Thank You!

This morning, after I'd walked the dog, packed my lovely daughter's lunch, and persuaded my darling son to face yet another Monday, I opened my Kindle dashboard and swooned. In just over three days, 1,319 readers have downloaded "The Vampire's Submissive" to their Kindles or Kindle apps.

My lovely readers, you have placed my story at #3 on the Kindle Bestseller list for Free Erotica. In addition, it is currently #39 on the list for Genre Fiction. When I decided to offer Katy and Jackson's story for free, I thought to myself, "Wouldn't it be nice if it made it to #100 for Free Erotica?" Dear readers, you have made my day, my month, and my year! Thank you ever so much! *Mwah!*

If you haven't yet picked up your copy, there's still time. "The Vampire's Submissive" is free through October 22nd. If you do pick it up, I'd love for you to leave a review on Amazon. I love hearing my readers' thoughts.

Wishing you the cheeriest of Mondays,

Violet

P.S. Shout-out to Niina Cord for creating Katy and Jackson's stunning cover!

Banned by Amazon

My story, The Vampire's Submissive, has been banned by Amazon. Disappointed doesn't even begin to cover my feelings at the moment.

Gorgeous cover by Niina Cord of Niina's Cover Design

I had enrolled this story in the Kindle select program, so it is not available anywhere else at this time. I hesitate to upload it to Kobo or Barnes & Noble, as I've read that they, too, are using giant brooms to sweep erotic romance and erotica out the door.

I honestly don't know what to do. I've spent plenty of money on covers for this story, as well as three others, two of which have not been released. My novella, Submitting to Ethan, has not yet been banned by Amazon, but I'm sure it will be any minute now.

Why? Because in the description I am honest about the contents of my book:

MATURE READERS 18+ ONLY

WARNING: This book contains rape fantasies and scenes of "forced" sex. If you are sensitive to this type of writing, please do not buy this book. In no way does this book condone the crime of rape. This book includes the following elements: graphic erotic language, explicit sex, anal sex, spanking, BDSM, and a loving D/s relationship. 

I write stories as a means of feeling in control and to give myself (past and present) a Voice. Since I am no longer welcome on Amazon, I will have to find another way of sharing my stories.

What do you think of the mass ban on erotic romance and erotica?


Violet

Why I Write Erotic Romance

Dear Reader,

Welcome to my itty bitty blog. I'm so glad you are here. If you scroll down a bit, you'll find posts on my two self-published titles, Submitting to Ethan and "The Vampire's Submissive." I'd love for you to give them a read, and if you do, I'd be honored if you would leave a review on Amazon. Thank you!

*sighs*

I want to try to express my reason for writing erotic romance. I've been sitting here staring at the screen for half an hour. As it turns out, writing fiction is far easier than explaining the why behind the story.

Why do I I feel the need to share my motivation for writing erotic tales? The compulsion probably has something to do with being raised in a strict Christian household where such stories would have been considered shameful.

As a child, my young body was abused and derided by my mother and defiled by my father. Don't all mothers call their six-year-old daughters whores? Don't all fathers fondle and rape their little girls? This was my mindset as a child. Abuse and pain were normal, every day things for me, as ordinary as corn flakes in the morning and the moon in the sky in the evening. I was taught to behave at all costs, and every minor infraction resulted in severe punishment. I was taught to fear my parents' wrath, and they became god-like in my young brown eyes.

I recall my father digging a hole in the backyard one summer afternoon. He made my little brother write the letters RIP on a sheet of white paper. Daddy told me to climb in the hole and my brother held my mock gravestone above my head. Terrified, I worried Daddy would cover me up with the pile of dirt. How would I breathe? Would I die? Did he want me to be dead? My mother took a Polaroid of my dad with his shovel, my brother with my gravestone, and me lying in the hole, too frightened to move. My parents laughed at their joke and my daddy reached into my grave and pulled me out. I dusted the clay dirt from my shorts and ran inside, eager to push the memory into the far reaches of my mind.

The memory of my grave kept company with all the other bad memories, and it's only through therapy that I've begun to reclaim them. Up until three years ago, much of my childhood and teen years remained a giant void, a black hole of terror. When friends would ask, "Remember when we...?" I would shake my head in confusion, having no recollection and wondering why so much of my life was inaccessible in my memory.

While I endured physical, verbal, and emotional abuse at the hands of both parents, my father's choice to sexually abuse me left the deepest wounds, the ugliest scars. Last fall, I confronted him...sort of. I wasn't brave enough to drive three states away and knock on his door. I am still far too afraid of him. I sent him an email. He came back with a message proclaiming his unconditional love. He expressed his regret that I was mentally ill and encouraged me to find Jesus. He denied ever having touched me. I broke apart. I'd needed him to say he was sorry. Instead, he took my Truth and stamped it into the dirt. Worse still, my sister took his side.

Sexual abuse at my father's hands left me feeling broken, dirty, and damaged. My fear of sex and my difficulty enduring intercourse destroyed my marriage a little bit at a time until finally my husband requested a separation two and a half years ago. We are currently waiting for our divorce to be final. I believe my father harmed me sexually as a way of exerting his power. I have no doubt he was abused in some way when he was a child. I can't change his childhood. I can't change mine. Instead, I chose to change me. I chose to break the cycle of abuse and to give my children the childhood I could only dream of as a little girl.

While enduring my father's sexual abuse, I had no control, no power, no Voice. I could only endure and hope that he wouldn't kill me.

No control. No power. No Voice.

I've been in therapy for quite awhile, and I'm making progress. I no longer run when I see a man with graying hair, glasses and a beard. I shudder, but I don't run. Baby steps.

For a long time, I couldn't even talk about sex during therapy. Now, I can. And, I've found I can write about it, as well.

Why write about sex?

Control. Power. Voice.

When I write erotic scenes, I am in control. I have all the power. I have a Voice.

You will see a scene of attempted rape by a villain in my short story, "The Vampire's Submissive." I was in control of that scene. I saved the heroine. She had a Voice, and she was heard. Help came.

In Submitting to Ethan, Rose fantasizes about being raped by her best friend, Ethan. Again, I was in control. I wrote the scene as an expression of her fantasy. No, Rose does not wish to be raped in reality. She only wants the fantasy with a safe partner. Many women share Rose's fantasy. Myself included. Sound strange? In my fantasy, I control who I am having sex with and what they are doing to me. I direct the action. I am in control. I have all the power. I have a Voice.

Control. Power. Voice. Writing erotic stories provides me with these three things I so desperately need to continue being who I am. A Survivor.

With hope,

Violet

National Sexual Assault Hotline - 1-800-656-HOPE

Submitting to Ethan

Available Now!

Dear reader,

I'm thrilled to share with you the news of my latest story, Submitting to Ethan. Like most of the stories I write, Submitting to Ethan began with a scene playing out in my head. This opening scene draws the reader into Rose White's world, a world in which she hides behind baggy clothes and pretends to be sexless. One night, during a playful interlude with her hunky best friend, Ethan, she experiences her first spanking. This single event sparks the beginning of a loving D/s relationship which will leave their lives and their friendship forever changed.

From Amazon.com:
Rose White's relationship with her best friend, Ethan Pierce, hasn't changed much over the years, until one night when Ethan surprises her with her first spanking. Both aroused beyond all control, they give in to a night of passionate lovemaking. When Ethan confesses his deep dark secret, Rose is shocked. Her Ethan is a dominant, and he wants her to be his submissive.

In the midst of her training, Rose must make a confession of her own. She's been getting nasty threats against her life for the past two weeks at work. Ethan will do everything in his power to keep her safe, but when the stalker is revealed, Rose's trust in Ethan is shaken. Can he win her back, or is their friendship a thing of the past?

"Submitting to Ethan" is a 28,000 word novella.

Reader advisory: This book contains rape fantasies and scenes of "forced" sex. If you are sensitive to this type of writing, please do not buy this book. In no way does this book condone the crime of rape.

This book includes the following elements: graphic language, explicit sex, anal sex, spanking, BDSM, and a loving D/s relationship.

Excerpt:

He wasn’t coming.

Why hadn’t he called? I should call. He might be sick or hurt or… No. He probably got busy at work and time slipped away. Or maybe he hooked up with Gina, his on again, off again. No doubt, right about now, she was on him--again. Ugh.

Since Ethan wouldn’t be seeing me, I took off my playing-it-safe baggy T-shirt and sweatpants and slipped on my favorite lime green cami. Almost sheer and super thin, the fabric clung to my full breasts and did very little in the way of covering my dark rosy nipples. Not bothering with bottoms, I flopped tummy first onto my antique four poster bed, my black lace boy shorts riding up a bit to show off the underside of my fleshy butt cheeks.

Blowing out a breath, I caught myself staring at the phone. I should call him, if for no other reason than to ask his advice about the creepy notes, flowers, and candy I’d been receiving at work for the past two weeks. No, I wouldn’t call. He’d think I was being all needy. Which I was. Ugh!

I’d read. Maybe that would take my mind off things.

No way was I turning on the TV. I’d only miss him more.

Tuesday nights were supposed to be about me and my bestie since kindergarten lying on my bed, having pillow fights, and watching Twilight Zone reruns until we fell asleep.

No, we weren’t lovers. Never have been. Never will be.

An image of Ethan kneeling between my thighs, his cock pressed at my slit, flooded my brain. Ethan’s large, tan hands cupping my full pale breasts. Ethan’s perfect mouth pressed against mine.

Wetness drenched my panties. I fought the urge to get myself off with my trust vibrator. No. Ethan would never see me that way. I gave up hoping a long time ago. Okay, maybe I still have a little hope. Yes, I am an idiot.

I dragged my copy of Jane Eyre off the nightstand. I liked to read it and imagine Ethan as Mr. Rochester and me as Jane. Only, my Mr. Rochester would turn me over his knee and give me a long, hard spanking anytime he felt like it. I’ve never actually been spanked, but I sure have dreamed about it. Turning the page I’d dog-eared last night, I lost myself in their world.

The bed dipped and I shrieked. Fear lanced through me. Why hadn’t I heard the door open?

“Hello, baby girl.” His voice, husky and deep, flowed like warm butter over my skin.

I sighed in relief. Ethan. He sat beside me on my side of the bed, his perfect ass bumping up against my round waistline.

I looked him up and down. His dark brown hair, wavy and mussed. His face darkened with stubble. His steel gray eyes pinning me, a deer in headlights. He wore a tight white T-shirt which molded itself to his muscled chest and did all sorts of wonderful things to my tummy. And my pussy. His jeans were snug against his hips and muscled thighs. His feet were bare. No wonder I hadn’t heard him come in the room. He had a key to my apartment, so he’d slipped in easily. I quickly glanced at the clock. Ten minutes until nine o’clock. “You’re late,” I accused him.

“Sorry, sweetie. I had to take a client to dinner.” Ethan was the head of a successful PR firm located in downtown Memphis. He always reserved Tuesday nights for us, so I’m guessing this was a pretty important client.

I stuck my bottom lip out in what I hoped was a pretty pout.

Ethan stood then leaned in close. He lifted his large tanned hand and brought it down hard on my left ass cheek.

Squealing, I reached back to cover my sore bottom, protecting it from another assault.

“What was that for?” I asked, more aroused than I’d ever been in my life. I felt the flood of moisture seeping from my pussy. Please don’t look at my panties, I begged him silently. He’d see how wet they were, and then I’d be humiliated. Humiliated because no way he’ll ever want me the way I want him.

I’m not exactly Ethan’s type. I’m only five feet, five inches, and tiny I am not. I’ve tried to lose weight, but the extra curves appear to be here to stay. I’ve always looked like this. I’ve always hated it, too.

                                                         ***

I hope you'll give Ethan and Rose's story a try, and if you do, I'd love to hear from you!

Happy reading!

Violet Gray

P.S. You can follow me on Twitter @TheVioletGray 

Text copyright 2013 Violet Gray. 

All rights reserved. 

Do not copy without the express written permission from Violet Gray.

Cover art by Niina Cord of Niina's Cover Design