I think you should bring that Aunt of yours home with you sometime. A lonely old woman living all by herself in a big city? Shame, that's what it is." He clucked as he held her change in his hand.
They had this conversation every week. "She won't hear of it, Mr. Peters. Won't hear of it."
That much would have been true, if her aunt were still alive. Vivianne wasn't sure whether she used her aunt as an excuse because it was the easiest lie she could think of, or if it was because it gave her a moment every week, however brief, to pretend that her aunt was still alive in that little shack, boiling water for tea on her black pot-bellied stove.
Her aunt had prized tea above food, and her niece's education above all.
"So how's my Johnny doing in school? He behaving?"
Vivianne groaned inwardly to think of teaching the little terror, but she pasted a smile on her face. "He's an ornery little boy. Takes after his father," she teased.
Mr. Peters was anything but ornery. He was, in fact, the most relaxed man she'd ever met. If she had to catch a train, she budgeted an extra half-hour to allow for his conversation. No matter how hurried she was, he worked at one pace: slow.
He was smart enough. The Jennings train station was infrequently used, and he sat alone in his little ticket room on the platform for most of the day. When a customer visited him, he spent ten minutes chatting.
She'd thought it a nice, friendly touch when she first moved to the small town.
Soon she realized that if two people were ahead of her in line for the train, it would be thirty minutes before he handed her the ticket. Thankfully, it wasn't often that people traveled to or from Jennings. The only reason the town was on the railroad line was because of an old lumber factory that had been a booming business thirty years ago, but had since burned down and had been abandoned.
Vivianne had loved Jennings since she'd first set eyes on it. For one thing, it was one of the last remaining towns in the state with a one-room schoolhouse, and for two, it was quaint, small and safe for an unmarried woman with no family left.
When Mr. Peters finally released her from his conversation, she sat down on the bench and stared down the train tracks. Her weekly trips to Pittsburgh always made her sad. She wasn't sure if it was the deceit, the loneliness, or the fact that she missed her aunt.
When the train arrived, she boarded as Miss Vivianne Nichols, the prim and proper schoolteacher. But when the train arrived in Pittsburgh, she would get off as Nicole Vogel, artist of naughty sketches featuring tearful women getting spanked by their men.